⭒ DEATH ― kaz brekker ⭒

19 - Azalea

The moment I watch the pouch empty, I toss it away, immediately feeling the effects before I even finish swallowing. My lips part as I feel the abrupt surge of power and pleasure that rushes through me in waves. My vision blurs slightly. I can feel it. I can feel them. I feel it all. I look to the right, and that soldier there has a wife and kids at him. I look to the left and that soldier's mother is dead, and he has become a soldier to honor her. Everywhere I look, my mind is crowded with the memories of the men in military uniforms. I see their lives from birth up until now. I feel their struggles and their grief, but I also feel their determination. To kill my friends. I wave a dismissive hand at the Heartrender that they have below and watch as he crumples to the ground, his eyes exploding in their sockets. I don't know when I started smiling, but I know that I am as I walk off the tank and languidly sweep an arm above every soldier. "Drop your weapons," I order, and I can see my voice swirling in the air, skeins of rainbow that fly across the sky like ribbons of light. Every soldier drops their rifles in tandem, and I hear the clatter as they hit the ground. "Now sleep."

I watch as the bodies sway and then fall, slumping against each other in their neat rows. Their neat rows that look like a cornfield, ready for me to pick. And now, they have been. By Death. A meaningful way to die, at my hand. I feel their heartbeats, surging in sync like one colony together. "Aza. . ." Jesper whispers, and I notice that his voice is a different colour. It looks like fog, dancing around like a dragon in the air, a deep, sapphire blue hue.

"We leave," I state, pausing only to watch my words fly across the sky before I walk down towards the docks. I take a moment to look at the fallen bodies, take a moment to acknowledge each of their stories and the hardships they've suffered through.

I do not say a prayer for any of them, because of the life they've chosen.

As we reach the Ferolind, I see Rotty and Specht, waiting just as they did the first day. The first day. So much has changed. Everything has changed. And yet, I can't be bothered by it because I feel the thrumming of Djel beneath my feet. A wave of nausea roils through me slowly, like a snake uncoiling. What I've done, looking out at the limp bodies, is unnatural. Unnatural.

"Matthias!" I hear a voice shout.

We all turn around and see a massive group of druskelle, hiding their pathetic faces behind masks of chain mail and black hoods, grey mesh protecting their bodies. The leader speaks, standing tall as if he is righteous and knows justice. But I know justice. Better than anyone here. "Traitor," The leader hisses. "Betrayer of your country and your god. You will not leave this harbor alive. None of you will."

There's a  silence, like that moment of peace as you watch a glass cup fall, just before it shatters, as if the world is frozen. Then a laugh fills the air and it takes me a moment to realize that it's me who is laughing, tilting my head back just slightly. I raise a hand. "You cannot control us, witch," The leader tells me. "Our hoods, our masks, every stitch of clothing we wear is reinforced with Grisha steel. Corecloth created to our specifications by Grisha Fabrikators under our control designed just for this purpose. You cannot force us to you will. You cannot harm us. This game as at an end."

I stare. "Are you quite finished?" Silence. "Good."

I walk forward and ignore it when their rifles shoot, hitting my skin and penetrating layers of my bone. It's a pleasure to feel the pain and know it just disappears with a twitch of my finger. I march towards their leader and grab him by the throat, ripping off his armor and pressing hard on his neck, watching my thumbs dig into his skin and my nails draw blood. "I will show you just how much of a witch I am."

The soldiers don't shoot for fear they will hurt their precious leader, but I don't care. I throw him onto the ground and raise the soldiers that were dormant before, watching them get up with lifeless eyes as I command them to rip off the armor of every druskelle. I watch as they fight and writhe, trying to escape, but to no avail. The moment their armor is gone, I raise my arms and watch as they begin screaming, a cacophony of pain that echoes in my ears and makes me smile as I watch them clutch their heads, blood trickling down their hands that have killed so many innocent zowa. I force suffering into them, and soon I realize I am forcing them to relive the pain I have gone through, the nights I have spent crying on the streets with no home, the sadness and heartbreak of being banished from my own village.