March 20th 1426
She heard the crippling sound as air filled her lungs, her screams pouring from her lips. Her skin bubbled from the devilish heat as the lightning slowly consumed her. His wrath overwhelmed her, stripping away her ability to think about anything other than the taste of death on the tip of her tongue—so sweet, so imaginary, yet doing nothing to quench the bitter taste of defeat she felt for the first time.
The more she clung to life, the weaker she grew, the faster the sparks burned through her. This was it, perhaps: her time on earth, cut short by a monster of a man.
No wonder humans feared him so. His power shattered her ability to reason, to escape, leaving her clawing at her skin as she writhed in the hell he created.
The sweetness of the death she faced puzzled her mind. It devoured her sanity, which she no longer needed. This man… he was far too powerful to be left behind. Or perhaps… he wouldn't mind accompanying her to this sweet death. Her screams morphed into a hellish laughter as the blood in her throat coagulated. She stood, stripped of flesh, her scorched body barely recognizable. Darkness clouded her vision, yet even on the verge of death, she craved the twisted pleasure of the pain.
He sucked the lightning back into his fingers, smoke and flames crackling from the scorched cracks of what was left of her body.
The only thing keeping her standing was the wall her melted flesh clung to. His heavy footsteps thumped closer, her heightened senses picking up his scent once more. His towering form loomed over her; even without her eyes, she could feel his contemptuous gaze.
"What made you think you could win?" he asked, his voice thick with pride, the voice of a man untouched by defeat.
Her fingers twitched, her heart still pounding. Her lips were sealed—quite literally. This feeling of defeat was foreign. She had no doubt he intended to kill her here and now… and perhaps she should have let herself die and leave her promise to him unfulfilled. But that was highly unlikely.
Not a second passed before she broke through the shell of her charred body, lunging toward him, grabbing him by the roots of his hair. His own lightning bolt shot through her chest as she pressed her hands to his temples. He wasn't quick enough to dislodge her legs from his waist. The smell of her burning flesh mixed with his was intoxicating.
"Win?" she cackled, even as he drove a blade repeatedly through her neck.
He rammed her against a spiked wall, her body bleeding profusely. He managed to rip her left arm off, but she only clamped on tighter, laughing as he groaned in pain. The lightning seared down the left side of his face, scorching his eyes and lips. He drove another blade through her neck, severing the muscle holding her head. Blood gushed from the wound as her vision blurred. He staggered, stumbling from the wall. She hadn't seen enough of him yet. Her strength was draining fast.
Still, every movement of his body against hers reminded her of the rush of his lightning surging through her. Holding herself in this form was exhausting but necessary. She ran her fingers through his hair as he blinked, his eyes glassy and disoriented.
She wondered what this feeling was. Madness was perhaps the closest thing to love. She leaned into his lips, breathing life back into his faint form. Then suddenly, his hand shot up to what was left of her neck, she cursed as he tightened his hold and unleashed another wave of lightning into her.
The crazed look in his eyes mirrored her own. Ignoring the searing pain, she reared her head back, smashing her skull into his, extinguishing his lightning and the spark in his eyes as they both crumpled to the ground.
Her eyes were gouged from her skull, yet she sensed him still, his head intact. An uncomfortable feeling rose in her chest. She wondered what bitter emotions she might experience by his side. Humans were right to fear and imprison the warlock. If she hadn't taken this form, she wouldn't have come this far. Imagine that, she scoffed. Her eyes reformed, and she noticed his hair falling over his scarred face.
If they were to meet elsewhere, somewhere beyond this madness… She lifted her fingers to his face, healing the scorched skin on his cheeks.
She would find out what else he could make her feel. Zadarrah.