Destroyer of Worlds

7

On the roof of the Fortress of the Enemy, amidst the smell of rotting meat and the thick, greasy smoke, the Libertarian watched the stars.

'How I hate them.' He sighed.

Niamh took his hand. 'Not long now.'

'Yes. Nearly there.' He turned his attention to the crackling outline of the Burning Man, now half-filled with fire.

'Tell me how it happens,' she said with a note of glee.

He cast a dismissive glance her way. 'A bitter desire for revenge is not a very attractive quality, you know.'

'You must feel it too. Hatred for him, for all of them, and everything they stand for.'

'Actually, no. They're misguided. Poor lambs who have lost their way. Unfortunately, once they are back on the path, they become sheep to the slaughter.'

'Tell me how it happens,' she repeated.

'Only I get to know that. This whole business is… hmm, let me select a cliche for your enjoyment… a house of cards. So fragile. A mass of subtle, interconnecting events. Change one and the whole thing falls apart.'

'Even now?'

'Especially now. As we approach the end, everything is in a state of flux. So many variables. But do not worry, my bitter, twisted love. I intend to keep a firm hand on the tiller. If the currents try to push us away, I will steer us back into the flow of the blood-dimmed tides. Subtlety is the key. A shift in emotion can be just as effective as a slice across the jugular. More so, in fact.'

'But you wait here?' Niamh said. 'Why are you not influencing the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons?'

Because,' he said with a faint smile as he turned back to the stars, 'all goes to plan.'