Strength is Fleeting, Despair is Eternal

Taeven stumbled forward, one hand stretched toward the Bonfire, its warmth beckoning, enticing, a siren call he was all too eager to answer. Dark, reeking blood dripped from his lips, clung to his damp cloak and pulsed from the torn flesh beneath. At his back, a figure garbed in luminescent red advanced, blade held out wide, its edge gleaming darkly with Taeven's steaming life. Primal terror flooded through him, freezing his blood, filling his heart with cold fire.

He had already plead for his life, yet the Invader was, as all are, relentless. His own hunger, his ravenous desire for the Ember glowing within Taeven's breast, far greater than his mercy. Taeven felt a horrible pain tear through him, a bolt of blue white light biting deep into his ribcage, throwing him face-first to the ground.Ironclad fingers dug into the earth, wisps of smoke trailing from glowing knuckles, masking his features.

Not like this! He thought, dragging himself closer; the Bonfire's glow welcoming him, yet its warmth was far too frail to save him. He perished there with hand outstretched, the Bonfire's warmth lapping at his palm.

And this time, he would never rise again.