Book 3: Chapter 3 – The Fires of Rage [Part 1]
Book 3: Chapter 3 - The Fires of Rage [Part 1]
“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”
- Mark Twain.
Seraphina stood atop Cornelia’s central head, arms crossed, her face a storm of fury carved in sharp lines. The wind tore through her short blonde hair, now matted with blood and ash from the forest battle. Below her, the Hydra’s massive body slithered forward, each sinuous movement sending tremors through the earth, flattening ferns and snapping saplings like brittle bones. Cornelia’s three heads swayed, alabaster scales glinting under the sickly orange sun, filtered through smoke rising from the distant woods. The monster’s eyes—six glowing orbs of lantern-glass yellow—scanned the horizon, hungry for chaos. Seraphina’s cloak, torn and stained, snapped behind her like a war banner.
Milani Village came into view, its lanes choked with fleeing villagers. Wagons teetered under piles of grain sacks, heirloom quilts, and dented pots, while men shouted orders and women herded children toward the open fields. The air reeked of a panicked fear.
Seraphina’s lips curled into a sneer. These people, who had called her Mina, who had smiled and patted her head, had kept her ignorant, a pet in their quaint little cage. They would pay for their deception, for daring to name her after some stupid dead child, for thinking they could bind her.
“Cornelia,” she commanded, voice cold as a winter blade, “eat them all.”
Cornelia hissed, a triune chorus of delight that rattled windows in the nearest cottages. The Hydra surged forward, her enormous body—thicker than the oldest oaks—moving with a speed that defied her size. Her serpentine form coiled and struck, covering ground in fluid, predatory bounds. Villagers screamed, their orderly evacuation collapsing into chaos. A man tripped over a crate, spilling apples that rolled like severed heads. A woman clutched a toddler, sprinting for the tree line, only to freeze as Cornelia’s shadow loomed.
The left head struck first, jaws gaping to reveal rows of dagger-like teeth. It snatched a burly farmer mid-stride, his pitchfork clattering uselessly to the ground. With a single gulp, he vanished down the serpent’s throat, a faint bulge sliding beneath her scales. A notification flickered in Seraphina’s vision:
| You have killed a Francois Bouillon. 10 experience gained.
|
She smirked, noting that the rules of this world had most likely acknowledged Cornelia as her familiar, each death now feeding her power.
The central head spat a jet of caustic acid, a shimmering green arc that melted a wagon’s wooden frame to bubbling slag. The family aboard screamed as the structure collapsed, pinning them. Cornelia’s central head darted down, swallowing a shrieking woman whole, her flailing arms disappearing into the maw.
| You have killed a Martha Roads. 8 experience gained.
|
The right head tossed a fleeing boy into the air with a playful flick, only for the left head to catch him, snapping him down like a morsel.
| You have killed Alberic Applebush. 12 experience gained.
|
The young noblewoman’s heart thrummed with dark satisfaction, the emerald amulet at her neck pulsing out her will to the Hydra. She scanned the chaos, searching for familiar faces. There, by the mossy stone wall, stood Grena, the old woman who had called her pretty. The old woman who had forced her to help about on her farm like a slave in exchange for a few pieces of fruit. Grena was helping a child who had fallen to the ground. Seraphina’s eyes narrowed, a memory flashing—Grena’s casual mention of Levine’s affection, her attempts to let the village sink its claws into her heart, as if Seraphina were a prize heifer to be claimed at the countryside fair.
“Cornelia, there,” she pointed, voice dripping venom. “The old hag.”
Cornelia’s central head swiveled, locking onto Grena. The Hydra slithered forward, crushing a cart under her bulk, splintered wood flying. Grena looked up, her weathered face paling as she saw the beast. “Mina, no!” she cried, stumbling back, the child fleeing behind her. But Seraphina was no longer Mina. Cornelia’s right head lunged, jaws closing around Grena’s torso. The old woman’s scream cut off as she was lifted, legs kicking, before being swallowed whole. Her shawl fluttered to the ground, a pathetic remnant.
| You have killed a Grena Tallows. 15 experience gained.
|
The blonde girl laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed over the screams. “That’s for your lies, Grena,” she spat, though no one heard.
The amulet burned against her skin, feeding her rage, drowning the flicker of guilt that dared to rise with the feedback from Cornelia’s hunger. A hunger that matched her own. She remembered Grena’s kindness, but it was tainted now, a mask for manipulation. She crushed the memory, letting fury reign.
Her gaze swept the village, landing on two boys cowering behind a toppled barrel. She recognized them instantly—Joren and Tild, the brats who had pelted her with mud pies a short while ago, jeering, “Blank head! The Stupid girl with no memories!” Their taunts had stung, a reminder of her vulnerability as Mina. Now, they would learn the cost of crossing Seraphina de Sariens.
“Cornelia, those two,” she ordered, pointing. “Make it slow.”
Cornelia’s heads hissed with glee as the Hydra slithered toward the boys. Joren tried to run, but the serpent’s tail lashed out, a soft touch, tripping him. Tild screamed, frozen as the central head loomed. With surgical precision, the right head snapped down, biting off Joren’s legs at the knees. Blood sprayed, but before he could bleed out, the head spat a sizzling jet of acid, cauterizing the stumps in a hiss of burning flesh. Joren’s screams turned to choked sobs. Tild tried to drag him away, but the left head bit down, severing his legs too, followed by another acid spray that sealed the wounds. Both boys writhed, their cries piercing the air.
The girl watched their struggles, savoring their screams. But there was the rest of the village that required devouring.
“Finish them,” Seraphina said, her voice devoid of mercy. Cornelia’s right head scooped up Joren, swallowing him whole, while the left head took Tild, their screams muffled as they slid down her throats.
| You have killed a Tild Stocker. 4 experience gained. You have killed a Joren Stocker. 5 experience gained.
|
The notifications looked like gravestone markers to the girl.
Seraphina’s lips twitched into a cruel smile. “No more mud pies,” she muttered, the amulet’s pulse egging her on.