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The flames reflected off his dark eyes, as if the anger inside him had come to life.  He watched the temple burn, hoping this desecration would somehow ease the almost painful hatred.  He was wrong.  As each rampart fell, in a blast of light and heat, he felt the blackness in his soul grow stronger, and deeper, and darker.  The more he destroyed them, the more he needed to destroy them.  The intense hatred threatened to turn him to ash from the inside.

He walked closer to the raging flames and reached out to touch them.  His captains watched in astonishment, each one too scared to speak.  Moments later, the smell of burning flesh overwhelmed them.  As his hand blistered, he smiled.  He welcomed the physical pain.  It somehow eased the burning hatred in his mind.  The searing pain in his hand was cleansing.  It allowed him to see the truth of what needed to be done.  Until they were completely destroyed, by fire, the pain would never go away.  He looked forward to the day when he could once again see clearly—the day when his enemies were nothing more than ashes blowing in the wind.


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