Smoke and fire and ashes swirled in his vision as he sat by himself, undisturbed by the dwindling chaos around him. Some people were dead, others were dying, and most had fled, but he did not care which was which. Either way, he felt serene. Calm. Sanitized.Â
All that mattered to him was that he fulfilled his purpose. The place is now clean. Clean red and yellow and ashen grey and charred black. And quiet. So quiet. So nice. So clean.Â
He finally gives himself the luxury of taking off his mask. The air feels so fresh and new, and the heat of the fires are warm.
It's still quiet when the foot soldiers arrive, and when he feels the press of a barrel against his forehead it's still quiet.
He smiles back at the other, and he lights up the last barrel of gunpowder he had been sitting on.Â















