Fire

The tactics were sound, he mused, as he watched the clanking, armored, men turn towards the doorway. A classic hammer and anvil moment where they would turn towards the rest of the group, and he would strike from behind. But even at this range, with his sharpened senses, he could tell how thick that armor was - and moreover, could tell the warm glow at the end of the rods. He'd heard of fireballs and fire spells before, of course, and he knew that many non magical people used eletech to recreate some of the more... amazing... powers of the arcane - so it was no great leap of logic to determine the meaning of the great glowing wands and the tanks connected to the backs of the armored men.
 
If this is to end in fire
Then we should all burn together
Watch the flames climb high into the night
 
He could see it play out in his mind - he on one side, and the rest on the other - Maelie and the two others. They'd only met briefly, but he knew both were spellcasters - which meant that if both those armored monstrosities layered their fire down the hallway....
 
A plan bloomed in his mind and he tried to ignore the rampage of terror that seemed to roll through the back of his mind. Whatever curse his Hunger came from, it didn't want him dead.
 
Now I see fire
Inside the mountain
And I see fire
Burning the trees
And I see fire
Hollowing souls
And I see fire
Blood in the breeze
And I hope that you remember me
 
The plan, such as it was, worked. The first washes of flame crashed over him and him alone. He could feel the screaming, raving, terror that he was not entirely certain was his, his Hunger's, or both. He could feel bits of his clothing burning to his skin, bits of his skin burning away, the metallic mask heating on his face. He could feel the dull clunks of his gauntlets landing on the heavy armor and was, somewhere, distantly aware of the spellcasters peppering the same targets to aid him; somewhere distantly aware of the sound of gunfire and a strange wash of energy which propped him up.
 
But he did not know how many more times he would stand in that fire - could they fire once? Twice? Often? He knew at least once more from the second armored figure.
 
And if the night is burning
I will cover my eyes
For if the dark returns
Then my brothers will die
And as the sky is falling down
It crashed into this lonely town
And with that shadow upon the ground
I hear my people screaming out
 
He was only distantly aware of the feral-rage growing in him until he saw the broken and pulped helmet of the first armored man. Some distant part of him was glad for their darkened armor because he could not see any of the blood coming out from what was, perhaps obviously, a crushed skull. He knew he was strong, with his magical gauntlets, but he'd always held back, always reserved himself.
 
He did not want to kill.
 
And then the second wash of fire consumed him.
 
All he knew was that he was still standing, moment's later, staring down at the bodies of the two dead men. He lived. They didn't. His hunger roared inside his head, uselessly, to rend, to tear, to break. To rip the armor from them and tear them into parts and pieces. He wasn't even sure he could say why, save that he could feel how weak he was, how close he was to dropping, and something in him wanted to drive him on in feral rage.
 
Slowly, breath by aching breath, he wrestled that fury back into the corners of his mind, turning towards the now obviously ticking bomb - what use that rage if he was bathed in fire a third time in the night. Summoning every bit of control, he moved, hoping the cloak and clothes would hide the worst of it.
 
Now I see fire
Inside the mountains
I see fire
Burning the trees
I see fire
Hollowing souls
I see fire
Blood in the breeze
I see fire
Oh you know I saw a city burning out (fire)
And I see fire
Feel the heat upon my skin, yeah (fire)
And I see fire (fire)