B A D W O L F || Chamber Gang, have at it.

[Kushiel]

Under waning sun, beneath a blush pink sky, Kushiel wasn’t carrying fire he was fire itself. He felt it behind his eyes, down his throat, pouring from his nose in a torrent of red and yellow. Occasionally, when he grinned, you could see sparks of blue between his teeth. Some men, it was said, just liked to watch the world burn. Tonight, Kushiel was one of those men.

And oh, did it feel good.

Never in his life had he carried such fire, but never before had he such a source. Straia’s fire raven circled his head and he drank deeply from it, pulling flame until he could hardly see the Gates through his crown of smoke and fire.

Not for the first time, he was glad Gryffen wasn’t one for long winded speeches. He was content to turn his soldiers loose. With a vicious grin, Kushiel surged around the Chamber’s wolf and ran for the his target, the mother tree and its surrounding garden. To burn something so perfect, so pure, it caused a shiver to race down his spine. Kushiel snarled as flame began to leak into his brain. He felt like his blood would boil, like his eyes would run from their sockets. He needed to release the flame, or else be reduced to ash. He cast a snarling look at Weed, far from his normal, sarcastic smile. The other man needed to move, or else go up with the tree. Kushiel didn't stop to admire Weed's work, though it was impressive, he just pushed passed him when he had finished.

With a dramatic roar Kushiel exhaled.

Even he wasn’t prepared for the inferno that leapt up around him. It just kept coming. More and more flame thundered through the garden and snaked up the tree. It was limitless, a bottomless well of destruction. And it was all thanks to the raven. Kushiel looked at it, almost tenderly, and the bird flapped its flaming wings. All his life Kushiel had to settle with manipulating fire, but now, now he had a little helper.

The stallion laughed and pulled more flame from the bird. Together he and raven twined the flame round and around, lighting up the night like it was day. Their own twisted maypole. Maybe, maybe if he was really, really lucky, grouchy old Weed would dance with him.

Kushiel laughed again. Come out little queen, and see what the Chamber has brought you. They’re painting your roses red.