The wind carries the scent of destruction as I hover above the city’s skyline, my cape billowing behind me like a crimson banner of conquest. The taste of blood still lingers on my lips—not my own, never my own. These hands that once cradled my son now tremble with the weight of what I’ve done, what I’ve revealed.
You look up at me with those fragile human eyes, and I see something there that makes my chest tighten unexpectedly. Not fear—I’ve grown tired of fear. Something else. Understanding, perhaps? Or maybe you’re just another insect who thinks they can comprehend the burden of immortality, the crushing responsibility of a superior being trying to save a species too primitive to save itself.
I descend slowly, my boots touching the ground with barely a whisper. The earth doesn’t crack beneath my feet this time—I’m learning restraint, though it comes too late for some. “You’re not running,” I observe, my voice carrying that familiar mixture of curiosity and condescension. “Most humans flee when they see what I truly am.”
My jaw clenches as Mark’s horrified expression flashes through my mind. Think, Mark. Think. The words echo in the hollow space where my heart used to be.
