*CRACK*
The sky broke over the town of Hardensfell, red fire falling like hail as the screams of the dying rang out. Above it all, Calamitas hovered, A discus of brimflame spinning beneath her feet.
A skull of blackened bone flew up beside her, skeletal wings flapping behind it and two taloned legs trailing from where a neck should have been. It's mouth was open, an eye of malevolent magic staring at her from within. She ignored it, ashen face set in a frown as she observed the devastation below.
Yharim was an intelligent and able king, but the brutalities he asked were beginning to unnerve even her.
The eye gazed at her for a moment, bobbing gently in the air. It tapped her crimson robes with a claw, the movement slow and tentative. Her eyes flicked to it, her soul seeker, the bond of magic between them passing information to her faster than thought. The seeker had found the leader of this little rebellion. She nodded, although she did not smile. She would be glad to have this over with.
She flew down, an idle wave of her hand incinerating another platoon of would-be rebels before they could even fire a single spell. Strange, too, that these ones were all mages - although their leader had appeared thin and sickly to her seeker, certainly no warrior or rouge. Perhaps that was all he could teach them?
Her discus carried her forward, past burning buildings and undead monstrosities rampaging through the streets. The rebel leader wasn't holed up in the castle like she had expected - instead, he had chosen the library. She could see why a moment later, the walls of the building looming large before her, a grand edifice of stone and wood. The door was ajar.
She flicked her hand and the wall exploded.
"Wha? Shit! It's -"
Several similar exclamations rang out from what remained of this group of rebels. That was about as far as any of them got, too, before a ray concentrated brimflame bisected the lot of them. A glance told her none were wearing the tiara her soul seeker saw, nor had the pallid skin nor the black robes.
She exhaled softly, her eyes panning across the library. It was massive and vaulted, clearly the most expensive building in the town save perhaps the castle itself, bookshelves making a maze of the first floor while arching bridges and balconies created the second and third. The stone construction had halted the worst of her fires, but the roof was well ablaze, and burning debris from it's slow collapse lay among smashed bookshelves and charred corpses. Whatever enchantments had once lit this place had been long consumed by her flame, and now the only light was the hellish glow of her red fires, let in by the broken roof and grand windows.
On top a balcony on the other side of the building, a pale man in black robes gestured wildly, his words lost to the cries and mayhem around her. A silver tiara glinted on his brow.
Smiling softly, she flew forward, a ball of hellfire growing in her right hand. The robed men were clearly panicking at her approach, spells splashing uselessly against her shields, but the pale man only looked at her with a sneer. Her eyes narrowed as she grew closer, something about the diadem on his forehead tingling to her senses -
"Avada Kedavra!"
Before the man pulled out a wand and something that was decidedly not normal magic crackled against her shield.
She cocked her head at the man, idly flicking the fireball in her hand to the side and exploding a few of his lackeys into giblets. It was a shame the spell was cast with a wand, really - otherwise, this rouge magician might have actually been worth something. That was quite an interesting piece of magic, yet so separate from anything she had ever seen before.
He stared at her gaping for a few moments, before his face hardened, and he flicked his wand, again and again, yelling nonsense words and sending more of his strange spells flying towards her. It didn't work, of course. But it also shouldn't have been possible. Magical catalysts like wands might allow a mage to cast far above their ability, but they only ever stored one spell at a time. She floated down towards him, ignoring his fleeing followers and idly tearing apart some strange teleportation spell just as he was weaving it, sending the pale man sprawling on the floor. She observed him for a few seconds.
"Who are you?" Her voice was soft and curious.
"I am Voldemort! I am Immortal!" The thing hissed. And yes, she saw now, it was a thing - not a man, but a parasite controlling one, the enchanted diadem upon his forehead puppeteering his bodies every move. It was a truly fetid piece of spellwork, cruel and vile, and-
the most painfully incompetent piece of soul magic she had ever seen.
She sighed. And she had been hoping for something interesting, not just another idiot pursuing everlasting life and managing to find the most convoluted, idiotic path to it. With a grey skinned hand, she reached out, the framework of the spell fraying and catching alight as she grasped it the way a normal man might an apple.
And tore.
"Puny Immortal."