I hope you enjoy this week’s flash fiction!
Moans pierce the quiet battlefield as I step into the smoldering clearing. Each sound cuts through my heart and wilts the magic tensing in my veins.
Compulsion pushes me forward, my magical servitude requiring exact obedience.
There’s no one left standing. The only soldiers alive are crumpled and broken in the mud.
My magic withers inside me, retreating deep within my organs, but it doesn’t help. As I stop in the middle of the clearing, the smell of death and fire overwhelming me, my captor’s command forces me to chant.
My magic fights. It doesn’t like being controlled, doesn’t like the spells it’s forced into. My magic is of nature, of peace, as wild as the breeze. Like me, it wants to heal and be free. It shouldn’t be creating misery and death.
Like time after time, my magic loses. The compulsion grips my entire being, forcing my lips to move, my hands to channel, and the magic to obey.
Power spreads across the field, a river spilling from a dam. Men cry out as it touches them, singeing their wounds. When I’m spread across the entire field, the magic turns acid. Cries turn to a symphony of screams, and tears leak down my cheeks as I’m forced to kill all.
As death settles, my magic infuses into the corpses. I fight to break free, to free them, but the compulsion wins yet again, and I reanimate the bodies into nature’s dangerous beasts, forced into servitude, mourning what once was.
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