"Any last words, infidel whores?" the village monarch asked. The line of naked elven girls erupted into terrified pleading, but the one at the first noose remained silent. Though the crowd cheered, the monarch saw this unfitting. He brought his riding crop down on the black-haired girl's bare ass, drawing a grunt of pain. "What say you, slut?" he demanded.

The girl looked at him, a tear running down her cheek. "Please," she implored, "don't do this. I beg of you." The monarch grinned nastily and spat on her. "Soldier!" He called the young man by the lever. "Send these witches to Hell!"

The despaired screams of the girls became choked and strangled as the nooses closed around their necks. The crowd roared as they watched the accused foreign sorceresses thrash and kick for their lives. Still, the girl at the front remained composed, though her tied hands shook. Then, she disappeared.

The crowd went quiet. Even a few girls ceased their struggling, eyes bulging at the wisp of smoke that had been their elven sister. A shriek of pain broke the silence. The village monarch stared at the massive, cracking claw of mana run through his chest, the black-haired girl behind him, her face dark with both resignation and anger. She tossed his gored body into the crowd, then threw a dagger of light through the air, cleanly cutting the ropes of her periled sisters, who fell crying and gasping for air.

The villagers screamed and ran, but none escaped the sorceress and her sisters. Casting aside their crippling compassion, they razed the crowd, slashing their heads off, engulfing them in flame, making their hearts burst inside their chests. They left the town a burning husk, littered with bodies so brutalized they could hardly be called human.