Fetid breath blasts me in the face. A single gurgled phrase. That is all I allow him, this man who I thought friend and teacher. I tighten my grip on his throat as my gaze flickers back and forth between his eyes, searching for something, anything that might resemble guilt.

Slowly, the life begins to fade from his eyes as I feel the warm blood covering my other hand slow its throbbing flow.
"Yes," I say with a sneer, "it is all my fault. A spell you taught me. One I was not ready for. And now, because of that, because of you, I have nothing!"

A memory washes over me like a tidal wave, my vision haunted by geysers of uncontrolled mana erupting from my flesh, blue-black fire reaching hungrily as I lose control of the magic. An agonizing scream breaks my short nightmare, but I realize it is only my own. It turns to a yell of rage as I rip the knife I had buried in his stomach sideways and out, eviscerating him.

Heart throbbing, panting, I let the corpse drop to the ground. I think, for a brief moment, that this singular act would bring me vengeance, that I would redeem myself and satisfy the ghosts that haunt me. But it is clear there is no redemption. There is nothing. I was not strong enough to prevent the inevitable. And now my weakness has taken the last thing of value. I cannot wash clean my sins with blood.

I hang my head. I am defeated. There is no salvation for me. The hopelessness should have broken me. But instead, a worm of an idea wriggles itself into my subconscious. Fleeting, but enough. There is no going back, I am already damned. If the life of one man cannot absolve me of my sins, I will find the solution in the flesh of a million. I will correct what I have done. I will break the world if need be. For them. For Her.