My feet crack as I walk, leaving trails of flesh. I’m easily followed. Few try to follow me. They know that the path leads to a lava giant.
My blood is magma, dangerous and hidden. I am a walking volcano. Ash fills the air around my head. It is my silhouette. It kills all who breathe it. I move slowly, but destroy all in my path. I’ve burned countless Pompeiis.
And now you stand against me?
“Yes,” you say, voice trembling.
I reach out my fist, bringing it down with a thud. When raised, I don’t see your ash. I see you, standing. Somehow, impossibly standing.
You have tricks, but I cannot be fooled. I exhale, moving ash from my lungs to yours. You cough, choke… but remain standing. How are you doing that?
How dare you?
I am lava, death, destruction. You are small, human. You are weak. To prove it, I pick you up, crushing you in my hand. You push apart my fingers as if they weigh nothing.
Then you rip them off.
Pieces of my great stone fall. Magma turns to lava. I pool on the ground, spreading, burning, but useless against your strength.
Who are you?
You smile, widely, wickedly. You take pleasure in my destruction. I’ve killed so many, but you’ve killed me.