The Mourning of Puk Prukkun

From a kilometer away I felt the heat. One step closer would set me aflame. But even in that blazing heat and blizzard of ash I could hear the scream of Puk Prukkun.

It was the downpour that followed the thunderstorm. Igneous rage that turns to scorching sorrow. A requiem of ash like a shard of ice that cut through the inferno before me.

She was a herald of destruction. A divine fire that scourged the holy city for its sin, sparing neither monstrous mongrel nor blameless blame.

She was a child, screaming her throat raw as she cradled the corpse of her only friend.