god of black flames

Signs as metal bands
  • Aries: Megadeth
  • Taurus: Pantera
  • Gemini: Mastodon
  • Cancer: Iron Maiden
  • Leo: Slipknot
  • Virgo: System of a Down
  • Libra: Metallica
  • Scorpio: Slayer
  • Sagittarius: Lamb of God
  • Capricorn: In Flames
  • Aquarius: Judas Priest
  • Pisces: Black Sabbath
10

No one knows how Endsville, the city of devils, was created, but as soon as it appeared, it started to grow, and slowly eat up the world. You are an agent of Cantide, God of the Black Flame, and you must stop Endsville from destroying the world. Your only weapon is flame: matches, lighters, and fire-bombs – torch the city, and purge its demons. 

God Fear the Queen

His black blade meets hers, obsidian, wreathed in purple flame. Her eyes widen for a moment, and then her astonishment turns into a swelling tide of laughter that crashes over his head in searing, hateful waves.

“You are no king,” she snaps, words like acid biting him through to his bones. “You are simply a common thief.”

“The creature is mine,” the Mad One hisses, as the wall of writhing shadows rises up behind his eyes. “I have marked it as my own, pursued it without rest across the howling void that marks the boundary between our worlds. If you stand against my claim, I will tear your kingdom apart stone by wretched stone.”

The Queen’s sword strikes like a snake, sinking poisonous fangs deep into his chest. She smiles like a wildfire, eyes sparking, hair aflame, and then screams her rage as the Mad One’s sword pierces her ribs, the shaft traveling through her body and exploding out from the blade of her shoulder like a single shorn wing.

“I will come for you,” she snarls as her flesh crumbles to ash around his blade. “And there will be no dark corner, no crevice nor hidden hole here in which I cannot find you.”

“Then come,” he says. “I will wait.”

And he does. He waits and knows that it is her when the black fires bloom across the sky, filling the faded murk of her kingdom with a fierce and burning fury. And every flame’s flickering tongue roars his traitorous name.

She is wrath. She is rebirth. She is retribution rising on radiant wings that strike fear into the skies and throw her castle into shadow.

And her quarry stands in the heart of the storm, head tilted back, darkness slung like a nebulous mantle across the solid square of his shoulders. The black blade pulses like blood in his hands, its eager point quivering with the pounding depth of its thirst. But as she approaches, the emptiness inside of him cries out, stifles his pride and tugs at his limbs. Not yet, it says. You are not ready.

So the slow deliberate burn of her voice finds him at the fraying threshold between their worlds, dragging the beast on trembling, weakened hooves through the closing portal.

“You know,” she murmurs in a voice that runs through his barren veins like venom, “it’s rude to leave without thanking your host.”