Fire crackled through the forest, trees charring under the sheer heat. Cinders spread through the undergrowth like a festering plague. Thuds echoed around as trees crashed to the ground, allowing the fire to speed through the forest at an even more accelerated pace. Strange aromas filled the air, various herbs and plants burning, like the scent of a monastery filled with far too much incense.

Through the bushes and grass darted tight packs of various fauna, each seeking to escape the burning fire around them, trampling those who moved too slowly. In the scorched earth lay the blackened corpses of those who were trampled or caught by the flame, seeming to maliciously seek out life itself, feeding off of the flesh and blood of innocents.

Though the destruction wrought was seemingly widespread, the fire tapered out almost as instantly as it blazed up. The fire sprung up around the skeletal beast. Ifrit seemed to command the attention of the flames, as they danced around his feet, almost as if they were worshiping him, never straying too far from their god. Behind him laid smoking carnage, charred trees snapped like twigs beneath the colossal beast. 

However, among the corpses and wreckage, stood a single man, seemingly unfazed by the fire and flames. The man wore formal robes that whipped around his lean figure. A smirk laid across his unblemished face, masking the deep sense of horror that laid deep inside his stomach. In his hands was an elegantly crafted staff, intricate designs swirling up the base, tipped with a crystal. 

The man closed his eyes in concentration, muttering various incantations under his breath. As he spoke, the wind picked up, swirling quickly in a tight circle around him. Soon his muttered chant rose in a crescendo, and he began screaming out words in a long forgotten language. The crystal tipped staff began to glow with the sheer energy that he was gathering, swirls of indigo light extending out, like the tentacles of an octopus, greedily reaching out for the kill.

As the tendrils began wrapping around the bones of Ifrit, the fires around him began to die down. Confused, the beast turned, surprised by something so insignificantly small actually harming him. The massive beast lowered his head, taking a deep whiff of the air. One thought ran through the beasts mind, something he hadn't thought of for awhile now- [b]'Magic!'[/b]

A deep growl emanated from the throat of Ifrit, anger boiling through his bones. [b]"MAGIC. MAGIC. YOU CANNOT HARM ME WITH MAGIC. YOU SHALL FEAR MY WRATH. I AM DEATH. I AM FIRE. I AM IFRIT, THE LAST SCION OF THE INFERNAL KING. YOU SHALL BOW TO MY MIGHT!"[/b] He shouted, words mangled by years of not speaking. 

As he finished his rant, so to speak, he used what strength he could muster under his magical shackles, and released a billowing wave of white hot flame, bathing the young wizard in what should've been pure death. As smoke engulfed the poor man, the tendrils of blue magic slunk away, shattering into seemingly nonexistent shards.

Ifrit stared down at his work, his skull somehow contorting into what seemed like a grin. However, the skull returned to it's previous brittle state as the smoke cleared, revealing that the wizard had survived, staggering beneath a shield of magic. This seemed to enrage the beast even further, which was not a good thing, considering that he was no longer shackled. 

However, the young wizard was far from done fighting. He had been sent to extinguish a simple fire, and had been met with this beast? For the young man, it was seemingly a dream some true. It was finally his chance to make his parents proud, make everyone proud. So, without hesitation, he began to cast another spell, this one to finish off the monster. 

Needless to say, his hopes and dreams were dashed for the split second that he had before Ifrits jaws crunched down on the man, splintering the skull of the wizard between his jagged teeth. A pleasant sensation ran through his bones, magic running through the fiery body of Ifrit. His fire raged even brighter, consuming the soul of the man. 

Ifrit stood tall, contented by the transpired events, not noticing that the wizard has left a sigil burning on his skull, a warding spell, one that would make it child's play for any experienced wizard to take down the fiery beast. However, still none the wiser, Ifrit trotted onwards, sniffing out magic in the air, going to his impending doom, thinking one thing. [b]"KILL. KILL. KILL."[/b]