Storm

The wind was picking up speed as Treva stepped out of his front door, a cloth wrapped tightly around his face to cover his mouth and nose to block out the sand that was being flung through the air. He slung his lance over his back, the tip already heated to be red hot, steam rising off of it in the frigid air. The leather he wore was flapping like silk in the wind, but he pushed against it and through the town towards the oncoming eye of the storm.

The people of the town had already fled the scene, having gained word of the oncoming storm that threatened to tear the buildings to shreds and send them flying through the air to their inevitable deaths, crushed against a tree or boulder if not just splattered along the ground. Treva was the only one who had stayed behind. He had taken a vow many moons prior never to leave his small hometown and to protect it at all costs with his very life. That was something that he intended to do.

He stared into the eye of the storm, watching the wind swirl itself up and into a tube that spiraled up into the sky, before dispersing everything it had collected in a large radius like rain. Only it wasn't water that it was throwing to the ground. It was dirt, stones, and even wildlife and destroyed homes and fields. Debris smashed into the ground, launching additional dirt up into the air to twist and turn and get in Treva's eyes. It was unfortunate for the storm that he was blind. That dirt wouldn't slow him down.

He stalked his way towards the storm, undeterred by the going-ons around him. He could feel the icy wind trying to penetrate his skin and chill him to his core, could feel the wind pushing against his limbs to move him back, and could feel the dirt and debris slamming against his body to weaken him. But still he pressed onwards. As he drew ever closer to the eye, and the eye ever closer to him, he reached back and pulled the lance off of his back, pointing the still hot tip towards the eye.

In his mind's eye, he saw not the storm, but that at its center. A demon that had been sent from the underworld to destroy. It laughed at him, calling him a fool for thinking he could stand before it, and told him of how he would be crushed and left in the dust.

And that was when he thrust forth with his lance.

Immediately the demon screamed out in pain. The heat was from no human flame, but a purifying one, built over the period of a week with sacred wood doused in holy water. The flames, though Treva could not see them, had burned a vivid green, and now lived on in the tip of his lance. The spearhead cut through the cyclone of demonic power, leaving a gap in its wake, and the power of the wind slowed. The air became lighter. And still, Treva cut and thrust forth.

Up until he reached the very center of the storm, where there was peace. Where the heart of the demon lay. And Treva pierced the heart without hesitation or mercy, and the storm came to an abrupt halt, and what was left in the air fell down around him.

The town was still damaged. It would take time to heal. But Treva had kept it from dying.