Red-hot wind blew across his face, whipping in sharp lashes that burned his skin. He pumped his arms faster, trying for the life of him to reach the bunker. There would be no chance for him if he was left outside when the rain started.
Already the heat was unbearable; sweat poured down his face, feebly trying to protect him from the coming fire. He sprinted through an empty expanse of scorched land; nothing could possibly grow here.
In the distance, the pinprick that was his village slowly grew. But he didn't have time for hope, it would slow him down.
His feet slammed against the dirt, kicking up a thin cloud of ash behind him.
Then, all of his hope evaporated. The blue sky slowly, painfully shifted to a death-red hue, shining its waving, dancing fires at the mortals below.
He pumped his legs faster, pushing his body to its upper limits. But he knew he wouldn't be fast enough. Swirling streaks of shining sprites sang down--a rain of fire.
Tears welled in his eyes; he couldn't die. He just couldn't. He had never committed crimes like the others, never succumbed to the evils of mankind, never expected to die. He thought the god's would spare him, but not until now did he realize he had lied to himself.
He never stopped running, even as the wall of fire descended lower and lower in the sky, even as his skin prickled with overwhelming heat, even as his mind wanted to give up because there was no chance for him. He didn't know why he kept running, but a fleeting piece of life inside his heart told him to.
The wall of fire fell further, onto him. He shut his eyes tight as the flames charcoaled his skin. Every inch of his body seared with impossible pain. Even then, he kept running.
Fire burned his body, all he could see from behind his eyelids was a steady glow of bright orange. Even then, he kept running.
His skin burned to ash, all hair on his body already gone, his muscles convulsing. Even then, he kept running.
He barely felt himself trip over a rock. And then, he died. The fire behind his eyes dissolved, until he could only see black. A cooling, soothing sensation engulfed his body, healing the pain to a dull throb. His lungs burned too, as if suffocating. The air was thick and cool, restricting his movements.
His lungs continued to ache, and pain still stabbed through him. Then he realized--he was alive. He flailed his arms, trying to push himself up. And at last he succeeded.
His face broke the surface of a small lake, and he gasped for air. The world was still white-hot, but the fire was gone.
He laid down at the shallow bank of the lake, only his face outside of water, and laid there for hours. He prayed a prayer to the gods.
