The Blood-Soaked Phoenix

"Flames... More flames."

Joanna was wreathed in fire. A priest had just flown past her side when she unhesitatingly hurled a fire dragon at him, burning both him and his layers of shields to ash.

She had already lost count of how many people she had killed.

Fighting without restraint had always been what delighted her most. Controlling flames was a gift she had been born with. Whenever she watched fire rise from her palms, the blood throughout her body seemed to boil along with it.

At that moment, her blood was boiling too, but... for some reason, there was not the slightest joy in her heart.

Above, below, left, and right, priests stretched beyond counting. Holy Light scattered everywhere like a beast gone wild. Joanna had charged in at first with one of her proudest students, but she soon lost track of him. She did not know whether that somewhat green young man who loved to grin foolishly had died in the chaotic battle, nor did she have time to think about such things.

Before her eyes and in her mind, there were only enemies and battle...

It was an utterly bewildered state. She did not know what she was doing; she merely relied on instinct to kill every priest she saw. The satisfaction of hot blood boiling had vanished. The boiling blood reddened her eyes, yet left her unable to feel anything else.

Instinctively, Joanna felt that she did not like this sensation, yet she still threw herself wholly into it. The string in her mind called reason had been burned through, and the more she killed, the more agitated she became.

"Evil witch, go to hell!"

Another figure appeared before her. It was an old man, seemingly some sort of bishop. Rings upon rings of Holy Light