The crowd gathered and whispered as Cordelia prepared herself. Chris tried
to step up and stop her a few times, but Clay always held him back. Neither
of them wanted her to get hurt, but Chris could not bear to see her in pain;
not even for only three seconds. She lifted her hand, and everything
stopped. The whispers, the mindless fidgeting—even the howl of the wind was
waiting for her. She placed her palm on the handle, and wrapped her fingers
around it. She cringed, but did not scream. One second passed. Chris lunged
forward, and again Clay pushed him back. Two seconds. Chris was starting to
feel a pain in his heart; empathy for a loved one. Three seconds. She had
beat his record. Four seconds. Five seconds. She had beat the world record.
Six and seven, still holding on, but the baton stayed in place. Chris made
his most valiant effort to reach her and pull her back, but Clay still would
not let him. It didn’t matter how strong she was. She wasn’t going to be
able to do it. Even without the pain, it was in there too deep. Only the
owner could remove it from the stone. That was their true mission, to find
the owner and kill him. Had it been anyone else, they might have asked for
help. But Chris realized who the owner had to be. Only one both had lived
long enough, and possessed a soul twisted enough, to construct such a
sinister trap. He didn’t know where to find the evil telepath, but at least
he knew what he looked like. How many seconds had it been? Too many to
count. The crowd stared in both fear and awe. She was doing the unthinkable,
but could not quite make it all the way. That was the sickest part. It would
be one thing to torture a hopeful wielder with pain, but another to cause
that pain and still not reward them with what they deserved. Chris thought
his empathy was growing stronger as the heat reached his face and stung his
eyes, but he was wrong. It was real.
The heat from the burning baton was expanding. With it came powerful gusts
of wind, which drove the onlookers back. A few persisted to show support for
the elf who took the brunt of the flames, but most gave in. Chris and Clay
were one of the steadfast. Even the rain felt like it was at a boil. They
squinted, put their hands up in pointless protection, and struggled to walk
forward. “Let go!” They took turns yelling to her. If she could hear, she
was not listening. “Let go of the baton! It’s not worth it!” They reached
her, and what they saw was more horrific than they could have imagined.
Smoke dribbled out of her pores, and faded up into the air. Her hands, which
were both now pulling on the handle, were literally on fire. It was the
hottest Chris had ever felt. With Clay’s help, he tried to pull her away by
the shoulders, but she was as stiff as the statue—petrified, at least for
the moment. Chris quickly realized what he had to do. He took a few seconds
to prepare himself before cupping his own hands around hers. He could feel
her blisters as his own skin began to bubble. Clay tried to help as well,
but he was unable to get closer than a few inches. The baton slid a few
millimeters out. But only a few. Then it slid out a few more, each one
easier than the last. More and more it gave as Chris felt a scream at the
top of his lungs. He would later be told that he had not uttered a sound.
Centimeters more, and it was just about free. Time froze. The pain went
away. No blisters were on his hands. The whole world turned a purplish-blue.
He could recall seeing this before, but could not place where. The fire was
gone, but everyone else was still there. Next to him stood Cordelia, just as
confused as he was. Their former bodies lain at their feet.
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