"Behemoth of Power"

Hey, readers.

Take a look at this flash fiction I wrote that will be featured in Unusual Circumstances: Fantastical Short Shorts Vol I. Check it out!

Release date: October 1, 2025.

An eerie light encompassed me as the power that was my inheritance overwhelmed every muscle in my body—I had created a spell of unspeakable magnitude, an uncontrollable behemoth of power. Flames rained down from the heavens and as I shifted, so did the flames. Panicked screams resonated all around me. I held my breath; I had no regrets.

The creatures that pursued me in the night fell away to ash, like chaff in the wind. As the sun rose over the horizon, I passed tombstones of my unearthed brethren, witches and wizards who had lived before me.

On wobbly legs, I slunk back into town. Abandoned cars lined the streets among looted storefronts and demolished buildings once used as refuge from all the violence. Remnants of my enemies covered the sidewalks and alleyways: streaks of blood, broken potion bottles, and hex bags of the devastating kind. Quick flashes of images of long-ago battles filled my head. These battles led to the downfall of the town and all of mankind.

Witches and wizards fought against one another in a bloody war with no beginning or end. Magic destroyed those unfortunate enough to find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I discovered my reflection in a garbage truck mirror. My flannel stained red from the blood of lacerations on my face, neck, and arms. I wore a sober expression beneath graveyard soil, unfazed by the damage done to my body. Resilience fueled me.

The home of my ancestors, my birthright, revealed itself to me from beneath a powerful glamour of old magic, like a desert mirage. It stood alone on a hill that overlooked the town. From this spot, my family had a lay of the land. They knew the roads and the battlegrounds. This was their HQ.

I carried myself up the rickety stairs and onto the porch and gazed upon its chipped paint and broken shutters. For several moments, I removed the idea of normal from my head. No matter what I might find, things would still never be the same. I entered.

Shadows clung to the walls of the house, and I sneezed. I halted myself and spoke into the air. A jingling filled the room, and light filled in every corner of the house.

Spellbooks lined the walls, shelved with intentionality.

I meandered through heaps of junk and draped furniture and observed old photographs of my great-great grandparents in their heyday, their days of peace, envying those simpler times before the magic took its toll on the earth, before all the madness of humanity became an inconvenient realization.

I ascended carpeted stairs to the second level and passed additional photos and encased magical artifacts collected over hundreds of years. I found the room within several moments and gazed upon the great pedestal. I limped over to it.

Heaven shot down a solid stream of light onto the tome, and it appeared before me in the brilliance of its power. It knew of my presence.

As I wrapped my fingers around it, a cold bead of sweat ran down my face. I rose into the air and struck the ceiling with a hard thud. I let out a wail as new cuts appeared on my legs and my abdomen, just below my breasts. I closed my eyes to slow the tears as blood fell onto the wooden floor below. And then, miraculously, it all stopped, and I was filled with elation. I opened my eyes as light encompassed the tome and, of my own volition, I descended upon it.

You are of the blood of the ancestors, said the tome.

I nodded.

And you wish to defeat them, the harbingers of death?

“Yes,” I said.

So be it.

I’m A.E. Williams, the Owner and Lead Editor at A.E. Williams Editorial, a Black, LGBTQ+ owned and operated editorial firm, servicing indie authors and publishing houses (including a Big 5 publisher). I can be found on Facebook, X, Instagram, and LinkedIn.