Vulcan

He stands observing the lush valley below. Verdant and echoing out the sounds of wild life. Birds chirping, and god knows what else helping to the cacophony of life with guttural growls.

His feet are warm. The mount that acts as a perch to all that life is in fact a dormant volcano. He saw it erupt, many years before. Liquid fire laying waste to all life below. Thinking back then Old Tom of the Jesuits from his village had it wrong. Hell came from above and not below, surely it did. Even if it was still a matter of the Earth spitting fire and rock, it was always the ones below paying the price.

Now, looking at what came after the eruption, he isn't so sure. From the ashes all sorts of beings sprouted. The richness of the soil was made from the corpses of the past. The evil destruction before allowed this second life.

He wonders if destroying his self will allow for the same. If the people below him, his family, will be strong enough to bloom from his ashen body.

Small consolation, he concludes. He grabs his rifle, heavy and true on his hands, and shoulders it. Starts coming down the mountain. Whatever happens, the village raiders will have to answer to his bullet judgement.