"You will regret this, gnat," he hissed at the guard, his fingers clutching the bars of his cell. The metal glowed red-hot, but didn't yield. "I am the emperor! Release me!"

Truthfully, he was emperor no longer, though he was loath to admit it. Now he was but a war captive, locked away in an anti-magic cell, his bold declarations of power and influence falling on deaf ears. Far more humiliating than losing his throne was to be ignored like this, as though he were a nobody.

"This is not over!" he roared. His fire magic was raging within him, the heat growing unbearable and his palms were starting to sting, but his fury and pride were far stronger than any burns. "I will take back what is mine! I am Vulcan, and dragon's blood runs through my veins!"

He hadn't felt this helpless since he was a child, stolen from his home, locked in a cage as the slavers took bids on the unusually gifted boy. He'd always had a strong affinity for fire, and the auctioneer had advertised him as "part dragon."

He was bought by a fighting ring enthusiast and made to fight for many decades. Eventually his fury grew such that he burned down the arena and set himself free. From then, he took the name Vulcan and rose through the ranks of the imperial army, his uncanny affinity for dragonkin earning him a place among the highly respected dragon riders. He caught the eye of the princess, and a secret wedding and a masterfully planned assassination later, he sat on the throne.

The never-ending rage sweltering within him hadn't abated, and he went on an expansionist campaign, conquering territory after territory. Now the empire he'd brought to greatness had been taken from him, his wife and unborn child lost.

His palms were raw, blood trickling down the bars, sizzling against the metal, but still the guards ignored him.

"I'll kill you," he vowed. "Every last one of you will turn to ash in my flames." The only reply was laughter and the heavy clunk of the door closing, plunging his cell into darkness.

He'd burn the world for this.