John got into his car and drove to his neighborhood, the presence guiding him every step of the way. He pulled up in front of his house, and a match flicked to life in his hand. He didn't remember lighting it, but it felt natural, like it was meant to be.
The flame danced, casting shadows on the walls as John touched it to the curtains. The fabric caught fire, and the blaze spread with unnatural speed. The once vibrant neighborhood succumbed to an otherworldly darkness, as if the very foundations of reality were unraveling.
Shadows writhed like living things on the walls, and the air thickened with an unholy presence. John watched, detached, as his house burned. He felt no fear, no sadness, only a sense of purpose.
The fire raged on, consuming everything in its path. John's neighbors ran out of their homes, screaming and panicked. John watched them, his eyes cold and unblinking.
As the last ember died, an unsettling silence fell. The neighborhood was reduced to smoldering ruins. John stood amidst the destruction, his eyes glazed over. A distant whisper repeated the command that sparked the inferno.