All was a strange and chaos and as the cotton mists turned parts of the world in pastels and grays, she could only wonder what was left of the ones that lingered in the midst of it. Cutting loose her control over the fog, she swiped what was in her way from her path. The diviner looked back and the eyes of the Goddess found hers. Somehow Maren found her in all her holy immortality, the one polished in splendid pious purples, the one so sacred in the midst of her cotton cloud looking tired and strangely mortal for just a bare second. Maren glared at her as the divine entity acknowledged her protection; A protection of a magic that could’ve been so easily from her, instead of the Sun and the Earth. Nevertheless, in the waters of her mind she did not feel doubt for what she had. Even if ever my path meets one clouded in shadows, the path I presently walk is bathed in pools of glorious light, she concluded in thought before she turned away her golden eyes.
Finding her way perfectly through her own fog, she watched those fighting put down the Holy Dog she felt so much disgust for. In all of her glorious tiger striped past, she hadn’t been able to appreciate a canine’s lifestyle for one day and today had brought nothing new. The fact that his paws and claws were drenched in sickness did not help. You are not True, the diviner’s mind repeated. Her silent eyes slipped forward over the creatures who were new and bright in their colours, different, and, in the grasp of her vigil pupils, she judged them, too. Foul creatures, shattered souls. Filth. But in all of her own quiet but righteous disgust, the priestess had her priorities in order and pushed her gaze further down her line of vision.
The carcass of the beast had fallen and lay in grey hues on the ground. Suddenly she noticed Cera; back on the ground and standing with another girl she recognized from the Throat. Their eyes crossed and she thought to find remorse in his blue gaze. Maren, too, softened her eyes and nodded almost unnoticeable as her side-wings relaxed next to her ears. She assumed that they were back on the same side again, and she preferred it that way.
Just as she started feeling the relief of a won battle, the former God’s body started to deform. Out of the shadows of its dead limbs grew small but ominous looking wolves. Their numbers were large and the priestess felt her throat hesitating to let through air for a moment. In the skin of her left shoulder burns still itched from her last battle in the bloodfalls, while on the remaining parts of her tiger-hide boils leaked and popped blood into the shapes of new rusty red stripes.
She had the urge to run, but looking around her there were too many here she somehow had started to secretly care for. So she sucked it up, let out her only mechanism of defense and in the next moment that followed she pulled out a silver liquid from the soil beneath her hooves. The liquefied metal shimmered as she reshaped it, crafted them into small metal balls. With her mists dancing and cringing in urgency, she let it twist into a small storm. The eye being the opening, the barrel from where she could spot the ghastly wolves.
Until now she had not thought her ability to craft with metal would be of any use in battle, but without hesitation she shot them at the incarnations. As she saw another wolf run she aimed the next bullet at his head. But in her own mind there was a sarcastic, biting voice calling mother would’ve been proud.
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