It hurts to be brave.

That much is quickly apparent. The creature is not merciful with its jaws, which rip through her skin as though it's nothing more than a piece of tissue. Her bones crunch and crack sickeningly in her ears, but it's as though she is watching her own brutal maiming from a distance, disembodied from the raw agony which must be undoubtedly coursing through her. She's flailed and flung around, a limp toy in the jaws of a great dog, until finally the ordeal is over and she is deposited like a chunk of waste at the creature's feet.

Alas, the beast has not even been kind enough to finish her off completely. That would be merciful, that would be a nice thing. If there is one thing apparent, it is that this new world is not nice. Where Kaos lives, chaos rules. Nyx isn't entirely sure that she wants to live in a world like this, a world where mothers are forced to die for their children, a world where nothing is safe, nothing is sacred.

Dying isn't too bad. It's just the pain that makes it difficult, and the pain is suddenly exquisite. It's everywhere, not localised like it is during a fight. There is no escape; there is nowhere to flee to hide from this crushing, unbearable oblivion.

Feebly Nyx stirs, a lump of broken meat from her position a short distance away from the massive creature. Ribs glimmer ominously through her sides, livid red muscle, flesh and blood hanging uselessly where the creature's jaws penetrated. Her entire midriff is maimed beyond recognition, and yet she is alive. The creature has missed any vital organs, but that is of little comfort to the silver soldier, who would have preferred a swift end. She'd always dreamed of dying on the battlefield, but she'd pictured it as a sword through the heart, quick and reasonably painless, not this drawn-out, torturous affair.

Numbly she lifts her head, looking for her children. She has never truly considered her own mortality before - she'd contemplated death, feared it, but never imagined it happening to her. Now that is is a very real possibility - no, a hope, because death means an end to this pain - she is forced to face it head-on. Will it be peaceful? Will she be allowed to watch over her children, guide them from the sky? Will she come back as another animal with no memories of this life, or will she simply enter eternal blackness, aware of nothing but her own lack of existence?

None of those thoughts are comforting. There is no comfort now, only pain, and for all her bravery the soldier can do nothing but unleash a single tear as she contemplates what awaits her. She isn't ready, nowhere near ready, but the situation is out of her hands. All she can do is lie there, bleeding, and wait for oblivion to seize her.