I’m stumbling backwards, the taste of blood fresh in my maw. The mud is clinging to my dark pelt and hiding some of my blood markings as the water drags the blood down, mixing with it and dripping off in a diluted path. I’d hit my mark, but it didn’t feel good. After all, I had never been one to love the idea of blood and gore. I’d just loved the idea of causing suffering until the soul breaks.

However, as I catch sight of her haunches lifting as if she were going to kick out, I am backpedaling faster - sloppier, but definitely faster. I can feel the air brushing across my face as her flints strike out, but there is no impact crashing into my skull. Still, I shove myself backwards. Some pushes are useless, and it is only when I am a good distance (at least in my mind) away that I dare to begin to push my momentum forward in order to stand stable in the slick mud. Circuta is stumbling, almost falling over, and I can feel my breath catch in my throat. Perhaps if I had stayed close enough I would have been able to knock her to the ground. Maybe that last bit of weight added to her frame would have knocked her over and she would be stopping then and there. Would have been willing to, though? That, well, I can’t actually answer that.

No. Life was never meant to be easy. It is obvious through the stinging of my left ear. Rain is continuing to pound into it, agitating it as blood continues to mix slightly with the pools of water sliding out.

It is Circuta’s voice that has Innerste radiating a sadness through my frame. Circuta is torn, broken, crying, claiming that I had abandoned them. “No. I left for a cure! A cure that was obviously closer than I had expected, but that was my intent. Spürhund. You saw how I returned! I did not go on a vacation!” I allowed my voice to call out just as Circuta began to charge toward me, her tall frame sliding over the mud at full force. And, it must be from the graces of the Gods above that my already shuffling frame has enough traction to push me out of her way, moving to my left, kicking out at her moving form and avoiding teeth.

Hah. Family. I told you. You have none. Unheil is still laughing. I do not accept it. Instead, my mind focuses on a different realization. That realization: that no matter how many times I dance away from her attacks, she will continue to attack until I stop her from being able to.

Family or not, I cannot help unless she would allow me to. And, for the moment, I must concentrate on my inability to feel. I must completely dissociate from the task at hand. I must find a way to stop this stupidity that is going on before me.

The voice my others had been attempting to repress since Confutatis’ battle was pounding to the surface. Calls to actually fight were cycling through my cranium, but they were not taking over. I could feel the horror. I could feel the way the darkness had been spreading through me lately. I didn’t care. Let there be a sickness that plagues my mind. I suppose it is what I deserve – the gift from my time spent in the darkness – but I will not let it control me (even if that feral voice is only my own mind having shattered completely). “Gods, forgive me.” I whisper under my breath as I allow the souls to attach to Circuta’s own, and with a release of my breath they yank at it, attempting to pull it free from the vessel’s chains.

It is while the souls cling to Cir’s that I am attempting to move forward, legs moving but body not changing location. But, it only takes a few moments before I am plummeting forward. My horn is aimed level with her left shoulder. If I can make it difficult to bear weight upon her limbs then she just might stop this. I attempt to run parallel with her, my left side facing hers and horn feinted in. Hopefully it will leave a large scar; hopefully it will scrape her muscle. Hopefully I won’t have to continue with this for eternity. And, for one last measure, I shove my side up against where her bodice should be – hoping that it might cause her to lose her footing – to make her limbs splay outwards in an attempt to stay balanced and hinder her more.

Red dawns are warnings of storms… Liebling whispers, and slowly it all clicks. This is the storm.