** Could an undying love blossom in the ruins of a shattered world? **
And so the world of men was lost
and a new one, our world,
was born.
- Morrígan
Goddess of the Battle
of the Túatha Dé Danann -
4th cycle anno Bellum.
The Second World War...
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Something hammered mercilessly against the walls of his being, which threatened to collapse under the impressions. But his mind, his will to live, fought against it, and at that moment, it was literally a matter of his life. A flame of life could go out quickly... far too quickly.
'Kaye...'
In front of him, he suddenly saw the life in his brother's golden eyes extinguish, and a cold bucket poured over his faltering thoughts.
'NO!' The memory of his brother dying in the dirt activated his hidden reserves of strength and forced him to act. His fighting instincts and his will to survive broke through the confusing impressions that he had neither the time nor the will to interpret at the moment.
They triumphed over the howling of his instincts as the black, bloodied paw struck. A muffled sound rang out as the blow knocked the ribcage under her outstretched arm. It was a blow that could have caused dangerous wounds if the long daggers of its claws had reached her lungs. But the curved claws remained retracted into his paw's soft, furry pads. The blow left no wound, but the force was enough to tear the body from him and fling it some distance away.
The blood hunter, who went by the name of Myra, fell off him, rolled over once, and then rolled away skilfully, as you would expect from a hunter of her trade. A tingling in the back of his neck warned him, wanted to draw his attention to her, because she was a dangerous, indeed threatening enemy. But his eyes did not follow her, even though he wanted to.
Instead, he rolled over, got to his feet quickly, and his claws extended to find a foothold. Crunching, they scraped across the ground, ready to pounce ... when another movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
He pulled his paws under his wiry body and threw himself to the left just in time. This put even more distance between himself and 'Myra' while small stones and dust swirled up.
The loudmouth, who called himself a bloodhunter, let out an angry, frustrated growl. With a contorted grimace, he crouched where Zane had just been lying while the true Slayer behind him turned her gaze back to Zane.
He could see her pupils constrict as she fixed him like a predator on its prey. It seemed as if she, too, had left the strange moment behind and shaken off the sticky threads. She was ready to hunt him down again, the hesitation gone, and neither of them could hope for a moment like this again.
