Wild Things

Her body rattled like crazy as if she were ready to explode at any moment from whatever was swelling inside of her. More concentrated shadows shot out from her body like evil spirit looking to unbind themselves from their prison. These darker shadows went through the lesser ones, causing them to scream out in even more agony. War herself drew a sword and swiped at the shadows, all the while laughing like a maniac. The miasma got darker, almost suffocating the light from the moon. Soon, the darker shadows got denser as they absorbed all the ones that were scattered and trying to escape. Those that went through War's body caused her to scream out. When they came out the other side of her, these shadows became fainter and yet continued to absorb all the lesser shadows in order to repeat what they were doing. After two or three more of these shadows hit War, she looked as if she went limp. The screams from her were silenced, leaving only an uneasy breathing to escape the mask. She was levitating, her form like a cat that was picked up by the back of its head. The shadows continued to bombard her, yet the miasma continued to escape from her and the earth. Now, there were more whispers. Still barely audible if one didn't lend an ear, but if they did listen, the voices from nowhere would tell the boy a lot of things. Most of them, telling him to either run or hide from the beast. Yet there were also a lot telling him not to run or he will die. And then there were others telling him that there was no other outcome, that he was doomed, and that it'd be better if he took his own life. There was but one whisper, even quieter than the others, but strangely more noticeable among the chaos. It told him to hope.

War remained stoic as the shadows returned the miasma to her. As it went, the whispers became less numerous, replaced instead by groans from the shadows that seemed to be collecting the others and depositing it back to War. Or at least that was how it looked. When the creature that followed War tugged on her, this seemed to snap her out of the daze. She drifted to him as if she were in space, but only a split second later, her arm snapped back to grab the boy's arm, with a grip so tight it would have cut off the circulation on his arm almost immediately. And then War would just stare at him, the shadows leaking from the chinks in her armor seeming to boil.

War drifted along, heavy breathing coming from her mask. The shadows continued what they were doing until there weren't any other lesser shadows around. But the miasma remained, somehow denser. The shadows returned to War save for three who circled the two of them. The metal maiden still hadn't let go of the boy yet. And now even the shadows began grabbing at the boy to stop him. War said nothing, the voices that were once prevalent fell silent, eerily so, as demonic, high-pitched laughter sounded out from the faceless shadows. In her free hand, a dagger materialized. War now started pushing the boy against a tree. The dagger glistened in the moonlight as it slowly rose.

War raised her dagger to drive it into her victim's heart and as if it were a ritual, the shadows danced around while a shrill laughter echoed. But there was another interruption, one that helpfully outed itself before attacking. The victim she was about to stab was pulled to the side in order to take the ball of lightning directly. The energy still surged into her, but there was no visible effect other than the maddened laughter of multiple voices. Good, there was another contender, one that she would gladly sink her claws into. Before disposing of the boy she held hostage, she drove the dagger twice to the abdomen before flinging him to his would-be rescuer and then for good measure, throwing the dagger, aimed at the new contender. Multiple blades flashed into existence behind her, hovering steadily as War rose from the ground.

She blocked the incoming punch with a shield and once she felt the impact, she shoved the protective gear right back at her attacker. The knife she threw suddenly stopped and bee-lined towards Jaxon from whatever angle it was previously. Among the bloodlust-filled voices, there were many more cries of dismay and remorse as War caught a glance of the boy that kept following her, bleeding out from his wounds. There were pleas for him to run. He must or War may come back for him.