Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Had she not been so lost to the fury, the one that made her holding its teeth around her soul and biting down, Thana would have laughed to see him summon the sand to help him. But she's too lost to the violence of her blood, and the hunger of her magic, and the thing in her that keeps screaming, unmake, unmake, unmake. It's all she can hear when the monster lunges again.
And so she surrenders to it. Thana lets the violence, magic, and the primordial rage take her.
There is little thought spared for the sand-beasts leaping for her spine and throat. Always, all the lingering traces of the decay that made her are whispering, always go for the throat of the source. To her that's all the golden blood monster is, a thing with a throat made for tearing asunder. Each sand beast that lays claws to her sides, dragging lines of blood across her rib-cage like roots dragging across a forest floor, will find their claws turning to broken down dust and rot when they meet Thana's blood.
Even as the beasts try to devour her-- she devours them.
The pain is sharp, stinging, but all she can see is the first creature still leaping for her blood. All she can see is his snarling teeth, and his sharp claws. All she can see are bits of him begging to be plucked loose and sent back to the magic that made such a thing as he.
All she can see is death.
And so she lunges to meet him and wraps her teeth around his neck like a wolf instead of a horse. She drags him to the ground even as his creatures set themselves across her spine and hang themselves from her horn. Thana only knows that is if she is dying then he is dying with her (her blood knows the reason but she only knows the hunger of it). Even when his claws make purchase across her skin, she does not let her grip loosen-- not even when her knees fall to the ground and her tail swings forward to carve a line down his side.
She doesn't think she'll ever let go.
Thana's lungs flutter, tired and full of dust. And the feeling of it, of the exhaustion, only makes her clench her teeth tighter together and start to pull. There is still through death to go.
"Speaking."
And so she surrenders to it. Thana lets the violence, magic, and the primordial rage take her.
There is little thought spared for the sand-beasts leaping for her spine and throat. Always, all the lingering traces of the decay that made her are whispering, always go for the throat of the source. To her that's all the golden blood monster is, a thing with a throat made for tearing asunder. Each sand beast that lays claws to her sides, dragging lines of blood across her rib-cage like roots dragging across a forest floor, will find their claws turning to broken down dust and rot when they meet Thana's blood.
Even as the beasts try to devour her-- she devours them.
The pain is sharp, stinging, but all she can see is the first creature still leaping for her blood. All she can see is his snarling teeth, and his sharp claws. All she can see are bits of him begging to be plucked loose and sent back to the magic that made such a thing as he.
All she can see is death.
And so she lunges to meet him and wraps her teeth around his neck like a wolf instead of a horse. She drags him to the ground even as his creatures set themselves across her spine and hang themselves from her horn. Thana only knows that is if she is dying then he is dying with her (her blood knows the reason but she only knows the hunger of it). Even when his claws make purchase across her skin, she does not let her grip loosen-- not even when her knees fall to the ground and her tail swings forward to carve a line down his side.
She doesn't think she'll ever let go.
Thana's lungs flutter, tired and full of dust. And the feeling of it, of the exhaustion, only makes her clench her teeth tighter together and start to pull. There is still through death to go.
