Warning: kin death. Not graphic but it happens.
From head to hoof, Chosen One shook. He couldn’t control the reaction, the sensitive jittering, the thundering of his heart, the quick little breaths, as they stood in triumph.
Evil had fallen.
It had taken a fight, a mighty battle under the glow of a rising sun but they had triumphed. In this den of a heretic, Chosen One surveyed the scene. The webs and the spilled poisons, the twisted mangroves, the soiled earth.
No Mercy was splattered in scarlet, his sides heaving, head drooping and teeth gritted. Chosen One moved to his side first, nuzzled his cheek and praised him until his head lifted higher. They’d had the better numbers and strength but one beast of buck had defended his cursed mother with a tremendous ferocity.
Chosen One’s gaze flickered towards the still form of the one called Bloodhound, breathing barely noticeable, broken and battered. His sister stood above him, resolute despite her small frame. He admired her spirit, her refusal to let them closer, to take this one more thing from her. Chosen One had decided to allow it. Enough blood had been spilled.
The Witch was done.
The hunt was over.
Her life would satisfy the MotherFather.
Chosen One stepped forward, stood above the frail corpse.
Saliva bubbled bright red from the corners of the Witch’s mouth but her eyes were still as bright and cruel as ever, staring upwards. Chosen One recoiled slightly, surprised that she still clung to this world even now, after all that had been done.
This was a good thing, he decided.
“This - this is your punishment,” he told her, voice squeaking high, uncontrolled. “For what you have done to your children, to other kin, to the Swamp. Your death will make this world a better place, a safer place. You can no longer cause pain.”
Those too-bright eyes looked back at him unblinking and the mouth curled into a bloody smile. He swallowed hard, fought the urge to look away. The frail sickly chest stuttered up and down and it took Chosen One a long moment to realize she was laughing. Laughing at him.
He stumbled back, jerked in head in motion towards the old doe and No Mercy stepped in to finish the job. Her bones were weak; it took a single hit.
Their first true step in cleansing the Swamp had been made.
Chosen One shoved his disquiet down, buried it deep and looked proudly upon his family: No Mercy, Badlands, Second Nature.
They’d done it together.
Because he couldn’t do it alone.
But this was a big job and they would need more.