Nephthys had what humans called an out of body experience. She felt the teeth and claws ripping at her dark pelt, but the pain was just a buzz in the back of her mind. Her former exhaustion was replaced by adrenaline, and her anger was turned into a savage fury. She had a sort of double vision, too, where she saw from her own point of view, but also of that above them. Instead of being disoriented, like she would be now had it continued after the fight, she felt as if it were a normal part of her life.


She didn’t care much that Beowulf felt uncomfortable that his Queen, the one he was trying to protect, was jumping into chaos’ way. She didn’t even care that she, too, felt uncomfortable that he was fighting for her, protecting her from the very thing she desired. To kill or be killed. Both felt good enough for her right now, and she would accept either without hesitation.
She was filled with the desire to protect her child, for she felt such a bond with Zanzibar, even though they hadn’t known each other for very long. But even more than her motherly desire was the bloodlust. She’d felt such bloodlust before when she’d fought Eclipse and Styx for the throne of Andere Seite, and also when she’d fought her mother’s murderer. But none of that could compare with this. All her anger, hurt, and terror were piled so thickly on each other that it created something new, a savage fury that transformed her into a beast, a murderer, whose heart was set on the death of the creature.


She thrashed, fighting for her release from the jaws of the lynx. Already she could feel her knees start to shake with exhaustion, already weakened from her near death run, but the feeling was so weak in her strengthened mind that she ignored it. She slashed, snarled, howled, bit, and thrashed with such a fury that she didn’t wasn’t even sure of her own name, just her desire to kill.
The events flew so quickly, and soon the lynx had run from them, not wanting to finish what she had started since she’d never get very far. Nephthys was tempted, very tempted, to chase after her. She took one step in the lynx’s direction, but her front limbs collapsed under her, leaving her lying in the snow. She snarled something awful at the lynx, something very much like a wolf’s darkest curses, her heart blackened with grief and hate.


She carefully stood, ignoring the streams of blood that ran down her face, sides, and chest. Something like a shiver ran down her spin when she remembered the teeth set into her ruff below her throat. Of how only an inch more upwards and she’d have fallen, never to stand again. But fear was banished, terror forgotten, lost in the haze and madness that was anger.
She glanced at Zanzibar and froze, remembering how she’d let herself relax, soften, with him. She remember how she’d found something to live for, why she had to keep her heart still beating. But it seemed so far away, so long ago, and she could believe that only a minute had passed.
The hairs on her back and neck stood on end, and she snarled viciously, swinging her head around to where the lynx had run off. She leaned forward, intent on following the lynx, ready for death, not caring whose it might be.


Before she’d even picked up a paw to go forward, the sound of running feet hit her towers. She stopped, straining to listen, her heart slamming into her throat with such force she felt like choking on it. Two sets of feet. Maybe the lynx had a friend. Good, bring it on. Nephthys prepared herself, lowered her head and baring her teeth in a snarl, her towers back against her skull. But to her disappointment, the lynx really had left and coming forth to meet her was her sister, Kimani. The second pair of feet was Firestorm, Nephthys’ friend and Beowulf’s mate.
Nephthys was so far in her madness that she really was disappointed to see only her sister and friend, and growled darkly at both.


The words spoken to her by Kimani went over her head, the meaning lost to her. She stared past her sister’s head for a moment, staring at the inviting darkness, and contemplated running again. Running until her heart couldn’t take it any longer. Yes, that seemed like such a wonderful thing to do. The darkness was her kingdom and hers alone. No one could steal it from her, and no one could try and fight her for it, because no matter where she went, she could always find it again. She strained forward, but her sister’s eyes distracted her, and she met them. They were full of worry. It irritated her slightly, for couldn’t she take care of herself?


Kimani began cleaning her wounds and Nephthys growled at her, flinching away. But Kimani was persistent and Nephthys was tired enough that she let her sister continue cleaning her wounds, though she kept a low growl in her throat, just a warning.
Firestorm was busy taking care of Beowulf, who had collapsed on the ground, his breathing faint. A small flicker of fear, shame, and guilt came into Nephthys, but her madness suddenly overwhelmed it again. To far gone to speak any words that weren’t riddled with anger, madness, hurt, and filthy curses, she kept her mouth shut. Though if pushed enough, she might just let it all spill out. But you wouldn’t want that, really. She might rip out your throat if you got to close when she did. Or even if you weren’t that close.

Madness tearing at her soul