If thou openest not the gate to let me enter,
I will break the door, I will wrench the lock,
I will smash the door-posts, I will force the doors.
I will bring up the dead to eat the living.
And the dead will outnumber the living.

For the first time, in a long time, Ishtar felt pang of pain and the slightest feeling of fear. This world without Baphomet seemed empty and hollow. There was a shell-shocked look in her eyes as she journeyed to the center of Iromar where the moorelands meeting the swamps. She used the deer paths, the empty look upon her features did nothing to communicate the grief she felt. Baphomet was dead. She had seen it herself. They had been discussing the murder of Jaidah, and what sort of retaliation would take place. Ishtar knew that they were not ready for battle against any other pack. The needed to be more cohesive, they needed to trust each other and work well. That would take time and incentive. She had agreed whole heartedly, and made it a promise to herself that she would make more of an effort in getting to know those wolves that had not journeyed to Hell with them. And then, seemingly out of no where, that gigantic mouth had come up from the stagnant waters and clasped down upon her beloveds frame, dragging him into the waters. Even that gigantic voice of his, the voice that had caused hearts to stop and to skip beats, and the teeth that had ripped thousands of throats out, feasted on the flesh, could not kill this monster. Ishtar had launched herself into the water with a desperate desire to save her beloved but she had come upon empty waters. There had been such blood in the water that her legs were coated with a sticky substance that she knew was Baphomet's blood.

Ishtar had lost him. She had lost the father of her children, her lover, and her best friend. He had understood her in a way that few others would ever understand. As she sits on the large rock that Baphomet proclaimed his regency, Ishtar feels empty and a little lost. How could she raise Riddle without his father to guide him? She was thankful that her older children were still present. They would help her, even the shy Limoira. Together they would survive this loss, this blow to their agenda. The Angels were still present in Moladion. The Demons had survived worst than this and would continue for all of time. She gazes around the mists of Iromar, around the mud that lay to the south, the alligators that did not care that wolves had proclaimed themselves King above all, the swamp deer that would thrive on the edges. She thought about the moorelands, with their hills full of dens and the only dry spots in all of Iromar. She thought about the pups that were born there, and the adults that slept there. She thought about her own den, outlined with bleached bones of the animals she killed during her Feast. She thought about the journey here, about her displeasure at Baphomet for bringing her so late in her pregnancy. She thought about her companions. They were all here because of Baphomet and his determination to end the Angelic line that so polluted Moladion without the balance of Demons to hold them accountable. Would they stay because of her? For the first time, she felt like a green warrioress about the embark on the first battle of her life and feeling the slight angst and knowledge that her first could be her last. Ishtar had never been much for politics of pack life. She was always built for the battlefield and for bearing litters.

The slim, well muscled and tall creature stands firmly upon the rock that Baphomet had so proclaimed his dominance. She lifted her voice to the winds. It was a mighty voice, though distinctively feminine. She would break the news to the pack herself when they had assembled. She would ask for them to give her their loyalty. She would banish or kill those that did not lower themselves before her. She straightens herself, that prideful and yet self aware stance returning, the fires of Hell burning bright in her yellow eyes. The Blood Mouth, her old moniker, returned to Ishtar's being. They would fight on because the Angels would not give up at such a loss. Nay, they would fight harder. And Ishtar had always been a fighter.

She stands as the Archdemoness that her markings and personality marked her as. She was not a creature that would lose her head, though her heart ached fiercely. Ishtar, the Blood Mouth, would prevail. She waits for them to assemble, and she would not speak until they had greeted her first. It was custom. She was above them, and she was their Queen. To admit weakness in such a time, would be the equivalent of laying dorsally and allowing them to rip her intestines from her abdomen and then to feel them slit her throat. Ishstar was not a creature to submit to anyone anymore. The only one that she would of submitted to was dead, killed by a predator much fiercer than the Demon King.

ISHTAR.