Page 96 of Snatched By the Sandman

Ashes manifest, curling around past Zenya, born of her subconscious nightmares. With nothing but defeat and dread spreading panic into her scrambling hands, Zenya finds a rock worthy of her needs. She poises it against the flesh of her wrists, determined to open a vein, bleed her soul upon the earth, and fade away…

Morpheus. Nyxion. And I. We stand back. We stand by.

It isnotus whom she needs.

Zenya falters.

She falls.

Another rises to take her stead, intercepting that moment of destruction and defeat. Eyes of pure black fire arise to send chills down my spine.

“Calling them crimes is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? They werecorrections.”

My breath seizes at the remembrance of her words. They tear through my lungs as Beastie grips that jagged rock in her hand. Naked, covered in their fluids, dirt, filth, and her own ashes and blood, Beastie stands with a measure of survival and protection because…

“Every act was a calculated measure of survival and protection.”

The splintered strength of Zenya—of Beastie emerging from her—pierces like a dark arrow straight through my heart.

The lines of tension in present Zenya’s body are stark, her muscles taut like a bowstring ready to snap. Her breaths flee in a desperate attempt to maintain control over the storm of emotions threatening to engulf her.

No,the dark protector whispers, her voice a balm against the raw edges of past Zenya’s pain.Let me be your shield. MayI hold you….and be your Guardian Angel—however fallen she may be.

A quiet gasp leaves present Zenya’s mouth as she watches.

With a careful grip, Beastie accepts the stone in her hand.

Past Zenya’s eyes widen, a flicker of hope mingled with confusion as she slips away. Beastie turns her gaze toward the darkness that surrounds them, where the shadows of those who caused her torment linger. And then, she moves with a deadly grace.

I am not a weapon. I am ashield.I remember her words.One which uses force only when justified and necessary.One that must sometimes be a weapon.

Violence, swift and unrelenting, an act of retribution shrouded in the obscurity of memory. Beastie exacts a grim justice, ensuring the tormentors pay the ultimate price for their cruelty, their crimes. Their skulls fracture beneath the weight of that stone, their blood stain coating the rock.

Despite the tears welling up within her, the fear and pain etched into her features, Zenya’s stance is determined. Her jaw is set, her lips pressed into a thin line of resolve.

I feel the waves of anguish and defiance rolling off Zenya, an emotional tempest that spoke of vulnerability and strength. Zenya’s body language conveys a raw, unfiltered truth—she is a warrior, battling the external horrors and the internal demons that claw at her soul.

The forest grows silent, the echoes of any monsters’ suffering swallowed by the night.

And do not mistake necessity for guilt.

Beastie lifts past Zenya from the monstrosity of what she has wrought, supporting her with a strength born of determination and love.

Now, Zenya follows them.

Beastie and past Zenya stagger through the woods, every step a painful reminder of the ordeal endured.

Present Zenya covers her mouth, restraining her gasps, understanding the gravity of how her alter, her dark protector saved her life.

Past Zenya will not remember. As she said, she blacked out. Only Beastie remembers…

Until now.

Zenya watches, her eyes glassy with tears of unbridled emotion.

The road appears, a distant promise of safety. They reach it, and with the last of her strength, past Zenya collapses, falling into the headlights of the driver who stops to help.

Darkness closes in, the world fading to black as the pain devours her. No more adrenaline or endorphins.

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