The broken, bloodied corpse lay crumpled in the dusty corner of the abandoned warehouse. He was a warrior when this night began......strong, determined, and brimming with conviction. Now.....he was simply dead.

She had silently waited and watched the two brothers make their way across town. She was forever the patient predator. It seemed that this younger man was escorting his disabled brother to their modest home. It was nice to see family members helping one another. It made her smile.

When they calmly turned down the street bordering the condemned warehouse, she made her deadly play. The West End was so deliciously predictable......it too, she thought, hungered for pure murder. Perhaps that is why Giminicka felt so natural in this labyrinth of winding gloom and sinister buildings. It whispered to her......it spoke to her.......it cloaked her with aberrant shadows and always, without fail, regurgitated victims to feed her blood-sick frenzy.

When Giminicka had attacked the two of them, she knew that this seasoned warrior would reach for his well-used crossbow. She wanted him to.......she even prayed that he would....the thought of it dampened her where she stood. In that terrifying moment of decision he hesitated only for a instant.

He reached....

He drew his bow....

He fired.....

Were it not for the simple fact that his arm had already been severed by the time his multiple firing nerves stimulated his warm fingers to contract and pull the steel trigger, he might have actually had a clean shot.

Unforeseen amputations can be a bitch.

The shot went wide as the crossbow, with its gripping hand still clutching the smooth handle, fell to the street with a nauseating thud. Blood sprayed from the injured stump which used to end in a well-developed forearm and hand. He gasped and stumbled backwards into the stone wall. This wall was extremely solid.....a nice backdrop for the eminent slaughter which was but a definitive slice away.

Giminicka's unholy blade whistled its way through the night air. As it lovingly stroked the warrior's midsection, nothing more than a swift rasping sound was heard. At that moment, time itself stood still for the warrior.........his eyes frankly disobeyed the screaming command of his brain not to glance downward.

What he saw turned his heart frigid. His entrails spilled forth from the immense, clean gash which had opened up his entire belly. The cut ran deep......nearly through to his spine. He frantically tried in vain to hold his stomach wall together with his leather armor while at the same time fumbling with blood soaked fingers to shove his leaking intestines back into his fleshy frame. The blood continued to spurt from his mutilated arm and now incessantly poured from the spasming veins of his butchered abdomen.

His last thoughts, as he bled into unconscious death, were of his defenseless brother.......he had failed him.

Giminicka smirked as though she could read his dying thoughts. For after all....those who fail inevitably make things much much worse for those individuals whom they fail. She did not think that either of them would deny this point by the end of the dark night.

The beast within spoke: "My humbled child......." she whispered with a voice that made him shudder with terror, "It is not I who have forced this bleak hand upon you...............it was them. Not just one of them................but ALL of them, love."

She procured yet another of the Scathachian posters which had been popping up all over the grimy walls of the West End as of late. Like small invasive tumors these were. This particular one displayed a mighty amazonian female personifying Justice herself, and it proudly read: "THE SCATHACHIAN SACNTUARY, JUSTICE WILL PREVAIL". This poster too was eerily defaced with blood......the archaic word Chaos was barely discernable amidst the childlike graffiti.

"Can you read this love?" she chided. "You can not....can you? It would seem that literacy amongst the dim-witted is not a priority in this charming land. You would do well to remember this as you run off to join your feeble brother in death...........................they murdered you, child. I simply watched and rejoiced......"

With that, she flippantly dropped the poster and proceeded to douse him with oil from a large amber flask. It spilled all over his struggling body, coating him richly like a second skin. He thrashed about in vain against the barbed wire which restrained his hands and legs to the aged, bulky chair. The tarnished, but still sharp wire painfully bit into his wrists and opened them.

She watched him cough and squirm in his chair as she methodically lit her small torch. It instantly sprung to life with a warm and majestic fire that danced seductively in this heavy, musty air. The light illuminated her demonic profile for but an instant.....and this poor man, despite his slowed mental capacity knew he was in the presence of Hell itself.

She lightheartedly tossed the torch upon his oil-soaked lap and he instantaneously exploded into a brilliant array of flames. It was such a scene to behold as his high pitched screams echoed deeply within the vacant warehouse. The man and his chair had burst into a dazzling inferno of roasting flesh and burning hair. Giminicka stopped long enough to profoundly inhale the thick, oily-black smoke which was pouring off of his scorching flesh.

Pure ecstasy.

The priestess whimsically laughed like a demented child.........Lord Bhaal had once more seen the extent of her loyalty. Oh, how she loved proving it to him over and over again.

She picked up the Scathachian poster from the unkempt ground and walked past the howling, blazing form that writhed in agony before her. She stopped at the dead body of the disemboweled younger brother and tossed the poster on top of his blood stained corpse.

Her voice slid from her throat and out of her full lips with a vein of stoic cynicism. "It would seem that you are in need of some justice child.......Please let us know if you indeed find it."

Giminicka then turned on her boot heel and walked deeper within the warehouse. Her cloak shrouded her muscular form like some uncanny crimson wraith as she moved with decisive purpose.....seemingly disappearing into the enveloping darkness of the monstrous building.

The burning, shrieking victim eventually fell silent as his flesh boiled and popped under the searing intensity of the oil fire's heat.

A smile once more split Giminicka's wicked lips as she left.

Her next target had already been chosen.

It's hard out here for a Scathachian, sometimes.

She pressed her back up along a cold brick wall of a dilapidated building on the outskirts of the market place, her eyes lifted to the heavens. Her head was racing with a million and one worries right now, and though she may have painted on a large, black lipped smile, there was no actual grin lurking beneath. It was terribly unlike Trixie to be caught so sullen, but then, let's review...shall we"

Now, most people thought Trixie was one of the younger Scathachians. This was probably due to her goofiness, peculiar style, and impulsive and quirky nature. Izz, aka Issy, was always regarded as one of the Elders. In truth' Trix had been a Scathachian for at least ten years before Izzy showed up on the Island, though she'd also pulled a few major disappearing acts at random intervals throughout her career there. Where were we going with this" Oh, right. Anyways, most people looked up to Izzy to keep things under control, even Trixie. But with Izz's incarceration, Trix suddenly found herself having to face the music and take on the responsibilities that came along with being an older sister. She also found herself with a big empty spot where her Pussycat should be.

The fact that Issy was even still in jail pissed her off. She'd tried talking about some sort of bail, but she'd been laughed right out of the police station. And she couldn't rightly knock the place over, could she" Sure, Issy was innocent, but the police were just doing their job (for once). Could she really play her authority over theirs" Would Izzy even want that' Christ, she wished she could talk to her. Could they really do this without her?

This whole stupid thing was such a mess. The rumor was spreading now...a Scathachian in jail! For murder of innocents, no less! The fact that people were looking at the remaining Scathachians in fear rather than respect troubled her to no end...but the slander of her beloved sister's name just chomped on her very last nerve. Renna had gotten the beast out of Trixie earlier today by doing just that, mocking Izzy's jail time. It was a pretty heavy scrap while it lasted, though she had to admit, she was glad they didn't see it through. Her temper, something she hated recognizing, would have gotten her in the end.

There was another thing. Her temper. Now, Trixie had always been known to be a little...well...quick to rile. It was hard not to be when you've got two big ol' monsters lurking around inside of you. Or, parts of them, at least. But ever since Rhy'Din, she found herself rushing at things even faster. This place was working chaos, and it affected her in good and bad ways. This whole ordeal, especially, was definitely itching for her breaking point.

She blinked when she realized she'd cut her lower lip with her fangs, again. It would heal in another minute, but the taste of blood had woken her up from this anguished analysis of the cloud hanging over her family. She wanted to bitch about it, but who was she going to complain to' Her sisters needed her to be strong with this one, and she didn't dare go near Keaton right now. Not with all this. She'd given him bits of it, and he'd offered to help. He'd offered to shelter her and her sisters at different spots around Rhy'Din, moving them along so whoever couldn't get them. But Scathachians weren't taught to run. And she sure as Hell wasn't going to lead the person after them right to her Fox. Perhaps her anger wasn't her most vulnerable point. Besides her family, Keaton would be the person that could be used against her. Keaton and Tone-E, too. She had too many ties, damnit. She almost wished she hadn't given up the loner wolf, occasional boy-toy ways. Almost.

She made herself turn pained worrying into aggression as she spun around to give that damned brick wall a good hard knock. She heard a sickening crunch, and though that might have been a bone of hers, she was pretty sure it was just the cry of helpless red stone cracking at the ferocity of her swing.

It'd all get fixed. She just had to be patient for once in her life and try to convince herself of that. She swore once as the great many thoughts bogged down her brain. It was time to move for now. She'd lingered too long. Not very incognito in the red-n-black cat suit, she was letting her enemies know that she wasn't trying to run and hide. She was content to just brood through mostly empty streets.

Patience was really the far simpler thing to hold onto. Her life might prove a little trickier to keep.