She’d won, for the second time around. Finally she was able to stand triumphant over those that opposed her. For good this time, Eralf hoped. She was sick and tired of people constantly rising back up from absolute nowhere to meddle with her plans. It infuriated her to no end, and it wrought her body with sheer fury.

Breathing hard, her gaze traveled down to the one trapped underfoot. Gold blood leaked from cuts from both parties, but the one beneath her was far more injured. A sign of victory. Eralf wanted the body entirely gone. Mutilated. She didn’t want to see the near knocked out from life look that was present on the other’s face.

The other meddlers? Eralf wasn’t certain where they’d went. One of the baby rock demons had rolled up with a human. Eralf had called the other piyan a traitor to the Nitisians and had her thrown away into a cell with the human. She’d deal with them later. They’d escaped before she’d gotten around to it, however. It angered her.

Eralf had one opponent pinned underfoot, being squished down on the lungs. The other was sprawled out a few feet away. Certainly dead. A sharp jab to the neck should have killed the blue piyan with utmost consistency. Her paws were trembling, something that she couldn’t control. “This is what you get. You stole their love from me,” Eralf hissed, “and now you’re going to suffer for it. Die for it. Filthy, stupid, idiot, you are everything that was wrong with our people.”

Golden blood spattered from the mouth of the one trapped beneath her. A grin was spread across her face, and she kicked the other’s head again. A grunt sounded from behind her. Spinning on her orange feet, Bubua had again stood up. Her body was shaking and trembling, and she looked as if she would collapse in a mere second. Eralf’s grin remained, until her gaze traveled to what the other now grasped within her paws.

Long ago, long before her turning, she had been told the secrets of her family’s ancient heirloom. A weapon that supposedly could control gods and demigods and the worlds by intense magical power. The admin rights to all magic that existed within the universe. Eralf had snatched it for her own means. Now in the paws of her opponent the Staff of Tusardia rested, gleaming brightly.

Eralf was frozen. “No,” she said softly, but soon her voice began to rise. “No! No no no no!” She screamed and began charging forward. Her trembling paws began to disobey, and gnarly vines sprang forth from the dirt. Her wrists were ensnared and they held her still.

“I’m not your prisoner anymore,” the one that had been trapped within her chided. That weak voice, the original host of the body, finally spoke. It had been years since any attempt to regain control had been made.

Eralf screamed and thrashed against the vines. Blinding light shot forth from the weapon that Bubua held, and she was not given a moment to realize that she was dying until she was dead.

Slowly she sat upright, breathing hard. Soft grass was beneath her, no longer the rough dirt of a planet of eternal darkness. Eralf’s paws grabbed her purple hair, squirming and thrashing against the ground. A scream broke from her. She didn’t know how to handle finally having control of her entire body once again.

“I would have thought she’d gone to, you know, the bad place. Where all the Nitisians go,” muttered a nearby voice. Her eyes didn’t want to obey her - her whole body was refusing her orders to move. Eralf was worried that control was about to be pulled from her again; that not even death would be able to save her from being manipulated and controlled in every way.

Finally she was able to lift her head. Her body flopped onto her back, attention snapping towards a vibrant blue Lighsni that was hovering over her. “Aren’t you the kid that killed everybody?” A different voice, harsher, but not the one that she currently saw.

Slowly her body came to be controlled with ease. Eralf managed to sit upright, despite her form demanding to fall back over and rest for forever and a day. “N-No, I didn’t kill anybody,” she insisted with a shaky whimper tinging her words.

The blue Lighsni tilted their head, violet eyes scanning the younger piyan’s form. “No, no, you totally are the girl that killed everyone! Are you here to kill us again after we’ve all already died?!” Panic seeped into the other’s voice, accompanied by nervous chirps.

“No!”

Another Lighsni stepped into view, and then another. They filtered in around her - a crowd, a mob. Tears swelled from her eyes, huddling close to herself. “Why is the murderer here?! We don’t want the murderer here!” One of those within the depths of the crowd screamed.

“Someone get her out!” Another proclaimed, but then lowered their head so that they would not be selected to be the one to do the task.

Eralf sniffled profusely, her paws tucked close to her chest. The vines that curled from her head had tied themself up from worry. She wasn’t even allowed to be with her people in death? It was being stolen from her, too, just as her life had been. “It’s not fair,” she sobbingly whispered, her arms grabbing her shoulders. Her eyes desperately scanned the crowd, looking for someone, anyone, that she was able to recognize.

She sees her father. “Dad! Dad!” She wails and springs to her feet and causes the crows to recoil away. She begins sprinting forward towards the fluffy orange Lighsni. She wants his kind words back, she wants to feel the embrace of soft feathered wings around her form. She wants the love of her parents back.

Yet Resahrks steps away, ducking down, averting his gaze. He hides amidst the crowd, straying from his deceased daughter. He says nothing, and the mob cuts her off before she can get closer and able to reach him with her outstretched paw. Those that previously had recoiled away from her now seemed to realize that they had strength in their numbers. “You’re not allowed here after, after all the killing you did! Murderer! Shuisi would be so disappointed in you!” An infuriated voice rang out above the overall hissy squawks of the mob.

Slowly Eralf began backing away. An angry wall of bristling persons of feathers blocked her way as they no longer surrounded her. She could feel the tears on her cheeks, streaming down swiftly in a race to reach the grassy ground beneath her. Slowly she turned, arms tightly gripping her. She moved away, heading elsewhere within the realm of the afterlife. She was not welcome with her people. She would never be freed from what followed a singular, horrific action. An agreement for attention, it proving itself to be of the worst kind.

Once she was far away enough, Eralf laid down and she cried.