Luneshale Pass pantano

I’m not ready to kill Tierra off here but I’m not sure how, realistically, to avoid that with so many joining ^^;

I can roll with whatever though so long as it isn’t character death for her

She wasn’t aware that more had joined or what a clusterfuck they were really in now.  The only thing that Sangre was aware of right now was the teeth bearing down on her, and even those weren’t concerning her the way they should have been.  She should have stopped struggling a while ago.  Instead she continued to tear at the man wildly, regardless of how it tore at her too.  Drugs were a crazy thing.

They kept her up through the pain and through the veritable shredding he gave her neck.  At this point she was pure feral anger and little other thought.

Air though. Drugs or not, air was a necessity. Shoved against the ground, she wasn’t really getting it. This was the thing that slowed her down and, when she wasn’t able to shift him, brought her struggling to a stop.

He didn’t make it through her spine but he got close enough that, visually, the difference was probably meaningless. She was no longer a threat in this situation. She wasn’t dead but looked it. She wouldn’t be a threat to anyone for a while once the green had worn off.

Only for the briefest of moments does the injured one entertain her, but he is quick to recognize her game. Motherfucker. She hadn’t accounted on him being smart. Thankfully he didn’t go for Khusobek, but instead another new face who was on… their side? Hell yeah! 

And then Medusa saw the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen—more reinforcements. Was that… oh, shit! Toula and Rashepses! The former she’d never thought she’d ever see in this sort of environment, but it rallied her spirit. 

Still, should she go after her kid…? Nah, Qiao had him—he’d be fine. Surely she wouldn’t boil a kid of Akashingo, right? Or Muat-Riya. 

It’d look better, too, if she stayed. She watched red lady collapse, and the other guy get dragged by his neck out toward the Pharaoh. Now with some extra bodies to help her out against Soto… 

Which, she felt kind of bad about. He hadn’t piled onto Khusobek. But the fact remained: this guy was a child predator, and now, she had kids that she claimed… sort of. Still undecided on her own commitment to that. Now that the boy was away, and presumably out of danger, she felt a little more chill about things. 

Medusa herself did not join the battle, but lurked in the backdrop. If Soto tried to run off, she’d give chase and stop him—for now, she conserved her energy and watched, turning her head in time to see Toula do another thing she’d never imagined she’d see her doing. 

It made her a little nervous. She’d always put people in boxes—that Toula was capable of something of this nature didn’t fit in there, at all. What did that mean?

For the first time in his life, Niño felt sheer terror.
Nausea deep in the stomach.
Rips and rips, and there’s no letting go.
Sangre with red running down her throat like a waterfall.
Her struggles stilling.

Soto, caught by a flash of tan.
Blood pouring. 

Now he’s one of them.
Shock, as he’s moved across the desert.
Dead eyes stare out at the sand irrigated with blood.
His blood.
But not really seeing it.

Whips his head and yellow teeth collide with heavy black shoulders.
Gets harder to reach.
Harder to fight.
His river flows faster.

Then he’s forced to see– her.
Their Queen bitch.
Rounded face.
Royal eyes that had never known war.
Holding hatred all the same.

His throat makes laughter at that.
Bitter irony.
Sputtering warmth from gouges.
A rare rush of words.

“Tu– rica, ponderosa, capitalista.
Eres el mismo.
Todos ustedes son cartel.
Eres culpable de asesinato, violación, tortura, esclavitud, opresión.
Tu– con tu superioridad.
No pretendemos ser nada de lo que somos.
Prefiero morir con ellos que vivir contigo.”

“¿Crees que esto es todo?
Ni siquiera ha comenzado
Corta una cabeza y crecemos tres más.
¡Chinga te!”

He used his last breath to spit blood onto that perfect pretty pelt.
Then craned his neck to see–
He wanted to see Sangre.
As if his love could save him.
In the end, it wasn’t enough.

He never did see her.
He was struck by teeth instead.
Felt nerves in his throat pull apart.
Felt the last of consciousness drain with his blood.
Felt the rolling of cold eyes.

there is only adrenaline, the roar of blood in his ears, the powerful thrum of his heartbeat in his chest.

a flash of teeth —

the pain is secondary, a mere brush of a thought left go as blood burns his eyes as it drips over his face, the scent of it — presumably his own but it was also every where — clogging his nose.

shock drives him to a feral frenzy, teeth seeking to find purchase to his attacker. to anyone who was not the pharaoh's forces.

the assessment of his wounds and their severity would come later. later, after the battle was won.

wars, like hunts and intense games of cards, are won in seconds.

in seconds, reinforcements arrive.

in seconds, the captain and his charge are overwhelmed.

and in seconds, the termite mound erupts as if the alarm has been flagged and run right up the chain of command.

soto doesn't have seconds. he wants to live and he's seen the tide has turned.

his eyes lock with nino for a breath's split hair -- and then nino is ripped to pieces like wrapping paper on christmas morning. fur and blood fly everywhere in a garland of cheery red; it would be pretty, if that color didn't signify death. if soto hadn't witnessed so much violence already, he might have lost all morale. his comrade's good as dead if he's not dead already, and soto doesn't have much time to act.

two wolves drive into him, their teeth scoring handily along his flank. but soto is a trout in a stream of snaring fangs. he bucks and slips out from under one, his momentum fueled by pure desperation. ribbons of red speckle his pelt, and it's only adrenaline that keeps him upright now.

soto shoves an angled shoulder as hard as he could into the driving fangs of meseba, hoping to crowd him into mesen-ka's space and give him enough space to move out.

sangre! he bellows, seizing her by her tattered neck. the captain, even in his ruefully bloody stupor, still clings to her. soto aims a hard kick at the captain's head to loosen his teeth. it's one last reprisal soto can muster, and he does it against his body's aching protests.

it's up to her now if she survives.

soto's out of seconds. the clock has run down and now he turns to the open desert in long strides fueled by his most basal instinct: survive at all costs.

The black tail rose like a flag of war, the crush of teeth and snarls the charge of trumpets. Between his jaws the man tremored, a victim to his wife’s final redress. The limp body was cast aside; born of dirt and there it would be left to fester with no hope to reach paradise.

The red woman fell to her knees, leaving a single unit to escape over the plains. Rashepses started forward, a pause in his cannon’s roar only to kneel over the captain where blood ran from weeping sores in his throat.

The impulse to follow the last rat into hell was annulled. Semer-wati made quick gestures to Meseba and Mesen-ka before rounding again to Toula's side.

“Get him to the palace. Quickly!”

she stills, long enough to listen. could she not grant him his final words? she looks to her husband, asking he not squeeze the life from him with a gentled look despite the anger beneath the still surface. ah, and she understood these words—each of them. she had been taught his language among many others, for politics—as of yet, it had not proven too useful… and though she thrilled to know what it was he said in the beginning, that did not last very long. 
is that what he thought? well, let him die with his convictions. it would be his only gift from her—more than he had even given those of her fold. as he spat at her, she wiped the filth from her furs and smeared it back upon him with a blended look of horror and shock. he did not know her, and he never would. but he, whether she liked it or not, was her second teacher in the art of warfares cruelty. she was not a fighter, not really—but for her children, for her own country, she would be. this man started something, and Toula would see it finished—with him, first. 
she was quick, calling upon Sekhmet for strength as she delivered her blow. and thank the Gods it landed true. she watched the life fade from his gaze and only when the brightness of life was gone from those already dull eyes did she say to him, knowing he would hear it as his heart was taken in the world away from here and weighed, dejad que vengan. cuando lleguen vuestros tres, serán recibidos por seis. es una pena que no volváis a veros, porque adonde vais todos no queda nada. not even themselves, their very selves and their souls devoured by Ammit. anger, anger for what he and his had done. 
her lips were red with his blood, and now she looked upon the scene knowing there was no time to be wasted, Rashepses surging ahead, but still she lingered, looking back down. looking back down and seeing a wolf there, awful and terrible thing no more—just a body, just a terrible number. who was he, really? she took a paw to his gaze and swept the lid down so that it looked as though he were only asleep. the blood that continued to flow betrayed the reality that then, she stepped away from. Rashepses was at her side. she watched the retreating forms, and said to Medusa, let them retreat, an unspoken command in there—follow from a distance. she herself now leaned against Rashepses—only he would feel and know her breaths did not come evenly. to the public she presented well as Pharaoh, moving to lead the way back. 
she paused to ask Rashepses, take him with us. when Khusobek arose, she would have him see how he had not fought for naught. she would tell him… well, that must wait, even the thought—until he awoke. 
her anger was gone. nothing was left in its wake but for exhaustion, and still she marched proudly on. she must, she must!

Can be a last post from me:) This post is short to keep clarity

Finish the job. Finish it good. It is no regret of the kingsguard to see to it, and he is happy to put an end to the cockroach. It is all to be seen until his body is thrown off. It's enough for Soto to break free, and before there is time to run him down, Rashepses makes a call.

The lion's head slips under Khusobek's side, and the crocodile is heavy. He calls for Meseba, "Help me carry him!"