“Um…Miss, could I, uh…could you, uh, give me a hand? Please…,”

Eta heard his pleas. The poor guy was helpless. He was struggling so hard.

Even his face was helpless. Tears streaked down, but he put on such a brave front.

Why couldn’t the boss just let them go? It didn’t make any sense?

She shook her head. It did make sense, not everything, but this made sense. Eta still needed to ignore quite a bit of everything that happened to her, but she couldn’t ignore this.

These boys attacked the boss.  Whether she killed them or not, only one of them would leave alive.  This she knew for a fact.  It might have been the only thing she knew right now.

Why? Was it her fault? Why did she chase those boys? Stop! Stop! Stop! Don’t think about it. This boy needs your help and that’s all there is to it.

The boy was crying, and Eta…and Eta…

“That’s not helping.” Her little savage let off a scathing remark.

Eta jolted with shock. The poor boy in front of her was trying so hard to save his little brother, and that, that fucking savage belittled his efforts just like that!

Anger, suppressed rage welled inside her. That savage really pissed her off. 

I know who you are!  I ignored it, but I know who you are!  The tower, the well, the town…he was the fucking apocalypse.

And damned if she’d let that fucking savage belittle the boy in front of her.

Eta’s body surged with power and her vision widened, just a little, but it widened.

She wailed and shoved the sword forward. It slid through so effortless. It was so easy. The boy yelped, but his cry was quickly cut off by a thunderous explosion.

The sword had pierced right through his stomach and obliterated a hole in the wall behind him.

Her hand sunk into the wall, too. After penetrating the hard shell, a sea of mushy clay squeezed around her palm. The softy gushy bits nuzzled her hand while debris rained down.

And then...the chaos cleared.

A pulpous mass squeezed her forearm, pulsating in a labored rhythm. That was when Eta realized exactly how ignorant she was.

Her hand released the sword and pulled out of the wall, her soft, young hand.

The boy dragged along with it. The pulpous mass, that hole her arm made through his abdomen, continued to squeeze her arm, the labored rhythms matched the boy’s wheezing.

What she’d done…

The mass spasmed out of rhythm, a warm spray hit her face, wet coughs, and he wheezed…

That wheezing…Stop it! Stop it!

He wheezed and he wheezed and he wheezed and Eta couldn’t ignore it.

I didn’t do this. I didn’t do this. Stop it! Shut up! Shut. Up.

That wheezing…she covered his mouth.  She had to stop it.  She had to ignore it, but the sound was too much to tune out.   His legs kicked above the ground and his hands clawed at her face, but Eta kept his mouth covered. Stop it! I didn’t do this. No, I didn’t do this.

He wailed through her palm, blood pulsated out his nose, and the pulpous mass kept clenching around her forearm. And Eta kept his mouth covered. Silence dammit! Just shut up!

Then, he simply gave up.

Eta knew he was still alive. His abdominal muscles continued to labor against her forearm, her arm that still impaled straight through it, and blood shot out his nose with every breath he failed to take.

But he’d given up. His hands slid off Eta’s face and he quit kicking. Above all, he’d quit moaning.

Eta took her hand off his mouth.

He stammered, spitting out blood with every vocalized attempt, but this wasn’t wailing. He was trying to speak.

“I—I w…I-I w-win,” he said.

Like that, he slid off her arm, no longer seized in place by clenched abdominal muscles and that poor boy thumped to the floor.

Eta’s youthful arm was stained red. A weight swayed behind her, her tail, it was wagging.

The other boy, the one with the sore throat…

The boss’s claws grabbed Eta’s shoulders and began massaging them.  Without a second thought, Eta smacked him to the ground with her tail.

Her little savage started to hop over and open his mouth, but Eta froze him in place with a glare.

She walked, easily, too easily, over to the poor boy with the sore throat, unable to look him in the eye, for she'd just killed his friend.  With a wave, her sharp fingernails cut the bindings and Eta caught him into her arms.

Just like a baby, she nestled the boy into her embrace and carried him away.

He needed her help.  He was sick, very sick, and the damage was worse than a sore throat; she saw that now.

She did this.  This was her chaos and the little boy who was left behind needed her help.

Eta hated being needed.