Rest escapes the beauty drowning in unease. The unease is manifested as a cruel crowd around her, engulfing her though yards away in all directions. Repulsive grinning from their horrid teeth filed into fangs suggests something sinister. A dark intent lurks in their blackened hearts, waiting to be unleashed upon the languishing lass.

Her doubt is stemming from her blatant inability to defeat them, only keeping them at bay enough. The doubt is growing. Strength and fortitude once Olympian is spent from seconds slipping into obscurity. The next swing of her trusted blade may not be so well to ward off harm should it come forth with unbridled passion.

The joyous horde is thrilled to see their prey no longer having the same vigor she did when the battle began. Snarls, jolting limbs, swords and spears at the ready, they chip away the bravery tempered into the psyche of this woman. Inch by inch, they draw closer. The gap between this greasy swarm and its lovely meal in the middle lessens. They taunt their food with false jabs of their tainted iron and cold howls from their foul mouths.

Her armor is breaking and not necessarily the worn-out steel she is adorned in. Little heart gallops. They wriggle lively within her, the doubt and the dread. These companions, she can do without. But damn this moment, they are... persistent. Whispering into her ears with the help of the gleeful growls from the creatures that are eager to pillage the joy and pleasure out of her. Defilement and horror. They are what awaits this weakened maiden should she succumb to failure. A terrible moment forcing her to recall an old, sharp, bitter memory that pushed her drive to become stronger. To be brave.

Her courage, it is being stripped from her, bit by bit. Her porcelain face, rather angelic even if smeared with dirt and a bit of scratch on her cheeks, shows on the tiniest of wrinkles and in faintest twitches what brews within. Frustration. Disgust. Fear. The vindictive look her dark blue eyes brings upon this horde of evil is but a mask to conceal despair nibbling on her from within. It cannot end like this. A meal. A corpse in the making. Or worse. Far worse. With what she saw in the depths of their lair, what they were doing to their captives. Her blood is trapped in a blizzard from such shameless barbarism.

Kimiko must escape this foul place, this looming swarm with blackness ready to be enacted—gladly so. These cretins can overpower a small band of warriors by the strength of their numbers, let alone this lonesome swordmaiden. And what an outlandish count they have. With her own might diminishing more and more, what hope does she have but to brave this wave until she paves a path enough to fly well into safety? Muster what will and wits are left. Either she slashes and smashes her way until she is troubled no more or trouble shall devour her, one way or another.

It cannot end, not like this.