It seemed to be over so quickly.
Standing in the park, having just been stared down by Whitewolf, Zaanthe adjusted his tabard, steadied his footing, and looked over the crowd. It was suddenly bustling. People chattered between themselves, assuming this and that, jumping to their conclusions. Eventually, swathes of the people dispersed, and only Zaanthe, Fly, Bobaloo, and that strange man stood. They seemed to have their staring contests, Fly and the strange man, and they never ended well. This was no different.
Within a blink of his eyes, Zaanthe was face-down in the dirt, the entire right side of his face scorched. He dug a gauntlet-clad hand into the ground, and lifted himself up with great effort. Another full-force blow later, and Zaanthe lay on his back, his neck crushed under the weight of someone's leg. A long, lithe leg.
Fly's.
The woman he'd come to care so much for was doing this to him.
What happened next seemed to be a blur. Xodius arrived, with Merry and Ginlan turning up shortly thereafter. He was glad to see such skilled friends here to help; he almost felt a surge of hope. That was soon doused, though, as he felt talons rake and rend at his throat, gashing into flesh and arteries.
Fly's, once again.
She was knocked off of him, dragged away and jumped on by his allies. Zaanthe stood, clutching his neck. His face could only show incredulity as he looked at her. He could not speak - else he'd ask why. Barely an inch away from her face, he felt it again. Flames slammed into his chest as he hit the tree behind him. His body slumped, breath wheezed from his lungs, and blood cascaded down his neck and torso.
The life left him, and he found himself alone, no Light nor Darkness to guide or send him away.
He was alone.
