Danse Macabre
She was hungry, for some reason. She couldn't quite understand why. Out of everything she could be feeling why would it be hunger? Gnawing hunger, at that. Here she was, in this dank pit, covered in mud, laying in a crimson pool of her own blood, and all she could think about was how much she could use a hamburger.
Weird
she thought. It was especially weird, since she had a ceremonial knife stuck in her stomach.She'd been here for the last three hours. Three hours since she'd allowed herself to become trapped, after she'd recklessly walked into a closed cave. It was her desperation for redemption that had compelled her. Every instinct had told her to stay away, but they'd all gone ignored. So here she lay.
The leader was coming towards her again. And his followers started to chant their rhythmic chant. She listened to it carefully. Aware that it would be the one of the last sounds she ever heard. She watched him closely. Aware that his would be the last face she ever saw. His long, sharp teeth. His brown, oozing skin. His armor, his claws. She watched him closer still.
It was often said that before you died, your life flashed before your eyes. She'd never believed that but, now that she was here, a stop short of her end, she experienced it. Welcomed it. Allowed herself to see the journey that brought her here. Her mothers drunken raging, the abusive boyfriends, the countless one night stands. She remembered those nights clearly. Submitting to a deadbeat at a rat-infested bar, just for a place to sleep. Becoming the Slayer was her salvation from a meaningless existence. She would never have called life before her calling living.
It was funny, in a way. That her salvation was also destined to be her ugly demise.
She remembered her time with the Mayor; her need to be needed. She remembered killing men uncaring. She remembered all the harm she'd done.
Pain brought her back to here and now, as she felt symbols being carved in her chest. Her naked body, covered in a sheen of cold sweat and matted with gore and grime, remained prone on the rough ground. She knew she was defeated. She didn't try to fight.
The heat was unbearable. The stale air and roaring fire coupling to make breathing difficult. Hair clung to her brow, while a mixture blood and sweat dripped from her torso, her limbs, even her fingertips. She followed the feel of it; it was her life, slowly draining away.
The leader raised his sword, held it high above her heart. She allowed herself a chuckle at that. Then she saw him bring it down.
The last sight she saw was his gruesome face.
The last sound she heard was her own scream.
The last sensation she felt was one of pure pain.
But it was over in an instant. And only peace remained.