She was alone now. Alone in the blasted rubble of the wasted city, victim to the demonic hordes that laid waste to any and all surrounding areas. One human woman walking the debris- and corpse-littered streets, nearly beyond recognition herself. Torn clothing, scratched and bruised skin, it was only her indomitable will of survival that kept her moving. But her world had shattered, much like the concrete and steel when blasted by demonic fire and power. Her life shattered due to violent temper and pride, the very base Neanderthals of human emotion. Even her children, her blessed children, lay dead among the rubble. Along with the remnants of a life she'd finally found and clung to, all dead at her own hands.

She wept. There in the middle of the street, stumbling blindly along, guns in shaking hands. The blade, the silver sword crafted for her hand by her loving mentor, had shattered long ago, broken by the blood of the demons most high. She'd left it where he fell, not wanting the memory. Yet it haunted her. No life behind blue eyes. Those of jade emerald had cracked, then finally shattered shortly thereafter. But it was over now; the world was riding a train wreck for oblivion. And God had finally died. She'd witnessed it there in her own mind.

Her brain tingled. Yes, she knew they were waiting, circling much like sharks do a bleeding meal. Her head lifted a notch. Let them come. She would kill them all, or continue until they ate her alive. Trembling fingers tightened on heavy pistol grips, the wooden stocks slick in her wet grip. Sizzling rain fell steadily, hazing her vision, but her mind was as concise as ever, if lost. Snarling hisses emanated from the rent buildings on either side; she was beyond caring. Ragged red hair dripped blood into her face, a minor annoyance. So numb to the pain...she'd endured it all of her life. A brief candle in the night, about to extinguish and pass forever. Lost. Alone. Waiting to die. Her lip curled. Bring it, you fuckers, she thought to them, hearing their grating snarls.

What would she see afterwards? Nothing? Blackness? Would she even be allowed into Heaven? Was there one? Or was it all just myth and legend? But somehow she knew she would ever be on the outside looking in, bereft of her sanity and any companionship, all she'd ever longed for in the world. All ripped from her by her own folly. Tears fell freshly anew. How much could one human soul bear? Hers had been strained and torn over and over, yet the spark remained. But at the last, seeing the blood that stained her own hand, she'd felt cold, frozen, uncaring as the lights faded, her name the last sound her ears would hear. It didn't matter now. It would all be over soon, she realized, lifting her guns. They had grown tired of waiting...and so had she.

Jayden McAlister stopped in the middle of the broken street and, lifting shockingly haunted eyes to the black heavens, dropped both useless guns to the earth. She didn't even look as the shadows coalesced and crept from their hiding places, fangs bared to rend human flesh. She fell to her knees as they lunged, unable to cry out as they tore her heart from her body. All the cold wind caught was her last sigh, borne to Heaven, stained with her dying blood, a whispered plea to those she had once loved. ...Dante...my sons...forgive me...