She didn't notice the knife until it was too late.
All she knows is she's dying.
Her body was broken and banged-up unlike never before, and her mind is fuzzy, noise is ringing in her ears and her nerves aren't responding. Words float in and out of her mind to describe herself, but none legible.
She's trying. She's fighting, but she knows she can't last, not much longer. Doesn't mean that she'll stop fighting, however.
She's panting, stumbling through the barren forest as she tries to find the source, tries to find him. She finds the assassins, huddled beside the decaying trees and the biting snow and almost breaths a sigh of relief, but notices him a second all too late.
His pearly-white smile glints in the canopy. Her eyes widen, a second too slow as the numb words and broken actions process in her mind in suspended motion.
She claws her way through the oak branches, a scream waiting to release from her throat as she leaps in front of the two assassins to shield and to reach there in time.
Then, Mad Dog leaps from the rustling trees with a giddy howl, and strikes his claw through her chest.
o-oh.
Despite her laboured breathing and the cold that gnawed at her shivering being, despite death's warm embrace, her raw lips jerk up in a smile. Reached… in time.
She crumples. The blade—it went straight through. Clean cut. It means… instant death. Severed oxygen supply. Painless. No… more.
So why was she still breathing?
Can't… don't care. Save… them.
She's panting, derived of oxygen and hallucinations floated in the cold dirt snow. Her vision is bleary and the ringing noise in her ear was muffled like it's wading through thick blizzards, and although she can feel the cold metal protruding through her skin, she's still breathing.
Mad Dog's hollering laughter echoes through her deaf ears. Behind her, she feels Alpha stiffening, his gun drawn and ready to shoot for the kill, and she barely croaks out a inaudible ''no''.
He withdraws, slightly, but the rage is still in there.
The other assassin was no longer cowling, instead, she was stumbling backwards with two hands cupped over her mouth, eyes widening in disbelief and surprise and horror. She was mumbling a string of incomprehensible words, and although she was consumed of fear (but of her or him she wasn't sure), Cassandra could tell that she was safely out of range.
Her attention jerks back towards Mad Dog. He's panting with a mad grin, he's screaming ferally, but it was victorious. He was letting his presence known in the jungle.
Judging by his posture and mad glee at his victory, she could tell that he thought that she was down, a forgotten factor no longer in consideration, something already dead.
With that in mind, she musters the last shred of energy, the last strands of adrenaline… and kicks. It hits him square in the chest, and his feral pronouncement is abruptly cut off, followed by a satisfying crunch and an oof.
The mad fervour in his irises was drowned out with utter surprise, as they roll backwards into his head and he drifts into swift unconsciousness.
Adrenalin was gone. Fatigue was catching up. Clutching her bleeding chest, she grins one last time, and with one last glance at the horrified assassins before her, she hunches into herself and collapses onto the damp snow.
Above her, the clouds are murky with gloom, like a cast shadow to the lives and deaths that were taken in the battlefield. Then, the regal clouds rumble with thunder and roar a cry as the first raindrops start to fall, like a stormy tribute to the dying Batgirl, but it's parting.
Light.
And as quickly as the storms came, it went, but she doesn't know if she's hallucinating and if her vision's warped with delusions of time. The stormy overhead's dying and gone, until the only trace of its presence was the slivery remains of the dusky clouds left behind.
Clouds were parting with thin rays of… light, and although her vision's fading, she could see that, at least. She resists the urge to smile and pushes down the giddy laughter, and she knows she's losing blood, rapidly. And even without knowing it — no, not really, she knows it's the end.
They crowd over her, degrees of horror and alarm etched on their worrying features, and Cassandra fights a bubbly laugh. Blood gurgles and froths at the edges of her mouth, and… it's the end.
''s-see…'' she croaks, blood spewing from the corners of her mouth, but she's smiling. ''told you… my way…''
In the distance, she sees the shadow of a figure approach, a shade of pitch-black in the overwhelming light, but she cares no longer.
There's shadows, so many shadows, dancing around her vision like a final taunt, but they're ignored as she touches the surface of the rippling gleam of amber, she sees the light and with one last thrust, she reaches—
…
..
.
Smiling, Shiva strided towards the two cowering forms in the snow, and spared a glance at the two sprawled ones. However, her smile soon moulded into a frown when the fallen figure in question became clear, and although she maintained her stride, she quickly broke into an abrupt pace.
When she approaches the foursome, the two assassins close into her, shielding her daughter's fallen form from her in an admirable and daring manner, but nonetheless futile.
She almost scoffs. Now, upon closer inspection, she could see that the limp form of what was once the One Who Is All, was now unmistakably and surely dead. Another name to tick off your list.
An unabridged growl emits from her raspy throat. No, she was sure. She was so sure — no, she knew, — that this would be it. That she was the one that would put down the Destroyer. That she would be her successor. That she would be the one that would finally end her.
But she didn't plan… this. She never planned for her to die. And although it was always a certain possibility, it was always in control. Always. It was playable factor, in the direction of her hand. She was the one watching, looking, deeming, and playing.
She never took in this… particular variable into consideration. Her daughter's relentless determination to protect lives? Yes. Her daughter's capabilities and the extent of her abilities? Yes. Mad Dog's unpredictability? Perhaps. Her daughter's willingness to sacrifice for another innocent life?
She had forgotten that Cassandra Cain was a hero.
She let out a rueful chuckle. As her gaze swivels towards her fallen daughter, the form of Alpha valiantly blocks her way. His figure is broad, chest puffed out in a universal sign of protection and refusal, gun drawn as he readies a fighting stance. Futile.
Shiva merely sneers, and with a roundhouse kick, she knocks him away from her path. The other assassin scrambles to help him, but she wasn't foolish enough to stand in her way.
''She sacrificed her life for you,'' she spat, glaring at the duo as she neared her fallen form and held the limp body to her chest tightly, as if it was her only exit.
''She is the hero,'' she murmured to the drifting snow, scooping the broken form in her arms. ''I am not. Never have been.''
''She is gone. But heroes…'' Shiva whispered, cradling the limp frame in her arms, a broken head lolled against her chest and a knife stuck — still warm, still bleeding — in her daughter's chest, but that didn't matter. At least, not anymore.
''… Heroes are forever.''