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They recognized that hat. That stupid, ugly yellow hardhat.
It wasn’t really a memory, but a feeling. The deepest, most disgusting feeling of betrayal. The horror in his eyes solidified that.
Amaris didn’t remember what he did to them, but they were going to PAY.
Their wings flared up, out of the grip of the other survivor. They could feel the cold glare of the other eyes turning their gaze to the gray-skinned survivor. A haze settled over their mind, repeatedly returning to the rage all over…a book?
No. It had to be more than that. It was always more.
Slowly, Amaris got up, towering over the survivors on their twisted, disfigured legs. Shame they didn’t run.
The other survivors quickly realized what was going on, beginning to run away from the area. All except the one with the hat, no, they stood frozen in shock even as the other brown-haired one tugged at their arm, and drew their sword with the other hand.
Amaris lunged, eyes slitted and wings bared. The once-soft feathers sharpened into deadly blades at their rage.
Clawed hands smacked the brown-haired one aside before slamming hardhat wearer to the floor, claws digging into his skin.
The static of rage buzzed in their ears, “...How dare you,” they snarled, “How DARE YOU?!” With each word, they ripped and maimed until blood stained the ground and screams faded to silence. Even then, they continued slashing at the corpse until bones snapped like ceramic and that stupid hat was shattered into small, yellow bits.
Good.
However, Amaris wasn’t done. There was still the swordsman nearby, who was getting up, pointedly avoiding looking at the puddle of gore. Their grip was shaky, sweat beading at their brow. Afraid.
Amaris leaped forward again, claws outstretched. There wasn’t a single hint of mercy in their eyes. The survivors must die.
After more blood stained their face and wings, a sharp crack rang out in the still night air.
Pain. The bullet slammed into their wing, pulling a scream out of their mouth. Their wings twitched and fluttered in agony before they slowly turned to face the idiot who dared hurt them.
Gray skinned, fedora. That was all Amaris noticed before they replaced that mental image with a dead body.
Did they feel remorse? Not really. All that rang in their head was the feeling of anger and betrayal.
The rest of the round passed by in a haze, as more and more blood splattered their hands, their face, their feathers. It would be a while until all of it washed out, if at all.
Eventually, the timer clicked, flipping to fifteen minutes. One survivor left.
The sound of footsteps echoed loud in their ears. Turning their head in the general direction, their tail lashed out, grasping onto something and tearing at skin, adding to the crimson already splattered all over.
However, when that person finally came into view…the static of rage in their mind dissipated. Amaris blinked, confused. It was only that yellow-skinned survivor. The one that had been playing with their feathers. Why were they so mad?
So, instead of killing them, Amaris sat down and placed them back among their bloodstained wings. Now the other survivors wouldn’t be able to bother them.
Again, they were finally at peace.