When We Get Along

The circle they’re meditating in is safe, silent and perfect. The divine tranquility encapsulating their home encumbers our heroine, Zári Abbási. She is cunning, suspicious and wise. Here not just for the bountiful beauty bounding across the faculty, but a much more important reason. One year ago today Zári almost had her life taken from her, by the very people she looked upon. As she spies, a vengeful rage stimulates every fiber of her body seeing the seven monsters responsible for her attack. Slowly she loosens the pommel of her blade, Chaos, releasing a capsule of cyanide which she tucks between her fingers. She begins to walk. A gentle daytime breeze flows innocently through the courtyard of meditation. Their selective minds composing incredible fantasies both brilliant and educated. Dreams containing an inspiring variety of organic understanding.

When unexpectedly the Yazats were interrupted from their inner abode. Fourteen eyes opened simultaneously, shocked. Their daily ritual has not been interjected like this in over seven centuries. Zári shouts “None of you will be leaving alive.” She bolts forward and leaps spectacularly, executing a perfectly diagonal barrel roll fiercely swinging the edge of her most treasured possession she lands immediately in front of the closest enemy. A few seconds pass and his body quivers relentlessly. After a few seconds more number three’s top half begins to slide apart from his waist. Severed, the six remaining goons remain stunned in a vacuum of disturbance.

While their jaws are wide open screaming Zári throws the capsule into the air. While it falls she stands majestically, spinning on the spot, ultimately kicking the capsule. It flies covertly through the air, finding refuge in the gullet of number five. Unwittingly, taken aback by the experience, he spits and whales in agonizing pain. The cyanide melting his handsome face in front of her.

Zári simply whispers “Who’s next?”

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