The huntress on the prowl through crowded halls.
Muted footsteps traipse between aisles of gaudy idols, drowned by the stomping of thousands.
She sneers at the audacity of the young criminals.
They dare to carve their false effigies, to pray to the very deities they let rot.
They hock weapons of ink and cloth, breeding destruction through sacrilegious falsehoods.
She wonders if they do not realize their faith is killing their gods?
She wonders if perhaps they know, that they wish to see their heroes bled dry.
No need to know an answer. Words slough from the busy mind like a useless dead membrane as a more visceral sapience takes over.
The scent of a heinous representation drives a frenzy of instinctual fury.
For while all who surround her have their own God to drain, she can tell for certain:
One has dared to threaten her own.
The huntress sheds all humanity, giving herself to the righteous rage.
Today there will be fresh blood, fresh meat, and a freshly pressed aluminum button with Vriska Serket fanart in her loot pile.