Live, my son. No matter what happens, you have to live...

Lasura jerked his eyes open at the pressure that slammed down on his chest, lurching up in a series of coughs as he desperately searched for air. His father's voice, a command that had come out of nowhere, was still there, swimming in his head, repeating itself as he tried to breathe.

Above him, Saya sighed in relief before slumping back against the wall, or whatever was left of it. "We have to move," she said. "There could be an aftershock. Can you walk?"

He pushed himself up on wobbly knees, felt some rubbles falling off his clothes as he did, and realized by some miracles he'd managed to survive with most of his limbs intact. It did hurt everywhere, and his head seemed to be bleeding, but he didn't think he'd broken a bone. "I think so." He guessed. He hadn't had time to check his own injuries. Does it even matter, really? One way or another, he would have to drag himself out of here.

The tremor had stopped, for how long, he couldn't tell. Rubbles of collapsed ceiling and walls filled the long corridor. A sheet of dust still hovered thickly around them, looking for a place to land. Small fires were burning here and there, seemed about to go out with the spilled oil being more or less consumed. The smokescreen it created added to the already poor visibility, making it near impossible to see further than a few steps ahead, and unbearably difficult to breathe. The air smelled like sulfur, like soot, like blood, and something dangerous he couldn't quite pinpoint. The tunnel was quiet now, save for a few sounds of broken things rolling or landing somewhere at intervals. Everything seemed to have settled, except this feeling in his gut that he'd forgotten something important...something...

Djari...

It knocked him awake like a fist in the head––the cold, crippling panic that swarmed him all at once. His legs were moving before he knew where he was going, his stomach was flooding with an urgent need to throw up.

"Where is Djari?" She was right here. He was running to her, before the ceiling collapsed.

He grabbed the first rubble, threw it off the pile, and went for another. She was on the other side, she had to be. Or she was under. If she was under..."Djari!" Answer me. Please. Make a sound.

He stopped to listen. No answers. No trace of her, anywhere. How long had he been unconscious? How long could someone survive being trapped under these ruins? Was he too late?

"Stop!" Saya was pulling him away from behind. He pushed her aside, and started digging again.

Stop, she'd said. How do you stop? Even if you knew the answers? How do you settle for that outcome? The moment he gave up, he would have to live with that reality. He would have to live in the world where there was no Djari. How do you stop?

No, there was still time. There had to still be time. People survived these things for a while, anywhere, sometimes in worse condition. She was also young. She was the chosen one. She wasn't going to die here. She couldn't.

'One day... I will find a place for you.' Her words, drifting now in his mind, like a prelude to a reality he still refused to see, to settle. 'Somewhere without walls, without prejudice, without––'

Stop. Be quiet. He yelled at the noise, the sound, the memory that grew louder and louder in his head. Don't do that. Not yet. Get out of my head. She isn't dead.

"Djari!" He was screaming her name. How many times, he'd lost count. He felt the need to shout, to drown out the words from those memories, the answers in his head, the sound of Saya telling him it was pointless. You have a destiny to fulfill. You made a promise to me. I haven't taken you to the sea. I haven't... "Djari!"

No answer. No trace of her under the rubbles. No sound except his own shouts and screams that came between sobs, between bursts of pain and panic that made it harder and harder for him to breathe. The things she'd said kept coming back. The voice that told him it was too late escalated, crushing something in his chest between its teeth, tearing it apart still beating.

'One day... I will find a place for you.'

A promise made a lifetime ago, one that had been fulfilled without her knowing, without either of them being aware.

He had found a place, a cause to fight, a reason to live or die. He just needed more time. He needed more time with her.

But was there ever? In this life they led, in this world of conflict, of violence, of killings, of war? Was there ever enough time to love, to live with no regrets, to die content with what had been given?

He didn't know the answers to that. He knew he had to keep digging, to tell himself there was still a chance, that there was still time.

I have found a place, Djari. Don't take that away from me. Not like this. Not here. Not now.

***

It took Saya three tries and all the strengths she had to drag him off the rubbles. By the time she had him pined to the ground, there wasn't much left of his hands that weren't covered in blood, or much left of the man she'd been traveling with the last few days.

"Stop," she yelled at him perhaps the fifth time, none of them had gotten through his skull. "Listen to me."

They still didn't get through, those words. The prince kept thrashing under her weight, trying to crawl his way back to the rubbles. She slammed him back down with her knee, kept him there long enough for her to finish yelling the next words.

"I saw them," she lied. "I saw him, with her."

It got his attention, cleared the madness in his eyes just long enough for her to say what he needed to hear. "Rhykal was there. He has her. I think... I believe they made it. They must be on the other side." There was a chance that could have happened. There always was a chance. "And if they are. If they're alive. You'd better find a way out of this tunnel. You have to live to find her. Do you hear me?"

He stilled at those words, stared at her with what she thought was hope in his eyes, however little there might be of it. People believed what they needed to believe, her father had said. Right now she needed him to believe her lies. Needed that to get them both out alive.

"You saw them?" he said.

Hope. Saya sighed in relief, in thanks, to whatever gods were listening. "She is the gods' chosen one, just as you are." She'd never been one who cared much for prophecies; most of them were lies. But lies were useful sometimes. Lies were going to get them out alive. "They must be on the other side. They can make it through the old passage, to the sea. She will survive, just as you have. You want to save her, you have to stay alive. You have to get out of he––"

She never made it to the end of that sentence, didn't have time to make a sound when something crashed into her from the side, throwing her off the prince then on the floor three feet away.

Tore her throat open.

***

It leaped at Saya like something from a nightmare, materializing out of nowhere too fast for anyone to anticipate, too quiet for either of them to hear it coming.

'...some experiments,' Rhykal had said, 'a few tortured beasts, people who pissed off the Red Mamba.'

Lasura thought of those words as he lay frozen on the floor, biting the sheer terror of it between his teeth. The sudden burst of survival instinct had snapped his mind into place––into another place––got his heart pounding suddenly to a different tune.

One of those things must have gotten out after the quake. One, if they were lucky. How many are there?

He pushed himself up on his elbow, making the least noise he could possibly managed to observe the situation. A few steps away, through the curtain of dust, Saya was lying with a hand pressed tight on the side of her neck, chest pinned to the ground by something three times her size and weight. It seemed to be taking time––time to decide which part of her to devour first, what tasted better.

'You have to live to find her,' Saya had said. Was saying it now, in her eyes, in the suffocating silence that filled the air between them.

Live, my son. No matter what happens, you have to live...

Lasura blinked away the dust and tears from his eyes, clearing his vision well enough to really see the creature for the first time among the destruction. It was the size of a bear, wearing a facial structure he couldn't decided if it looked more like a wolf or a cat. Shiny black fur covered every inch of a body built to torture the monsters that made you wake up screaming at night, save for the bald patches of scars that reminded you of prisoners of Sabha's who'd long overstayed their sentence. Its eyes were yellow, like his mother's when she wanted him dead. Dagger-sharp fangs and claws gleamed in the low light of the half-destroyed passage, looked like his father's black blades when an honorable death was needed.

He searched for a weapon, found only the small knife he'd stashed in his boot, and slid it quietly out of the scabbard.

The beast wheeled at the sound, fixed its eyes on him. Roared.

The sound exploded in his ears, filled the tunnel like the quake they just had, like that thunder in the Hall of Marakai, like that bear his father had fought while his limbs had turned into ice and stones, watching.

They didn't feel like ice and stones now, his limbs. They were filled with something like fire, like fuel, driven by some kind of energy he had no clear idea from where it came. The pressure in his chest that began to accumulate when he lost Djari had escalated, rolled itself into something like madness, like hunger, like rage throwing itself against his ribcage for a way out. And it bursted. It pushed itself up his throat, came out of his mouth like a rabid animal finally sprung out of its cage.

His roar filled the passage, sent an echo down the hallway that ripped something within him to shreds. It snapped the beast's jaw shut halfway through its growl, forcing it back up a step, to reconsider its options.

He was angry, Lasura realized as he stood staring at the beast, for everything that had happened, for losing Djari, for his inability to save her, for being the victim all the time, for letting everyone and everything dictate his life.

"Run," he said to the beast, to Fate, to destiny, to the gods who were listening, and the ones that didn't when his prayers were declined. "Run away or say your prayers. Do it before I count to three. I am the son of Salar Muradi of Rasharwi and the last remaining Bharavi of the Vilarhiti. You do not get to threaten me, here or anywhere, without consequences. Run for your life. Run, before I change my mind. I'm the one hunting today, not you."

He spun the knife in his grip. It fit his hand like a sword, like an axe, like something big enough to end whatever came between him and his need to stay alive. To find Djari.

"One." He could almost taste it, the hunger for blood, the need to kill, to fight.

"Two."

The beast made a small sound in its throat as it stepped off Saya's chest. It puffed up its black mane, shook off the tunnel's dust and debris that clung to it, and stared at him quietly, fangs out and dripping with Saya's blood. He felt his own lips twitch in response, felt the heat of his own blood as it rushed to fill his limbs, his body with power.

Did it feel like this, Father, when you turned that small knife against the bear? What was it that you told me, once, about that day, that time when you killed the beast?

'If you think you can't win in any case, for the very least try to choose your own death and take the son of a bitch with you.'

His lips peeled back into a smile, the same one his father had made in his memory.

"Three."

***

The prince threw himself at the beast, blade swinging like some vicious animal on the verge of going rabid. He was smiling the whole time, Saya saw, never mind how little chance he had of killing the creature. It wasn't possible, not with his skills, his current injuries, his focus, or his limited experience in fighting. He had been trained, yes, but training didn't get you out alive fighting something that big, that monstrous.

Madness did.

And it was. It was sheer madness she was witnessing. He must have been half its size, and armed with nothing but a small knife you could hardly kill a goat with unless you had a chance to aim at the right places.

The chance wasn't there, not with the creature being that fast despite its mass. It pounced on him with the speed of a cat, grabbed him with paws fitted with razor-sharp, bear-sized claws, had him trapped on his back underneath its belly in a heartbeat.

The prince didn't seem to feel the wounds on his arm, or the dangerous position he was in. He was still smiling when she saw him flip the knife in his grip, made aim, and stabbed it in the neck.

***

The knife missed the windpipe going in. The beast roared from the pain, but a flesh wound was all he'd accomplished. Lasura pulled out the knife and stabbed it again. Missed it entirely when the creature twisted suddenly out of the way. Came back at him with a paw, claws stretched out like five throwing knives strung together by muscles made out of steel, sent him flying across the corridor.

The left side of his face went numb for a second, and then it stung, it burned like acid. Blood dripped down his face, into his left eye, made it impossible to see from that side. He pushed himself up off the ground, realized his left arm had been clawed to shreds by the attack that took him down the first time. Get that close again, and he might lose a limb, maybe his life. Stay here, and he would never get close enough to stab it where he must.

There weren't a lot of windows to do it. He couldn't engage the beast in his state, with his size, his speed, or the weapon he had on hand without risking death. The next time he went in would be his last, his only chance. It knew his weakness now. Knew what he could do, where to hit him, how to kill, without effort.

'If you think you can't win in any case...'

He turned to face the creature. It halted its steps, staring at his blade, watching his next move.

It was still afraid of him, of the blade in his hand. That reminded him of something he'd almost forgotten, something that suddenly made him feel faster, stronger, and twice his size and weight.

'It's all in your head.' Something Deo had said, a long time ago. 'To win a fight, you must first decide that you can, that you are the biggest son of a bitch in the room.'

"That's right, Motherfucker," he said. "Be afraid. Be very afraid. I'm the one hunting, not you."

***

He did look like someone doing the hunting, Saya thought. The smile on the prince's face was unsettling, made the beast's snarl seemed mild in comparison. And it was afraid of him, however he'd accomplished the task. Animals could do that––sense danger beyond what they could see.

How he was going to kill the beast with those injuries and that small blade, she had no idea.

The tunnel fell into silence as they circled each other––the hunter and the hunted. The prince's heavy, steady steps grew louder, firmer, each time he landed a foot. The beast puffed up its mane in response, seemed more and more nervous to place down a paw. One more mistake, and the prince would die right here. She knew it, anyone watching would know it. That didn't seem to bother him, however, but it did bother the beast.

Bothered it enough to cause a misstep, when one of its paws landed on a small piece of rubble, throwing it slightly off balance for a split second.

The prince rushed in, knife high and gleaming in one hand, the other hanging loosely off the injured arm. The beast righted itself quickly, rose high on it back legs to grab its opponent with its front paws. The prince dropped suddenly to the ground, picking something up along the way with the free hand. Punched the blade into the floor as an anchor, and used the momentum to slide himself under the beast, dodging the claws that missed his head by a hair.

There were openings now, under its belly and the exposed throat as the beast's front paws landed on either side of him. But the knife wasn't long enough or big enough to kill it with a single attack, and the position he was in didn't allow him to do it twice. The moment the blade went in, he'd be exposed, defenseless, like the first time, and the beast would be in the position to finish him, once and for all.

It didn't go in, that blade, not one of the ways she was expecting in any case.

***

This is it, Lasura thought as he slid under the beast. This was his one and only chance to get out of this alive. He should be afraid. He should be nervous. Somehow, he felt only the excitement, the thrill, and the satisfaction of doing what he was about to do, never mind if he succeeded.

He threw up his other hand––the one not holding the blade––closed his eyes, and tossed what he was holding at the black creature.

The handful of dust scattered in the air, landed on his face as he twisted blindly out from under the beast's belly. He heard the thing growl as he opened his eyes, saw his opening––his real opening––as it shook its head and vision free of the debris.

Its black mane was as thick as a lion's, and long enough for him to grab and hoist himself up over its back. Straddling it between his thighs, he punched the knife into the side of its neck. Pulled it out, did it again.

The beast roared as it rose on is hindlegs, trying to throw him off its back. He held on to that mane with his life, twisted the knife as it went in the third time.

It went down after that. Still, it didn't die. He didn't know how many times he kept stabbing it with the knife. Somewhere in the middle of that rush, he'd lost count and understanding of where he was, what he was doing, whose blood was on his face, his hands, and how long it lasted. Something was screaming in his head then, as memories of Djari came flooding back to him, as the pain in his heart escalated, as all his bottled up emotions narrowed in on the tip of that knife.

Some time later, he found himself sitting on top of the dead animal, covered entirely in blood, gasping for air. He turned to Saya, saw her watching him quietly, with eyes of someone too horrified to say a word. It was a big mess he'd created, but he was too out of it to focus at the moment. He had to though, to get out of here. To find Djari.

He rose to his feet, tore out a long strip from his tunic, and went to Saya. That wound on her neck had to be bandaged. He had to get her out of the tunnel, to a healer. It didn't seem too deep, but she would bleed to death soon enough if nothing was done. He would too, but bleeding from where and how many places, he could no longer tell. It was painful everywhere. He could still walk, there was that, and he was still high from the fight.

He knelt beside her, wiped the blood off his face to see better, and realized something he hadn't had time to notice until now.

"My left eye," he said, still trying to remember what had happened. "I can't see."

***