There was blood every where, staining her skill, marking her tracks. It was disgusting, she was disgusting. Mary didn't want this, she wanted it to stop but it felt so calming and comforting, a feeling no normal person should get from killing. She braced herself against the town hall, and dry heaved until she was shaking. There was nothing in her stomach but she wasn't hungry, or tired. Her muscles were sore and her head hurt, her whole body shook, yet she hadn't received a single wound. Still her brain whirred on, going back to those screams, those faces, the innocents final moments. Mary had felt detached from the situation, as if watching, unable to do a thing. The pure rage that had consumed her was unearthly, there was no reason, no logic, just indiscriminate destruction. Those were her true instincts and they terrified her. In all 27 lay dead, at least a hundred more had fled in every direction, but not east. She could sense why, she had to go somewhere and that seemed the least likely to be filled with innocents. The road was cracking and falling apart, clearly it was rarely used. It was a long trek and she felt relieved when the town came into view, but deep down she knew that this was likely the start of something bad.