Mikasa stumbled backwards, barely staying on her feet. The crusader had collapsed on the ground, Mikasa’s attempt at stopping the bleeding being for naught. A swift sensation of guilt rushed over her, as she watched the lifeless corpse on the ground. She had killed before, yes, but it was years ago – and in war. Within her was a sea of emotions, a strange happiness that she had gotten away unharmed, but sorrow for ending a life, as it was not her intention. He was furious, and once again spoke of putting the blame on Heroshida. Along with the note in her pocket, the confusion grew within. A light sulking overcame the girl, perhaps without herself even noticing, as she stood there on the battlefield, surrounded by death.

Finally Mikasa looked up, at the sound of the approaching man. It was hard to see him in the dark, but the attire gave Soka away. He approached with heavy steps, silent in his arrival. The young girl grabbed her blade again, rising up as her temper followed suit. Furious, confused, angry, Mikasa could not quite decide. She wiped her face, letting lines of blood take their place upon it. She shouted out, her voice almost cracking as she spoke.
 “Why?! Why would you do this?!” Mikasa spoke in her native language, barely getting a response from Soka. He stopped, looking to the dead crusader, and then back up at the woman.

“Would’ve spared me the trouble if those crusaders had not been so good-hearted. And if that one had done his job.” His voice was hollow and cruel, almost hissing towards Mikasa as he spoke.  A grip tightening on the blade in his hand.

[@POOHEAD189]