Darsby feels his spirit slip from space and time alongside the sound of gently running rapids. He was here only moments ago during his bodies previous recuperation. Ebony and ivory collide as shadows strike surrounding lights with force against his unsubstantial form. Thoughts and relevant information struggle to formulate inside this flowing dimension just beyond the haze of our supposedly solid reality. Conflict over what it is that has just occurred fights for supremacy of importance. Darsby wrestles to regain proper sentience after having been forcefully tossed into this other realm while Anora resolves to stand for whatever semblance of life she may yet hold.

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This huntress tenses further, proving that this action isn't impossible despite her visibly flexed muscles. Ahllasta had taken notice of Anora and kept her reaction at bay. The creature before her had been subdued entirely without a struggle despite her previous wishes. She knew this man; she had a score with him.

Ahllasta had wished to perch herself atop Darsby's body, waiting for him to recover so she may derive the satisfaction of genuinely striking him down. The man in grey, Vince, had taken said luxury away. She cared for little else than prey and grudges; in our present scenario, he had stolen both. 

Slowly, Ahllasta turns towards Anora. Though she reeks of aggression and ill-kept notions of hate, she didn't appear to be directing any of it towards our young human.
"Girl, you know this man?" Her words slip with the anger of a military instructor struggling to keep their louder vocalities at bay. 

Ahllasta's posture would then change upon Anora mustering the strength to fabricate veritable hell-hounds. This alien huntress has one small but thick brown horn protruding its sharp surface from the center of her forehead, glittering by the faint specks of blood that splattered over its surface from the previous attack. Just below said feature dwells a newly revived outward mode of emotion. All at once this woman shifts from predator to aggressive negotiator. Her arms casually lace themselves beneath her breasts, her hips sway slightly to the left, her feet turn somewhat outwards. All that still held on to vicious dismay were her eyes, those heinous, beating eyes. 

"He needs you for something, doesn't he? What if I said I'd help you get him out of here?" Her lips curled once more to release those leering words. She spoke like a beast turning to address some lesser animal impassionately.

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Darsby begins to recollect his fragmented self from within the spatial void he now occupies. The outside world comes to him in muffled waves of prismatic light and slurred sounds. Cognition begins to spin it's whirring gears again as method transcend logic, feelings collide to transcend expression, and finally, words arrive to make sense of the pieces at play.

"I'm... I've been put here?" He musters to say to himself, still many moments from making sense of current circumstance. He attempts to align an out-of-order sequence of memories. Gunfire, cars, smoke, a girl, conversation, a residence. He feels he's getting close, but this likely won't produce any externally visible results in an amount of time that Anora should reasonably bargain for.