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THE BLAST FROM THE HARBOR LIFTED Dinara off of her feet, flinging her into a wall. She let out a groan, pushing the pain away and standing up. Dinara wasn't going down without a fight, it was in her blood. She vanished from the scene, hoping to get a better vantage of the situation at hand. She launched herself up the cargo crates, scaling them like a nimble insect, her boots finding grips and footholds. The view from above was disturbing. The Dregs were outnumbered, and there were men working around their left and right flanks. Kaz had been right to keep their real point of departure a secret from the others — someone had talked. Dinara had tried to keep tabs, but someone else in the gang had to have been talking, and that wasn't good. She saw flashing from the Ferolind, meaning that Jesper was up there shooting — thank the saints, they finally had a chance.
Dinara ran lightly over the tops of the crates, making her way down the row, seeking her targets. She was thankful that she had purchased new blades a few hours ago — the new ones gave her better accuracy. She slid behind two men that were firing at Nina — she slit one throat, then the next. Blood coated her blade and fingertips, making her seem like the devil. It merged with her own blood, giving her the best rush any drug could have. When the second man dropped, Dinara crouched down and rolled up his right sleeve — a tattoo of a hand, it's first and second fingers cut off at the knuckle. The Black Tips. Her mind scanned for answers on how they rallied so many people, they shouldn't have had so many numbers. Dinara moved onto the next aisle of crates, taking down a girl who was holding a massive, unwieldy rifle, then skewered the man who was supposed watching her flank.
Dinara checked his tattoo — five birds in a wedge formation: how many gangs where they up against. She rounded the next corner, she had a choice: climbing up a cargo box or risk being stuck in a blind spot. Finara decided to suck it up and head for the blindspot, crouched low and slipped around the corner in a lunge. Two men were firing on the docks, their backs to her — leaving them in the perfect attacking position. Dinara dispatched them with two thrusts of her blades. She had taken six lives and was begging for more blood on her hands. It was a drug to her, feeling the lifeless body of her victim fall on her body — crushing her with their weight. It was a sin, but a beautiful one.
Killing was an addiction like no other, setting her soul free and drowning it all at the same time. There was no way she could stop once she started — it was a real problem. Everyone left the streets, leaving them silent and still. They ran for their lives, hoping to not be the next victim of 'The Shadow'. She wiped the knives on her dress trousers, hoping that it would suffice. She returned them to their places among her body, then ran at the nearest cargo container. Her fingers gripped the rim, only to feel a piercing grip under her arm. she turned in time to see Ooman's ugly face split in a determined grimace. He yanked her down and grabbed the front of her coat, giving the knife in her side a sharp twist. Dinara fought to not black out.
