Della stood in front of him, hardened eyes following his every movement as he bent down to inspect the man—one of his Chosen—lying in a pool of his own blood. She had been a savage; a caged dog frothing at the mouth from the prospect of getting out, letting hunger consume it’s being. Except her hunger wasn’t physical, the growling of her stomach had stopped days ago and was replaced by a dull ache that she could avoid. Her hunger was for blood—vengeance. Once the Chosen opened the cage from Jacob’s instructions to send her to the Trials, she was on him; all teeth and nails and growls as if she was one of the blissed out Judges roaming the mountains. The poor bastard didn’t stand a chance, barely equipped to handle such a wild thing as herself as he clawed at her arms to pry her off. She barely felt the blunt edges of his nails as her own pried down his face, leaving angry red scratches that didn’t take long to draw blood.

Days of being taunted at and prodded and surviving off of her own muscle matter left her in a state akin to a wild animal, holding nothing back as she continued her attack. Teeth bit at flesh, tearing chunks into the man and leaving him on the ground writhing in agony and crying out. The part of her that was still somewhat aware of her surroundings was wondering why nobody was stopping her, why she wasn’t being shot at and screamed at or being pried away from the man. The other followers of Eden’s Gate, Jacob’s soldiers, just stood in silence as they witnessed her assault on one of their own.

A guttural scream was let out and she almost didn’t recognize it as her own. She hadn’t been hurt physically in the fight, no she was stronger than that. She was the fucking deputy of Hope County for christ’s sake. This scream was one of rage and anguish. The man under her tried to flip them, tried to get her under him or at least squirm away from her but to no avail. Her ribs may be showing and her arms frail but this was adrenaline going through her—fight or flight that made every single muscle in her body hum to life after being left to rot in a cage for god knows how long on the damp dirt of the Veterans Center.

A yank of the Chosen’s hair and then a sickening crack of his skull against the hard ground was what followed. Blood pooled around his head like a crimson halo; an irony that had her giggling in mania with blood stained teeth and dilated pupils. The life in his eyes was gone, the fight leaving his body as he laid motionless beneath this creature—this absolute beast of a woman in the eyes of those surrounding her. This thing that held all of the power here despite the militant cult leader that ran the place. Rage that took its form in a starved, bruised, bloodied shape of a person.

She finally looked up at the state of the crowd surrounding her—not dare crowding her in case she wasn’t done with her rampage. There were looks of horror, rage, fear. She reveled in it. The only gaze she wasn’t expecting was from one Jacob Seed, face dawning his usual stoicism and near frown. The oldest Seed sibling just stared at her, nothing giving away any sort of emotion—not even a clench of his jaw. Her eyes locked on his, no doubt sending a silent message to him to leave her the fuck alone lest he wanted to continue this bloodbath. For her to satisfy this craving of bloodlust caused by his training.

His steps were calculated as he walked to her, barely even blinking in case she decided to run off when he had his eyes closed for even a second. She stood with straight shoulders and a burning thought to continue her assault on the man who was the direct reason this was happening to her. Something in her told her to wait though, like all of his conditioning through the Trials she had been put through had finally gotten her in the headspace to be weary around him and obey. But there was still a fight in her; she just didn’t want to use it against him now. She had to wait; wait until he wouldn’t expect it. He stopped in front of her to look down at his fallen Chosen lying in the very dirt he had walked for god knows how long with the promise of being protected by strength if he was worthy. And she, the five foot seven ball of wrath, was the thing to break that very sense of protectiveness within the gates of St. Francis Veterans Center. The strong stayed with the strong here and now that she was within the walls, everyone else was weak.

Jacob crouched down while she just stood there with a glare as his hand reached towards the pool of blood surrounding the Chosen’s head, and watched as his thumb swiped at the red. He stood back up and towered over her; a subtle power play that she could match with the sheer force of her abhorrence towards him. They stared at each other a while, until he brought his thumb to her forehead. He swiped a line down the top of her forehead, and another across it—marking her like one of his Judges. With the blood of his own fallen soldier and a look that resembled pride now, he anointed her. A clear meaning behind the gory gesture.

She had won.