a little violence as a treat

your dreams are all full of war
you are from another time

Melita had to marvel at both the platitude and range of Astaroth’s skills, and the stupidity of rodents. So while he snapped and tossed and crunched down on the snacks, more of the insipid individuals rushed forward – though their numbers appeared to be dwindling. Whether it was the sheer force behind both Ancient and demigod, or some were wising up to the fact that none of their brethren appeared to be surviving this onslaught, Melita couldn’t be certain. Nor, she figured, did she really care. This was chaos and chicanery and fun.

She gave him a thumbs up he likely couldn’t respond to or see, but the action was there regardless. Once he’d harpooned another directly into his mouth, the Honeybee fired off another round of cannon maelstroms until confetti covered the hedgerows and more deceased, bludgeoned, decimated creatures. “That might be the last of ‘em!” she hollered, not hearing any other echoes. Perhaps Astaroth would be able to see farther from his current position.

salvation doesn't look like light
So what remains?

Melita