His Own Salvation.

First

London, October. Diana.

It felt like the bass shook the walls. Diana's ears were already aching from the shrill music, and her head would not be able to do so for much longer either. Slightly unsteady, she made her way through the still-dancing crowd, their bodies sweating against each other and moving with the music.

The DJ's permanent lurching was already weakening, he kept yawning and pulled the cap low over his forehead. A sign for her trained eyes that the party would soon be over.

It took an eternity before Diana could finally see the double doors and another until she reached them. Her brown hair was wet on her neck and had turned to tiny curls at the temples, which she annoyingly wiped out of her face. The bodyguard nodded to her as a goodbye and then opened the door with his broad arms, through which she quickly disappeared outside.

The alcohol made sure that Diana was heated, so she did not really notice the biting cold when she arrived outside. The sky had turned grayish and smelled of cigarette smoke and rain. Diana let pass a few moments before she made her way to the bus and thus home. She quickly checked whether everything was still there, but the most important things - such as ID card, mobile phone and money - were safely stowed in her black bra or jeans pocket. With every step she took, the snogging couples became less and the music quieter. The clock of a huge church tower nearby showed 4 clock in the morning.

The pebbles creaked beneath her feet, and she was glad to have to walk to the bus stop for only fifteen minutes, as her legs were already tormenting her in high-heeled shoes. The ethanol also made her legs very heavy and she had sweats that were no longer human. The cool wind at least eased Diana's discomfort a little and blew her hair from her face, which she had laboriously turned into curls last night. The usual promises that people give in moments like these, like „Never alcohol again„ or „Next time I stay sober" she did not even allow, because she knew that she would not stick to it. For that she loved the feeling of being free and belonging.

Deep in thought, Diana heard a strangled cry coming from a dark alley to her right, where everything seemed to wince. Even the birds on the rooftops flew away. She stopped abruptly and concentrated on the narrow corridor. Vaguely she perceived two figures. A petite, small woman and a broad-shouldered man whose torso was tucked into a tank top, allowing her to spot his tattoos even from this distance. One of his muscled arms held the woman's grip, while the other pushed under her dress. The black-haired one cried noisily and tried to push him away, but she had no chance. Diana's hackles stood up at this sight.

She looked around quickly, but there was no one to see far and wide. But nobody should be surprised - not many people dared to go to one of the slums here in London, where it was swarming with opium caves, brothels and pubs. East End. She pressed her lips together, cursing those miserable alcoholics who were never in control. Without thinking, she shouted loudly "Hey!" and ran towards them as fast as her legs wore her in that state.

The alley was still wet from the rain, so she was struggling not to slip and it stank of garbage, rotten food and wet stone. From close, she could see that it was a young Asian woman. Her tear-stained almond eyes and thick black hair betrayed her. The beefy guy turned to her in slow motion but did not seem to notice her properly. She estimated him to be forty. Bald, glassy eyes and a beer belly. Due to sweat, large, yellow spots have formed under his arms and Diana was glad not to notice his smell. Disgusted, she grimaced, swallowing her fear. Then she replied, "Leave the woman alone, you fucking fucked-up." Her voice sounded hollow and unfeeling even in her head.

Her hands clenched into fists and in defensive position, she saw him baring his teeth. He reminded her of a greedy, vicious vampire. Only then did she perceive the scar that stretched from his impure nose to his collarbone. Diana's arm seemed to react by itself and hit him in the face - even before he could launch an attack. His head snapped back, like a doll. There was a nauseating crack as she struck again and again at his nose, and a thin, dark red trickle ran down his face. His ruptured blue lips were bleeding too. Adrenaline rushed through her body and she did not even feel the bloody cracks that had formed on her ankles. Blindfolded, she kicked him several times between his legs, taking advantage of his shock and pain moment to give him a final blow to the head. He fell like a wet sack and remained motionless on the cold, dirty stones. It was only luck of the two, that he already had so much intuus and was not able to think properly and react in time.