love remind me / [KC vs Feylost vs Manticut]

[pogue]

G  A  M  B  L  E

It's nearly nightfall by the time Willow Hush finds him, standing on edge and pointing blood-stained weapons at one another like they were going to do anything.

Two mirrors, bandaged and bruised and bloody. The only difference between the two of them is that there are tear stains coursing down her cheeks, her hand rubbing her wrist as if to remind herself that what was once there is no longer. He envies the empathy, the emotions, only for a brief second as she steps forward and he steps back.

"We don't have to talk. Like, at all if you don't want to."

He wants to, he can't, fear and adrenaline biting at his veins. 
"But I would really like to wake up without a knife in my back, if that works for you too." 

Silence, at first, then voice: "I just watched my ally get a knife through the eye by a half-dead girl." Olete's ghost shifts in the edge of the trees, bleeding. Admittance: "I don't want a knife in my back or my eye, Will."

"I can do that."
But can she? "Where are your allies?" 

He hears her response in whispers, flinching at every rustle of leaves and whisper of wind. "They aren't a threat, Krueger."

"So then why'd you leave 'em?" His tongue is sharper than any blade in here, voice carried heavy through the dying air. 

"It didn't feel right. With them. If we're all gonna die here, I want to do it with my integrity intact. Otherwise, what's the point?" 

He shouldn't trust her, he knows it. There are reminders of trust misplaced in fate and fury adorning his body from back to front, covered in eyes and only seeing red. But he wavers with his spear, moving it from her throat to her abdomen before dropping it completely. Trust finds him with half a corpse and heaving lungs, a boy better off dead but still somehow alive.

"And that means allyin' with a boy covered in eyes? Funny way of keepin' that integrity intact, Hush."

"You were the first person I found. Weapon of opportunity, if you will. And at least this way you'll always see me coming." 

So they end on the same page, understanding. It's something sinister than only then can he crack a grin in wake of how fucked they both are. "Ha- yeah. I've got a lot of eyes for that." 

---

How cruel it is that the Sun does not greet them the next morning, and how ironic that he finds relief in only being able to see the shadows that drip and shift around his form in the forest, the eyes adorning his now half-healed wound moving slightly slower as they flutter awake. he runs blood-stained fingertips over them, wincing as he feels newfound muscle contract and react underneath his skin. 

He's noticed them growing weaker, slower as his wounds begin to thread themselves back together from the source, aging quicker than he ever thought possible. There's a gasp that cuts into his lungs as he feels one, broken and dying, dislodge itself form the socket it'd carved into his arm and plop to the ground below as his finger runs over it.

There's a crater of skin left in its wake, hollow and forgotten and a reminder of every wound he'd carried in this arena. How foolish of him to have thought the ghosts that sit in the edge of his vision would be his only penance.

But there's a silver lining stained red somewhere in there, having woken up with a knife not in his back nor his eye. He glances over towards Will and gulps back his own fear of pulling anyone close to him in an arena like this, biting back the memories of a girl and a dagger and a cannon echoing through the skies. I'm sorry, Olete, the apology runs through his mind like venom as he gathers his things and slings the bag over his shoulder. But he doesn't dare speak them into the world, doesn't acknowledge the fact that she died a protector of a boy who didn't deserve.

He can't-
He won't.

He's a showman, not a saint, and there's an argument that he chokes back that cowardice runs through the former and hardly the latter. But he is still here, standing in the night and feeling his shadow gnaw at him, the soft thumps of his own heartbeat racing inside hollow chest. He is alive, for better and for worse, but it still takes his own voice to remind himself that he's not just a poltergeist stabbing wildly at whatever corpses cross his path.

"This forest'll be the death of us, Hush. We should break for it while we've still got the nightfall as cover."

He knows the words are a hope that the Sun will eventually come back to grace their skin, that the night has just as much a chance to never end as it does vice-versa. He's seen crueler tricks in this arena, has them dotted all over his wounds and feels them flutter and wince as they make their way through the brush, leaves and branches gliding softly on newfound eyes.

The night is still there by the time the forest slowly begins to open up, regurgitating them towards the rocky terrain of moonlit water. It's a welcome sight, if only for a moment, tranquil and serene and everything he knows the arena is not supposed to be.

It's why he's already white-knuckling the shaft of his spear when the brush begins to shake and whisper, faces lost and faces found emerging from the forest and out into the landscape in front of them. He recognizes home, what's left of it, in one of their faces: Elijah, and gulps back the thought of betrayal of flesh and skin.

If his God was real then this was the ultimate punishment. He wants to feel sorry for him, for all of them, but he doesn't let himself.

"Stick close, Will-" He starts, but it's a statement of the obvious that drips from his lips. She stands on equal ground with him, two weapons of opportunity rusted crimson with blood.

She's not his protector. The thought is freeing, then terrifying.

"Three versus two..." Krueger calls out to them, his voice cutting the last remaining bits of tranquil silence into ribbons, "Seems a lil' unfair, no?" 

It's a word more to the Gamemakers than the trio in front of him, weapons drawn and adrenaline carving into his veins as he moves forward as fast as he can. There's a rustling in the brush to his left, a piercing cry and a distraction made and a thousand eyes turned to look at his target.

Only two of them fill with something sinister: sorrow. I'm sorry hangs by a bloody thread on his lips, but he doesn''t dare speak it. It's not that he can't-

- he won't.

[Krueger attacks Elijah ; spear]

c08DsT_a_Aspear

[10.0]

spear

[alex 🐺]

The fight with Xaa erupts like a slow-moving hurricane and Will is stuck in the eye. Xaa hisses at her, a storm of a girl, her clawed nails sharp as daggers as they move toward Will’s neck, where she’s sure her heart is beating out of control.

A failed experiment. A waste. A bet that shouldn’t have been made. “I thought you were smarter than that. Words can make or break a person. Don’t forget who made you because I can break you just as easily."

Will feels her heart tear in her chest, an ache like a festering wound, like the poison from yesterday even as she stands whole and alive. Each beat from her stupid fucking chest is a reminder of what they did. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t - I can’t just sit here and watch you do whatever the fuck it was you did back there, Xaahira! A god?! You’re a fucking god now?! You delusion piece of work! If you're a god, why the fuck did Thomas have to fight your battles? Why the fuck is Luna the one who is battered and bleeding? If you’re so powerful, you don’t need me! I’m done!”

She somehow escapes the scene without a knife in her back. When she returns to the group, Luna and Thomas eye her warily. Thomas’ voice is like gravel, stones. Like earth and rocks and something you can hold onto. Like Will, he’s as much a part of the land as Will breathes dust from coal and stone.

He catches her as she leaves, his voice clipped and breaking. “Please don't go. Don't leave me with them. I- I don't want to be like them, and I need you to be there."

His pleas ring in her ears long after she’s pulled the friendship bracelet off her wrist, tossed carelessly in his direction the same way she wished she could throw feelings for him, for Xaa, for Luna away. He was too much like home, threatening to bury her in nostalgia and memory, even as his weapon drew the final breath for the boy from Six.

Her head was in agony as she packs up her satchel, slinging it over her should with a nod to Luna. She wills herself to make a mask and form it to flesh, fluttering warm against her hands, black like the aura that flows around her now, in a shape that would fool those watching. She needs to hold herself together for just a bit longer, showing the model of a girl with a painted smile as rage, anger, and desperation tears through her damaged body though no wound lingers on the surface.

She feels herself changing once again. Tear stains along her face trail down her neck and chest, her arms and legs. Pulling up her sleeve, she sees her veins the color of deep dark tar, her hands a mess of black stains. Marred. Tarred. A reminder of the blood they spilled. 

She shouldn’t be surprised when she stumbles upon Krueger, the light in his eyes fading as the canons boom and the faces of four tributes light up the sky. She holds her hands up, eyes wide as he stares at her. As he stares through her, a lunge and his spear at her neck. Thousands of eyes stare through her. His wounds blink like Argus, always watching.

Shit, say something. “We don’t have to talk. Like at all if you don’t want to. But I would really like to wake up without a knife in my back, if that works for you too.”

He doesn't believe her. Of course, he doesn't. Who would after three days in this fucking hellhole? “- I just watched my ally get a knife through her eye by a half-dead girl. I don't want a knife in my back or my eye, Will."

Will puts her hands down then, a deep sigh escaping her lips. She doesn’t miss the way he holds the spear, knuckles flashing white as his eyes flash black.

“I can do that,” she reassures him.

“Where are your allies?” A question, a demand, and Will shouldn’t laugh but she has to, a bark of it escaping her lips. The spear stays pointed at her jugular.

“If I had to guess, Luna is probably getting patched up by the good doctor while Xaahira tries to figure out how she can amass more followers. It's the new world order, it seems.” She pauses, chewing on her words and deciding if they would taste truthful. "They aren’t a threat, Kreuger.”

His emotions, like hers, are frayed and they’re both standing there hauling the weight of this stupid fucking place on their shoulders, gold finery in rags around them like their souls.

"So then why'd you leave 'em?"

Why had she left them? Because she felt too much with Xaa? Because each moment with Thomas was a reminder that they were all going to wind up dead in this place and friendship and home have no place here? The words die on her tongue and Will rubs furiously at her cheeks, dark hands leaving darker stains.

"It didn't feel right. With them. If we're all gonna die here, I want to do it with my integrity intact. Otherwise, what's the point?" Was she lying? She couldn't tell anymore, at least not to Krueger and certainly not to herself.

"And that means allyin' with a boy covered in eyes? Funny way of keepin' that integrity intact, Hush." No fucking shit.

"You were the first person I found. Target of opportunity, if you will. And at least this way you'll always see me coming." The joke falls flat, but at least Krueger has moved his spear away from her neck, taking a step back.

"Ha- yeah. I've got a lot of eyes for that."

---

They don't sleep easily. A tentative truce knows no peace and although Will turns away from Krueger, the tarp a poor blanket over shoulders and a reminder that she doesn't have a warm body next to her, she can feel his endless eyes on her. They wake and Krueger's wounds weep as they heal, an eyeball falling to the ground with a splat. Perhaps its a trick of the light, or lack of the light, as the day dawns dark all around them. Willow pulls up her tunic again to see the dark outlines of her veins like oil slicks on tan skin. This place was fucking them up and fucking her head up.

They need to move, obviously, and Krueger is the first to vocalize it was he grabs his spear once more. "This forest'll be the death of us, Hush. We should break for it while we've still got the nightfall as cover." A nod is her only response and she glances around, hoping that they don't come across her former allies who are no doubt lost in the day darkness too.

Her knives are in her bag as they set out but she has the butterfly knife from deeper in the forest gripped like a talisman as they walk. Footsteps echo around them and it only seems to get darker as the day grows older.

Fate is such a wicked bitch, Will thinks, as Krueger tells her to stay close, only for him to lash out with his spear at the same three tributes that she had the misfortune of fighting yesterday. They didn't deserve it then. Do they deserve the pain now? And is she the one to play judge and jury all over again?

Before she can answer that, she reacts, stepping level with Krueger and raising her knife, an apology on her lips that dies with the swing of her blade.

will attacks d10 elijah - butterfly dagger [knife]

BwUTf_jSPpknife

+0 dmg - MISS

accuracy day 4 reroll

knife

+4.0 dmg  

knife·knife

[10th retro gm | paxton hayes]

I'm sorry.

Broken, shattered dreams crumble around him as tears fill his eyes. Pretending not to care has become one of the hardest things to ever do, and now, now that Quentin is gone, the only thing on his mind is accepting that he did care. Coming into the arena, Vallen didn't want to make friends, he didn't want to learn to rely on those around him, and all of that went out the window before he even realized what happened. Caring only breaks hearts, tearing the frail beating muscle into thousands of shards.

What happens now?

Running, his mind races, his heart gallops inside the prison cell, and it feels almost impossible to breathe. Every root trips him up, makes it impossible to move, impossible to figure out where exactly he's even heading, but with four cannons echoing through the sky, and one of them being a friend, Vallen realizes the games have truly begun.

This isn't the time to make friends. No, everyone is the enemy -

Then why do I care?

The thought of leaving Elijah and Lillybird behind crossed his mind many times in the last few moments, but without them, he's as good as dead. Being alone, it's terrifying, but knowing his eyes aren't what they once were makes it even more terrifying. Relying on others as he adapts and adjusts is almost impossible.

I'm sorry, Quentin.

A heavy sigh leaves his chest as he finally collapses against a tree. The world isn't the same, and it'll never be the same, but Vallen wants to do what he can, and maybe making it out of this place alive can become a reality. Right now, it's nothing more than a dream. Mom always said dreams can come true if someone believes enough. It's impossible to know, though, because while the desire is there, he's not sure if his strength can carry him forward through the trials.

He turns to Elijah, and he helps patch him up, and like Elijah offered him before, Vallen gives him his friendship bracelet. "Here, I think this will help you like it helped me when you gave yours to me."

Without another word, he moves away, and he sits next to a tree with his eyes focused on the sky. Crying in front of everyone isn't ideal, but the tears are flowing, he can feel them sliding down his cheeks. Death is bothering him, it's messing with him, and for the first time Vallen understands just how cruel the games are. Nobody deserves to die and knowing that he has to kill chews at his soul in a way he never anticipated.

Before he knows it, he's closing his eyes, and he finally drifts off to sleep.

But when he opens his eyes, the sun isn't shining.

"We should move."

His voice is hushed as he whispers the words a few times to his allies. Being in the forest is dangerous, and seeing that the sun isn't shining, and the moon is still high in the air, Vallen can't help but wondering if something is going wrong.

And once everyone is ready, Vallen tightens his grip on his weapon, and he throws his bag over his shoulder. Sometimes leading isn't easy, especially when he doesn't even know where he's really going. Out of the forest is ideal, it can give him a chance to find a place to rest, a place to see where the world is taking him, yet every hair stands on end. Every moment feels like a lifetime has gone by.

"Stay alert."

Whispering commands, mostly to himself, helps him to focus on what's around him. Things become louder, the world around him isn't vibrant and bright anymore, and seeing at night is one of the most difficult things he's had to adjust to in this moment, but listening, it opens up many doors he never thought he would see again. Sometimes a twig snaps, and he turns in that direction ready to strike.

"Three versus two...Seems a lil' unfair, no?"

Vallen turns just as the voice fills his ear, and he's unsure of who they are, and he tries taking in their silhouettes. Everyone looks so similar in the dark, and he's trying to focus on those nearby. This voice isn't one he really recognizes, and it's messing with his mind.

Nothing is fair in the hunger games, though, and it's something he's learned to accept, something he's learned to live with. Ghosts of the past linger before him blocking his way. Seeing perfectly was such a blessing he took for granted. Anyone would, right?

But that's beside the point.

Taking a step back, he allows his eyes to adjust the best they can, and he listens to what's going on around him, and even though he's struggling to see those nearby, Vallen knows it's do or die, and he doesn't want anyone else he cares for to die. Not here. Not on his watch.

I am weak. I couldn't save Quentin.

What if I can't even save myself?

"It is unfair, but unfortunately, life is unfair."

[kaitlin]

Vallen attacks Will | glaive
eN2h3H1jgMglaive

{ 13148 -- 3.5 damage }

glaive

[Jorg]

Elijah is still trying to process that Quinten is no longer with them. He was the glue of their group, but now it's just the three of them. Elijah struggles to find the common thread holding them together, but he worries that they will fray apart sooner than later. Vallen was nice enough to give Elijah his own friendship bracelet, and Elijah still managed to patch himself up pretty nicely, but he knew that he still be the main target tomorrow if they were to run into other tributes. Elijah lies against a tree beside Vallen, unsure if he should comfort his ally. Trying to figure out interpersonal relationships with those outside of his church is still a new phenomenon for Elijah, and the fact that he is learning in the Arena only compounds the complexity and anxiety of the situation.

Elijah is still unsure if he should apologize to Lillybird either. He was trying to join in on her taunting the other alliance, yet he feared that it was taken the wrong way. He might have come across the wrong way as well. Back at home, he didn't talk to others much, usually keeping to himself at the jail. At least the other church members held the same beliefs as Elijah. Now he's dealing with people who do not have the same values as him. Xaahira saw herself as a god, which Elijah knew was bullshit. Ripred was the only true god, even if he couldn't fully get behind Father Garcia's teachings. Four faces paint the night sky, and Elijah is surprised and pained by the faces looking back at him. Both boys from District Four have already died, their faces encompassing Quinten's and a girl from Nine. Elijah still feels guilty that he couldn't protect his ally in these Games, and that guilt ate him as he fell asleep.

When they woke up, Vallen took up the leadership helm the Quinten previously held, simply stating "We should move." Elijah couldn't help but agree with that. They went farther south, going farther away from the lagoon. The trees start to give way to barren land, but the sun doesn't rise. The stars are ever-bright as they continue illuminating the sky, and the moon is perpetually full. The barrenness crumbles away, giving out to a pool of water, where bodies float on the surface. Their faces are in perpetual screams as they look at the night sky. Elijah can't help but wonder if the Gamemakers had created those twisted mutations from the dead tributes. Is one of those bodies Quinten? Elijah is still unsure if he wants the answer to that when Vallen whispers , "Stay alert." They spread around this body of water in a deep cavern straight into the ground. Elijah keeps his wits about him, but a voice throws him off.

"Three versus two... seems a lil' unfair, no?"

Elijah turns around to see Krueger stab a spear deep into his neck. Elijah is grateful that the attack was not fatal, but this wound goes deeper than his body. Elijah can't help but look deep into those eyes that had captivated him at the training center. Only this time, those eyes weren't curious or even distrusting. Those eyes were now filled with a fire and determination that only brought Elijah in more profound than before. Elijah manages to sidestep Willow's first attack, and she gets a shallow cut on his shoulder, but she's not his primary concern.

"Krueger," Elijah starts, his voice straining as the muscles in his neck strain. "I never thought it would come to this, but I can't blame you. The lack of blood would only last so long before the Gamemakers force our hands. If you'll indulge me for a minute, what are you fighting for back home?" Elijah asks. They previously avoided talking about deeper issues like this, but Kreuger knew where Elijah came from, and that kind of history is hard to overlook. He gives time for Krueger to think and turns on Will, the girl from yesterday that attacked him.

"Where is Xaahira Will? Realized that she was full of shit and that none of us could parade around under the guise of playing god? Glad you managed to see the charlatan that she was. Too bad we have to kill you now, though."

Elijah swings his hand at Will, hoping to inflict the same pain she inflicted on him yesterday.

[Elijah attacks Will; clawed hands (knife)]
3YuvKrpkQlknife
[2146 - DG Left Thigh - 8.0]

knife

[Azalea]

♛

Had the day from hell so I'll fill this in when I'm "working" tomorrow

"Uh, you guys? Can't we just put yesterday behind us for a damn second and focus on whatever that thing is..? No?"

I stare between them blankly as they talk.

"I guess I'll do it myself, wow." 

table by kaplan

[ lillybird ludwig attacks manticut; lily-hilted sword ]

qKntywa|kmsword

[ 1143 -- Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage +1 blades ]

sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

Hunt.

That seems to be the purpose of your whole existence. You, an old and ancient creature of the forest, were born to hunt. Winged scythes as hands, green armor-like chitin, you were made to stalk prey through the forest and between the trees like a predator. 

Your antennae make the gentlest quiver as you creep along the vines, sensing. Each yellow eye of yours is affixed on your quarry. There is so many of them to hunt, so little time you have. There is an urgency in you. You must do this quick. A hunter doesn't play with its food, not unless it has ascertained it to be dead first. 

One of them spots you. Now, now. 

Your gossamer wings buzz to life with the fury of a hive. 

You soar forth. Its appendage cuts into you furiously, drawing a high-pitched cry from the depths of your being. Hunt. Yes, you must hunt. Chittering, you let your instinct drag you through the pain and bring your raptorial down to cut. 

ATTACKS LILLYBIRD,
raptorial (sword)

IL8eqWuBG|sword

1118 -- Deep Gash on Right Forearm -- 8.0 damage (Sword)

sword

[pogue]

G  A  M  B  L  E

Each side shares cutthroat condolences, weapons drawn and heartstrings torn and skin opened up at the surface. It's only when his spear, held in shaking hand and white-knuckled grip, tears into and through Elijah's form that Krueger fully realizes who he is and what he has done, who he will never be and everywhere he has fallen short.

Crimson drips from the tip of the blade like a token of appreciation, hitting the ground below and sinking into the soil like the arena is hungry. It takes him only a second to realize that it is. He's seen the way the shadows move and combust on the tree line, seen the sky darken and howl for blood and loss and some mix of the two.

And he's seen himself abide, instincts of a killer and body an amalgam of memories lost and memories better off forgotten. He thinks the troupe might be done watching him back home, wherever they were, in coughing lung and scarlet cheeks and bodies buried six feet under.

Home, it feels like poison and treachery as the word sits against his lips. Ten had been supposed to me nothing but a pass-through, three performances written in a fading blue marker on the calendar and then off to Six. Instead they'd rooted themselves in rotting skin and dying souls, held the hands of the only pieces they'd had left to fight for and watched them disintegrate. Home is where the heart sits, but his chest has grown hollow since he's stepped onto a stage and looked at an audience of only ghosts. 

They follow him here: it's only when Elijah speaks of home and what he's fighting for that Krueger stumbles back, just in time to see Will's body carved into and red spill from the wounds. He gasps, a sharp intake of rotten air that cuts what's left of his lungs and claws at his throat, adrenaline forcing the spear back tight into his grasp and towards his district partner.

"- what, you mean Ten?"

The toxicity that threads through the words is palpable, dripping brighter than the red on the tip of his blade. Ten was as much of a home as this arena was, and just as much a coffin. "That fuckin' place ain't my home, Elijah." Even then he knows it should be something like treachery, that there's a shining 10 carved into his back and his namesake just like Bowie.

What had the District ever done for 'em all? Let them rot and pretended not to notice? He could respect its lands and respect its victors but not the shadows they sat in- there hadn't been a single lick of sponsorship from any of 'em since he's stepped foot in this arena.

"Home's a myth, E." Krueger calls out, more of an affirmation and a convincing to himself. "I'm fightin' for whatever's left of my people back there." He bites back at the memories, all eyes staring inward at what's left of his soul. Because he doesn't know what they'll make of a freak show like him, some monster of a boy swinging wildly at a person he should consider a friend. So he bites, outward and towards Elijah with venom on his voice.

"Are you fighting for that religion of yours to save you?" 

[Krueger attacks Elijah ; spear]

|GD6omRJ|bspear

[Block]

[Accuracy reroll ; day 4]

spear

[result]

spear·spear

[alex 🐺]

Will’s exposed.

Without Luna or Thomas to hide behind, she feels the sting of two attacks scrape across her body like razor blades. It’s the wound at her thigh that causes her to stumble, blood feeding the rocks and plants all around them as the wind whispers a chorus of betrayal. Krueger stands tall next to her as the three loom large in the shadows, but it's the shimmer of gossamer that makes her stop in her tracks. She was never fucking good at numbers, but she could count to three, and that meant that they were sure as shit outnumbered.

The boy who had tasted her steel yesterday, steps up mightily, a crown of faith wrapped around his head like a halo, even as the day's darkness descends upon them in only a place that heaven could never venture.

"Where is Xaahira, Will? Realized that she was full of shit and that none of us could parade around under the guise of playing god? Glad you managed to see the charlatan that she was. Too bad we have to kill you now, though."

Gritting her teeth together, eyes shining black in the wan light, Will touches a hand to her bleeding thigh, her palm painted red before she touches her mouth, a bloody handprint a tattoo of war on her flesh.

“Shut the fuck up, dude." Great, awesome start. "You think you know, Ten, but you have no fucking idea who I am or what I think. If I were you, I would save your breath for your salvation. Because in case you didn't realize, there are no gods here. Just us devils."

will attacks d10 elijah - butterfly dagger [knife]

my2O0Vcy65knife
+9.0 dmg + 1 blades  

knife

[10th retro gm | paxton hayes]

Are any of us good people?

It runs through his mind before he can even stop it, and Vallen looks around trying to take in everyone that's there, but it's almost impossible. Even the stars in the sky are blurry as can be, yet he hears their voices, he hears the sounds, and none of them mean much to him except of the two people he wants to forget.

Forgetting is hard, though, they've been by his side for three full days now, and right now, he's struggling to protect them. First Quentin, and now it looks like the others are going to fall before he has a chance to tell them thank you.

"Uh, you guys? Can't we just put yesterday behind us for a damn second and focus on whatever that thing is..? No?"

Vallen turns, trying to figure out what Lillybird is talking about, and he barely makes out the creature his ally sees. If they all would work together, he knows they all would survive this day, they'd see another sunrise if the sunrise ever came, but look at them. Working together is never going to happen.

But does it make them bad people?

Everyone wants to live, and eventually blood lust overcomes, and it'll devour everyone standing unprepared. He wants to help her, to forget the two people trying to kill Elijah, and make sure they all stand a fighting chance, but that is taken away in the blink of an eye because the other two keep striking at him.

Attacking the mutt would be easier because it doesn't have any sort of feelings other than trying to kill anything that stands in its way.

"If we all worked together, this mutt would be dead easily." He adds with a quick nod of his head trying to see if things would change.

We can all be friends.

But not everyone here is friends.

We're all enemies.

[kaitlin]

Vallen attacks Will | glaive
l816HEizifglaive

{ 13064 -- 4.0 damage }

glaive

[Jorg]

Elijah is dying, he knows it and there’s no point in denying it. He wanted to prove that he was worthy, but getting to meet all of these people, to see what life is like outside of the cult, Elijah knew that he couldn’t fight for a faith he no longer believed in. To hold onto the delusion and die for that is worse than anything he could have imagined. He’s grateful for the allies he made, and the people he got to talk to. He’s grateful for the fact that they were able to deal with his lack of social skills. He is grateful for the chance that he had to get out of the commune. He wishes it have to end like this but he has a few more breathes left in him, and he’s not afraid to use them to express how pissed off his that he let himself be taken advantage of.

“What you mean Ten?” Krueger asks him. “That fuckin’ place ain’t my home, Elijah. Home’s a myth E. I'm fightin' for whatever's left of my people back there.“ Elijah couldn’t help but realize how little he knows of his district partner. Granted why should have Elijah formed any sort of attachments to begin with? They were supposed to be sacrifices right? Yet after almost two weeks away from, what he thought was home, Elijah knows that that is far from the truth.

“Are you fighting for that religion of yours to save you?" Krueger asks. Elijah takes a breath before answering, knowing that his answer is going to rock the “church”

“No, I’m not really fighting for anything anymore. Father Garcia only took me in when no else would. He saw a little boy starving, living on the streets and vulnerable and saw an opportunity to groom me, turn me into something that only benefitted him. I stayed in that cult because I felt like I had to. That I had to repay Father Garcia for saving me. I never truly believed in the faith to begin. After talking to you and my allies, I realized how wrong Father Garcia, and how wrong their practices are. So no, I’m not fighting for that band of crazies. I hope District Ten gets rid of them. I hope Mace can get his son back. If anything I’m fighting to make sure my allies stay alive.” Elijah is tired, the energy quickly pouring out of him in deep Ruby red pools mirroring the pools the stand by.

“Krueger, promise me when you kill me that make sure my death isn’t in vain. I have to have hope that my death isn’t just to entertain people. Lilly, take care of Vallen, he’s going to need you.” He turns to Will though, and his anger flares beyond control.

“If you learned how to shut the fuck up and listen you would realize that I never said I knew anything about you. But clearly I struck a nerve. Your actions speak plenty well for yourself. Why would you leave your district partner if you didnt think Xaahira was crazy? That she’s nothing more than delusional? You need to grow the fuck up Will, because you’re nothing more than an immature bitch who can’t handle being called out on her own actions. I’m not the one who needs to pray for salvation. Unlike you I can die knowing I’m at peace with who I am. I hope you death is painful and cruel, maybe you will actually learn something then.”

Elijah uses the last of his strength to lash out, hoping to make his last stroke painful, and that his last action would mean something.

[Elijah attacks Will Hush, Clawed Hand; knife]
3wLxj1iJ7Tknife
[2009 -- Deep Gash on Neck -- 10.0 damage
(Knife) +1 Blades]

knife

[Azalea]

♛

Elijah staggers around and when I look at him, I can see the life in his eyes start to fade away. I don't want this to be happening and neither does Vallen, but at least Vallen fights for Elijah. This enchanted hellscape has conjured a beast that targets me and whilst the world ignores it, I know how deadly it can be.

It keeps its eyes on my skin like I am a trophy to claim. A slice against my arm and there's my own blood on the ground. It's a weird feeling to look down and see part of yourself on the floor, to glance at a deep wound but not feel a thing because the adrenaline in your body is at an all-time high. The numbness will surely wear off later when the day draws to close, when the stars come out and faces light up the sky - that is, if I survive.

But to think about my own survival right now seems wrong, even though my mission is simple: win. I turn to Elijah and can see his face etched with a desperation that only appears when it is hand-in-hand with death. His voice is scratchy and he lights up the space between us all with his faith - but I don't think the darkness will budge to make room for it, not even for a second. Krueger stands on the other side of the battle, tarnishing whatever Ten means to Elijah and these words feel more of a threat than any weapon.

"Krueger, promise me when you kill me that make sure my death isn’t in vain. I have to have hope that my death isn’t just to entertain people. Lilly, take care of Vallen, he’s going to need you." The sword in my hand feels heavy enough, but the weight of looking after someone else feels almost too much. God knows how susceptible I am to letting people down, I mean, I play the same moment over and over again in my head, the moment with M word, and I don't want the responsibility anymore. The only person who should have faith in me is myself because how can I have someone else's back when I barely have my own? There are no eyes in the back of my head, there's just nightmares that have leaked out from my ears and got trapped in my hair. Slowly getting more knotted and more matted as time ticks by, slowly I become a reflection of this arena.

All I want to do is win and that feels achievable when I only think about me. It's selfish and I know that, but isn't that how we are taught to play this game?

The entertainment factor is everything, and unfortunately for Elijah, no matter how hard somebody tries to make death sweet, it'll never happen when there's an audience of millions of people cheering at every drop of blood spilled. 

I nod to him. Just a nod because my word is precious and I don't want to make another promise I can't keep. It's different in this arena, perhaps worse, because we're juggling with each other's lives - in Five, it was just M word and me. There wasn't any time to worry about dying when we were fighting to stay alive.

Maybe this isn't so different.

Words like knives in the air, it's impossible to not fall for the allure of their shine. Like stars, I look at them and I don't like the constellations my mind makes.

"You don't have to die like this, Elijah. Think of yourself and nobody else. If this really is the end, do you want to be remembered for what you said about someone else? If the world is watching, is that the legacy you want to leave?" I'd be desperate if I was on the brink of death too, but watching him destroy the cathedrals he has called home feels more criminal than his own murder. I know how it feels to let go of something you love and regret it a second later. "Do you want to die like a boy or like a man?"

I don't want to do either because I don't want to die at all. I turn my attention back to the creature, following the trail of my blood on the ground up to its body. I don't want to die at all, and so today, I won't.

table by kaplan

[ lillybird ludwig attacks manticut; lily-hilted sword ]

1v37BBr20ssword

[ 1053 -- Stabbed in Forearm -- 8.5 damage +1 blades ]

sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

The smell of blood makes your antennae twitch.

It means you succeeded, or are succeeding.

Blood is what you need. Blood is what you must draw. Your wings flutter to an animal instinct within, aligning with some blood frenzy that buzzes with the force of a hive. You chitter in your prey's face. Four-limbed creature, so fierce-looking and yet not. You can sense their fear. It lives in all of their hearts, pumping so wildly that you hear each beat and release. 

The prey speaks and a part of your hunter's instinct picks up what it is trying to say. Die. You are familiar with that word. Die- 

"Yes," you rasp through a vocal chord fashioned mostly of bone, hollow sternum wheezing out each sound they call a language.

"You must die. All of you die. Feed. You feed the soil." 

And you. They must, of course, feed you.

ATTACKS KRUEGER,
raptorial (sword)

IFE26tnKpqsword

1099 -- Severed Left Ear -- 8.0 damage (Sword)

sword

[pogue]

G  A  M  B  L  E

Try as he might, he still feels the ache from previous days wounds root themselves in his swings. His first swing arcs right and he feels fire simmer up from the half-closed wound on his chest, echoes of Torian Vice spread and dried in torn-through clothing. His second connects but only barely, paper cut of scarlet dripping from Elijah's body.

It's luck and fury that Will follows his footsteps and carves her name into his district partner's skin, the tip of her knife stained red and the boy in front of him sent staggering backwards in the moonlight. Even in darkness he can see it, the fear and the mourning and the loss of life as it slips from the body. He's seen it before, rose plague and corpses piled and holding the hand of a loved one turned ghost. It's what causes him to step backward, only for a moment, spear still held forward and tracing the lines of blood that rip and fall from Elijah's skin.

He comes face to face with death, feels it stare through him, feels all of the memories of love and loss and everything in between sever what's left of his heartstrings.

"Krueger-" His heart runs still, hollow chest aching worse than the wounds that once decorated it. "-promise me when you kill me that my death isn't in vain." 

And that's the problem...
he can't, he won't.

"I have to hope that my death isn't just to entertain people."

And that's the problem...
it is.

Krueger Gamble is a performer born and raised, beckoning the spotlight to his skin just to feel it burn, has looked into the eyes of countless audience members and not once been shaken by the way they stare into and through him, a piece of entertainment and nothing more. But Elijah's words ripple through him, cause a sharp gasp of breath to slice into heaving lungs, a step backwards and eyes widened and frozen in place, in time.

How cruel it is that he now has to swing wildly out towards a boy who wanted nothing more than to go home, that he has to take that away from him so suddenly, that he has to find the words to carve into his tombstone before he puts him six feet under.

It's almost a blessing when the mutt lunges at him and carves a scarlet grin into his shoulder. Almost.

Instead it is fire and fury, a mad dash away from the beast and a wild swing out towards its green body and blood-stained claws. Krueger feels the same pain he had felt the first two days in the arena echo through him once more as he regains his balance. "Motherfucking mutts-" He stammers, and somewhere in the world Olete's ghost agrees with him.

It's in the midst of Elijah's rant towards Will that Krueger finally darts forward once more, mutt turning its attention back to their enemies and spear still gripped within his fingers. "Enough" Krueger's voice calls out from the bloodbath in front of him and its like he's once more on the stage, arms spread wide and blade in hand and target placed before him. "Die angry or die mourning- but don't attack her for nothing." 

There's blood on the ground and blood on his hands, spear hovering above the ground and tracing the patterns before he strikes. "I can't promise you your death won't be in vain, Elijah." 

He can't, he won't. He knows too much about Death claiming those unexpectedly to trust himself like that.

"But I hope I can make it quicker than whatever this is."

[Krueger attacks Elijah ; spear]

WwjNb5Vql0spear

[4.0]

spear

[alex 🐺]

They're dying. Twin stars falling out of orbit at the same speed. Comets burning up in the atmosphere. Elijah and Will are an explosion of angry and vitriol and she wonders why she deserves this boy's ire.

The metal of her knife, covered in gore and blood from herself and Elijah makes purchase again on the boy's body, ripping and tearing skin and Willow wills it all to stop. She never asked for this, never wanted to become someone who spat in the face of loyalty, kissed the cheek of the devil and called it love. She only wanted to find her way back home, but not like this. Not when she was taking pieces out of Elijah and daring him to stop trying to prostelytize to a girl who faith would never look upon. His words are razor blades, tearing into her skin and carving into her heart as she thinks of home. Of Thomas.

“If you learned how to shut the fuck up and listen you would realize that I never said I knew anything about you. But clearly, I struck a nerve. Your actions speak plenty well for yourself. Why would you leave your district partner if you didnt think Xaahira was crazy? That she’s nothing more than delusional? You need to grow the fuck up Will, because you’re nothing more than an immature bitch who can’t handle being called out on her own actions. I’m not the one who needs to pray for salvation. Unlike you I can die knowing I’m at peace with who I am. I hope you death is painful and cruel, maybe you will actually learn something then.”

Well, that's a lot. And then he stabs her in the neck with his claws the moment she dares to linger in his space, the kiss of the steel reminding her that they're both bleeding out.

"Dude, listen," Will begins, because, she honestly has no idea where to start.

"I really don't know what you think you know about me. You act as if you have it all figured out - like you have me all figured out - which, makes no fucking sense because you have no idea who I am or what happened with my allies. If you do all have it figured out, hooray for you, and please tell me your secrets." Will tries to laugh but it gurgles and breaks as she grabs at her bleeding neck. 

"But, honestly, what lesson are we learning here other than how to fuck each other up and tear each other apart? Take your bullshit elsewhere, man."

Will sighs, a deep release of tension that makes her see spots and tears at the gash on her neck. She's tired. Bone weary and bleeding as her voice gives out. What's more is there to say in the face of someone who won't listen?

She decides to let her knife do the talking.  

will attacks d10 elijah - butterfly dagger [knife]

CHAKEDsKyHknife

+8.0 dmg + 1 blades
 

knife

[10th retro gm | paxton hayes]

I should have trained harder.

Working in robotics takes time and energy, but it doesn't come over night. No, Vallen knows how much work is placed into creating one of the best robots, and maybe that's the same here. His lack of skills make sense since his entire time in the training center was devoted to tinkering around with pieces of scrap trying to build a robot. And now, he understands. Now, he understands the reasoning behind knowing how to hold a weapon and how to properly swing it.

I should have trained harder.

First Quentin, and now, Elijah, and there isn't anything anyone can do about it. Even as a shattered heart plummets into his stomach, Vallen knows it's time to go away. Time to figure out how to regroup and focus on everything else. It's only a matter of time before the world comes crashing down again, yet his mind won't stay still.

It's my fault.

The blade of his weapon touches the ground, and he tries closing his eyes and opening them hoping the situation would change, but it's hopeless here. All of it is. The world is dark, even the stars in the sky mean nothing anymore, and for the first time, Vallen wonders if death is better than surviving. Of course, his family will miss him, but is it worth taking the life of someone else? Is it worth wearing a crown that's weighed down by the blood of twenty-three others?

I don't know.

It's not something he can answer today, and maybe it's something he won't ever be able to answer until the time comes. Nobody ever said life was easy, but Vallen had hoped that his wouldn't turn into this nightmare. A heavy sigh leaves his chest as he picks up the weapon and looks around. Fighting is easy, striking the one who killed him is what he desires, it would bring her closer to death, but why? Why risk his life when this is over? Why let everything turn upside down when he has a way out, a way to survive just one more day?

Will the sunshine tomorrow, or will this remain dark as can be throughout the rest of his days?

I'm sorry, Elijah. I hope your god has rescued you.

Is there a god?

I don't know, but maybe there is one, and maybe Elijah's god can save me.

[kaitlin]

Vallen flees