The Wild Beyond The Trees | 94th Finale

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

It all leads back to the woods.

Back to the trees, back to where it all began, all the beautiful and terrible fairies of the fey realm go. They have beguiled for days, drank deliciously throughout the week, and fed on secrets so sweet it gave them sweet teeth, but now their queens beckon them back in earnest. And so with laughter, fanfare, and song, they fly home.

Empty of its creatures, the land around both of you is suddenly nothing but quiet stretches of green, whispering wildflowers and bubbling brooks, foxes in the underbrush and birds on the branches. There was beauty here, but also terror, and isn’t that how most storybooks were penned? Yours, you know, is no different. Fireflies crown around your heads, two princes of a forgotten fantasy land, and there are no pixies to haggle you towards the path because there is no path now, only forward.

You know where you must go, too.

The rain is muffled by the canopy above you as you enter it. The leaves are so achingly green. A root archway welcome you both towards a glade in its center, complete with a lush carpet of moss, and you see all four queens of this land regard you as you arrive, face to face, from separate ends of the woods. Vines begin to grow, ivies start to uncurl, and the fairies all begin singing in a choir that twinkles like silver bells. Flowers grow, flowers die. The trees sway together, hand-in-hand. Time has no meaning here. It never had.

The forest crowns its king today.

Good luck tributes, and may the odds be ever in your favor.

---

Tribute Information:

Torian Vice, District Seven -- 10 damage
Self-Defense

Krueger Gamble, District Ten -- 8.5 damage
Strength
Self-Defense

[Python]

He was in a state of disbelief.

It was one thing to be stranded in the Hunger Games, never knowing when a sword would enter his eye socket. It was another thing to know exactly when it would come. When only two tributes remained, there were only two outcomes - dying, or living. Living meant returning home, seeing his family, acquiring wealth and safety, but most of all, it meant his suffering would not be in vain. He was not interested in money and fame, he just wanted to be okay. He wanted to see his mother without bloodshot eyes and tears streaming down her cheeks. He wanted to see his father, smiling in place of that grim frown - the all-knowing mask that told Torian that he did not have faith in his survival.

With all of that weighing on his conscience, he had forgotten the possibility of fame and fortune. Even now, it barely crossed his mind. The outcome was too dark, too lingering. Dying had become a tangible idea, an event he witnessed and participated in this past week. He had ended two lives and helped end two more. How that information would mess with his brain in the future, he didn't know. What he did know was that it could end up not mattering. Today was the final day. If death came, it was certain. There was nobody to help him. There were no safety nets remaining. Even if Krueger wanted to be merciful, it was against the rules.

Torian didn't know how to process this information. Dread felt like a thousand needles churning in his stomach. If he died today, he would spend his final moments in pain, emotionally and physically. There was no doubting that. The aches and pains from days ago had faded, only to be replaced with Larissa's wrath. She had done a number on him before his miraculous checkmate. It still felt too good to be true, even though there was nothing 'good' about it. Lucky was the word. He was lucky. He didn't feel any satisfaction killing her, but he was alive.

When he awoke to emerald fields and an illuminated path, he marched like a soldier. If he could take down Larissa, he could take down Krueger. But in this state, that was a big maybe. He was hydrated, yes, but he dripped with injuries. Every limb felt heavy and light at the same time, like he had loose bolts in his mechanics. Would he have predicted himself and Krueger in the final two? Not at all, but there was something symbolic about it. He would've pointed it out as an audience member, if he cared. They had met in the bloodbath, Torian spilling first blood, and now they would meet on the final day.

A strange part of him wondered if Kreuger would throw another eyeball at him.

"I never apologized for what I did, so uh...sorry for that. I knew what I was doing, but I was protecting something." Himself, his friends, the treasures of the wealth. He didn't know how that one wound morphed into a bunch of eyeballs, but he suspected it had connections to the antlers sprouting out of his skull. A sickening crown, if one could call it that.

"I can't be sorry for this though. I want to go home."

Apologizing felt empty. He wouldn't be upset about Kreuger killing him - he would more more upset about dying. What else were they supposed to do? Give up? He would never ask that of anyone. No sensible tribute would do that. Everyone wanted to go home.

"If I hurt you, it's because I missed your heart, or your brain." Or his aorta, but he couldn't give away all of this strategies.

That part he regretted.

He did not want to cause pain.

[attacks kreuger - glaive]
8yCY9NAF2pglaive
dg calf, 8

glaive

[pogue]

G  A  M  B  L  E

He doesn't remember falling asleep once the anthem ends, but something in him does. It chases him down in a whirlwind of blood and blades, nightmares come to fruition and reminders of the past etching into his brain with the ghosts he's collected on the path to this point. It's a sleep so restless, half-hearted and cruel, waking up in the dead of the night unsure if the liquid on his face is new tears carved or old wounds bleeding. He gets his answer in the morning, when the sun looks down on him and singes the cuts on his face, dries the tears that joined them and danced crimson and blue in the moonlight.

He is alive, he is breathing, his hand is still clutched to the spear that sits beside him, last remaining lifeline all scarlet and sin. There's a small shred of relief at the certainty he faces as he rises, feels joints too young to be protesting the movement hiss under his skin, gathers his things and ever so carefully pulls his bag over his shoulder, wounds underneath threatening to come undone. He's one of two remaining tributes, life in his hands withered and dying but still clinging on. He knows it unlikely, that a boy like him would make it anywhere close to a spot like this, knows it's even more wild to think that the boy he's about to face was the one who drew first blood.

Is the one who could draw last blood, too.

He bites back at the thought of that last part, that Olete and Will and Magi and Perry were only carving out the path for him to join 'em, that all of the blood and the breaths were for nothing, could be for nothing. He combats the sobering thought with an empty gaze up to the sky, at the countless people watching and whoever was controlling this next set of the game. Bared fangs and an audience of his own making, countless sets of eyes cast upwards as a reminder of all he'd done over the past eight days, waiting for his final breath and final bloodshed.

The arena echoes his silence and washes over him all at once, songs and laughter and whispers so vile carried away with the wind and Krueger feels a gnawing at the edge of his gut, sets a gaze towards the forest he'd nearly died in once already and breathes a sigh of bile and leftover blood. "Of course it's the damn forest..." He mutters, then bites the rest of the sentence off the tip of his tongue in wake of the silence of the arena. Better not be any more fuckin' bunnies.

He walks with two eyes peeled, the rest of 'em gazing warily at the path ahead of him like they'd be of any use should Torian jump out of the shadows. Krueger holds the spear outwards, swatting at the brush and the leftover blood stains that dart the path until he sees the shape of his last opponent materialize before him- banged up and broken and all so fucking dangerous. 

A breath catches in his throat, terrifying and cold and pointing a spear towards his opponent just to watch the point shake. He'd rehearsed this moment a million and one times since he'd put Perry to rest, heard the final cannon and seen Larissa stare down at him one last time. Come here to finish what you started?, the words dance on his tongue with the tiniest sense of sweetness, poison never tasting so good. But Torian beats him to the punch with a real fuckin' shot to the gut: an apology.

Protecting something, he calls it. Krueger's gaze traces the antlers that spring up out of Torian's head, an assumed side effect of whatever drugs they'd pumped them full of before spitting them out to the arena. He ponders the sentence, chews on it and feels it chew on him and lets the adrenaline win the first round- "Lil' late." He says, but there's a grin that punctuates it. "But hey, I'm still standing." There's blood on his lips and in his teeth when he smiles, then lets it drop as he ponders the same realization he's had so many times already.

"We've both done 'lot worse since then, yeah?" 

The question lingers for a moment, lost in the silence and the dead air between them, the only answer the crickets and the occasional rustle of the brush. It's a cruel reminder of their mortality, a question too... if he screamed when he died, if Torian did too, would the forest even stop to hear it? Would it lay to rest the whispers of fairies or the songs of cannons echoing? Or would it continue like nothing happened, like nothing had been lost?

That's the worst part, he knows the answer.

"I can't be sorry for this though. I want to go home."

"Bingo-" Krueger whispers, so loud against the silence. "You and me both... no more apologies." 

Dramatics, theatrics, the curtain pulls back and Krueger knows with the last remaining words between 'em that there is a blade coming towards him. He wills his body to move but is betrayed by his own aching bones and tired limbs, barely managing to dance backwards before the glaive finds a spot on his calf and pulls familiarity up to the surface in scarlet. he gasps, then bites at the air and grinds his teeth together, spitting out the same sarcasm that got him here in the first place: "Yeah, ya missed."

But it was a miss too heavy, he stumbles forward on shaking legs and feels himself nearly fall forwards, pulls at adrenaline and tries to turn it into a wild dash towards his opponent. "Surprised you managed to take down the lion-" And that part's true.

"- guess we're both the underdog Career killers, huh?"

[krueger attacks torian ; spear]

D_F88dpnEBspear

[foot, 8.0]

spear

[Python]

"We've both done 'lot worse since then, yeah?"

The impulse answer was no. The reality was more complicated than that. Torian had ended two lives and spent little time processing what it meant. He hadn't thought of their families back home, or the permenancy of their loss. Two consciences that would no longer contribute to this world, good or bad. That was always the sickening part of death, the part that people dreaded - missing something that was supposed to be there. Torian didn't know how to miss strangers, but there was a gut feeling in his stomach that somebody would, and it was his fault. He already knew what it said about himself as a person - he wasn't bad, just in a bad position. He was killing for survival and it was obvious. For Kreuger, he hoped it was the same. The world deserved a victor who wasn't corrupted by its faults.

Torian nodded in a silent agreement. No more apologies. Every moment after this was coordinated, calculated, and for lawful reason. He couldn't argue that Kreuger's situation was worth more or less than his own, especially because he knew little about him. Torian anticipated a similar treatment. His family was desvering of their son, but Torian didn't plan to dangle that in front of his face. Kreuger must've had someone too.

It didn't make this any easier.

There was an awful stain of blood on Kreuger's smile, and one Torian created to match. He was not a master of blades, but as Kreuger said, he had accomplished enough to take down the lion. Career killers. Even as he ripped flesh open, he didn't like that title. It made him sound like he knew what he was doing. Mentally, he did. Physically, all of this felt like a dream. A wicked one, but one where a beacon of hope remained. He had to promise himself he would see the stars and canopies of Seven again, or he would risk forgetting himself.

Kreuger met him with a serpent's strike to the foot. The experience of wound after wound still didn't prepare him for the searing pain. He had once learned that habituation could ease predicaments like this, but nobody warned him how random it was, and how long it would take. He begrudgingly admitted how smart of a move it was. Now he would be limping around, an off-balance little boy way in over his head.

Kreuger killed Perry, he realized. Torian killed Larissa. He didn't know what this meant. Were the odds in his favor, or perfectly balanced?

"Yeah, well, lions can be hunted."

He pretended to be the mastermind behind it, just for a moment. Technically, he had searched for another tribute, but moreso stumbled upon Larissa by accident. He had barely survived the encounter, desperately grasping for dominance. His weapon falling through her head still felt like a fluke.

He wished for one final blessing of good luck.

[attacks kreuger - glaive]
prpA2cvJJ_glaive
sc calf, 3.5

glaive

[pogue]

G  A  M  B  L  E

There's a faint hint of strategy in the way he stumbles forwards towards Torian, beating his own words to the punch before they can reach him. His spear finds refuge in his opponent's foot, off-balance and unsteady and ripping crimson up from the source. Adrenaline carries him forward, what's left of his hand after Magi's mauling striking out towards Torian just a second too late. He jumps backwards only for the distance, pressing teeth to teeth and willpower to gut in order to not collapse from the searing pain that shoots up from his calf.

He still hasn't gotten used to the stalemates in between strikes, breathing in poisoned air and letting it pull out ragged breaths from their throats, trembling like scared little boys with weapons too deadly to hold, though they've both proven otherwise in the minds of the viewers. Even now he looks over Torian with cautious curiosity, ruffled browse and pained gaze and a thousand questions his tongue will never be able to ask. Easier to forget who they killed than remember 'em, to let the ghosts haunt than to let them speak, to face their death with silence.

Krueger bites that bullet, iron and scarlet on his teeth and tongue.
"Perry and Magi-" He starts, their names burning his flesh.
"I killed 'em both." 

How cruel, that the fear laced into his words sounds so similar to pride, that the white-knuckles around his spear don't help his case and that he refuses to not keep tracing the outline of Torian's jugular with the tip of it. Some pieces of him had thought speaking their names would bring power to their graves, force them away and to move on and to leave him to die alone, already halfway into his grave and digging further. But he feels Olete and Magi and Will and Perry claw at his shoulders as he looks towards his opponent, gaze faltering for just a moment and trying to stifle back the breath caught in his throat. There's a choice and an answer between them, to die with his ghosts like a man or vomit them to the world like a boy.

He chooses selfishness, just like he always has.

They'll share their ghosts just like they share mortality, scarlet and ragged and full of grief.
"Who else have you killed?" 

Torian moves as quick as he can, darting forward on bloody foot and this time Krueger is half prepared for what comes, he dances backwards and pushes the adrenaline into his rotting leg and feels the tip of a weapon carve softly against his calf, paper cut left over and a red smile to boot. The spear is an extension of himself, at this point, and he drives the tip into the ground when Torian's assault finally relents to steady the way he sways, black spots dancing at the edge of his vision and heart curling in hollow chest. Reckoning with his own death, watching it smile with a thousand red grins scattered across his body, Krueger readjusts his stance and peers warily back to his opponent. 

"Yeah, well, lions can be hunted."

Krueger smiled, grin carved onto his face with scarring wounds drawn around it. He liked that quip, sarcasm and fury and realization all in one little phrase. It's something the Le Roux's still hadn't realized in all their golden glory, that the name meant nothing to a rusted blade or scared heart- it's something that two lowers from cast out districts had to realize early. Something else, too, "Ha, yeah." He huffs, tightening his grip on the spear. Not just lions, 

"Then again," He starts, and throws himself into his descent, "everything can be hunted." His spear punctuates the answer he alludes to,

especially us.

[krueger attacks torian ; spear]

Ir52A5FiYlspear

[3.5]

spear

[Python]

There was something to be said about counting kills. Was this a moment of pride or a confession? Torian hunted the lion and pretended to wear its mane, but he was no true killer. He didn't take real pride the way Bellamy or Thomas had, arguing over Jayson's body like it had any meaning. Back then, it rubbed Torian the wrong way. Now he realized it was all for nothing. Both of those boys were dead, and all of the bragging was dust in the wind. Odd, how the meaning of something could change so quickly. He didn't care about that situation anymore.

He did care about his own. Forcing himself to own up to who he killed - he wanted to procrastinate that. If he died, he didn't have to worry about it at all. If he won - well...

Facing demons was the least of his worries right now.

"I killed a girl named Lara. I didn't know much about her."

What he did know was her ally, Magi, had taken Caspian's head. Kreuger ended whatever legacy formed after that. If he was a revenge kind of guy, he would've thanked Kreuger. But he wasn't a revenge guy, and expressing appreciation about murder felt weird.

What slipped out next was born from guilt. "Is that bad?"

He had studied as many tributes as he could. It was part of a strategic 'plan' that he and his enoutrage thought he would follow. Get to know everyone and their weaknesses, and use his 'braniac' skill, as they called it, to his advantage. If only he knew how little it would matter in the end. Even if he knew somebody's weakness, he didn't have the power to exploit it. All he had was a heavy weapon in his hand, and a whole lot of determination. Add a dash of fear and an ounce of dread, and you have a typical tribute. Torian wasn't special. His score earned him sponsors, but beyond that? He was a kid.

A kid can be hunted.

"Everything can be hunted."

That was something everyone was born to realize. He envied his younger self, who could forget about the Hunger Games and the glorification of human hunting. He wished he could go back one more time and relive a moment of innocence.

Man, he had taken it for granted.

[attacks kreuger - glaive]
ZAHG_4UPb5glaive
0.0

accuracy
glaive
dg bicep, 8

glaive·glaive

[pogue]

G  A  M  B  L  E

They trade blow for blow, shallow wound to shallow wound until he steps back and admires what they've both built together. Shattered reflections and haunted memories, they exist as a cracked mirror of each other's movements at this point, frustration bubbling in his gut as he realizes that was his chance to pull ahead. As he realizes he missed it.

Counting their kills, faking their pride, he watches as Torian readjusts his stance, catching the little spots of red as the cameras focus in on the stalemate that draws near between them. He can only imagine this isn't the excitement the Capitol wanted, two broken boys recognizing their ghosts in a forest far too haunted, clutchign their weapons as the only things they have left. 

"I killed a girl named Lara."

His blood, what's left of it, runs cold for just a moment. Eyes widen, gaze distant, Olete flickers in his memories and it takes all he can do to bite back against the thought. "Is that bad?" He doesn't get the chance to answer before Torian lashes out once more. Spear to chest, block the blow, wound the pride.

It's enough to negate the first blow but not the momentum, blade sliding off the hilt of his spear and carving a heavy line down his arm. Krueger gasps and lets the breath catch in his throat, eyes widened with fear that took too long to get there and realization that came too quickly. 

He is dying.

Again, because Magi had brought him to the brink with sword and sin, and Perry had dragged him back by the rough and tumble of his own neck, banter and bloodshed laced in her grasp. He's still not used to it, the way black spots dance at the edge of his vision and ice collects from open wounds, the way his grip on the spear tightens but on reality it's like he's holding it in loose wrist, staring out towards Torian with an empty gaze only a boy who has seen too much could muster.

He swallows what's left of his spit before he speaks, glass and gravel carving the inside of his throat, reminders that the pain persists no matter how much he fights back. His voice comes out broken, strained, cracking into the silence and betraying what's left of him before he pulls the bravado back into it. "Yeah, it's bad."

Because it is, Torian has killed a girl that killed a girl that he could call a friend. He pulled blood to the surface and let it rest and only stopped once a cannon punctuated the event, a chorus of his own making. Because no one should have to pull blade from flesh just to keep on living.

Because they are kids, both of them. "But..."
Because they are killers.

"She killed my ally." He hoists the spear towards his chest and feels Olete's ghost rest on his shoulders, whispering poisoned nothings, sweet reminders of what's to come. "So I guess I should be thankin' ya." 

But he can't. He won't.

"Shame I can't properly return the favor."

[krueger attacks torian ; spear]

H69Ecgvbxsspear

[0]

[Accuracy]

spear

[8]

spear·spear

[Python]

Torian was a boy raised by science and discpline, so when Kreuger spoke a harsh truth, he didn't flinch. "Yeah, it's bad." Sugarcoating the truth did not help kids like Torian. As much as it pained him to accept that truth, guilt scooping up his insides, he would rather know than live a lie. There were things to make amends for if he made it out of here. Nobody has a squeaky clean record. You can't be the 'good guy' because it's all subjective, and somebody out there thinks of Torian as the devil for what he has done. Imagining Lara's family and what they thought of him now - most people would argue that they deserved justice. Torian would actively fight against that justice now.

Their blows syncrhonized. Their weapons mirrored each other, and Torian couldn't tell if Kreuger was copying him, or if he was copying Kreuger - or maybe this was how two clumsy, low distruct underdogs fought. Either way, Torian wouldn't call it ineffective. His body was opened in several places now, muscles and nerves exposed to the world. Nothing on his person had been left untouched or unscathed. Scars from days ago were still healing. He felt worse than he did yesterday, knowing that this was his final chance. Nobody could save him here.

His only solace? He didn't mind Kreuger. Maybe he liked him, he couldn't decide. His 'helpers' back at the training center warned him that he was supposed to view opponents by face value - people who were obstacles, and nothing else. He wasn't supposed to imagine their families, their childhoods, their desires and dreams. Hell, he wasn't supposed to make friends either, but Torian didn't know what they expected out of him. To become a machine in a matter of days? Impossible. His brain would never stop thinking and feeling until it shut down. Nobody knows what happens after that, but Torian had an idea.

Peace.

His eyes widened at Kreuger's next words, "Guess I should be thankin' ya."

What an irony, that they had been helping one another this whole time. Torian regretted how they met.

"Funny, you kinda already have."

It wasn't funny, but his brain was fuzzy from blood loss and shock. His body tried its hardest to pump adrenaline and smother pain. Its final battle cry.

"Magi killed my al- my friend, Caspian."

He would not be ashamed to call someone friend. Let it be cliche, he was only human.

"Guess we're even."

[attacks kreuger - glaive]
TsywvbqW1Zglaive
dg head, 9

glaive

[pogue]

G  A  M  B  L  E

The show drags on, curtains stained red with their blood and spotlight burning half-dead flesh. Krueger sputters when his first attack misses, hardly managing to carve a grin into Torian's calf just like he'd just done to him. It's a sick, childish mentality to bangin' on the door of Death, anything Torian could do he could do better, and Krueger nearly cracks a smile at the irony of what their fight has come to. At what they've both become.

This entire time he's been a martyr of his own making, carrying a spear like a boy carries his pride, wounding it over and over again just to rebuild it stronger, clamoring for home if only to give himself the comfort of knowing there was something out there to go back to. But he looks at the way Torian stumbles in the wake of the last wound he left him, catches his opponent's gaze and forces himself to reckon with the fact that he is a kid killing a kid for no other reason than to give himself peace, or what was left of it. "Magi killed my al- friend, Caspian."

Krueger gulps, the recognition of an ally to a friend cutting into him deeper than any blade. He'd backed into the shadows with his own allies, clung desperately to them as shields and never allowing himself anything more. Now he faces death from someone who'd done the opposite, the first time he doesn't see a reflection of himself when he looks at Torian. "Guess we're even." 

He's a Gamble, that much is true. But the troupe doesn't take kindly to killers, has never smiled in the wake of death, only forced themselves to embrace it. He doesn't think there's a home left for him, there, here, or anywhere else. "Even." he mumbles to himself, and he knows it's a lie, treachery. But selfishness wins out, just like it always has. "Yeah, even." He says it with a smile, somber and distant.

Torian's swings are faster than what his reactions can do for him at this point. He is dying, slow and painful and a thousand cuts scattered across his body, tallies of all the sins he's made and never gave himself the space to regret. The glaive connects with the side of his head and he feels a sickening crunch, fire exploding out from the source as a large chunk of his helmet collapses to the dust and the dirt. Red seeps over his vision now, a wave of crimson coating his skin and newfound eyes already starting to dot the edges. Black spots crowd at the edge of his vision and it takes all his strength, weak and unfound, to keep himself standing, swaying under the sunlight. 

Death knocks at his door, hand in hand with Olete and Hush and Magi and Perry and everyone in between them. He'll be dead and forgotten by morning, a troupe burial if he's ever seen one.

But he's been raised resilient, spitting in the face of death just to see the blood and the bile mixed in it, clutching a spear for so long that the wooden handle is just as much a part of him as the kills he's spread throughout the arena. It's just like he realized in his fight with Magi: he would never be a comfort, alive or dead. Only death and pain carves itself in his wake.

"What's next for me? For you?" He tosses the question out like it's anything less than his own destruction, feels it singe on his tongue like venom before he punctuates it with a mumble, only audible to Torian and the winds, "What comes next for people like us?" 

[krueger attacks torian ; spear]

lkGZAbf|IFspear

[Result]

spear

[Python]

Torian split metal and skull with one pivotal thrust. He was medically aware that heads bled a lot, more often than most parts of the body because there were clusters of blood vessels near the skin's surface. It didn't make the gore easier to look at, but it made him aware that this wasn't some 'winning blow' moment. Kreuger's head bled like a waterfall, but he was still very much a threat to his life. Maybe it would slow him down, make his movements sluggish and his thoughts molasses. Torian had to remain on high alert. He would push himself to his ultimate limit if he had to.

It was awful to think that the human body was capable of feeling this much pain. He could thank the nervous system for that, sending a million alarm bells to his brain to let him know that he was in a bad situation, that he was dying. Adrenaline did not smother it as quickly as the neurons fired a hundred more agonizing signals. Stop, stop! He wished he could convince his own body to calm the heck down. I know I'm dying, I get it!

They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Torian wondered where that lie came from, because he felt at his absolute worst. If he won out of desperation, he was okay with that. Was it out of strength and conquest?

Absolutely not.

"What comes next for people like us?"

He thought of Ulysses. 'You've got what it takes to do good things. That was his plan, wasn't it? To live, to go home, to go back to where he was before this nightmare started.

But it wouldn't be that way, would it? His life would be changed forever. He would be haunted by a crown and living in the shadow of a reputation he didn't even know of yet. It was easy to forget that his desperate grasping for straws was a television spectacle, a drama for people to enjoy. Every now and then he caught the eye of a camera, yet it felt like another pixie or a strange mushroom. People were watching him right now. His parents could be -

Oh no.

He gulped down the horror that threatened to escape him. "I think we both know what comes next for one of us."

It was a vague but honest answer. Torian's beliefs were plain and simple - when you die, you cease to exist. That is where one of them would end up. Disappearing, leaving behind an empty shell of a body to be shipped back off to their home district. One of them would end up in the ground, or in ashes on a mantle for those to mourn over. Best case scenario - if they wanted to be remembered, they would end up in a muserum exhibit.

Torian didn't know what Kreuger believed, but one of them would die today.

"But if it's me, I want to be good. I don't think it's too late for that, for either of us."

[attacks kreuger - glaive]
EWBl5d8VIRglaive
sc, 4.5

glaive

[pogue]

G  A  M  B  L  E

One step away from the finish line and he falters, heavy and dripping with his own seat and blood. His attack arcs wide, blocked by Torian's glaive and Krueger knows it's over as soon as the boy's blade finds refuge on the side of his head once more. 

He coughs, sputters, ragged breath dripping to the grass beneath him. When he finally catches himself he can hardly make out his own white-knuckled hands in between the black spots that dance on his vision, can hardly see his opponent, can hardly see himself. This pain is unforgiving, relentless, cruel. He envies the quickness which Bowie's life was taken.

"I think we both know what comes next for one of us."

Against everything in his system, Krueger forces one last grin towards his opponent. "Do we?", memories of his conversation with Magi flooding to the front of his mind and mixed with red. He doesn't know what comes next, Torian doesn't either, no matter how much they spit up brains and brawn and lace it with the red of their own blood.

He's shaking now, trembling limbs and wide eyes and the face of a boy too young for a fate like this, a kid simply scared to die. He hopes whatever comes next isn't the darkness, he hopes whatever comes next isn't as cruel as what this was.

"But if it's me, I want to be good. I don''t think it's too late for that, for either of us." 

This time, Krueger laughs. But it's sinister, clawing at his throat until it comes out as nothing more than bile and spit, crimson and burning. "Good..." He stammers, mumbles into the wind and hears it whisper back. It's like the word is foreign to him, burning his tongue and leaving nothing left. In so many ways, it is.

"You got a funny definition of good." He remarks, one finger pointing towards his opponent, his own blood dripping from the digit. Something silver and blue slips from his eye, hardly catching the light before it's lost in the wave of red that cascades down the side of his head.

For the first time, Krueger Gamble shows that which he always was: a shaking, scared kid.

"Go ahead then." He comments, raising his spear for one last weak-willed stand. 

"Show yourself how good you are."

[krueger attacks torian ; spear]

N0iikOmsQYspear

[8.0]

spear

[Python]

That was the problem. Torian couldn't define 'good.' Not here. He wanted to be a good person, but what did that mean for everybody else? In this place, he couldn't accomplish that because it would mean sacrificing everything. But in the outside world, far from here, he could help people and make it a better place.

Problem was, he was sure people had tried. Hundreds before him. They've all failed, because if the world was a better place, he wouldnt be standing here right now with a weapon pointed at his heart. He would be at home, reading science books to his mother, who demanded to hear his progress despite knowing little of what he talked about. He would be with his father, watching him cook meat over a fire and ranting about his day at work. He would be with his friends, wind gliding through his hair as he dived down a steep hill with his bicycle.

If the world was a better place, he wouldn't have to sacrifice Kreuger to follow his own dreams.

"Please, I already know this isn't good. What we're doing now? I'm not counting it. We shouldn't have this on our conscience."

He didn't want Kreuger to feel bad if Torian died. And if ghosts were real after all, Torian promised himself that he had nobody to haunt. He had a few regrets, yes, but he harbored no anger toward anyone else. Bellamy and Peregrine were gone, legacies eaten alive, and although he might call them questionable people, he had nothing bad to say about them out loud. Let them rest in peace.

"If you have a better definition of good, please tell me if you can. I want something good to come out of this."

Is that even possible, he wondered.

As a scientist, it is important to to be cynical. Criqitue oneself, listen to the perspectives and ideas of others. If these were Torian's own last words, then he was himself until the end, and he was okay with that. He didn't want to live a lie or suspend himself in disbelief. If Kreuger had any last words, and Torian was alive to hear them, he wanted it to be something he would remember forever. Something he could pass onto the entire world.

Something special. From the heart, where Torian pointed his blade.

[attacks kreuger - glaive]
8TNUfT4xa2glaive
sc stomach, 4

glaive

[Python]

An explosion.

Silence.

Torian had rammed his blade through Kreuger's chest and backed away like the hilt burned his palms. A cannon confirmed his demise, yet he was still drenched in adrenaline, body trembling and heart pounding. His head was spinning, a concoction of disbelief and blood loss. His words were met with an eerie silence. A silence that made him uncomfortably ill, and suddenly he had the urge to throw up. Although it never came, he still hated every second of it. It was the loudest silence on the planet. He asked for something good, and delivered something awful. Curiosity was left empty, because he genuinely thought he was going to die. Torian agreed to fight, promised to try, but had to accept that he was in over his head.

Now what?

He was wrong. He stood alone in a beautiful, emerald atmosphere that wasn't real. Kreuger lay on the ground, glaive jutting out of his chest, breaths stolen. He half expected another tribute to jump out of the bushes and surprise him with a knife to his ribcage - it was the obvious outcome, right? Because Torian couldn't be the final child. He was just a kid. Some brainiac from Seven who got his name called at the Reaping because statistics laughed at him. Everyone knew what was supposed to happen to kids like that - they died, and their half-woven storylines vanished from existence. At best, there was a plaque bearing their name at some museum, and a child would ask "Who was that, mama?". And she would have to pretend she cared.

He collapsed onto his bottom, feeling defeated despite everything. It hadn't sunk in yet. He watched Kreuger's body, waiting for the plot twist to condemn him. Nothing happened.

His heart settled. Routine guided his hands to his bag, where he pulled out more bandages and started covering his wounds. This was too good to be true, so he had to be ready. They could do anything to ensure he didn't make it out of here. They had to hate him, he killed a career. He slipped past death's yearning grip, and he didn't think it was because of his mind. This was pure, ridiculous luck.

Then why didn't he feel bad about it?

His eyes searched the sky. If this was it, he was going home. He closed his eyes and imagined it - seeing his mother again, feeling a warm, slightly itchy embrace because she loved cheap turtleneck sweaters. He imagined his father waiting for him by a hearth, ready to place a heavy hand on his shoulder as they talked about how bright Torian's future was.

He opened his eyes, but he didn't see a bright future. He didn't know what he saw.

Uncertainty.

"Man.."

He was sure he heard a humming in the distance. Someone was taking him home, away from this nightmare.

A whisper.

"I have no idea what I'm doing."


---

IT'S FINALLY HAPPENED, and now I write my obligatory speech. Huge shout out to gamemakers Griffin, Kiah, and Zoe for running an absolute banger of a Games with fun mechanics and the whole FEYWILD to explore. I'm so happy I have a lil guy that survived the horrors of the fey, mutating him on the way! This was such a fun theme, especially as a D&D fan, so thank you!

Mattio - The main squeeze, and the one who was always on top of my maintenance, the mechanics, everything. You always knew what was going on and helped me out when I was busy. It was an absolute pleasure to write with Ulysses, and you know I love a tragic tale of BESTIES. Stay tuned for more trauma, re: the pendants. Hoping for more threads soon (;

Tom - Caspian left the world too soon, but we did finally got to ally for a longer period of time and get some plots DONE. I love my somber king. You had my back the whole Games and listened to all of my emotions when tensions were high. Thank you for your patience.

Lance - The main inspiration for our alliance name. Such a bad influence, and Torian needed that in his life to spice things up. You always answer my questions when it comes to weapons and TD, and you also listened to my panic without judgment. You kept saying one of these days I would win, and I didn't believe you. I was wrong, oops! I appreciate you and this whole alliance. Y'all were my backbone fr.

Dars - You've always had my back no matter what tribute it was. You've probably made a million and one tables for me, including this one, and it's only fitting that I win in Mackenzie's district so we can plot together. AND I got to fight Larissa, the lion, the one who helped Torian in the beginning and shared a training score with him. There is some fun symbolism going on there. Thank you for sharing her story with me, and making it a part of mine.

Pogue - This man is the creator of Torian's main table, a masterpiece btw. When we interacted in the bloodbath together, I never thought we would end up where we are now. Kreuger and Torian making it to the end! I'm happy it was you. We had interactions in the beginning, middle, and end, a complete story. I hope you are satisfied with Kreuger's story because I love it, and I'm happy to have participated. I'll be rooting for you in the Quell from the sidelines <3 I hope it's a blast

Special thanks to Kari and Rave as well. We may not have allied or interacted much in the arena, but your praises and your constant spoken support of Torian (and even my previous tributes) warms my heart. I'm grateful to have friends like y'all.


End, and a new beginning.