The Bloodbath

[Kire]

Ansgar Todd

The stillness that surrounds him is the faint echo of death. There are bodies around them, four souls that were lost so soon in this trial. Ripred had blessed him with the ability to survive and to fight with weapons he had not trained with. The knives he had thrown had struck with an accuracy only gifted by Ripred. No one could have thrown with his precision otherwise. Immediately he drops to one knee, forming the pose he always takes when he prays. With his fingers pressed hard enough against his forehead to make his pale skin grow even whiter, he sends his thanks to Ripred.

Ripred, thank you for all that you have given me this day. The strength you gave me, the courage, the accuracy. Without your aid I surely would have failed. Once more I owe you my life, and once more I gladly offer it to you. He takes a brief pause to open his eyes and look over the faces of the dead and dying. I might have been among these faces today, but I am not. Ripred, Father, thank you for giving me the chance to survive another day. I will spread your good name. I will further our cause. In the distance there is coughing. It is plain that the person coughing will not be getting up. Distantly he notices the sound of movement but he pays it no mind. In these last few moments of prayer his mind is void of anything and his body is void of breath.

Time passes so that it seems as though he may actually have died despite his having survived until this point. Even so, the wounds he had sustained were not life-threatening despite his gory appearance. Blood trailed in a thick streak down his face, staining the shoulder sweater a dark brown in spots. His arm looked much worse than it was, having bled enough to stain his flesh from his wrist to his elbow in dark crimson. Taking stock of the damage, he gingerly touched the two wounds. Already the cut on his cheek was beginning to crust over, but he pressed a sleeve to it to hurry the healing along. Still kneeling, he tended to himself for a brief moment before regaining his feet. There were three souls he had to watch out for yet, not in wariness but in worry. His own small mischief to lead.

The sounds of stirring behind him were too energetic to belong to the dying. He had faced the source in a heartbeat, ready to defend in case it was a foe. Bolt's large eyes nearly skipped over him in their panic to find a friendly face, but there must have been some small bit of recognition for he called out, "Guys?" He waited, staying silent as the boy seemed to regain a bit of awareness. "Is everyone all right?" He looked around as Bolts did, seeing the others in that same moment. Hyacinth and Mordecai, both alive and looking as though they hadn't suffered any injuries. Hyacinth was tossing away her high heeled boots in favour of sturdier combat boots. He made a note to find some for himself soon. "My feet hurt." There was an air of complaining simply to complain, for after all they had all made it out with their lives. "Did we just...?" It seemed as though Bolts was having trouble saying more than a few words at a time.

In this pause, though, there was a weight as though all of the possible words that could fill in that blank win, survive, kill someone? The answer was yes to all three, or perhaps only to the last two. Winning at this point was not a true possibility, for after all only one person could win, if it could really be called winning. They had, however, certainly survived. In fact, he had been the one to fare the worst of the four of them - a fact that brought him pride instead of bitterness. He had lived up to part of his promise to Ripred, he had defended those who had trusted him. They had also taken the lives of two people, and nearly that of a third. The girl from District nine and the boy from District eleven, both of which had been killed by Mordecai, both of which had been killed right in front of him. The blow before the last had been his both times, but it was not destined that he should be the life taker just yet. Perhaps it was Ripred's will that he not consign himself to that sin until there was no way to avoid it.

He still had blood on his hands. They were red with that of his own and others' life energy and starting to become sticky from it. The drying gore was beginning to darken and look almost burgundy, shifting into brown. Both of his wounds had stopped bleeding, though they were still tender as of yet. As though sensing this shift of his thoughts to his injuries, Bolts looked to Hyacinth and Mordecai. "Is anyone hurt?" He stepped forward, closer to Bolts. Mordecai seemed somewhat dumbfounded, a sort of blind bewilderment that left him distant. He noticed the amount of gore that coated the boy, unsurprising considering the amount of injury he had dealt out during the fight. He had sever limbs, crushed skulls, and generally hacked into his opponents with great skill. Now, however, he looked much to meek to have been capable of such violence. Perhaps unhurt in body, but aching in mind. He would pray to Ripred to give Mordecai the strength to face the necessary evils he had committed.

Tonight he would pray for all of them, for they all needed the aid of Ripred in this time. It would take many words of prayer in order to keep them all on the path to paradise, even himself, but his devotion would be rewarded even if he had to commit atrocities to keep himself and his companions alive. Perhaps, given enough time, he might save them all.

Stripping off the heels was a wonderful feeling, and then putting on a pair of reasonable boots lead to all the aches in his feet flaring up before settling into comfort. These, along with the other pieces of scattered armor around them, would aid them in defending themselves. Everything in this heap of items would make living that much easier. Looking over the things that they now controlled, he felt a flare of gratitude to Ripred once again, as well as a growing confidence.

Ripred, you take care of me when I need, you offer me protection when I am vulnerable. Without you I am nothing.

Ripred, I will protect them as you protect me. I will guide them to paradise.

[gamemaker kelsier]

Blood on my hands.

I think about it like a clap of thunder.

Loud and threatening and far away.

I watch someone run from me, back to me and I raise my arm, raising the sword in my hand, bloody and sharp. They run and I imagine slicing a line diagonally down their back to watch the blood crisp there on the black of their shirt, on the light of their skin. I let my arm fall, sword falling with a clatter to the ground.

There is a booming silence.

I raise my hands to look at them. Something pink, slightly grey slings to the back of my hands and my arms. I think it might be bits of someone's brain.

I count between the thunder strikes, trying to guess how far away they are.

I think I cut off someone's leg.

I lower my hands, eyes searching the wall, streaks of blood painting the cabin walls in strange arcs. I try to guess who it belongs to. I look down at myself again. I wonder if any of it is mine. I examine my arms. There are all the old scars, covered in blood. I count them all, slow and careful. There isn't a new one yet. I don't think.

Someone squeezes my elbow. I look over and it's Hyacinth. Gentle.

My eyes follow her as she walks away. I cannot tell if she is hurt. Too much blood. Everything is red.

Four bodies lie unmoving around the room. One is unrecognizable. I think about the grey on the backs of my hands and something inside me claps. Thunder.

I blink and suddenlyI'm in the cage, staring at the one across from me. It's Mel. She's gasping for air, clutching her left wrist in her right hand. Her hand is gone, they've just taken it. We told her to let go of him, the man who had been walking by. We told her that it wasn't good to do anything but play dead when the men came to look at us in our cages. She didn't listen.

She'd grabbed at the man's pant leg, screaming, begging for him to let her go home.

He'dcut off her hand.

She wouldn't let go.

I watched her until her breath stopped, no blood left in her body to keep her going.

I blink and I'm staring at the body of a girl that I know I have killed.

her eyes are glassy, unseeing.

Like Mel's were.

I look away.

An ache of something old and raw presses itself into the back of my throat and I grimace, eyes filling. I have watched many die, seen many people come and go, I should be used to it. But I did not want to kill anyone. I came here to be the one killed.

There is a hole in my head where the last half hour has gone.

I look for Bolts and Ansgar,, wondering if I've killed them too, relief filling me when I see them standing there, whole. they exchange their footwear for combat boots and I step over carefully, uncertain in the strange shoes that I was holding in front of Jiz's face what feels like a year ago now. I don't say anything to them, slipping my shoes off too. I wiggle my toes and eye the boots, wondering if the shoes are necessary.

I put on a pair too.

They're tight, not as bad as the spiked ones though. I toss them on the ground, flinching as I catch sight of the body again.

I try to focus on something else, eyes searching for Hyacinth.

She kneels beside the boy named Drake. He is dying.

I dealt the last blow.

I feel sick and I shut my eyes. I whisper to Tobias. I tell him I'm sorry.

"This is why I should die."

I open my eyes. Ansgar has blood on him. It is his own. I look down at the ground, eyes searching for something. I want to help him. his lips move, he is talking to his friend Ripred again, just like how I talk to Tobias. Ripred is a strange name for a brother but i don't know what it's like in his District.

I take a bandage and stick it carefully on top of one of his cuts. My fingers smooth it over it, carefully applying pressure.

I shut my eyes and the cage grows smaller around me.

[Mordecai performs first aid on Ansgar Todd]

elegant