echoes of grace and stardust — th. vs av. [day 6]

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

The halcyon night returns sleep to these creaking bones and when the anthem blares, abuzz with holograms and dead faces, I don’t stir awake for observations or laments. The intricately-laced bed of warm ferns cradle the boy as a mother’s soft arms would, but the dew on its blades remains cool to touch and I remain void of a mother’s presence.

There was not even a ghost I could meet in dreams – she existed through a nameless signature in the foster system’s yellowed, crisp papers and tales woven by other’s chatters. She was an ageless woman, some said, eyes belonging to Helios, smooth skin that could give bloom to squares and squares of calla lilies.

But, I would never know.

Even if I crawl out of this gory ordeal, battered like a bruised champion, I would never know her. And, I would not need to know her – not the veins of her hands, not the cadences of her song, not the contours of her face, not the warmth of her arms.

The moment offspring comes, with their toothless howls and cherubic faces, mothers lose a slab of themselves to the brood. Perchance, my mother gave refusal to that. I would too, in a heartbeat, and it’s a soft comfort to know the one resemblance we share.

Eyes flutter awake without dark hollows etched below them, the movement gentle as if weaved from a butterfly wing. I rise gloriously to a cool dawn and sordidly to the rotten stench that seems to have crept through each atom of air overnight. Nose disregards it as mere cruelty from the gamemakers’ behalf, a price for the slumber intact with rest, and a hand scurries towards the rhinestone satchel, checking to see if a wandering tribute looted it.

Now, the fingertips could translate the feel of each item I have collected to its names. Cold and slick means the spiked blunt, the red of oculin blood glassed upon its steel petals. Coarse means the spears’ texture of grain. Tender means the med-kit. After the items have been discovered in rightful places, the digits retreat back, near to where my firewood armor loosened, and with an adroitness, make it taut once more.

It’s near sunrise when the groundwork for the bloodshed ahead is concrete; the jar of tar has been replenished to its brims and spearheads are brushed against the friction of pale stones, made as deadly as venom.

But, before blood could stain these hands red, I perch my back against a palm-tree’s flesh and stare ahead as the colors of the new day, a mosaic of marigolds and cotton-candy, plume from behind deserted castles of ashen clouds. There is no refuting – it is a honeyed sight that sweetens the drifter’s gaze.

A taste of sugar to coat the copper of blood afterwards.

Peace unravels after what seems like hours that have cascaded through the space between our fingers. A cacophony screams – and, much to my surprise, its source is an engine. Even with its jungles of rust, the machine enthralls me.

But, the sight of those who have driven it here gives salt to my open wounds. Bette, Temple, and the girl From Two – strange bedfellows they are, alongside Lex and Denali. Our trails have crossed before and since then, I knew of how we could steer our paths elsewhere and it is not through the pitter-patter of fleeing, furtive footsteps or amends crafted through hand shakes. 

Flare hisses alive on each tar-coated spearhead and I am armed for the worse. “Where's Wander?” Tongue asks whilst eyes search, but the other's nowhere to be found. “Forget it – this won't take long, I promise.”

I shall dismantle you as fast as I can.

And heaven-fire is broken open, adorned by echoes of grace and stardust, at the one who Parson struck before.

[ sets 4 javelins alight ]
[ angel attacks ‘EVE RENNER’ | flaming javelin ]

hfyYBPXLPjavelin

1-50

[ 15156 -- SPEAR IN CHEST -- 9.5 damage + 4.0 | flaming javelin + moderate burn ]

javelin·1-50

[shrimp]

BETTE SUBLINO

Wander's face is different in the sky; placid but empty - without vis usual charm, the gentle assuredness in vis smile. It's wrong - she resolves to find one better. Under the night sky, feet propped up on the dashboard of their newfound contraption, she flips through vis photographs, the pile fanned outwards on the dashboard. She holds one up: vis face covered, hands illuminated by firelight - she can still see the grin hidden behind vis fingers.

She sighs, remembers the tone in vis voice - recollection already warping the timbre. It happens quickly, memory's bias changing reality. Already it's hard to think of Yusei - young Yusei, who she'd third wheeled once or twice when he was seeing AK, when she danced on the periphery of that clique; most of what she remembers, now, are those hours spent in the dappled sunlight, the blood seeping out of gore. She hadn't remembered until late that she knew him - truly, knew him. She hopes he didn't take it personally.

As Temple and Eve skim through photos, the camera placed on the floor of the vehicle, Bette does a roll call in her mind.

One: herself.

Two: Eve. Her district partner - Shy, she recalls, now. Both so young, blood already caked on their fingertips.

Three: Not of a concern. The twins are gone, their heist unfulfilled. Her favor never cashed in. She hopes they went quickly, they were fun.

Four: Anatalia - Annie, Wander called her. She hopes she doesn't have to see her again; Wander would want that much, for the four of them.

Five: Denali, glistening armor and a boisterous laugh. Minx, in the stars tonight.

Six: Parson with the spear in his throat, blood dripping down. Quest. Bette glances at the photo, remnants of the morning's carnage. She doesn't hate her, for doing what anyone would have done. But still,

Seven: Lex Lionel and Angel de Costa - she makes a note. Dangerous, in different ways.

Eight: Eight is dead, the two gone quickly.

Nine: Fiona, her body still on the rocks. Her partner, a strategist, Bette remembers thinking, appearing in the sky right after her.

Ten: Temple, Lorenzo. She's surprised the boy's made it this far.

Eleven: Carmen. Her stomach twists.

Twelve: Hell herself, a force of nature she doesn't understand. She reminds her of the figures who played their games on the edges of the district, the ones Tharshana and Rekash would visit daily before returning with bags of cash. She never went - who'd want to?

Halfway there, she thinks. She doesn't ponder any further.


{ to be continued b/c i need to gooooooo }

> Morning light brings forth a smell so strong she starts coughing, and it's everywhere. As she pedals the motorcycle, turning to avoid the trees, she wonders what happened for the world to become sulfur.

> They reach the tar pits - what the fuck is this. She thinks back to the gold mine, the fire illuminating the cavern. This must be it, and she's furious. She knows with the introduction of tar, its use has started to become commonplace, but only for those tributes who could afford it. The danger in every ooze and bubble.

> What game are Kinkade and Azazel even playing? Why makes this accessible to everyone? This is still a quell, even if the secret hasn't been revealed. She hops out of the car, treading cautiously.

> Movement to her left, she turns. “Where's Wander?” Angel.

> “Forget it – this won't take long, I promise.”

> He doesn't deserve a response, if he's that dense. But he attacked Eve, which says more about him, than she needs to know. She raises her shield and moves forward.

> "Coward," she hisses, her blade swiping at his neck.

{Bette equips Bitchin' Shield 2.0}
{attacks Angel; knife}
9zr|MpwzFknife
{2026 -- Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5}

knife

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

She hated the night. The only good thing from the night is not being able to talk during the night, in the crisp clean air that is clean of any pollution of thought. It was open, a board or a canvas left for those who wished to speak, spoke. It was a deathtrap for emotion. Being lost in space and the time that contains it, you have no idea where your heart would land in the wind that blew the night.

She remembers her days as a younger girl, thirteen and pure with her newfound affection for a girl named Annalise. This love was rather raw, it was like a fresh apple tree in the spring. Blossoming, blooming and oh so innocent to what their years will be. Hellion's love for this girl, Annalise, grew strong. Incredibly strong. She was the girl across the street and the one girl that Hellion would always stargaze with at night.

They'd talk about their insecurity, they'd even bond over a common interest in each other. They felt a connection under those stars, and Hellion thought it was real. She thought it was something tangible. That she could wake up one morning and truly see herself saying {"i love annalise morre."} However, their love was never meant to be.

No love under the stars was real; the stars were a wish, a dream that the world made up to not feel so alone in the darkness. In a time of desperation, and in a time of hope that against her parents' deepest and strongest words; she was not alone, and that she was no sinner, because once her parents saw love, they'd understand it right?

Hellion held that dream, that dream of her parents finally accepting herself for once. She wished that she'd have someone to relate to as well. To guide her in hand, and to somehow form this bond that was unlike any other because they knew how it felt for your parents to call the love you felt fake and disgusting. Annalise was Hellion's wish in the darkness, and that wish sure as hell worked, until she left.

It's hard to remember what happened. Hellion got so used to the feeling of being able to sit there under the stars and feel security in her emotions. One day, their routine of stargazing was broken. For some odd, weird reason unknown to Hell to this day, her interest didn't appear. Small, untouched by the world and completely new to the emotions that she felt towards Annalise, she only thought that the girl forgot. And Hell sat there. And waited. And waited.

She waited a second day, and a third day. There was a voice inside of her head that said she'd come back. Annalise never came back.

Hellion thought she did a few weeks ago, when a girl named Anatalia Morrison stepped onto a stage after being reaped, and took the world by storm. Hellion was convinced that was Annalise, and that she had found her love once more.

In the night, you learn things, and this night, Hellion learned her most important lesson.

Staring at the girl from four, that was no Annalise Moore, that was Anatalia Morrison.

Her love was a mask from the hope that she once had.

Fuck Annalise Moore.

---

Her morning was blank. After her night, she couldn't sleep or think. She was broken. Knowing that her love would never come back, and that her love was fake.

Her love for Anatalia Morrison was as fake as Annalise Moore. Annalise was a fiction in her mind that she talked to, because Hellion, like everyone else in this world, was so goddamn alone, and so goddamn hopeless in ever feeling like she was worth anything.

She was a shield for her allies, she knew that. There was no way she wasn't their scapegoat, and she knew that. But she didn't care. Things that Hellion once knew always died away, anyways.

Maybe they would too, but not today.

Hellion was ablaze with her newfound passion to hate day and night, she had no reason to fear what would happen to her today. Or to her allies.

Today was the revival of the old Hellion. The girl that had faced this arena the past few days was the one masked by her childhood dreams, the woman that faces it now was masked by the envy of her dreams.

Entering upon a new fight, Hellion didn't even have to think, she just fought, defending herself from any pain to come to her again.

attacks temple, sword
R|SZelppdsword
[result]

sword

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

We're born with millions of little lights shining in the dark
And they show us the way
One lights up
Every time you feel love in your heart
One dies when it moves away

”Look after yourselves,” Wander had said, and ”I love you.”

I--

I didn’t understand.

“Where is Wander going?” I’d asked, after a minute.

I kept turning back as we parted, gazing back and forth between Temple and Bette and Wander’s figure disappearing into the fog.

I felt--

betrayed,

for a moment,

that Wander would leave us like this,

I thought--

I don’t know what I thought.

That ve knew things were getting closer to the end,

or that I had done something wrong,

whispering words like

”Don’t hurt them”

and

“I want them all to live”

I thought maybe Wander didn’t want to be so close to someone ve would have to eventually harm.

Or worse, even--

(These were bad thoughts, even for someone like me)

I thought Wander didn’t care about us anymore.

Every awful scenario played out in my head, except for the obvious.

(“Look after yourselves” and “I love you” are easy words to forget, when your mind’s used to cruelty)

I could have handled it--

I could have handled Wander leaving us because ve didn’t want to hurt us,

I could have handled Wander leaving because ve didn’t care,

but when that cannon fired--

I didn’t.. know. Not at first.

“Wander’s coming back tonight, right?"

My mind wouldn’t stop thinking the cannon was for someone else.

Someone else,

Someone ELSE.

Not Wander, my friend.

When Bette started working on her contraption, I spent my time staring into the dirt, worrying. I waited for the night to fall, bit my fingernails until my hands went raw, etched a hole in the dirt with the toe of my shoe.

I’ve never had that many people I’ve had to worry about. It was always just me, Raxar, Mom, Dad. And that was simple and difficult at the same time. .I saw the way other kids would play and joke and laugh, and I didn’t really-- fit. I laughed along to jokes that weren’t meant for me, eavesdropped on the lives and happiness of other people, pretended like I was living life because I was breathing and growing and watching other people move forward.

It was difficult because I knew I was missing something.

.It was simple because I hadn’t lived enough to know exactly what.

Last night, I knew.

I think I’ve been learning, through ghost stories and laughter and simple acts of kindness,

how to have friends, and how to worry about them.

(Simple and difficult)

I waited for the anthem, thinking:

Wander is stronger than me,

maybe stronger than all of us,

so ve will be just fine.

When the anthem played, I saw vis face, and I looked to Temple and Bette. They had probably been trying to tell me all along what I should have recognized. I saw vis face, and I stared at the image in the sky until it faded, clinging to Wander until ve was gone.

My first friend.

- - - -

This morning, we keep on moving. That’s all we can do, really.

Bette’s contraption makes it easy. I don’t have to move or carry the weight of my weapon. Everything I own is settled in at my feet, and Wander’s pictures are resting in front of us.

I don’t know where we’re going, and I don’t think any of us do.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize that today’s going to be bad. Just like yesterday was bad, and the day before that, and the day before that, and the…

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t.

I think I’m too hurt to focus on today. I let the present carry me forward into the unknown.

(I think about how it should have been me,

how I wanted it to be me,

how ready I was for it to be me)

and I look at Temple and Bette,

and nothing has changed.

My life does not mean more than theirs.

.There have been so many mean people.

Not just here, but before the Games.

I sit in my seat and I look at two of the people who have been truly kind to me,

and I settle my hands over theirs.

I keep them there until we stop, and Bette looks cautiously over the landscape. I should bring myself to care about where we are and what’s happening around us, but I can’t tear my eyes from my two remaining allies.

I’m looking at them, biting my lip in worry, when there’s movement to our left.

”Where’s Wander?”

The question pulls my anger out before the fear can touch me.

I dive forward, trying to put space in between my allies and these--

oh, these familiar faces.

“Forget it – this won't take long, I promise.”

He strikes forward with weapon ablaze, and the pain of a javelin to my chest pulls me further into the present. I try not to crumble, try not to scream, but the feeling of torn flesh and fire lapping at cloth and skin is enough to make me gasp.

I want to say something, but behind the pain--

I can’t.

It’s hard enough just to regain my composure and stand upright.

But I will--

I will,

I will, for Bette and Temple.

For them, I’d do anything.

[Eve attacks Hell Mo, spiked blunt]
IMhMf4FI8spiked blunt
14126 -- DEEP GASH ON LEFT FOREARM -- 8.0 damage
(Spiked Blunt)

lyrics: All the Little Lights by Passenger

spiked blunt

[sbeeg]

I feel back at home in the worst way possible. The evening drags the sun below the tide and the world is monotone and gray. I pick at the scabs crusted over on my shoulders, letting the fresh wound bleed again. I watch the faces in the sky and try not to think about how it's the last I'll see of Wander Sibley.

Bette works into the night, her mind warping wood into the image so clearly sketched out in her mind. I sit beside her, handing her wood and other materials for half an hour before realizing I was no help at all.

I lay on my side, wrapped up in my coat trying to find sleep. Enzo is still alive, and I find some solace that a little piece of district ten with all its spunk and glory is still fighting. I pull his photo out of my jacket and look over it again. I pull Mace's note from my axe out and read the printed words over and over.

I pull out the photos from our campfire with Denali and Lex. Everyone is barely crammed into frame and it's odd seeing everyone posing like school friends.

We're not school friends. We're fodder.

I shove everything back into my coat and curl myself into a ball.

It's so quiet without Wander.

***

The sun rises and a bird drops a note into my lap just as I wake up. A carved cow skull, smaller than my palm, drops into my hands. The detail is pretty good, and if it weren't for the wood grain one might take it for a real mutt skull of a miniature cow some Capitolite bred to show off for their parties. It smells like tar and some of the edges are still rough. I turn it over and see words scratched into the horns.

moo -Lex

I smile. I wonder if they saw Wander in the sky and sent it as a, I don't know, condolence? I put it in my coat with the rest of my trinkets. It's wasteful to carry so many frivolous things but they're all I have.

We ride in Bette's wooden monstrosity. The fact that it works at all is a miracle and there is something to be said about sitting and watching the scenery pass by. I shove my bag and skateboard under my feet, unable to place them in the very empty fourth seat beside me.

We roll into a new section of the Arena we've never been in before. Black liquid bubbles in deep pools. My stomach flips and suddenly I'm unsure if we should have come this way. But it is too late, we've already been spotted.

"Where's Wander?"

My mind reels. I hardly remember stepping out of the vehicle and raising my shield.

They know damn well where Wander is.

The district seven boy lunges for Eve, stabbing his blade between her ribs his weapon ablaze. Bette steps forward, striking the boy back.

I take a step forward, readying a knife and focusing on the point right between Angel de Costa's eyes when a sword slams into my shield. The wood trembles and then shatters, showering the ground with splinters.

Hellion Mo. District Twelve. She'd been ready to kill me in the mines if it weren't for the untimely passing of Parson Cham.

I pivot, adjusting my aim.

I'm not ready to go this time either.

Table credit griffin^^

[Attacks Hellion Mo d12f with throwing knife]
_9iIeI2K0throwing knife
[Deep Gash on Cheek -- 8.5 damage]

throwing knife

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

There were so many chances for her to take a strike at the girls that seemed to always steal kills from her.

Or even a chance to throw a knife at the boy from ten who did not seem to want to be here.

But she didn’t, because drawing blood when already so many people did, pained her.

With each cannon sound, she snapped back to reality, a hell that she was living in and would never wake up from until she made it out of here alive.

And with each passing day, it became more and more obvious that there was a chance that she would not make it out of here, just like Parson didn’t.

It should have motivated her to take no prisoners, but it didn’t.

It wouldn’t.

Because as much as she wanted to go home, she knew that Hellion and Angel wanted to go home too.

And the idea of having to kill them in order to make it out haunted her thoughts for a moment.

She just hoped that she wouldn’t have to be the one to do it.

---

And as she left the battlefield, she heard the sounds of another cannon in the air, and she turned around to make sure that Hellion and Angel were still behind her.

She let out a sigh of relief when she realized that they were all in fact behind her.

Safe as could be in a place where they were all trying to kill each other.

Annie dreaded the thoughts of what was to come later for all of them, but for now, she tried her hardest ignore those thoughts, because she was not going to have to be the one to end their lives.

Not yet at the least.

And she had to hope.

---

Annie collected another bundle of firewood and filled her jar with tar from the pit. She kept an eye out as the others rested.

She couldn’t trust anyone, especially the two girls that had murdered the boys that they were engaged with. If they killed once, they were ready to kill again.

And as much as Annie did enjoy their presence from time to time, she would not hesitate to take a knife and stab it right through their pretty faces.

Because at the end of the day, they all needed to draw blood in order to go home, Annie couldn’t let that blood come from the people that she had spent days getting to know over and over again.

As tacit as it was, and as fickle as their conversations could have been, Annie was sure that Hellion and Angel were worth dying for.

Parson was already a hard loss, one that none of them had expected to face.

But they all got over it, and it even strengthened their resolve.

They were a traveling band of misfits who were not afraid of anything that was sent in front of them.

And while their circus of fire and stardust was starting to crumble in front fo them just days before, they found a way to pull themselves together and get out of each fight with minimal battle wounds.

A feat that doesn’t happen to often.

---

And as they settled around the tar pit for the night, realizing that there was no impending danger around them, Annie couldn’t help but let her eyes roam the earth they sat on.

The fact that there was a giant pool of tar in the middle of the arena was a bold choice for the game makers to make, but Annie could not lie in admitting that she was happy it was there.

She knew that fire was dangerous, but it was something that she felt like she was used to handling. After many interactions with her father, she felt as though she carried the sun on her back after all.

As much as she hated her father, she knew that he only did it in order to make her stronger. To get her ready for this very moment.

But Annie wasn’t sure if she could be forgiving to a man that took her life and molded it into something that he wanted her to live.

It was no fun not being the author of your own story, and in Annie’s case, she felt like she wasn’t even the main character of it.

She was one of the side characters that would never get any real dedicated page time, because she would always be less important that the story of her mother dying to illness and her father trying to do anything in order to make their lives better.

It angered Annie.

She did not want to be the side character in anyone’s life, and she knew that this was the chance for her to make her stance as the main character of her own story.

She did not care for her father anymore, and if she were to make it out of here alive, she would promptly tell him to go fuck himself.

She would rescue Angel from that hell hole and take him to a place where he could live his life without having to worry.

And as unconventional as it was, they would live in a world that is no longer dictated by a man that did not know the first meaning of being selfless.

And it would be a world where Annie could live and die in again and again.

Until she was long and forgotten by time.

It was a world that she strived for.

Her reason to fight.

And win.

---

And she ended up dozing off, knowing that she would be taken care of in Angel’s care as he watched out for others.

She ended up looking up to see that Hellion was still as stoic as ever, and Annie wanted to crack that shell of hers, but she wasn’t sure how to even start that process.

It seemed like Hellion would always be a hard shell type of person, who did not seem interested in letting people in because she knew that would be trouble.

Annie could relate to that, she really could, but she wasn’t sure if she had the time to dwell on thoughts of sadness and regret at this point in the games. They were going on six days here and only 12 of them remained.

They were all that much closer to being the one to go home, and Annie could remember time and time again when the game makers would always pull a twist around this time, and Annie was waiting for it.

She was ready for whatever they had to throw at them.

But she knew that it would not come now.

No.

It would come at a time when they weren’t expecting it, and Annie hated the unpredictability of what could happen to them.

That did not change her resolve though.

She would protect them as long as she could, until the day came when they had to be enemies, because that is what family does for each other.

And as dimwitted and cliché as it was to call them family, Annie could not resist it.

It was the only term that she could admit that she did not cling too.

Because Family to her had died a long time ago, and now she had a chance to use the word as freely as she wanted too.

Just like Dymas did back in the 78th.

And then the anthem played.

---

She adjusted the Rhinestone hat affixed on her head before looking to Angel and Hellion, ”You both can sleep if you guys want. Ill keep an eye out.”

Annie smiled as she watched them both drift off or not pay attention, it didn’t matter to Annie. She could tell that they were not interested in the faces in the sky, because none of them seemed to be important enough for them to care about.

And with that the Panem Logo appeared in the sky.

The first face to appear was the girl from nine. Someone that Annie didn’t interact with at all while she was here.

She seemed to be quiet and reserved, something that Annie could respect.

And as much as Annie didn’t try to think about it, she hoped that she went out quickly.

Next was the boy from Nine. Maxwell.

All Annie could remember from that gristly scene was the sheer tenacity of the girls who were bombarding him with attack after attack. It did not surprise her that he went down so quickly, and as much as she knew that it probably wasn’t the way he wanted to go out, no one got that choice here.

It was kill or be killed, simple as that.

Then followed Minx, the boy from five.

Annie simply kept her eye contact with the face in the sky realizing that maybe, just maybe she had gone a little overkill when she kept sticking knife after knife into the boy in order to bring him to his maker, whoever that may be.

But at the end of the day, after getting lashed out by Denali, he was the next to go. And Annie was not the one to deal the killing blow.

That rested with Lex, and she had to explain herself to Denali, not her.

She made a mental note to make sure she had tar against her, because the only way to fight fire, was with fire itself.

Its not like they were going to make it an easy fight anyway.

---

And then her heart sunk.

There they were, in the sky.

The last cannon that they heard before the onslaught seemed to end for the day.

Wander Sibley was in the sky for everyone to see.

And Annie couldn’t risk making a sound around the two people who wanted them dead more than anything.

She took a deep breath before biting her lip to hold in the tears from streaming down her face.

As much as she wanted to hate them for what they had did, Annie would never be able to bring herself to do that.

She felt blood slip into her mouth, realizing that she was biting down too hard.

This was not a place for her to show her emotions, because she knew that they would not understand the pain of losing their district partner.

Angel still had his, and she didn’t seem like she was dying anytime soon.

And the boy from twelve had died a couple days ago.

If Annie had to guess, she would say that Hellion did not care one bit. And that was fine.

For her.

But for Annie, losing Wander was like losing her Angel from back home.

They were the only person that knew what it was like to sit there on a warm summer night and just watch the waves crash into the shore.

They knew what it was like to be told time and time again that they would never be good enough for the arena, that they needed to work harder if they were ever going to represent the district the way that Leon Krigel did back in his games.

They knew what it was like to be pressured into doing things that they did not want to do, and instead of accepting the status quo, they fought against it.

For the sake of their own sanity, both Annie’s and Wander’s.

They were not afraid of their demons, and they attacked them head on.

Annie thought that would be enough to carry them both through till the final few tributes of the games, but she was wrong.

So wrong.

And that was why she was trying so hard to not show herself breaking in front of the two people that she was with right now, because she had always carried herself as someone who was stronger than any tribute from four that came before her.

And she was still out to prove that point.

So she decided that she needed to take a walk.

---

And so she did.

She went up the small cliff for just a moment, taking moments to stop and wipe the tears from her eyes as much as she could. Without her other hand, it proved to be difficult, but she managed.

She thought about the last time she got to see Wander before they perished, and she couldn’t help but feel remorse.

That would have been the best opportunity for them to get out of dodge.

After Parson dying, she wasn’t sure if her alliance would have lasted another day, because Parson was the glue.

They all knew that, and while they found a way to still be in each other’s presence and protect each other with everything they had, she couldn’t help but feel a loss.

A loss that would never be filled by anyone else.

And Annie knew better.

She knew that it would never help to run from her problems, and that making sure that Hellion and Angel were taken care of came first above anything else.

But that did not stop her from thinking that she would be able to do everything by herself.

And while Angel did not want to even think about Wander for the rest of the games, Annie was the exact opposite.

When she found the opportunity, she slipped away from them.

And that’s when she finally got the chance to at least voice her opinions on the whole thing with Wander.

And she was thankful she got to do that, because she never thought in a million years that she would be accepting an apology from someone that killed one of her friends, but there she was, accepting it for what it was because at the end of the day, it truly was kill or be killed.

And she knew that Wander understood that more than anything. Because they too came from a district where the games meant everything.

Winning meant everything.

And while they did not have to like the fact that they killed someone, Annie reassured them that this would run its course, and at the end of the day, it was their chance to make sure that their life would mean something.

It was an even exchange that took more than it could ever give in return.

But they wouldn’t know that until they found a way out of the arena.

And while Annie wasn’t sure why this kept replaying in her head on a repeating loop that seemed endless, it kept her mind busy as she got higher up the mountain.

---

And she stood under the HO WOO sign, looking up at it for a long moment before trying to collect her thoughts for a moment.

She finally broke down for a moment, crying as loud and grotesquely as she wanted.

She did not hold any of it back, and while she didn’t want to care, she did. She cared more than anyone would ever understand.

Wander Sibley was gone and they were not coming back.

And the world was robbed of yet another person who left way too soon.

And while Annie knew that it would have been years before anyone started to realize what Wander Sibley was all about, Annie felt like she understood to a certain degree.

And she couldn’t help but think it was absolutely beautiful.

The tears streaming down her face seemed to not stop, and while she had a bit of a problem seeing, she took a deep breath and started to wipe away parts of the tears that stung more than the others.

She looked around the area, trying to find something that would help her cope with the fact that her district partner was gone.

She looked up at the signed and wondered if this meant anything to someone in another world, because it obviously did not mean anything in hers.

Something this large could not put here for aesthetics.

It had to mean something, to someone, somewhere in the capitol.

She took a step back for a moment and felt rocks under her stilettos.

She looked down and lifted the shoe to see one that seemed like it was long enough to hold in her one hand.

She picked it up, using her handless arm to wipe away more tears from her eyes as she looked up at the sign.

She realized that there was a ladder on the edge of H, and she placed the rock in her mouth as she finally concocted a plan to help her cope with the fact that her district partner was no longer with them.

And as she got to the top, she pulled herself onto the scaffold that supported the HO WOO sign and realized that it was sturdier then it seemed.

She took the rock and started to carve a phrase into the H in front of her, and while it simply started with Wander, she knew that it needed to be something special.

And so with all the strength she could muster, she dragged the rock against the wood, scraping paint off the H in many different motions.

After she realized what she had done, she made her way down the latter and smiled for a moment.

Now Wander would be encased in amber for generations to come.

She looked back for a moment, looking at the H.

WANDER SIBLEY MATTERED

And Annie took the rock and threw it to the side, realizing that it might have been a little much, but she didn’t care.

Wander deserved more then to die in this arena.

And she knew that if it ever came down to both of them, Annie would have a hard time striking down a person who was wiser than their years, and they would have a problem striking down a girl who fought so hard to get to the point where it was just them.

But that moment would never happen now.

Wander Sibley was gone.

A wood carving in the H of the HO WOO sign in their place.

---

And she returned to the group, realizing that she probably had been gone for longer than she needed to be.

Tears still came from her eyes, but she did not wipe them away.

She was allowed to mourn after all.

Her view shifted for a moment, once to Angel and then the Hellion and then back and forth, and she realized that as much as she was going to miss Wander, there were still people in the arena that she cared about.

People that she could still fight for.

And while none of them would understand Annie’s pain, they could understand the microcosm of losing someone important to them.

Well, at least Angel could.

And maybe that is what would bring them together.

However, Annie knew it was best to keep her feelings to herself.

For now at the least.

Angel had enough to worry about, and Annie knew that if she mentioned Wander in front of him, he would probably chastise her for ages to come.

So she simply tried to archive her feelings away for now, because there wasn’t much more she could do.

Anatalia Morrisen did have a heart at the end of the day.

It was showing it though, that was the hard part of it all.

---

And she ended up drifting off for a moment, imagining herself in a world where she did not have to watch people die in front of her.

In this world, everyone she had ever cared about was still alive, and kicking.

Parson had his arms wrapped around his Angel.

Dymas and her Angel were sitting along the sunset.

Hellion was looking back at her as the sun hit her skin in the most radiating way.

Her mother was surfing in the big blue ocean of four.

And Wander was there, right by her side.

Annie couldn’t help but feel an unbridled joy, and that permeated through her dream into her reality. She knew that one day she would be reunited with the people that she had loved and lost, and they would simply exist with her.

Her father would not be a part of the picture, because fuck him.

And while Hellion and Angel De Costa had yet to perish here, she figured they were in her paradise because they were now a part of her story.

And she would be lying to herself if she did not admit that she loved them.

Parson’s words played in her mind on repeat as the days had gone on, and all she could do was sit there and listen to them. She made him a promise that she broke, but in this paradise, Parson forgave her.

Parson told her that she still had people to protect.

And as much as she knew that Parson did not tell her that, she knew that it what he would have told her.

It was still something that she could hold onto.

She could be with her mother once more in the paradise and she could be happy.

Something that Anatalia didn’t know anymore.

She never knew what it was like to be happy, because any chance she got to experience such an emotion, it was taken away by her father.

Another reason why he would never appear in a place like this, because she thought that he was a man that did not deserve to be happy.

At the end of the day, their hatred towards each other was silly from an outside perspective, but to Annie, it was justified.

So much so that she did not stop herself from thinking thoughts that would make anyone turn in their graves when it came to her father.

But he was a man that would get over it, because Annie was serving his agenda to the tee. And as much as Annie wanted to throw the rest of the games out of the window just to make sure that he was not satisfied, she knew that she would be gipping herself out of the chance to go home and return to the one person that would still be there.

Angel Mer would always be her rock.

The reason why she needed to return home.

She knew that he would not survive the onslaught that would follow her death.

And so she needed to find anyway to come home for his sake.

Well, for her sake as well.

---

And Annie woke up, the sun coming up in the distance and she looked around her.

Everything seemed quiet, and for once, Annie did not feel the need to start moving right away.

If anything was going to happen today, she felt like it was going to come to them.

She heard high pitch screams in the distance, and she looked in the direction of the petrified forest and realized that it might have been coming from the earth itself.

If they survived today, she had a feeling that would be somewhere they would have to avoid.

She took a deep breath and started to walk around a bit, her eyes felt red and puffy, but she did not care.

She needed to let it all out last night in order for her to not feel any remorse going into the morning.

This was the sixth day they were here in the arena, and it was starting to dwindle down to the numbers that the game makers made everything interesting.

And so Annie had to be on high alert, because she had a feeling that soon something would be sprung upon them.

And as much as Annie was ready for a little excitement, she was not ready to lose the other people that had crossed her path in this journey.

She pulled a knife out, flipping it around in her hand as she waited for both Hellion and Angel to rise.

And it didn’t take long for them to join her.

---

And then finally, like Annie predicted, something came towards them.

However, none of them waited for even a moment.

Angel wasted no time lighting up his spears, something that Annie enjoyed watching because she knew that Angel had an interesting way of doing things. Before the girl from one could even roll up in her weird contraption, Angel had already thrown his first javelin.

And it struck the girl from two.

In response, the girl from one came at him with her knife, not even trying to stop and think about what she was doing.

She called him a coward, and Annie could not believe the words that came out of her mouth.

”Hes far from it.” Annie said, pulling out her jar of tar and lathering her knives with the liquid that would bring her the fire that she really wanted to fight with.

Before she lit them, she watched as Hellion took a swing at the girl from ten, and in this moment, Annie had to decide what she was going to do.

Would she attack the girl who was brutalized from a flaming spear, or would she go for the girl that Hellion picked on sheer gut feeling?

That’s when the girl from two had took a swing at Hellion, and then a knife came flying through the air.

Hellion was already dying and it didn’t seem like it was going to get any better from here.

Annie had to act quick on her feet, and she had to prove that she was not afraid of anything that came at her.

She lit her knives on fire and looked at them all, beautiful savages in the sunlight.

And she locked her eyes on the girl from two.

She wanted to speak.

She wanted to say words.

But nothing would make this moment any less painful.

No sorry’s or nothing personals could change the fact that someone was going to die here.

But Annie knew that if she did not act, she could lose possibly lose two more people that she was not ready to lose.

Not yet.

And so she took a deep breath and made her choice.

Just like she did when she attacked the girl from three the blood bath.

Just like she did when she murdered the mutts that almost ended her life.

Just like she did when she protected Hellion from that girl from eight.

Just like she did when she attack Minx the following day.

Anatalia Morrisen realized that she wasn’t making blind choices anymore.

She was acting on her emotions.

And she knew that would be exactly what Wander Sibley would have done as well.

And so she attacked her for them, even though she knew that they would not want any of them to fight.

But that wasn’t their choice.

It would never be.

[Annie lights four throwing knives on fire (the red, yellow, yellow-orange, and orange ones)]

[Annie attacks Eve Renner; Flaming throwing knife #1 (the red one)
_wRWlYzeathrowing knife
[9029 -- Knife Deep in Calf -- 8.5 damage + 1 for Target Practice = 9.5 damage
(Thrown Knife)]

Fire Roll
1-50
[+4]

throwing knife·1-50

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

Coward.

That word. It stings and raids, like a cleaver has been driven past the skin of my chest, down the chalk-boned ribs where the soul lies dormant. I labeled myself a coward when Wander’s spear rushed through Parson’s neck, steel against tendons and chords, and I watched the ordeal happen – I let it happen.

I let the grains of time flow slower and thicker so that his feet would not uproot from the soil. I let the steel rise and soar as a winged creature would, and give burial to itself within his throat.

The bitter aftertaste of regret invades the cavern of my mouth again and it’s a nauseous tang that sends the world reeling. Throat constricts as mind relives the accursed moment over and over as if stuck in purgatory – Parson, sprawled out on a pool of red. Parson, out of breath. Parson, dead. I stood there, with paralysis clinging to my bones and fresh cement on my feet. Lingered beside him speechless as he gasped for his last breaths.

The boy with a wealth of stories, tongue-tied and drained of words. It is a cruel irony. No eulogies were made for Parson Cham, no soft carnations to commemorate him, no condolences sang. But, I still have my tongue, a muscle that holds stories that would immortalize him for decades to come. I would do this – for him, and of course, for me.

Bette Sublino cannot exhaust this morale.

Her dagger scrapes, a flash of pain, but I am too weary to even acknowledge its presence. “Label me whatever, Bette. I don't hide behind others and a shield, not now and not ever again.” Words roar back, articulated through clenched teeth and bones.

I hid behind others and walls throughout my whole existence, living in cowardice, spineless. I tore my feelings and let this broken, hollow soul try and bring itself back to a whole. I buried the sobs and tears beneath the skin so that everyone saw the caricature – and not the rawness of a shattered boy inside.

No more, no more of trying to disappear.

“I am Angel,” The name resonates as a prayer would. I kneel and sing hymns at the altar of my own bruised feet for I am endless, absolute, and here by the divine right of myself.

“And you – you are nothing.” Tongue spits the word at her, menace laced with each syllable.

Gaze tears away from the girl I deem nonexistent and from the intricate woodwork of her shield. Do not give her the power or let her taunt poison me from within. There'd be no Bette standing there – not even specters or mirages of her. Only a lone space hums. Her words cannot haunt me and I make it evident by lashing out at Eve, the embers crackling with the intent to cleanse.

Heaven-fire and brimstone;
it bleeds from my fingertips.

[ angel attacks ‘EVE RENNER’ | flaming javelin ]

Eb9gMzmbJjavelin

1-50

[ 15153 -- DEEP GASH ON CHEEK -- 8.5 damage + 2.0 | flaming javelin + minor burn ]

javelin·1-50

[shrimp]

BETTE SUBLINO

Anatalia's retort falls on ears deafened by flame, by steel, by a girl trying her best to not scream in an apocalypse. Bette's blade swipes against his arm as he turns, as Anatalia turns - towards Eve. Eve, who'd asked them where Wander went after they said their farewells. Eve, who stood her ground more and more each day. Eve, who deserved better, who deserved more, who deserved to be just Eve Renner - not Eve Renner, Tribute. Not Eve Renner, with an epigraph on her tombstone. What mistake did she make, to deserve such a fate? None, and she won't let her be punished for something that was never her fault;

Maybe that, this insistence on protecting her, is Bette's own flaw - she didn't back up Wander because she was too busy watching, too busy waiting. That she didn't check in with Temple because she was too busy mending, too busy trembling. She trusted them to make it out alive when she needed to trust Eve. Even now Eve stands, her fate being etched with an orange blade but she does not fall. Not yet.

But soon. She can see Temple bracing herself and swiping at Hellion and Bette knows that she needs to keep him away, keep them all away. And as much as she'd scoff about it before she entered this infernal place, now she'd move the earth herself to keep their hearts beating for even one more second.

“Label me whatever, Bette. I don't hide behind others and a shield, not now and not ever again.” Good for you, would you like some wine with that cheese?

At the end of it all, she wishes they had more time - what had she done, when she was thirteen? She'd started helping out in the shop, just learning the odds and ends of her father's true craft. Beginning to wonder what lay ahead - gilded or glistening, it was all the same. The walls of The Antiquary were spotless, unblemished, uncracked. She'd learned how to be a wallflower at get together, children who thought they were older screaming and dancing to impromptu music; careers betting who could eat the most dirt. Only when she was older would it turn sour. But she got to be older, and wiser, and learn from her mistakes.

“And you – you are nothing.” So what's your excuse, Angel?

She couldn't care less about what he thought of her - in fact, she almost wants to laugh. What's a beetle to a spider? What's an asteroid to a sun? Whatever tale he's weaved in his mind to absolve himself of guilt, she declines a part in his narrative. They're all guilty - fucking deal with it. In a snap of a finger, four tens left, she crosses Angel DeCosta off of her list. If anything, he received that 10 because he was just what the Gamemakers wanted, just what they saw in themselves. Dangerous, of course. But Shallow. Selfish. Just one pathetic excuse after the next.

Bette knows, under the fury, that they'll call her a hypocrite. She doesn't care.

She thrusts her weight forward as he retracts his blade, slamming into him with full force as he's thrown out onto the ground, limbs careening. She doesn't relent, her right shoulder twisting back from her lunge, her blade grasped in her hand as she slams it down, down, down - a reckoning, a judgement, a sentence.

"Somebody needs to teach you to shut the fuck up."

{attacks Angel; knife}
rPJEB2xKCknife
{ 2095 -- Shallow Cut on Neck -- 4.0 damage }

knife

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

Hellion Mo, to no surprise, was to die on the 6th day. The devil's number, if you lined it up three times. 666. No wonder Hellion's heart felt so heavy on the sunrise, and her mind felt so tired, so lost, like it didn't know where it'd go after today. Her heart knew where she belonged on the sixth day, and if it wasn't alive, it'd be her very own name. It was calling to her to finally give up her fight and just let her name be her reality.

She was so scared her whole life that her parents named her Hell for a reason. That, from her very birth, they knew she was no child of God. So they named her after the embodiment of his enemy; Hell itself. Ever since they told her, "you'll go to hell if you don't act good, hellion, and you're not gonna like it there!" As an obedient child to her guardians, she believed it. Why would they hold such hatred for a place, such hatred for her to name her after it? It was like they wanted her to fear it. Name a child Jesus, they were amazing. Name a child Hellion, they were awful. No good. They deserved to emphasize every cursed word in the name of 'God' (whoever the fuck that was), and should be banished for their crimes.

Hellion was always scared of herself, but more scared of how horrible a place her name was. As a girl, she'd never test the word of her parents. They always had the right thing in mind, they were her parents after all. So she followed. Blindly, like a sheep waiting for their slaughter.

Hellion's slaughter has arrived.

If the pattern of late days would arrive, two people would die today. Anatalia and Angel were doing their best to kill one, Hellion wasn't making any work at all on it, and then the others were doing their damned. It was like a war. It was war. Despicable war, but no war could ever be stopped by silence. Hellion never intended to stop it in general, so she was lucky that silence was her forte.

Words did not fill the void that Hellion attacked, they never did. A desire of avoiding her biggest fears did, and that fueled her, even when bleeding out, to never stop.

The devil's child should always do their work on the 6th day.

attacks temple, sword
vvP21lSSGsword
[result]

sword

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

I don’t know a lot about courage,

.but I’m learning.

As I stand before these kids and their weapons that dance alight with flame, I think back to my private training session,

that faceless feeling,

that burning anguish,

.that fear coiled around my gut.

I think back to the pulverized ruin of the dummy, the indentations left on my fists, the fight that wouldn’t stop struggling inside of me.

A Little me, a Lot of rage.

That faceless feeling?:

the perseverance of intention.

Deliberate.

Unremitting.

That day, I fought everything at once.

All of it.

Until my limbs gave way,

until the room started spinning,

until I couldn’t remain conscious.

My body gave out,

(as bodies are wont to do)

but my heart didn’t.

(I can feel my body giving out,

the knife,

the javelin,

the flame)

I want to cry,

I want to crumble,

(the flesh of my own cheek ripped clean open)

but my heart won’t let me.

I look back to Bette and Temple,

wishing I could hold their hands,

and I tell them:

”Don’t worry, I won’t fall.”

When faced with a threat, a fear, a worry, every living creature has two choices:

Fight

or flight.

And I won’t run from this fight.

I won’t run from this fear.

I refuse.

I refuse.

I refuse.

As I am torn down,

as the pain spreads,

as the weight becomes too much to carry,



.I make my choice.

[Eve attacks Hell Mo, spiked blunt]
Qzgvu55Mxspiked blunt
14109 -- BROKEN RIGHT COLLAR BONE -- 6.5 damage
(Spiked Blunt)

spiked blunt

[sbeeg]

The blade tears open the skin stretched across her cheekbone, leaving a weeping gash beneath her eye. I almost feel bad for landing such a nasty wound. It would take more than chewed up herbs and unsanitary needle and thread to ever have that heal properly. She'd have a scar. Then again scars seemed to suit her.

Bette's voice creeps into the edge of my mind. She's circling the Angel and they're scathing words like blows.

Hellion slashes forward, the tip of sword digging into the hard material of my vest, but not touching any skin beneath it. I stumble backwards and assess her again. I thought I was getting the Hellion from the Gold Mines who swung her sword with power and purpose. This one is different. Something has happened in that single day that has extinguished her fire. What could possibly tame the fires of hell?

They've carved pieces out of Eve. She seems so much smaller now. Tiny without Wander by her side.

"Don’t worry, I won’t fall."

I believe her even though I shouldn't. I smile despite the truth.

I slip another blade from my jacket and take aim. I don't feel the same urgency in my grip, or the same rage burning within my soul. I feel only duty. Duty to myself, to Kahinta back home. To Wander out at sea. To Bette and to Eve. A duty to tick one more box, to scratch another name of a betting list. I try not to think too hard on the person it belongs to.

Table credit griffin^^

[Attacks Hellion Mo with throwing knife]
|ZZf3k50Fthrowing knife
[Miss (knife lost) -- 0.0 damage]

[Accuracy Reroll]
throwing knife
[Knife in Eye -- X]

throwing knife·throwing knife

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

Annie could not see herself anymore in the embers of her blade. Instead, she saw a girl who was ready to put her life on the line for people that she needed to protect.

She wanted so much for Angel and Hellion.

As much as she knew that only one of them could go home, that did not mean that Annie wanted to watch them die in front of her either.

But unfortunately, that was going to be an inevitability. So she would have to prepare herself for the war that she was going to have to fight in.

While her skin was not ravaged by blades, she watched as her alliance was.

The girl from one seemed to rage on and on about manners, something that Annie could see she did not have herself.

”Do you hear yourself right now? Don’t tell someone whose grieving what to do. Or did you forget who we all saw in the sky last night?” Annie screamed across the battlefield, watching a javelin thrown by Angel himself land a deep cut on the girl from two.

”This is war unfortunately, there are no time for pleasantries.” Annie pulled a knife out and made eye contact with the girl from two.

It broke for a moment as she watched that same girl go after Hellion in a way that she did not expect.

And before she knew it, Hellion seemed like she was in more pain that she usually would be.

But that could not shake Annie.

Not right now.

She needed to be strong for both Angel and Hellion, because if she wasn’t, she felt the very foundation of why they were together would crumble into pieces that would do nothing but disintegrate.

It already started with the loss of Parson, but losing Hellion or Angel in this mix would doom Annie into a world where she would think she couldn’t do anything right.

How is a girl supposed to prove that she is strong… no. Worthy of the title of victor if she couldn’t be strong?

At least, that is what her father would tell her, and the sheer thought of him appearing in her brain made her eyes flash red.

She did not want to think of him, or the awful things that he did to her while she trained for this very moment.

And while he did give her to tools to make it this far, she did not want to give him any of the satisfaction.

He was dead to her, and that is the way that she wanted to keep it.

---

But then it came crashing down as the girl from ten threw a knife in Hellion’s direction.

In the blink of an eye, Hellion fell to the ground, and she wasn’t responding.

”Hell?” she muttered.

”HELLION!?” Annie screamed for a moment, moving close to the body that laid there on the earth. ”Answer me Hellion. Damnit.”

But nothing came, because nothing would come from the lips of the girl who thought of herself as hell incarnate ever again.

Now it was just Annie and Angel, and Annie had no clue how to comprehend this.

She shook her head and made eye contact with the girls who stood across from her.

”This is war. No matter how you see it.” She made direct eye contact with the girl from two. ”An eye for an eye.” She spoke as she threw her knife.

The muted screams of Hellion Mo hopefully carrying it through the wind.

And the fire on it representing the person that Hellion was.

Hell.

Incarnate.

Annie attacks Eve; Flaming throwing knife 2 (the yellow one)
J5F9Cb6Uzthrowing knife
[9050 -- Knife in Calf -- 6.0 damage + 1 for Target practice = 7.0
(Thrown Knife)]

Fire Roll
1-50
[+0]

throwing knife·1-50

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

Bette barges in, shield erect, and its wooden face collides against my side. Her brute force mirrors an obnoxious bully's, throwing me down to the dirt, and bones creak as they settle upon a cloud of dust.

But, a sharp intake of breath thaws the ice clinging to my skull and clarity returns as a whole – the world brighter, crueler in an instant. The silver of her dagger lurches for me and immediately, shoulder recoils, taking the body along with it. In the frantic momentum of it all, the steel only manages to scrape the neck.

Footing is quickly recovered, balance intact. She cannot knock me over and expect me to not rise again – it's the nature of a predator to wrestle against odds, to stomach the agonies and regain focus back on its prey, back on the hunt.

I won't let a hypocrite be my downfall.

“Somebody needs to teach you to shut the fuck up.” Her fury roars, all menace and vulgarities, and I exhale a chuckle at her intolerance. “You cannot muzzle a river,” Fingers rewrap themselves around the ablaze steel. “But, a person can be silenced with a spear in their throat.” The ends of the orange flames clinging to the two spearheads are my soul – raging and raging – but reserved, for now.

As in seamless accordance with the fire and the bloodshed, a cannon explodes and a knife is protruding from Hell's eye. One bite from a dagger, that's all it takes to kill the hell incarnate.

Strength is an illusion in the arena. I close my eyes for a second, envisaging darkness and nothing else.

Back in the orphanage and its plastered walls, these disputes would be settled on different terms such as handshakes, broken bread and shared desserts at the elongated dinner table, not violence.

But, Bette does not look as if she cares for a handshake or ice-cream now, blade drawn and irises slit into two crescents, and the likelihood of reconciliation thins and thins until it stands on its last, rickety bone. No going back for those whose weapons have become a permanent extension of their hands.

I would not offer the others the satisfaction of witnessing me explode and unravel with fury. I would not fulfill what she fervently asks for. This story of angel-fire does not belong to Bette Sublino.

So, instead, I'd make her watch Eve Renner die.

“Don't worry, I won't fall.” She whispered into the white noise, the words of a girl painted red and hanging by a loose thread. “No, you will. For Hell's sake, you will.” I hold her gaze as arms would and it's the one comfort I can offer to a dying girl.

There's no remorse shed, no prayers said;

vengeance comes quietly, save for the sibilant tear of skin, the grating crunch of bones and a snarl,

“So, fall.”

[ angel attacks ‘EVE RENNER’ | flaming javelin ]

thplPtmgVjavelin

1-50

[ 15088 -- DEEP GASH ON BACK -- 8.5 damage | flaming javelin + extinguished ]

javelin·1-50

[shrimp]

BETTE SUBLINO

[ filler, this is a flee post ]

> she stands, shield at the ready, plants a foot down on Hell's bag.
> despair in her veins but not in her voice, not in her breath, not in her eyes. Her anger is ice, not flame.
> they're at a stalemate: hellion down. eve down. eve's breath is shallow as she collapses.
> what's a river to a sun? a cause for drought.
> her words are calm, soft as always, measured.
> "Thirteen," she says. She spits on the ground.
> she points, her blade towards Annie's heart. It's clear to all that this battle's over.
> "Wander wanted you to live. So you'd better hope I never see you again."

[sbeeg]

The wooden hilt grazes against my finger tips as the knife leaves my grip. The world warps and suddenly it's Hellion, blonde hair curled and frayed out around her head against a blank, black world. I see the instant the blade touches the soft flesh of her eyeball, and then slam against the socket. The hilt rocks against the bone as blood gushes between the marred tissue and metal intrusion.

I hear the crunch of Bear's neck. The screech of mutts with my blade buried into their skin. The tortured shrieks of a cow trapped in a ditch.

I've been a witness to death, a chaperone to help animals to the other side. I've seen death, but I've never...

I never killed someone before.

I should feel different, right? I should feel sad or angry or broken or affirmed. I don't feel anything. I feel blank. Like a gray sky stretched out over prairie.

Color bleeds back into the world just in time to hear a cruel taunt.

"So, fall."

There was a pat of my mind that thought Eve Renner was invincible. Despite her size and her youth she always made it through. She was strong and I thought...

I don't know what I thought.

I do know there can't be more death. Not today.

I bend down, grabbing the blade sticking out of Hell's skull. The knife is stuck and resist my tug. I take a slow breath in through my teeth, pressing the sole of my shoe against her forehead before ripping the blade free.

I raise my blade with Bette's, a combined protective force.

I wish I had strong words like Bette. Deep cutting threats that send enemies running. Clever remarks that are going to be played back on the footage shown in the districts. I can think of nothing. I only hold my blade, fingers trembling against the hilt.

No words come.

I swallow the thickness threatening to fill my throat.

But I hold my blade even after they're out of sight.

[flee]

Table credit griffin^^