cat's cradle ; reyes v. vargen ; day seven

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

It is just me.

Silence has been a part of all my evenings but the assuring sound of another’s breathe has been enough to send me to my sleep. Now it has gone. Five breathes has been swiped away for me to be here. A whole week and each pillar I have hidden behind has tumbled. I guess I can say the plan has worked. From day one I have been treading in their shadows. Now they are gone.

Now here comes the guilty conscience.

The consequences of my cunning strategy. A success to drag me through a week but it has not gone as far as the end game. Now that Sapphire is dead, it is game over. It should have just been the Rhodes, the Three could have easily toppled but fucking shitty fate had to take away my fighter. What do I do now?

Frost is already beginning to settle on the fibres of my cloak, but the sky threatens to pour its blizzard down on me. Maybe those five lives will be wasted tonight as I freeze to the bank of the river. The only enemy that persuaded me to not take that life on the streets, the climate is no easy battle to face. I could waste the tar and warm myself but after the fire wielding events of today, it is clearly the way to go if Sapphire fell to a weakling like Three.

There really is no plan for me now but to just survive. Seven are left wandering this arena, just two more than the number that have died to get me here. But it only takes one to kill me.

I make it necessary for me to watch the anthem in the sky, to see what predators are lurking. The three career girls. Sapphire’s demented district partner. Somehow handless still walks and there are the two boys that killed Sapphire yesterday. Honestly, they are all fucking terrifying.

As soon as the snow begins to fall, I contemplate letting it bury me by the river shore. I can just lay here like I am, flat on the cold rubble, maybe the slight waves will sweep me away. Drowning or hypothermia, I wonder if either is quicker than being stabbed to death. Ah, lets just at least fucking try. I push myself to my feet, hauling my bag of gold over my shoulder and dragging the sword along with me.

I carry a sword but now I have no shield. I really need to start using this properly.

I took the lead on the first day with my fresh-faced career boys and the ever-strong Sapphire. A battle woman, the two soldiers and the bag of bones that they dragged along with them. Each day went on I ended up behind, following whoever dared venture to the next environment. Now it is all up to me, back to being the free-agent that I always dreamed to be.

Aimless wandering will take me nowhere, probably to a trap or a hole in the floorboards like on the first day.

Although it takes me to somewhere new, a foreign terrain to take my last stand. I can really compliment the gamemakers on their efforts, even amongst the dusting of snow the dead landscape looks like a welcome resting ground. Of course, the most tattered part of the arena would be the place where my blood will run dry.

Now to see who will be the one doing the deed.

I let the figure walk to me, dropping my bag to the side and raising my sword as I wait for them to come into view. I beg it is the Ten or the Three, someone on my own level…oh fucking Ripred.

”Oh man, why does it have to be you? No you are not having my organs.” I step closer to Vargen, shaking my head as we finally meet within inches of each other. All I can do is laugh, this will either be some long-winded exchange of dramatic words or he will kindly put me to sleep within an instant. ”It is not fair that you outlived Sapphire, I am sure Seven will have been cheering her on over you.”

Reyes attacks Vargen | sword

YckC2G6vo7sword

[1067 -- Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage +1 blades]

sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

{ the dance of death - midsommar }

When the winter came, dressing the world in white, I felt a familiar ache in my chest – a twinge of reminiscence.

Forresters were used to the snow. The silver of our hairs blended in seamlessly with it and our bones had grown with the hoarfrost and the cold. It was not in a wolf’s nature to be afraid of the winter – we were born to run through it, we were born to rule it. It was our season, the season of death and rebirth. But back then, my sister was always by my side whenever we prowled through the labyrinths of ice.

        Back then, I was the prince of a wolf pack.

Now I was alone: a stray animal, accompanied only by the heavy crunch of my footsteps and the howling winds. The memory of my father’s blade to my throat carry me onward.

After a few minutes or an hour later, I found myself pacing around in circles, fingertips toying gently with the colorful threads, no sense of purpose to my footsteps. The snow, although far from warm and kind, was a comfort – a piece of the home that  I couldn’t help but yearn. I couldn’t stop picturing the thread-tangled trees around me as the ones back home, cloaked in the same spreads of white, tall and dark in the cold night. My feet only skidded to a halt when the stars above me transmuted to faces, cut from the constellations. Craning my head skyward, I gazed as they passed by, one by one. I did not care about anyone, but that was until Sapphire’s eyes met my own.

        Sapphire.

        She was dead.

The one I’d sworn to hunt down was dead. A piece of home, gone. I would never feel the death of her pulse beneath my fingertips. I would never cover her in wildflowers and say my farewells. The gaping sensation inside me was an indescribable thing – a strange hybrid of grief and fury. I mourned her but I loathed the fact that I wasn’t the one who brought her end. Sapphire DeCaria, with her eyes polished by her tenacity, a girl from the forests back home.

        Sapphire DeCaria, buried under the snow.

Weary all of a sudden, I laid down with my arms wrapped around me to sleep and scarcely, through the flurries of snow and squall, I caught a thing, half-sunken in a snowdrift. Drawing myself closer to it, I stared down at it, inspecting the object. It was a bowl, tastefully carved from wood, the sigil of a sun etched onto a side and a cloud onto another. Only then, did my throat prick – only then did I feel a thirst claw at me from the back of my mouth.

“Thank you, old gods,” I murmured to the wind and brought the rims of the bowl to my cold lips.

        It was not water – not even close to it.

I spat it out, gasping, fingertips scraping at the snow below in fury that seared me from within. The bitterness – the sickening tang of it – had already cascaded too far down my throat to be heaved out so instead, my throat wept. I wept, too. My fingers felt as though they were sculpted from ice. My fingers. Desperately, they scrambled to the base of my throat, eager to pluck the taste out from it, to smother the stench with wildflowers and perfume. But, it was hopeless.

        And, I understood then.

        It was a message from
        the gods – a warning.

I could hear them scream, their voices like a thousand mirrors shattering, like a thousand vultures crying out:

do not lose your faith. You are a sword, and nothing more. You are our sacrificial blade. Do not lose your savagery.

I laid there in the cold, kneeling, with my spine bent down in worship and my fingers clasped together in prayer. The night drew back and the dawn came. The chill in my bones seemed to have slaughtered every other sensation, every other taste, every other memory of what I’d drunk last night. I was thankful for it, although I felt numbed to my heart, the blood in my veins interwoven with ice.

The chill seemed to have left one thing warm-blooded and that was the fury that replaced the heat inside me—a fury that seared me every time I made a sharp intake of breath.

A fury that had only grown in the time it’d taken for me to rise my feet and stumble upon Reyes Calvo. A fury that if it was an animal, would be slavering at the mouth with rage by now. A fury that had spilled its banks.

        After he'd spoken, I laughed.

There was no mirth in the sound. Yet, I laughed and laughed until the threads around us quivered with the sound of my laughter. I ran along the colorful threads that surrounded us and laughed until nothing could be felt but this laughter inside me, its rattle in my bones.

        Then, I stopped.

The sharp edge of his sword dug deep and it was a sting that seared the skin there – but I gritted my teeth so hard that no cry of pain would dare to escape it. At the heels of this pain he'd caused me, was the same fury from before. You are a sword, and nothing more. 

“The gods demand blood.” I whispered it, at first.

“The gods demand blood, the gods demand blood, the gods demand blood, the gods demand blood—

        THE GODS DEMAND BLOOD!”

( Vargen attacks ❛ Reyes ❜ | Woodcutter's Axe 1/2 )

zD6KqCsBOBthrowing axe

10181 -- Bruised Arm -- 2 damage (Thrown Axe)

throwing axe

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

A daring sprint from the starting line, a nice plunge of my sword and finally I see blood on the blade when I pull it away. A perfect deep scar to the back of the maniac’s head. It is not deep enough to see his head rolling but there will for sure be a scar there to remind him of me if he is to be the one to get out of here. Fuck, he better not be the one! For the sake of Sapphire, I better make sure Seven brings home two coffins and not the keys to an empty victor’s village house there.

“The gods demand blood.”

He says it repeatedly, his pitch higher with each spurt of the sentence. With his last shout, I cover an ear with my free hand. What…the…fuck. Maybe the feast was laced with drugs after all. All I can do is respond with laughter and my chuckles grow stronger with the sad excuse of an axe throw from the boy. There is a sharp pain in my arm but it quickly fades, it will probably be blue but not even a millilitre of blood is spilled that his so-called gods demand.

”I would have thought a Seven would know how to throw an axe.”

My laughter is uncontrollable, drama has laced every fight that I have been in, but this is just a comedy act. Does he really think I am going to take all of this seriously? ”There is enough blood in this arena for your fake gods Vargen. What kind of sick gods are they anyway?”

I drag the point of my sword along the surface of the snow, leaving behind a trail as I mark up my next strike. How could the same District produce a girl like Sapphire and a boy like…this? It may be humane to kill him, clearly, he has lost his mind. ”I can give your gods their blood. I bet they would enjoy a worthy sacrifice.” I play his own narrative, I may as well follow the script for once, it will be entertainment for those caring to watch. ”I will send you to your gods.”

Reyes attacks Vargen | sword

roh2ONu1sZsword

[1199 -- Block -- 0.0 damage]

Accuracy

sword

[1183 -- Severed Right Calf at Knee -- 9.0 damage + 1 blades]

sword·sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

{ reborn - hereditary }

        In the depths of my mania, memories blossomed.

They passed through me, a thousand sensations, all at once. I laughed as the memory of a deer’s warm snout nuzzled at my palms. I winched as a feral wolf gouged open a wound across my arm. I revered as the Forresters danced around me, cloaked in white like spring lilies that had magically sprung up in a winter field. The forests back home rustled in the back of my head, their leaves a dark and mysterious sea of green. The smell of incense and herbs burned on an altar flooded my nostrils.

        I was made of these memories.
        Nothing more, & nothing less.

Black threatened to smear the periphery of my eyes the moment I took aim—and the axe drew no blood, only a bruise that would be colored in over the course of the night. That was, if Reyes Calvo survived the day. That was if Reyes Calvo could wrestle with the monster and tear its fangs. He had a chance; a resolution burned in his eyes and a hatred for me wielded his sword. He had a chance but I refused to let him have it. You are a sacrificial blade. I gritted my teeth and tore another axe free, each muscle in my body laden with an animosity.

His sword was a beautiful, sweeping arc of silver and so was he, the glorious prince ready to cut the monster’s head.

Not that effortlessly, I screamed in my own head and used the edge of my axe to stop that ravening blade. The two steels clashed with a loud clack. Then, we parted, gasping. Then, his sword retaliated with a swiftness that made the blade a mere, glistening curve of light – a swiftness that I couldn’t evade. Then, an agony, a fire that crept up from my leg, seared each nerve ending. A fire that seemed to rip me in two. In the crest of the confusion that burst in my head, I lowered my chin to glance down at my leg—only to find it laying upon the cold snow, crimson-stained.

The ground rose up to welcome me, harshly, and this time, the cry that surged in my throat couldn’t be held back. It was a terrible sound, no sweetness or harmony to it, a sound that could very well be translated as an omen.

        The sharp cry of a monstrous god.

I swept my palms at my eyes to stem the tears that spilled a moment later. Mustering the strength of the fury that still stormed inside me, I stood back up with the help of Cole’s spear and my other, aching leg. The snow that now rimmed the bloody stub granted it some numbness and I thanked the gods quietly, under my breath.

        Do not lose your faith.

At his words, the memory of my father’s blade flared across my throat once more, cold silver pressed against the frantic pulse there. I, without meaning to, remembered the stony alter that jabbed at my trembling spine. I was meant to be sacrifice then, but I had escaped. I would not be one again, not for my father, not for Reyes, and not even for my own gods. I wouldn't be a sacrifice - not then, not now, not ever. That wasn’t my purpose here.

“There are gods all around us—in the wind, in the trees, in the snow. Can't you feel them?” I tried to steel my words as best as I could, but some trembled as a jolt of pain split through me once more, akin to a thunderstorm but of searing agony. “You can’t send me to them, I will not be your sacrifice.” My chin jutted out, rising high. “I am already a god myself.” Here was the monster, facing the brave prince. But, this was not a fairytale spun by sweet mothers for their sweet children. In this story, the monster was also divine, not like the haloed angels but like the devil.

        Do not lose your savagery.

“But, you can rest assured,” I nodded at him, “you’ll meet these gods I speak of because when you die, I swear to rip you apart and bury pieces of you in the places they live in.

        I'll keep a piece of you to myself, too.”

( Vargen attacks ❛ Reyes ❜ | Woodcutter's Axe 2/2 )

oApY3ULQVqthrowing axe

10197 -- Deep Gash on Cheek -- 8.5 damage (Thrown Axe) + 1.0 (Target Practice)

throwing axe

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

A vibrating rhythm pulsates up my arms as the two metals clash. For a moment I curse my incompetence, but I am quick to try and resurrect that nearly limb thief that I was at the beginning of the week.

Just a swift drive of the blade and it keeps going and going and going. It is as effortless as dicing carrots; my eyes are sealed but I can feel every journey it takes through the boy’s leg. Then my eyes confirm it, a bloodied branch rests in the snow and Vargen besides it. Audio signs off the amputation, a pitched scream that mirrors his agony onto me. I have brought pain onto the maniac. I will forgive myself for feeling no guilt as there is no better person to deserve it. Sapphire lost her leg yesterday; it is only fair this mad man experiences the same as her.

Each swing of this sword is just a mere fluke. A skinny boy from Eight whose only practice with weapons is a salvaged kitchen knife from my uncle’s drawers. Beginner’s luck. A miracle. Or be damned, there may well be a god out there watching over…me. Honestly as long as they are not as blood thirsty as the tyrants in Vargen’s head, they can take my lead out of here.

I am no coward, I let the boy rise to his feet. Well if I was damn quick enough instead of boasting to myself about my critical hit, I could have just ended it for him as he sulked on the ground.

Vargen follows his script, talk of being a god himself and a horrid guide on what he is to do with my remains. What a twisted sick guy he is.

I am too slow the raise my sword as the next axe comes flying, a perfect bounce to my cheek, it is lucky that is does not embed. Real life pain. My teeth grit and I am stronger than Vargen to contain the scream. Now his god’s have his blood, a warm crimson river drips below my eyes, it rinses down my chin and onto the ivory surface that we dance upon. But I am still standing…there is a hole in my cheek but I am still fucking standing!.

”So you are god. What reward will I get for killing a god?” He is just a mortal boy and his weakness proves it.

I wipe away some of the blood from my cheek, flicking the crimson fluid towards Vargen, aiming for his own face. ”There, you have your blood. I will not do anything to your remains when I kill you Vargen.” I collect the sword again with both hands, preparing for the next critical hit. ”There are six other people in here that I need to butcher, I have no time to make you a grave.”

Reyes attacks Vargen | sword

8|GSfBtWs7sword

[1139 -- Deep Gash on Right Bicep -- 8.0 damage +1 blades]

sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

{ reborn - hereditary }

The searing pain inside me merged grotesquely with a warm, strange sensation as my axe slashed open a red line across Reyes’ cheek, rouging the skin there.

        Hope, I mused, this sensation is hope.

Hope was a thing with feathers and it fluttered in my chest, drumming at the heels of each thunderous, torn heartbeat. Despite the wounds he’d marred my skin with and the leg he’d cleaved off, I stood erect and sturdy, a monster that refused to yield to the prince’s sword. I refused to be the story he’d whisper to his own children one day, about the silver-haired monster of a god that tried to take their father’s life. This story was about the monster, not the prince—a story, untold.

For a moment, we were quiet, gasping, our breaths torn and even. Shifting on my one last leg, I pulled on the edge of the dark cloak around me, hiding the gore and the torn sinews beneath the spread of velvet. I would not let him see what he’d done to me—I would not let him relish in it. The cloak’s hood drawn around my face, I let myself become something akin to a silhouette, a shadow.

A part of me wished I could melt away as effortlessly as shadows did. A part of me wished I could be back home in the winter fields, gathering the special winter flowers that grew only when they were surrendered by cold and rot. A part of me wished I was not so pious. A part of me wished I was normal, a sweet-smiling and innocent boy with a heart of gold. A part of me wished the pain would disappear.

I wished so many things all at once that none came true. Some of them could never come true.

“Fool,” I hissed at his next words. “A god cannot die, not when it has no death.” In a sudden, my heartbeat rose in my ears—and it was a treacherous thing, its roar in my chest contradicting the words I’d spat out. I had a death and this ragged, uneven heartbeat attested to it. But, I let myself believe that I was truly deathless—I lied to myself.

        It made everything so much easier.

When his blood touched my cheeks and cascaded down to my mouth, I let my tongue lap at it. I tasted his death. It was a bitter, coppery thing. The taste drew my attention away from the hot lick of his sword’s edge, at least enough to not cry out in agony again. 

I’d been hurt before, in the forests, on the hunts my sister and I embarked weekly on. I summoned the memories of all these hurts, all that pain, and in a few moments, these memories ached more than the glistening wound on my bicep. I am made of memories. I freed another axe from where two more were girded around my waist. The edge of this one shone with dried blood, like all the others. I’d fought before this—I could do it again. I’d also killed before this—deers, wolves, a boy—I could do that again, also.

I had a death but I would not let Reyes take it away from me. The pulse at my neck, where the sacrificial blade was pressed against, roared. “Then, you better make sure I am as dead as I can be,” I bared my teeth at him, the monster ready to eat the prince’s heart. The taste of his blood burned in my mouth.

“Because, even the deepest grave won’t bury me alive if I am not dead.”

( Vargen attacks ❛ Reyes ❜ | Adze 1/2 )

XOIKDAwTBJthrowing axe

10149 -- Miss (Axe lost) -- 0 damage (Thrown Axe)

( Accuracy re-roll | Day 7 )

throwing axe

10024 -- Axe in Forearm -- 8 damage (Thrown Axe) + 1.0 (Target Practice)

throwing axe·throwing axe

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

This glory is like a drug, my whole body is basking in it and it is no easy feeling to shake. I am tearing pieces from a god; a boy I once hid behind a career from and now my sword is taking him away piece by piece. My head is becoming too heavy for my shoulders, its weight compares to the blade…I better not let it distract me or it will roll from the top of my frame.

Nah I cannot stumble now; focus is my only shield. This psycho will not be the one who delivers me to my grave.

I pounce this time, aiming for another limb to add to my collection but the edge does not bury deep enough into his arm. It is a wound to be proud of, but no objective is met. Vargen is no longer a boy to me now, just a piece of trash that I need to shred before disposing of. I cannot give him feelings. I need to block out his screams. He has no life. He feels no pain.

Guilt nips at my neck but I overlook it. He is just another door out of here. He is fucking crazy, I can justify killing him.

A wandering mind allows for the next axe to plummet into my arm. It embeds into me, sticking there for a short moment. Agony creeps from my lips as I quickly pull it, no thought of the possibility of uncapping a mass plunge of blood but thirty seconds after revealing my fresh wound and I still stand. Pain has rarely followed me around the arena and now it has all come at once. A backlog of all the days I have slipped away from a sword’s point or an axe’s edge. It is not my fault that I carry a face that is hard to kill…

This script we follow is a fine one, his words help mask my discomfort with a smirk. His talk of being immortal, something inside of that head of his is surely rattled. ”You are insane Vargen. Do you hear yourself?” I shake my head, taking opportunity during this short break as we collect ourselves to put pressure on the wound on my arm. Blood still swamps my face, a continuous drip drip drip down my chest. He has really poured the blood from me, but I must be two pints behind what I have drained from him. ”Can’t you see that you are already dying? You are weak Vargen. A weak mind.”

I have fucking room to talk, but whatever. I cannot deliver my own weaknesses to him, it will be bait that he will munch on so eagerly. I am strong one in this fight. A hero that will walk away with the leg of the arena’s psychopath. I am sure nobody is cheering him on out there. ”When they send you home in a wooden box. Will there even be anyone to retrieve you?.” My eyes don’t leave him, poison does not coat my blade but venom spits from my tongue. His weakness is in that skull of is, I may as well take my jabs at that too. ”Maybe I will cremate you Vargen, it will be a kind thing to do as I bet nobody will give you a better ceremony.”

Reyes attacks Vargen | sword

Ei3akFegh_sword

[1103 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage]

sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

{ reborn - hereditary }

        A pride glowered in his eyes, as bright as a fire.

He was the chivalrous prince who reenacted the story as it was told, battling the monstrous god bravely, gallantly, with everything he had in him. He thought of himself as brave-boned, as the hero. But, stories never ended the way they were told and Reyes had to understand that.

And, heroes didn’t exist, not in this graveyard where every heart was a selfish thing that refused to be torn out.

I drew the dark-velvet cloak closer to my chest, as if to safeguard my own heart that sat behind it. Each muscle in my body ached and burned, the searing pain of his last attack alive in my being still, but the snow had gotten thicker now as if it’d come to quell this burning agony of mine. I trailed a hand across the air, relishing in the way the white flakes kissed my skin. Winter had come and one of us was destined to wither like a beautiful flower in winter, petals rotting away.

Not me, I gritted my teeth, hard, until it ached to do so. I was a thing born of winter—I could not wilt from it.

When my axe embedded its silver edge in his forearm, I didn’t bother to bite back the laugh that tore its way out of me, a sound as cruel and mangled as the cry from before. There was no kindness in both my laughter and my cries of pain. Gods weren’t supposed to be kind—if they were, there would be no sacrifices, no prayers, no ornate altars meant for them. Tragedies and disasters fed and satiated gods because people only believed in divinity when they were in peril. I would not be kind to Reyes and a part of me desperately wished he would understand that.

        I could not be kind to Reyes.

It wouldn’t matter if I was kind to him, not now, not when all his eyes could see was a monstrous beast with wild eyes and silver axes. I had painted myself as a monster and now the paint had become too dry to be scrubbed away—so I did not bother to do it. Let him glower at me with that searing hatred. Let him grimace at my cruelty. Nothing mattered but my own survival.

“To you and the others, I am insane, I am mad,” Sapphire’s face emerged in the midst of my memories; I heard her call me the same thing. “To myself, I am enlightened. There’s a joy, a freedom, that only the insane knows.” If my will to live could be labelled as insanity, then so be it. I would gladly take insane over dead.

His hand tautened over the wound and I glanced at the red that spilled from the intervals of his fingers, the color of his death leaving him. My eyes fell to the snow below me and I found that I stood in a pool of the same color, that bright red. My death was unravelling. I was dying. The fury from before returned, colder this time around. “Not yet,” I said, both to Reyes and myself. I wasn’t dead, yet.

“Weak?” A second laugh twisted my insides and awakened the pain in my wounds. The sound transmuted to a gasp—and then words. “Say that to your wounds. You know I am dangerous, you know what I am capable of.” I levelled our gazes together, my storm-blue eyes boring into his. “And, I know too, how much you hate me.” Only hatred could make a sword cut that deep; hatred and selfishness. “Let’s not lie to ourselves.”

His talk of home made a familiar twinge—not of pain, but of longing—tear through me. Home, scented like may flowers and carnations. Home, where the Forresters spun around in white clothes, holding each other’s hands. Home, where my father had made me lay on that cold altar and pressed a blade to my throat in order to sacrifice me.

        Home, where I’d escaped from.

“A god has its worshippers,” I told him, the words coming out wistful. To be worshipped was, at times, a burden. “You won’t send me back home in a box,” I mustered the strength left in me, picking up another axe. “I don’t want your kindness, Reyes. Do what you want to my bones if you can end me, I don’t care.” Every part of me ached but I could do this, still. I could tear the sweet-faced prince’s heart out of his chest. His sword lunged, but I’d already foreseen its path, stepping aside before it could hurt me. “I know what I will do to your bones when I end you.”

( Vargen attacks ❛ Reyes ❜ | Adze 2/2 )

qS4k|7XvGfthrowing axe

10084 -- Bruised Arm -- 2 damage (Thrown Axe)

throwing axe

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

My strength is spilling with the blood. Very fibre that once tore away limbs is disappearing with every inch of skin that Vargen’s axes are shredding from my surface. So, this is what dying feels like. This is how Cole felt…and Torren…and Hammerfell…and Rhodes…and Sapphire. All those five felt this because of me, I guess this is their payback from whatever hell or heaven or make belief world they are looking at me from.

My shields will have been wasted if I die here today.

A not so perfect lunge is easily dodged by Vargen. I guess even the magical touch of my sword is beginning to fade away with my pain. Its weight is easily noticeable now that my broken and gashed arms must contain it. A part of me wants to swing the metal pumpkin in my backpack at the maniac’s head, a perfect end to this travesty but my muscles groan at the thought of hauling that beast around. It is too late to amend tactics now; I just need to keep going and beg that my consistency returns.

I take a moment to capture the environment around us, most of its features buried amongst the ivory discharge from the sky. Winter has never been my favourite season; a long Summer is what I always yearn for as soon as the temperature drops. I am a summer child; I cannot depart this world in a field full of snow.

Vargen tries to justify his madness but I shake my head once more, laughter escapes from my lips again, my memory of finding him in the training centre praying over an organ brought back to my mind. More and more ramblings are vomited from the Seven and his next axe carries a weak impact on my already bruised arm.

Laughter takes control of my lungs, honestly this dying soul is a comedy act. His words claim him to be a god, but I am clearly ahead of him in this game. The winner has already been drawn. ”I am capable of more than you Vargen and it is clear. My wounds are artificial…you are missing a leg!” I point the sword down to the limb that still rests in the snow, it is now coated in a dusting, soon to be buried like everything else around us.

”Of course I hate you Vargen, what else would I feel for a boy who is trying to kill me?” A chuckle falls once more as I step closer to the Seven, very close in fact as our breathes can be nearly felt on each other’s cheeks. I keep the sword between us ready to pounce with my next hit. ”Oh let me love the boy who is trying to kill me. You are insane and it is a fact. Do not try and justify the poison that is in your blood.” I quickly step back, the sword erect in front of me. ”Stop repeating yourself, you have already told me what you are going to do with my bones…are you losing it?”

Reyes attacks Vargen | sword

fb_CZi0pIDsword

[1021 -- Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage]

sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

{ reborn - hereditary }

It felt as though we’d been at this for hours—days—decades even. The aching that burned up my form was an ancient thing that already seemed to had taken roots. I’d been hurting, for centuries. But so had Reyes, I thought as I spared him a pitiful look. It was a soft comfort to know that I wasn’t alone in this searing agony.

In the back of my head, the shapes of Penelope’s torn hands materialized, the thud of Slate’s foot to a crisp bed of autumn leaves sounded, the gaping mouth of the boy from Six taking its last breath haunted. This pain that rippled through my being and threatened to tear it asunder: we all shared it. Wrapped in that sort of way, the hurt lessened, at least to a state where I no longer had to bite on my own tongue to not let the cries in my raw throat spill.

        But, it still hurt—that hurt was a horrible thing.

It was a thing I couldn’t escape from no matter what; it wasn’t an animal that hunted me or a blade pressed to my throat. It was an intrinsic part of me, interwoven together with my veins and nerves, a fire that set everything ablaze and couldn’t be quell by the snow as it was inside, layered over by my marred skin. There was a god inside me, and it was burning. I was burning. Reyes Calvo had tied me to a stake and ignited the flames.

The cold caresses the winter swept my burning skin with kept me erect and standing, as best and as gloriously as I could. It hurt, to be the monster, but I couldn’t change what I was, not now, not when the story was in the progress of being told. A break in the script was, in a way, a surrender: the monster resting its head on the prince’s lap so that he could cut it loose. I won’t allow that, I howled and collected myself, broken pieces and all, to a shattered whole.

His words were like wind through dried reeds; subdued and faraway. Everything was faraway, except for the flames inside me. They were too close for comfort.

“And, you had an axe in your arm,” I said, weakly. I had to stem the bleeding soon, or else I would fall soon. But, I couldn’t, not without Reyes Calvo dead before me. I had to kill him, first. His sword flicked to where my leg laid and I refused to trail after its path in fear of seeing the torn flesh once more. My torn flesh, I mused bitterly before shaking my head, as if to make these thoughts ebb away. He can tear into me all he wanted, what mattered was how much I torn of him back.

Then, Reyes Calvo inched nearer and the closeness made my heart race, in a way that was both unacceptable and treacherous. He was a prince from the storybooks, all sleek looks and warm eyes, something born of summer that’d come to end this long winter. It would had made everything so much easier if I rested my head on his chest and let his sword plunge into—and through—me. He was a beautiful summer night; I could let the warmth of him lull me to a blissful sleep if I wanted to.

        But that, unfortunately, wasn’t the story.

He drew back and every muscle in me screamed as that warmth was ripped away from me. I drowned them out as I took a step back, mirroring him. His sword couldn’t be evaded this time, but the cut was a mere scrape, insignificant when compared to the rest of my wounds. “I could have been lovable,” I murmured at him, gently. “But, I chose not to be.” Then, I shook my head, the movement gentle, too. “No, the world chose that for me.” The pulse at my throat throbbed once more. “Would you believe me if I told you that I wasn’t born a monster? Would you believe me if I told you that the world shaped me into one?”

        I laughed, gasped out, and lunged.

        “It wouldn't matter, anyways.”

        Nothing would matter, except this.

( Vargen attacks ❛ Reyes ❜ | Fireplace Poker )

USRnPI8_Y6javelin

15043 -- BLOCK -- 0.0 damage (Javelin)

javelin

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

This needs to end.

It is not just the wounds slowly tearing the energy from my soul, exhaustion of hauling this weapon and following the script is beginning to invade my performance. I have been flicking through the pages of this fight and there seem to be no fin in sight. I will be stood here for an eternity hacking away at the silver haired boy who once joined this fight repeating demonic words and is now ending it with his heart in his hands.

Either this is what death does to a mad man or my words have been manipulative in a way.

It is going to be him headfirst in the snow, not me.

It is not happening today. Tomorrow. Or the day after. I am walking out of here…with all my limbs!

My sword barely traces a mark on Vargen but it is better than him dodging the blade like he did before. Maybe I am slowly building up to the big hit, the one to instantly end this all. It will take just one plunge or one strike. Do I aim for his head or his heart? From his words, his heart is the most vulnerable part of him right now, I will end its beat.

A monster like him? With a heart?

He talks of the world moulding him into the beast he his today. Except I see it as no true excuse. Nobody but those who reside in the Capitol love this world. There really is not much to love about Panem. There is a whole list of reasons but head of the list is the reason why the pair of us are here today. ”You are weak to let the world choose your life for you.”

Axes no longer fly, except the boy pulls out some sort of metal rod, I just step away from its point. ”What kind of weapon is that?” I chuckle, drawing a circle in the snow with the sword’s point as I drag it closer and closer to him.The moisture from the frozen surface begins to rinse away any trace that it has experienced a battle. ”I chose to be here, the world does not make my decisions. It is just sad that you have no choice in how you are going to die…” All those options that I had to choose from before reciting I volunteer. I could have been roaming no man’s land or still tucking into my aunt’s warm dinner but my choice led me here. People lie if they say the world has them trapped.

I have chosen how to live and no monster in this world is going to take that choice from me.

Reyes attacks Vargen | sword

0gq03f5Z2wsword

[1173 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage]

sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

{ reborn - hereditary }

        The snow had begun to mask the blood.

I brushed away the fine powder that’d settled onto my weary shoulders and glanced as the snowflakes flurried away to the unknown with a yearning to do the same.

But, Reyes Calvo was an inexorable thing. Our destinies seemed to had been interwoven together; I knew in the depths of me that I could not escape him. If souls could be depicted as constellations, his and my own were hopelessly tangled together—the prince and the monster, summer and winter. In time, one constellation would remain bright, whereas the other would shatter, into irreparable fragments, strewn across the dark. Constellations were never meant to be intersect each other.

The fireplace poker I’d foraged from the abandoned town met the ground with a hollow clack, brushed away. My axes laid behind him and I doubted he would let me collect them. Reyes Calvo was not an honorable thing.

But, even if he’d allowed me to pick up the heavy axes, I did not know if my arms would be able to hurl them. Every part of me ached, in varying degrees, some parts gently and other parts severely, unbearably, flames under skin. This, I mused bitterly, is what being on the verge of Death’s kingdom felt like.

        Torment and despair, before eternal bliss.

A cruel doubt tore through me suddenly, questioning all the hymns that I’d sang for years—hymns about Death, about his empire, about the castles of bones and the flower-crowned pixies and the blood fountains. What if all of that, was mere fantasy? I realized, with a jolt, that this though wasn’t an outlandish, strange one—but something that’d been stewing inside me for years, a gnawing question that I’d suppress over and over, again.

        What if there was only darkness?

I let my fingertips curl into the palms harshly and wince as they dug pink crescents onto the flesh, the revived pain in my form a wanted diversion. I had my entire life to ponder about our tribe’s beliefs and heritages, a life full of song and flowers and beauty. They would revere me, the monstrous god who ate the prince’s heart. The monstrous god, with his sharp teeth and bloodlust. From my days there, I understood that the Capitol loved its monsters, its dark creatures. Princes had become a thing of the past but the monsters would forever be a novelty.

From the leather belt girded around my hips, I let loose a spear I’d been saving for last, a shaft of ash and steel, the blood on its head glistening still. A spear that’d belonged to Cole, a spear that’d claimed the lives of two boys, a spear stained with death.

“This spear was Cole’s,” I told him and brandished the shaft with as much grace as I had left in me. It trailed across the snowflakes. The spearhead, then, was levelled with the place where Reyes’ heart was. “I have a choice now, Reyes.” I eyed him, jaw clenched. “I choose to live and, in turn, I choose to sacrifice you.”

He marched ahead, a smudge of brown and silver, and I let myself pounce on my one leg. His sword drew its sharp edge along my hipbones but I pushed it away with the shaft of my spear before it could make a significant wound, before it could shatter me like a constellation. The wound bloomed on the surface of my skin and seared, but it wasn’t deep enough to make me surrender. To end me.

My hand smoothed over his cheek for a moment before letting it fall back to my side. “I don't want to die.” I gritted my teeth and wished the spearhead found his death, wished it would pierce it in two.

        If wishes could come true.

( Vargen attacks ❛ Reyes ❜ | Spear )

Voc6FJ|tcwspear

3153 -- Stabbed in Calf -- 8.5 damage (Spear)

spear

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

I can hear the clock ticking down. A timer that will end on either of our lives.

My clock still has so many more hours left in it.

It is not going to be me today….
…it is not going to be me today…
…It is not going to be me today!


Except every recent swing of this sword has placed doubt on me surviving this week. Consistency, where has it gone? A streak of deadly attacks and now I barely draining what is left of Vargen’s blood. It is barely dripping, snow dusts over the historical crimson pools, hiding any sign of a battle here.

Something needs to change, and it needs to change now.

Maybe I should pack myself with fury, only annoyance carries me and there are no emotions in my attacks. Energy has departed my body, what is left to carry me is a dose of rage to execute the last act. I can try and grit my teeth and summon a beast but there is no reply to my call. If there is a monster within me, it is dormant or dead. I am just a bag of bones waiting to be collected and disposed of.

Another strike lands onto my frame, my leg the new victim of this parade of injuries. It is career boy Cole’s weapon, not that he carried it for long. I am being killed by a shield’s own blade, really the script is so far fetched and coincidental.

I inhale, the thought of screaming the pain out brings a flash of agony to my mind that I would rather not endure. It really is a matter of end it now or surrender. Vargen is clearly hanging over the edge, just one little nudge and I will send him falling.

I raise the sword above my head, collecting every little ounce of strength that wants to make an appearance. This eternal battle is finally going to end, and I am going to be the one who decides its closing shot. ”You have no choice Vargen.” I have already made my choice…

Reyes attacks Vargen | sword

5BTY9TQlfcsword

[1130 -- Shallow Cut on Left Thigh -- 3.5 damage]

sword