The Bloodbath

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

May 10, 2020 19:24:13 GMT -5 thompson harvard - d2b - arc said:

[ d5m september yorgos | post #4 | attack (1164) ]

[ d5m september yorgos | post #5 | 1079 ]

{ september }

"Is my first—" My sword lightly scraped his thigh like a cat claws at the carpet. It made no difference to the appearance of the flooring but it sure as hell made them feel better. At first I felt bad for retaliating so quick, but my racing heart never released the gas pedal. It accelerated like the sudden influx of adrenaline filling every single artery of my body. "Well tell me, then," the opponent replied in a voice dried of care. "You've got any better ideas?" He does have a point. I don’t think we have any reason to not attack the first thing we see, but it still felt inhumane that people were actually buying this thing. Why not give them a story - let this chamber of children wait out the games. What would happen then? Would they just let us all starve to death?

My opponent stepped forward, his eyes narrower than the crevices that were scribed with the fallen tributes names all over them. His eyes held the fire that held the Fates captive and provided the cavemen with light and life. His eyes were the light to the predator but the glimmer of death to the prey. His sword swung directly at me, catching the root of my head and hair. ”I’d love to hear them.”

On second thought, fighting was better.

I was the red fox and my opponent - nameless - is the wolf. We’re fighting over our spot in this territory. Our spot to live, breathe. Our spot to eventually come out of this as an endless nightmare. ”You’re not wrong, I guess.” I looked at my opponent. My face was blank. I had no expression because it was hard to feel an emotion other than pain. And confusion. And exhaustion. And fear. I had so many emotions that they cancelled each other out. I never understood the concepts of math when Dad tried to teach me them. I was about as useless as Argos in that sense. I just knew that two things are two things, five things are five things. Split two things in half and you have one of each thing. So, like in math, Panem was split. The rulers of panem used the basic principles of math to divide us from our past and direct us to the future. Throw 24 children into an arena and tell them that only one lives, and slowly, they all crumble to that basic principle of math with a supplement of life. Slowly they all subtract each other.

One.
By one.
By another.

Until all 23 fell, because we understood math, we understood life and that it comes with death. ”We don’t have an option to otherwise.” I was then exposed as the lone sheep in the field of hungry wolves. I was exposed - exposed as this peaceful, head-held-high being that believed that war wasn’t the answer. But it always has. The rebels fought a war, lost the war. To pay for their crimes, the rulers in which they were so opposed ordered their children to go off to war at the moment's notice. Because war is what we have to pay for hatred. It was in that moment, bleeding head and panting breaths that I understood Appa’s desire to fight, because there always would be war. I always assumed that as the shelter for the war that I never would need to fight. My support through our warm blankets and bread, in my head, was the fight I provided. I provided the help. I failed to realize that there was no bread to break for the fighters because I was now the fighter. As the sheep in the field of hungry wolves, maybe I was the wolf in sheep's clothing being exposed to the cannibalistic reality of nature. The human heart does not beat for 50, it beats for one.

For Appa, I can only pray mine never stopped.

[attacks zephyr (1m) with sword]
|pQVewK64Nsword
[block]

sword

[pup]

May 11, 2020 9:35:53 GMT -5 pup said:

[arc dorado d2m | attack #4 | 1102]

[arc dorado d2m | attack #5 | 1134]

He shakes with fear. This is what I've been waiting for. Somebody to tremble, somebody to break. He would make a perfect example of what's to come. His face that had once been shrouded with hope of survival was now covered with fear for his life. He was probably one the kids who had stood around hoping we'd all lay down our swords and sing together. Oh how human facades shatter as easily as glass.

From the corner of my eye I see Babe in the distance striking at another girl. Good for him. Maybe he'll learn to actually hit something.

"I- I'm not just some piece of meat for you to hunt and kill!"

The boys voice drips with a mixture of anger and fear. All he wants is his life. Just like everybody else, and he'll do what he needs to keep it. I can almost see his self-justifying thoughts reflected on his face as his blood soaks into the ashes of the departed. Humans really are stupid, aren't they. I don't understand why people need more justification to be the best other than to just be the best. It was weak. It was cowardice.

His sword slashes out at me, grazing my hip where Babe had already struck me just a little bit before. It was nothing, just a small wince of pain.

If that's all I need to go through to reach my crown alongside Adder and Samiyuq, I'll take that deal.

I know that this boys guilt must be wracking him as he finds reasons why he should attack me. I had seen it so many times before. The rebellion that had killed my dad had their reasons, their guilt. But they were all just fighting pointlessly. I know what I have to do, and I know what my purpose is.

"Aren't you, though?" I say with a chuckle, brandishing my weapon, my grin reflecting off of the metallic sheen in the parts that weren't covered with blood. "This place is meant to show who's the hunter and hunted, isn't it?"

I reach up with my sword, preparing to strike. My body tenses as I try to summon the force needed to end this quickly.

"You just need to decide who you want to be."

I pounce.

---

[attacks Alistair 8m with sword :hellkim:]
iOMxuuXq7Ssword
[1134 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage
(Sword)]

sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

May 10, 2020 10:37:44 GMT -5 napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. said:

[ reed laghari | d7m | attack one ]

[ reed laghari | d7m | attack two ]

Ma told him he had soft hands once, and that she never wanted to see them callous. At that time, Reed had laughed gingerly, promised he’d take good care of them, rinse them daily, soak them in fragrant lavender oil every night. What a child’s promise that was. His hands had none of that softness from before now, only scabs, the skin hardened all over, but at least it made it easier for Reed to grasp onto the sword, the rope-rawness of it closed around the ridges of the hilt.

The other’s scream lanced through his chest – a lion’s roar that sent every bone in him chattering.

But, in a sick, twisted way, he relished it. The scream and the blood strewn across the sands, meant Reed Laghari was not a coward. Meant Reed Laghari would not quiver like a rabbit in a snare. It meant he had teeth, which he bared at the male. He may be cornered prey as of right now, but that was exactly why he felt stronger, the fear in his chest making every muscle in him laden with strength, with unbridled ferocity.

"You took my fucking hand!” the other cried out and Reed swallowed the lump in his throat to speak. “I am glad I did it before you could.”

He would have thought the boy beautiful – with his chiseled jaw and wild-eyed look – if Reed was oblivious to the throes of beautiful boys.

But, from the years he spent in war-torn rebels’ beds, Reed Laghari was well-versed in how destructive beautiful boys can be, how feral and cruel. He brandished the silver of his blade at him, teeth gnashed. “Go away,” Reed hissed. 

“I am going to bury you.”

He didn’t know where the bravery in his next words sprang from – the wild pulse of adrenaline in his veins maybe – but he spat them out at the male, sincerely hoping they would singe:

“you can certainly try.” 

Then the boy slashed.

Reed’s mistake was a slow recoil, a soft backward step that was apt for dancing, not battle, and he paid for it with a sword buried in the chest.

The pain was prairie fire. It was a gunshot in his ears. The world rang. He screamed, or thought he had. There was no saints to catch him when the sandy ground rose up to meet his spine, a puff of white fluttering all around as he fell.

“I don’t want to die,” Reed whispered as he laid there, all shallows breaths and slowing heartbeats. The blood gushing out of him felt too warm, as though he was covered in furs. Feebly, he pulled himself back onto his two dancer feet, chest heaving.

“I had to fuck boys like you back home, all cowards, all gusto and nothing else.” A muscle ticked in Reed’s jaw as he readied his blade once more, teeth clenched. He was here because he had done the things he had to survive, because he had clung onto this world with teeth, and he certainly wasn’t going to meet his end at the hands of a stranger. If his saints judged him for that, Reed would carry out his penance later.

Right now, he had a boy to martyr. 

[ Reed attacks Beauden | Sword ]

n6i_Fcck6zsword

1147 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage (Sword)

He swung with bared teeth and might, but it was not enough. The mists of sand stung his eyes and the blade missed its mark, arcing through air. Reed planted his feet firmly onto the loose ground before he could falter alongside his blade.

"Go," he urged once more, with the sword raised. "Next time it'll—" He remembered the girl's blonde hair, her dead blue eyes, the way her head rolled near Reed's ankle, "it'll be your head."

sword

[kap]

May 11, 2020 9:52:08 GMT -5 kap said:

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 5/Attack 1 | 1173]

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 6/Attack 2| 1071]

[googlefont="Marck Script"]Alistair Ranger

"Wake me up,
Won't you wake me up,
I'm caught in a bad dream,
Caught in a bad dream"

~

After having swung at the boy, my sword leaves a shallow wound on his hip. It wasn't much, but it still made me feel terrible. How did someone actually enjoy fighting? I suppose I'll never understand that.

The other boy chuckles. Does he seriously find amusement in this?

"Aren't you, though?" He's grinning, too. "This place is meant to show who's the hunter and hunted, isn't it?"

He raises his weapon at me.

"You just need to decide who you want to be," he tells me.

He swings and I step out of the way just in time.

"I don't think you know who you want to be, either, by the looks of it," I respond. Apparently, my mind had conjured up a form of taunt to throw back at him. Even if it didn't seem like the right set of words, they escaped my lips anyway.

"Just because I'm uncertain doesn't mean I'm weak," I told him.

I was gaining confidence, but I wasn't quite sure where it had come from. The boy's attitude may have been the reason, perhaps. I'd never liked bullies, after all. Or, perhaps the confidence emerged because I had no choice. Really, everything that was happening here was because I had no choice.

In the background, I hear other peoples' blades clanking against one another and slashing into flesh, but I try to block it out. I need to focus on what's in front of me.

I lunge at him with my blade.

~

lyrics: "Bad Dream" by Ruelle

[D8M Alistair Ranger attacks D2M Arcturus Dorado]
3n7GgS7r8_sword
[1071 -- Severed Left Leg at Hip -- 10 damage]

sword

[Cait]

May 11, 2020 8:57:11 GMT -5 Cait said:

[d10f - robyne hawn - post 3 - no attack]

[d10f - robyne hawn - post 4 - no attack]

robyne hawn

You should move.

You’ve seen it before – there’s no easy way out of this. If you fight, you will fall. If you stay hidden, you’ll be found.

You should move, but there’s nowhere to go.

But I have to try.

I find a scrap of courage a moment too late, for just as I’ve resolved to stand on shaking legs – it’s a start – a shadow falls across my face. Projected by a figure at the foot of the cage, and he’s grinning like a maniac.

Blood drips from his sword --

-- and I’m falling again.

He takes a step forward, and I shuffle back, still on my hands and knees, until my back hits the cold metal wall of the cage. He takes another, and I’m frozen with nowhere to go. A doe in a clover trap, and he’s as experienced as hunters come.

September was right. Nowhere is safe in here.

In two more steps, he has closed the gap between us. He’s close enough for me to see the scratch on his cheek, the dead look in his eyes. But there’s a fire blazing within them, and he’s found his next burn victim.

I close my eyes, anticipating the blade coming to pierce my chest. I don’t want to watch – couldn’t, even if I tried, the tears have blurred my vision so.

I wait.

And I wait.

For an attack that never comes.

When I open my eyes again, he is sat on the ground beside me. Staring at me, a humourless smile on his face. Déjà vu floods my veins and I’m reminded of September’s presence. It feels like days ago that we were sat in the silence of a cage, for one last moment of solace.

Only this time, I’m not sure I’ll make it out without a fight.

He brings his sword closer – so close I can smell the metallic must of another girl’s blood – and I’m whimpering like a lost puppy before he even says anything. He stabs his weapon in the direction of the fighting – “You know, I killed that girl right there,” – but I won’t look, I can’t look. I don’t want to see myself as a broken body. “It’s fun, you should just give it a try. Didn’t your Ma ever tell you to at least try something before deciding you didn’t like it?”

I swallow, shake my head, no. I inherited mum’s cowardice – her fear of the world – and it’s that very attribute that paralyses me now.

My third harsh truth:

this man is crazy.

“You just gotta embrace it. It ain’t too bad – killing someone is like riding a bike.”

The monster before me keeps talking, but I can’t listen to his cruel words any longer. Instead, I try to distract myself and find my feet for the twentieth time today.

Finally, they budge, and I’m standing on wobbly legs – an accomplishment I wasn’t expecting to witness again. With a new found confidence, I try to side-step around the boy. One good leap and I’m free to run – to live another few minutes, if I’m lucky.

Something I’ve never been taught:

always expect the unexpected.

I see the surprise register on his face, for a single second, before it’s replaced with a dark smile. He’s already anticipated my next move and is on his feet, sword pointed at my chest, before I can reach the exit. He stands between it and me knowingly, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

I’m going to die.

“Go pick on somebody your own size!” I hear the pathos in my voice before he has the chance to laugh, and can’t help but to dip my head in shame. Courage doesn’t work for me – it’s all a ruse, and we both know it.

He speaks between laughs, but I can’t focus on him, I’m so distracted. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another hooded figure approaching – slowly at first, before gathering speed. September? But I know it’s not him. He’s not my guardian angel coming to save me; we don’t have those anymore.

The newcomer is upon us before I even have the chance to catch my stolen breath. Two strangers, two boys with blood to their names, eager for an easy kill. They’ll work together, make light work of what little of me there is to carve.

Another wretched sob escapes my body as they’re welcomed into my temporary shelter.

Outnumbered and cornered, it’s over.

Boy 2 swings his sword between myself and Boy 1, and for a second, I don’t feel afraid. This doesn’t feel like a death sentence; it feels like a second chance.

But the moment passes, as all good things do, and I feel the tip of his blade slice my arm.

The pain is immediate.

I’m seven years old again with a broken arm and a brave face. I’m back in a hospital room with mum holding my hand beside my bed, surrounded by bandages and chamomile tea. There’s no snap of bone like there was once upon a time, and the pain doesn’t radiate from the limb like I’d expected. It’s a localised cut – “like riding a bike.”

Yet somehow, this pain feels worse.

Maybe it’s the shock of reality punching me in the face that amplifies the fire crawling up my arm. Maybe it’s the sadness in realising there’s no bandages and warm tea to save me this time.

Maybe it’s the shame of the fact that the girl I used to be is braver than the girl standing here right now.

I grit my teeth through the pain and watch Boy 2 spit fire at Boy 1, trying to make out the words. I’m dizzy with the shock of the flesh wound, the ringing in my ears louder than the cheers of the crowd around us.

When my eyes refocus on the pair in front of me, they’re bickering, swords pointed at each other and staring daggers. For a moment, I’m free of their cruelty.

A moment is all it takes.

Through the pain I run past the boys, accidentally shoving Boy 2 as I pass by. “I’m sorry,” I stutter, before cursing myself out for being so stupid. All around me is war. This was no place for apologies.

For the first time since leaving home, I see the sun again. And I want to stay in its path and soak up its energy – revel in the warmth of tragedy, if this is all we get. But it’s not safe out here.

Nowhere is safe, an echo in my head, but I’ve already set my sights on another empty cave.

My fourth harsh truth:

I’ll never learn.

I’m running before my brain can catch up with my legs. Keep your head down, that’s all I know how to do, and it’s exactly what lands me at the foot of another metal coffin. My breaths come short and quick – from exertion or fear, I couldn’t tell.

As I collapse on the ground, I look down to my arm. A few stray tears fall from my eyes to wash away the blood that has pooled on my bicep.

It stings, but it’s welcomed. It serves as another important truth:

I’m not dead. Yet.

Alone again, I cry harder than I ever have before.

Defenceless, weaponless, and weak. All words to describe the tragedy that is Robyne Hawn.

template by Chelsey

[pup]

May 11, 2020 10:45:46 GMT -5 pup said:

[arc dorado d2m | attack #5 | 1134]

[arc dorado | attack #6 | 1199]

My sword glides past him, and I curse myself for falling off guard. I had been too busy teasing my prey before striking. I won't let that happen again. I won't let this boy come anywhere close to survival. I'm the one who will survive.

""I don't think you know who you want to be, either, by the looks of it," He taunts, his voice attempting to draw anger out of me. I won't let him see anything but how overjoyed I am that he's finally getting into the spirit of things. I laugh at his attempt, seeing at how I've managed to draw him out of his shell, proving my theories on humans all in one go. Humans don't truly want peace. They want power, they want to see others squirm beneath them.

" Just because I'm uncertain doesn't mean I'm weak," he continues, his voice steadily gaining more confidence as he readies his sword and I ready mine.

Then I fall, my body crashing to the ground as I'm thrown off balance by the force of his swing. My blood pools beneath me as I gasp out, "Fuck, you really went for me there, didn't you." The pain is searing. I had hoped that I didn't need to hop to victory, but if that's what destiny requires of me, I won't miss her call.

The crowd erupts in cheers as my leg flies off. At least they finally notice me for something, but I won't let it be for my death. I can't. Even as the pain clouds my vision through my body, my father's words ring in my head.

I need to do what's right, he had said as he walked out the door. What he thought was right had gotten him killed. He wasn't looking out for himself, or even his family. He had been tricked and deceived into thinking what would get him the most power was fighting a war he shouldn't have fought in.

That was his war. His war for so-called freedom. It was unjust, unfair, and a mockery of what it means to be human.

This is my war.

I push myself back up to my remaining foot, my grin widening and turning maniacal as I prop myself up on my sword. I cover my pain, wincing as I feel the blood leaving my body. It pooled on the ground beneath my feet, leaving it slick and wet.

"To be uncertain is to be weak," I spit out with a laugh, "Just don't try being someone you aren't, kid."

---

[attacks Alistair 8m with sword :hellkim:]
UAmOo9|eCfsword
[block - 0]

sword

[revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay]

May 10, 2020 16:44:46 GMT -5 revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay said:

d3m eros desrosier | post 2 | 5078

d3m eros desrosier | post 3 | 1144

E R O S

desrosier

I have always hated blood. I once tripped over one of the silver toys I had taken from a boy in the park, the scratches on my arms stained cherry-red, and liquid like starch leaking out of the wounds. It stained my favorite shirt, but I would always remember way it hung onto my bones, the way the silk caressed my skin. Some would say it was stupid to be upset over a lousy shirt, but it was vintage. You can’t steal something like that nowadays.

And today was no different - no matter how hard the sun beat down against my skin, or how much it hurts when the faux leather tunics and flimsy armpr brush against my watercolor bruises. I feel the sting first, the steel digging into the side of my waist. At least it draws attention to my ass, a piece of me whispers.

"No one wins this, this is an execution with a survivor," the boy from four croaks, tears silenty streaming down his youthful face. I almost pitied him, almost. I pitied my parents for not being able to make the tough decisipns, for not ruling with an iron first and doing whatever it took to give me what I wanted. I couldn’t pity this boy – he’s chosen his fate, and he’ll have to live with it.

”Speak for yourself. I’ve been dreaming of a golden crown since I could dream, and I sure has hell won’t let anyone stand in my way when I’m this close to taking it,” I bark, gripping the sword tightly in my hands. This was everything I have ever worked for, every ring I stole and every paper crown I wore.

eros attacks remus d4m | sword

Y2dw_HeWElsword

1144 | DG + 8.5

sword

[Deleted]

May 10, 2020 18:40:51 GMT -5 @fabulousraven said:

beauden D12m / sword / 3rd post

beauden d12m / thrown hand / 4th post

b e a u d e n .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

I don't have enough time; I never really did. There's a flare in my brain, panic in my chest, I need to cover my arm. It's a complete amputation, follow route, but there isn't enough time to do anything about it. If I lay down and minimize my blood loss, another one will chop me apart before I am ready again. 

If I fight off adrenaline alone, who knows. 

Will I make it all the way like this? Will I make it that far at all? We're all swiping at each other's life lines and praying we can chip his shorter than mine - just hold on. Just take those bits. Sutton is dead and I'll follow suite if I can't get my shit together. He lays in his own blood and I stand above my own. 

Unfortunately, I just have to hope that that's the difference that lets me win. As I stand over him, I can't use my forearm to balance the heavy of my sword forever. Hell, I can barely hold it together for the seconds in my mouth, the heavy exhales trying to keep the rest of my skin together. I can't. It's just enough as he stands again, every part of me hoped this boy would have just died. 

Quick, it would have been easier for us both. I wouldn't have to weigh my options, just the pounds of dead flesh in front of me.

“I had to fuck boys like you back home," shut up,
"all cowards," shut up,
"all gusto and nothing else.” Shut the hell up,

It's just a snarl, I don't want to know anything of him; why doesn't he understand this. He can't have a life, a story, there can't be people that will miss him- I can't feel sorry for him, I don't want to. Not when it's him or me, I don't want to feel sorry anymore. 

I don't have a response before he slices at me again, and it's lucky his aim is as lame as my bad arm. We've hardly been at it and yet we still garner our fatigue. The sword falls out my slipped grip, the weight toppling out in front of me. We are both struggling here; fuck, already? But I know he is fighting with his own pains, the wound on his chest built in with my name on it. 

He's got no name, no family- a wound on his chest. That's all I can let myself know, I can't feel anything for a boy who was born to die. I can't be greedy with my sympathy, even as I see him shake trying to stand again. We are both in a rough spot. If this keeps up, we will both die anyways. 

I'll learn his name afterwards, when I leave. Besides, I'm sure he doesn't learn every boy's name, either. 

"Go, next time it'll- it'll be your head."

There's a chorus of the crowd's cheers above us, I just try to keep my breathing steady. "I'm getting mixed signals, babe,"

[throws his severed hand at reed's sexy fat head!]
OGHlRNFU8vprojectile
[8167 -- Bruised Head -- 3.5 damage

"Don't call me a coward and expect me to run from you after," I need to leave him alone. Take my breath, lay down, just build enough strength again to re-enter this fray. And truth be told, I want to kill him. A fucking lot, but let him waste his strength some, "because I can keep this shit up as long as you want."  Call my bluff, please, I just want to fucking lay down again.

I have had a rough thirty seconds.

projectile

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

May 11, 2020 8:05:20 GMT -5 D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] said:

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #4 | 1184]

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #5 | 1033]

[googlefont="Great Vibes"][googlefont="Caveat"]

Daisy Holliday

5. Full Bloom

Turns out I'm better without my punching arm than I thought, because when I swing my sword down it hits this girl smack dab in her forehead. It ain't a shallow cut either; it cuts her down like a knife in a cutting board, but a little squishier. I get spritzed a little with the girl's blood too. Yuck.

Of course she starts screaming bloody murder from the pain of it all. Can't blame her I guess. I wasn't sure if my damage was enough to kill her or not. At first I thought it might've been since she wasn't trembling as much as before. I mean, this girl had just been shaking so much I thought she was gonna explode! Maybe her body was starting to shut down? Shoot, I didn't think my cut was that strong, but hey if it meant I was a step closer to home I ain't gonna complain.

She wasn't dying though, she was just shocked I guess. When she looked up at me with tears in her eyes she nearly broke my heart. Damn, I was really fighting a little cutie-patootie! Heck, she looked like the kind of girl Rosie or Gabe would be friends with. I can't help it, I'm a softie with stuff like that.

My arm was hurting like hell though. My instincts kept trying to get me to move it around but each move shot more pain through me than I cared to feel. It was strong enough to distract me so that I missed the little girl getting back up, and before I knew what was happening I hear her say "forgive me." and feel her sword slash right across my tits!

If the broken arm didn't piss me off, this sure did. One time a few years back a group of boys at my school got in trouble for giving out awards to the girls, and one of the ones they gave me was "best chest" and ever since then I've been proud of my upper body. Hazel Sloane was pissed because they gave her "most annoying voice". They also gave me "smart as a bag of hammers" but I didn't get it, hammers ain't very smart. But that's not the point. Now I'm gonna have a big ol' scary scar across my chest!

I bet Hazel Sloane's having a field day watching this.

I don't feel bad for Miss Cutie over there anymore. Heck, if she wants a fight, she's gonna get a fight.

Daisy attacks Nadia with her Sword.
h89DdstOHrsword
RESULT: 1033 -- Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage (Sword)

sword

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

May 10, 2020 16:01:36 GMT -5 D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza] said:

juno del air / post two / attack 1175

juno del air / post two / attack 1193

I manage to start my own fire. Carelessly but remaining cautious, the sparks fly from the serrated edge of my sword. And there's an ounce of me that admires their beauty: little droplets that contain something precious like a shining ruby in the summer sun. I see tiny sparkles that has been delicately encrusted onto something sacred and it all seems too soft a sight to have been produced by such a sharp sword.

But I am blinded by the light—and the sparks are not stars that have made their home here on earth, they are teardrops stained with blood. There's loss inside them that clouds them, and that is when I realise they are not beautiful at all, and that this sword is not capable of anything of the sort. This is the death I have never dared to dream; the rebellion I once saw like the devil in my parents' eyes now resides behind mine. I stare at the sword and follow it down to my hands. There's an ear on the floor and this is my doing—my own form of rebellion against whatever the sun was burning around me.

Heavy and cold is the sword, but still, I am just Juno, yet somehow, that is enough.

All I had to do is change everything—and through fear and thirst for love combined, I have managed to do it. But there is surely a price I have paid, because I can feel my heart beat louder than ever. I can feel it, caged behind my ribs, a stupid thing, a sorry thing, because now, it's become just another victim of a war that will never be won. Inside me, there is a soldier that has taken up arms because it sees no other option. A soldier who is in love with the light but has lost sight of it, a soldier who just wants to see the stars again.

But no soldier in any battle remains innocent, and that is the price I have paid. A broken record of a memory, on repeat and rewind, the sound of treachery and trauma with a bass of brutality. My pulse becomes a dirty rhythm and I do not want to hear it, but the music I have become reminds me that I am still alive. And there's power that comes with being alive, but is that enough for a powerless girl?

Another girl laces her words with defence. And I feel bad for what I've done, as any sane monster would, but of all the injustices in the world, is survival the worst? I bite my tongue for a second, but that's when she cuts against my own skin and I see red, and I realise injustice is founded on a broken understanding of justice. Because even the people who are good, like the parents who would let me use shells to make jewellery, use bombs over anything else.

"Really? Morality in here? You do realise where we're standing, right? I guess you can find the moral high ground anywhere, huh?" A voice booms, and its source is darker than the blood leaking from my blade. Part of me agrees with how it is difficult to find morality between the walls of an arena; we've seen this happen twice before and know that the show must go on despite the strongest of prayers or wishes. Morality has no place—but still, I fight for love and that is because it goes beyond both good and evil.

It is separate, and I am separated. I stand alone.

I look back to the boy and in his eyes is the same evil that I saw in my parents', and it makes me dread the thought of someone seeing it in my own. Lark should not have to see his sister become a slave of a soldier to see a new sunrise—but maybe, just maybe that is better than never being able to see his sister again.

"I'm only fighting because I have to," I say, looking at the girl who questioned my actions. My fingers drum on the handle of the sword and it feels slightly lighter, yet still like an impossible feat. "There are still some things I love in this world and I don't want to leave them behind. I can die a monster, but I cannot die brokenhearted." I hope that is the case, anyway.

But this is a moment of life and not death; ice is unforgiving but it is the fires that burn. I have crossed my heart, and now, I hope to live.

[ d3f juno del air attacks d5f paks ]

qtNsWmgft0sword

[ 1193 -- Severed Left Hand at Wrist -- 9.0 damage ]

[ permission from alyssa and lalia to post! ]

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[ali]

May 11, 2020 6:25:28 GMT -5 ali said:

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #3 // ####

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #4 // 1009

Desdemona Shaw

That I'd fallen for a lie
You were never on my side
Fool me once, fool me twice
Are you death or paradise?

She misses- and the crowd behind her laugh. 

Turning, the girl she fights is unrellenting and she moves like a fire, there is little Desdemona can do to stop her. The stranger is a fighter, trained, a rebel. Desdemona can tell because she moves as her husband had, with purpose and deadly decision. He was only in training but he could have killed had he seen the need. She has the grace of one Adder Ames had done, as if killing was second nature to her. She is beautiful, beneath the blood and sweat and sand that cakes her skin- she is an angel, like the one they talked about at church, here to smite those who are not worthy of life.

"FUCK SAKES!" The angel screams over the clamour of the hungry crowd "Stop looking at me like that!"

She is refering to the streaks of tears that cut hite paths through Desdemona's face, caked in sand and blood and sweat. Her eyes glisten int the sunlight and she can hear members in the crowd laughing at her, calling out for the angel to kill her. "Come on Petra!" Desdemona swallows, knowing this girls name as the chanting becomes the only thing she can here as the girl lunges forward. 

"Petra! Petra! Petra!"

Desdemona moves, bringing her sword up to meet the girls sword as she swings it down towards her. 

Zing 

The sound sends a shiver down her spine as iron clashes against iron, the vibrations of the impact are almost enough to send Desdemona sprawling on her back or to drop the sword but the sound of the disappointed crowd behind her only seem to drive her forward, her heart beating heavy in her chest. For a moment, their swords are locked and Desdemona finds herself staring into Petra's eyes- they are the colour of a storm. Dark. Grey. Forboding. 

"No." She says in response to Petra's demand as she pushed back, forcing them out of the lock before she drives the sword forward. 

Desdemona Shaw [D2F] attacks Desdemona Shaw [D2F] attacks Petra Vanburen, D1F [Dars] with Sword
thzD1d3mZYsword
[1009 -- Severed Right Ear -- 8.0 damage]

lyrics: no time to die by billie eilish

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[kap]

May 11, 2020 13:02:50 GMT -5 kap said:

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 6/Attack 2| 1071]

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 7/Attack 3 | 1046]

[googlefont="Marck Script"]Alistair Ranger

"Wake me up,
Won't you wake me up,
I'm caught in a bad dream,
Caught in a bad dream"

~

Where I had once made a small would, I this time cut all the way through, cutting the boy's left leg right off this time. What had I just done? I could feel my stomach getting that nauseous feeling again, but I wouldn't let myself be sick this time. I stood there in shock for a second, ignoring the boy's words, when I saw his blade come at me again. Luckily, my response time was quick, and I snapped out of it soon enough to have blocked his sword with mine.

The audience seems disappointed in him.

I didn't say anything to him this time. I was sure he knew what I was thinking, after all: a combination of surprise and disgust at what I'd just done, but also that dash of confidence. Instead, I narrowed my eyes, pushed my lips together tight, and focused. I had to make sure I kept up the good attacks. I couldn't let myself slip now- I'd just cut someone's leg off, and there it was, lying on the ground next to him.

Disgusting, but to be ignored.

This time, I was emotionally ready, or at least, I hoped that I was. My mind did still keep shifting to what my family would be thinking, but I couldn't let myself focus on that. Not right now. I was fighting. Now wasn't the time for thinking of home and being concerned about what people thought of me. I doubted this guy that I was fighting cared about what other people thought of him, after all.

I finally decide to speak, realizing I don't want to kill, not sharing my name with the one I've killed, and I don't want to die without my killer knowing whose life he's ended.

"You don't have to tell me your name if you don't want to," I said to him. "but I'm Alistair Ranger. I'm from District Eight."

I gave a quick nod to him and struck once again.

~

lyrics: "Bad Dream" by Ruelle

[D8M Alistair Ranger attacks D2M Arcturus Dorado]
X1En|FZ8Kesword
[1046 -- Stabbed in Back -- 9.0 damage]

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[pup]

May 11, 2020 13:38:35 GMT -5 pup said:

[arc dorado | attack #6 | 1199]

[arc dorado | attack #7 | 1198]

I flip the jeering crowd off with the hand not resting on my sword. What else could you do when you were missing a leg. It became more an more apparent that my original plans were going awry. My foot sank into the sand as I balanced myself again, trying desperately to raise my sword while turning my body in a way that I wasn't losing too much blood.

My vision was already getting hazy as one does when they're losing blood. It feels like a pound of anvils is dragging you down, trying to coax you into submission. I won't let that take me over just yet. I can barely hear the boy, but I think he's telling me his name. This stupid kid is going to kill me. I can't even focus from all the blood that had left me, my vision and hearing were starting to go as a dizziness overcame me.

"I don't care," I grunt out, leaning against my sword right before he stabs me in the back. I'm an easy target now.

I failed.

I thought I'd be able to survive, that I'd be the one in power. But now, I'm the one at someone else's mercy. It's natural, for someone to overcome another, to be the one in power. It's what humans do. I just thought that I'd be the one standing over the quivering boy, not the other way around.

I refuse to give in. There's still a chance.

So I grapple with my sword, desperately trying to lift it off the ground. I can't win anything if it's my crutch, and this seems more and more like my desperate last stand.

But I can't let people see that; I can't let people see my newfound weakness from my falters.

"You'll regret doing that," I growl out to the boy, trying to focus my waning vision on him. I can't fall down yet, I can't let that take hold. I need to find some way to stop this, to end this before it's too late.

I narrow my eyes, and I lash out him.

I better not fucking miss again.

---

[attacks Alistair 8m with sword :hellkim:]
3xH7kvrW5isword
[Attack 1198 [Sword] is SHALLOW CUT ON RIGHT HIP, +3.5 dmg]

[arc sues ripred]

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[Arrows]

May 11, 2020 2:12:41 GMT -5 Arrows said:

[Remus / Attack #2 / 1058]

[Remus / Attack #3 / 1012]

REMUS

When Remus was young, his Father would hoist him onto his shoulders and spin him around in circles. Remus' arms would stretch out wide while the stars would swim in shapes around his head. In those moments, the little boy felt as though he could fly. That was when his Father would tell him of the lights that would dance across the sky in breathtaking hues. The Aurora was the Gods' Ambrosia spilling across the stars, a sheath of heavenly life. Remus would dream of flying through those wavering bands of brilliant colors.

But right now, all he sees is a river of red.

The other boy's blade buries itself deeper into Remus' skin. A muffled mixture of a gasp and a grunt slips from between Remus' tightened teeth. The pain is powerful, but it's nothing compared to the stingers of an entire swarm of muttations. This boy doesn't know what it's like to fight for anything other than himself, other than some draining desire for glory. Remus' sister had wanted to be a nurse in a big hospital, she was selfless and yet she is dead. Meanwhile, this boy stands here like he's owed something. He's never fought for anything real.

"Close? There's only two dead so far, are you blind?"

Remus asks the boy, searching his two good eyes for a sign of anything other than selfishness. Maybe Remus doesn't know his whole story. Maybe there is more to this other boy than some shallow selfish dream of fame. But maybe there isn't. Maybe he is exactly as he seems: everything Remus wishes burned in the flames of the war. Yet here he is, face to face with the kind of people who turn power into Games like this.

"That crown you're fighting for isn't golden, it's red. Red with the blood of children."

Remus straightens himself up from the pain and stands steadily, he can smell the fields of his future on the breath of the breeze. There will always be more people like this boy. There will always be ones who choose power over peace, selfishness over morality. Remus will fight for the ones who he's watched die because of them. First this boy, then the gloater.

"I don't know what life you've lived, but if it's bad enough to want this crown that badly. Then maybe you'd be happier dead."

Remus attacks Eros :: Sword
_6jG|KeR1qsword
{Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage, + 1 Blades}

sword

[k!ah]

May 11, 2020 8:48:42 GMT -5 k!ah said:

Nadia Ivanov | d6f | post 5 | attack: 1129

Nadia Ivanov | d6f | post 6 | attack: 1047

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/Nx8fr6b.jpg); background-position: top; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-color: 403722; width: 375px; padding:8px; border: 0px solid #948C75;] n a d i a. ✸   ✸   ✸ "Yeah You're a soldier now Fighting in a battle. " The blade connects. It sharp edge slices into flesh of the girls chest. She watched as it glides along the surface, coating itself with the life source of the girl before her. She blade edge hits solid ground and the girl looks pissed. The damage wasn't extensive but that didn't matter to Nadia at the moment. Nadia was still trying to come to terms about what she had just done. I'm fighting to survive. She reminds herself. She was fighting to love another day. For the chance to go home. For the chance to see her father once more and tell him that she forgave him. She was starting to understand why she was here. Replaying the events of the days leading up to it. Of the day he had come home shaken, and instead of finding his usual spot on the couch he had come to find her. Collapsed at her feet, a hand reaching for her. "Nadia... Nadia I have made a terrible mistake." She had dropped to her knees, her eyes filled with concern at her fathers sorry form. Embracing his hand with both of hers she had ran a hand through her fathers blonde hair. "Dad, I'm sure it's nothing you can't fix." It was supposed to be reassuring, but the opposite reaction was provoked. He broke down, right there, head resting in her lap. His body shook, his hands clutching at her dress. She hadn't known what to do, her eyes wide with shook. She had never seen her father sob like this before. Not even when her mother had died. So she just sat there, running her hand through his hair as he weeped into her lap. "I don't think I can fix it this time." he spoke to quietly that she almost missed it. She was a consequence to his mistake. She wasn't mad at him. She loved him. She would tell him that, next time she saw him. But first, to see him, she had to tear away a little bit more of who she was and become someone she could hardly recognise. The girls blade kisses her flesh once again, finding home on her forearm. She hisses in pain, her grip tightening around the hilt of the sword to stop her from crying out. She was done crying. She had cried enough in the last two days to last her a life time. Blood dripped into her eyes, making it harder to see. Her forehead burned with pain and she concentrated on that. She let it consume her, remind her of what this girl would do to her if she did not fight. She hated herself for it. She hated the way her fingers tighten around the hilt. How her arms tensed, preparing to strike. She hated that she wanted to strike this girl. She hated that the thought that crossed her mind as she prepared was that she wanted to see her fall. Because her falling meant one last obstacle in her way. "I hate you for making me this way! For forcing me to do this... But I hate myself the most, for pushing aside who I am to become a person who would do anything to survive. Maybe it would be better that I didn't." Her voice breaks as she speaks the last few words. She hadn't realised the truth behind her words until it was too late. Maybe it was better that she perished here. "No. No I want to go home." "To be free once more Yeah, that's worth fighting for."

[Nadia attack Daisy Holliday with sword]
t9WbC6TrM7sword
[Stabbed in Stomach -- 9.5 damage]

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