The Bloodbath

[Iphigenia Damask [D8F]]

May 11, 2020 23:59:20 GMT -5 Iphigenia Damask [D8F] said:

[8F, Iphigenia Damask, 4th post, no attack]

There was so much violence. So many of the other tributes were hacking each other to pieces. Hands, and feet, and arms and legs coated the Arena. There is blood everywhere. Some of the other tributes are begging for their life, others are doing their best to fight back. 

"Everyone, please listen up!" she said outloud, unsure of whether her voice will carry beyond the cheering from the crowd and the sounds of battle, but she has to try. Muhammad, peace be upon him, had taught them all to be righteous and to do their best to preserve the peace. And that is all she can do now. Even if some of them don't believe in it, like the girl with the curls who is now fighting another boy. "There is no reason for us to fight like this. There has to be a way that we can all decide together. I know they won't let all of us out, but we can at least talk it out. Find a fair way for the Victor to leave this Arena without emotional and physical scars. No need more nightmares, or adjust to a new limb. We can be the generation that changes things. Peace is achievable if we all put our hearts together." she says standing straight and tall. The crowd, those who heard her are booing her but she remains frozen in place. A pillar of strength and compassion among the madness. "Let's do the right thing for the generations to come, we could save the lives of thousands if we just accept peace into our hearts and do this right."

[Righteous speech]

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

May 11, 2020 10:14:57 GMT -5 umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] said:

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Four | 1141

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Five | 1196

Petra was caught off guard when the crowd began to cheer her on, her name suddenly an exclamation. A statement. Hers was a name that was meant to be chanted; she'd always thought that, so while she was caught off guard when it finally happened, she was not surprised. And the moment was infinity, fame brewed and poured into a bottle that Petra had only just gotten her lips around before the girl swung out at her again. She did what she could to deflect it, which was enough to keep her head in-tact, but not enough to remain unscathed.

She screamed at the sharpness on the side of her face. It was all-consuming: an eternity of pain. Everything about it was awful and, yes, the pain was the worst of it, but there wasn't a single piece of it that was good. Not the strange mixture of temperature sensation, warmth of blood gushing from the wound, cold from the places the blood had poured from. Not the realization that there was something dangling there, connected now by only a strand or two of soft tissue, patting against her jaw with the wind and her heaving sobs. Her ear.

But the worst of it was this: it was her own fault. This girl was no fighter. A survivor, maybe. But no fighter. No technique. No experience. At least none she'd bothered to show; it was Petra's mistake that had landed her in this predicament, just as it was Petra's mistake that had led to her capture in the first place. She was her own undoing, and after a lifetime of unraveling threads, she didn't much care to glance what came next.

So she did what people do when they are at fault and cannot face the truth.

"You bitch!"

Another scream, maybe because it hurt and maybe because she was angry and her pride was bruised. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The pain came on in waves now, which she figured was better than a steady stream of torment. Several seconds of intense throbbing, then something that wasn't painless, but didn't feel better, either. She recognized the feeling as something that had burrowed itself into her heart some years ago; it was her choice now, but it hadn't been then.

Numbness.

Blood was making its way onto her face somehow, smears of it, and she forced a calm over herself. It was all she had. It was all she could do: breathe. There were people watching; she didn't want to see what happened when the prying eyes stopped showing interest in what they were seeing.

It was through a veil of unwarranted tears and blood that she attempted to swing.

[ petra attacks desdemona shaw, 2f ]
XoogiSgpFAsword
[1196 -- Block -- 0.0 damage]

sword

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

May 11, 2020 23:50:27 GMT -5 gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin. said:

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 4 | 1027 ]

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 5 | roll ]

Lost girl, bruised and burning.

You're walking away already as you take in the girl who used her costume to her advantage's words. Wouldn't peace be achieved if we all tried to see things from each other's perspectives? There's something in there, something that eats away at the back of your head. Maybe something that you father said, once upon a dream, but between one footstep and the next the memory is gone and the only thing that remains is your annoyance.

You dug your sword into the boys arm, but just past him you see the girl you shoved on the ground, standing stock straight, taking in the arena in a way not dissimilar to the way that you just had. She looks around at everyone, at everything, taking in the carnage and steeling her own spine against it, ready for whatever comes her direction. In a way that you had never been able to, she chooses her fate for herself, chooses her own path. Something horrible and nasty inside of you has the instinct to spit, your soul blinking out in the inky-darkness of the black hole in your chest.

Just for a moment, you see yourself for the terror you are.

They'll cheer when you die, too, the other girl had said, and it's those words rattling around in your own head when they boy slashes out at you. It makes your head spin, the flash of a blade dipping right towards you, and you feel the cold metal in every inch of your bones. You try and tuck and roll away again, lithe and deft as you have were always trained to be, but between one breath and the next—you're screaming.

You're fucking screaming.

The pain is unlike anything you've ever felt in your entire life. You don't barely even notice anymore when you stumble forwards—is it, is it a stumble when you hop on one leg a couple of times, dig your second sword into the earth and try to stay standing up straight? Does that still count when one of your legs is very suddenly not attach to your body anymore and and and and and —oh, are you still screaming? You look down, and realize that in your confusion and through the blood spilling out of you that he's shoved you right back from whence you came, and you're tumbling right into the girl who was making speeches, the girl with peace in his bones and kindness in her heart. The girl who had stopped fighting before everyone else even began.

But—is she making a speech? When did she start doing that? The pain is absolutely unreal and in this moment between moments, you're left staring at a girl you thought you didn't mind seeing dead and you're stumbling towards her and yet—

What if she lived?

You're thoughts are a jumble of incoherent words and phrases for a second, and somehow thinking about her and looking at her you find yourself stumbling—again, does this stilted thing count?—closer towards her, the momentum of the boy's shove sending you spiraling until, you lose yourself.

Just for a moment, but that's long enough.

[ 9f xime attacks 8f iphigenia, sword ]

An1UctgbT9sword

[ roll ]

Your voice when you speak is a collection of sharp edges, dangerous and yet—somehow, there's an edge of playfulness to it that no one would ever be able to understand. At least, no one had ever been able to understand it before.

"Probably should have seen that one coming," you choke out, voice ragged. You're not sure, but you think that you might be clinging to the girl who you'd just threatened, trying desperately to stand up straight still. Or is one of your swords stuck into the earth and you're leaning on that— is it the wall? You look to your side, and yep, sure enough, carved next to your head. Persephone Vega. The pain—it's blinding. You can't barely see through it, but her name is clear enough. "I asked for it so nicely."

You look back over at the girl and realize—huh, did you attack her? In that flash of red, you must have. Why else would she look at you like that? Absently, you think maybe now she'll fight. 

You don't want to think about what it meant if she doesn't. Don't want to think about what kind of person that makes you.

Then again, had she been making a speech when you stumbled into her? You rack your brain for the words she had just been boasting, think you remember something about peace, something about generations. Something about scars and our hearts and just—a whole collection of things that you have never been able to bring yourself to give a second thought. 

"What's that look like?" you ask aloud, curls loose around your face now having come fully free of the tie the keepers had given you. "Peace, I mean? Can't say the war showed me much of that. Doubt anyone here would even recognize it if you put it under their noses."

sword

[gamemaker kelsier]

May 11, 2020 10:13:04 GMT -5 gamemaker kelsier said:

[Babe Adroxis 9M, attack 4, 1006]

[Babe Adroxis 9M, post 5 (no attack), -]

b a b e .

"He left her
lonely with a
diamond mind"

The sword in his hand isn't a weapon but an encumbrance, a weight that keeps him tethered down when he shouldn't be. He preferes the security of a gun held tight in both hands that jumps when he commands, a roar always coming seconds after the pull of a trigger.

Babe simply watches as his intentions fall flat around him. It makes sense that they do, execution of calculated steps has always been his forté, not this impulsive mess that he's found himself in.

The girl pushes past him and he sees it then, the spill of fresh blood on her arm. He moved too fast, too messy just now and had actually hurt her in his effort to help her. Babe grimaces and pushes the sword into his belt, already tired of himself again. He knows that he's a fool, never was made for good tv, but he can't let her run into danger because of him.

He didn't want to let this other guy play with her the way he had with that girl that he'd literally just finished butchering. No, even back in Nine, Babe had believed in a merciful ending.

The other boy grins too much in a knowing way, like he wants Babe to see him in a certain light but he doesn't catch it, refuses too. The girl tribute isn't his prey, he's not a hunter and never has been, he knows that now and isn't ashamed of it.

Maybe once or twice back in Nine he'd worried that maybe he actually liked killing, that the rush of adrenaline that came after realizing he'd survived was addicting. Here in the arena, the feeling is nowhere to be found. It's a relief that he's not completely psychotic but something he'd rather celebrate later.

Without even a word for the male tribute, Babe takes off across the sand and ash after the girl, hands raised in peace as he comes closer. "Hey," he says, stopping a few feet away from her, "I didn't mean to get you back there, I just didn't want to leave you to that wolf."

A line of blood slides down her arm and Babe grimaces slightly, lowering his hands to tear off a strip of his cape. The fabric tears easier than he thought it would and he quickly folds it into a rough bandage. The action reminds him of another time, what feels like ages ago now, when he did the same for another girl who arrived fresh on his doorstep one night in Nine.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says gently and kneels slowly in front of her, "That cut just needs pressure on it."

[sidney]

May 12, 2020 1:07:27 GMT -5 sidney said:

jasen hargrove / 7th post - 6th attack / 1182

J A S E N

A speech? Really? 

Jasen looks over each shoulder, waiting to see whoever it is this girl thinks she's gonna reach with her words—words that sound less like words and more just echoed noises rattling around in the head of a boy who's heart is pounding so hard he can hear it. More clearly than anything else; more than the crowd, the fighting, or whatever it was she was trying to convey. 

Whatever it is, it doesn't fucking matter!

"WE'RE HERE TO FIGHT!" He screams at the top of his lungs, visceral and with the sword in his hand pointed toward this speech giver. "If you don't—or won't..." he laughs. Snorts, even. Jasen chortles at the thought. What if he had done as she had? Laid down his weapon, or never even bothered to pick it up. Maybe that girl that smelled like the sea and fresh grass would still have a head on her shoulders. Maybe the one after that would still have a hand. Maybe the girl beside him would still have more than one leg to stand on. "Then you're gonna die. No matter what you say," he sighs, defeated in the face of such willpower and hope, "or who you say it to."

Grip tightening on his sword, he moves in closer, ready to end this girl's suffering once and for all, but he's beaten to the punch.  Quite literally.

And what a beautiful sight it is. 

Like a warrior—like the goddess of war—the little mess of sharp words and tangled curls sends her sword straight through the other tribute's head. In one clean stab, her last breath escapes her lips as the blade withdraws in a streak of crimson. 

Probably should have seen that one coming. I asked for it so nicely.

Ripred, I think I'm in love.

His heart stops as she stumbles back, the leg he cleaved from her only seconds ago strewn across the sand not too far away, but it's just background. White noise in the distance as his gaze narrows onto her, mouth going slightly agape as the sun hits her cheeks in a breathtaking sort of way. Like she is a deity and the universe has chosen now, the moment she takes a life, to shine down upon her. 

If Jasen could, he'd will her immortal. Frozen in this moment forever.

Beautiful. Ethereal. Eternal.

All he knows is he'll never forget her.

What's that look like? Peace, I mean?

He barely listens to the rest, instead closing the distance with an arm under hers so he can hoist her up. "Come with me," he whispers, offering her all the weight he can so she can take two more steps with him. Toward the crowd. "Look," he breathes, a hand reaching under her chin to tilt it up. "Do you hear them?" He follows her gaze and takes in the sight of them. The complete strangers whose fists jet into the air and cry out into the battle, cheering them on—cheering her on. "That's for you," he says awestruck. "It's as close to peace as we're gonna get in here."

They stand there for a moment, Jasen drinking in the triumph wholeheartedly. It tastes sweet, like iron mixed with berries. If he has to share the glory; he's happy its with someone just as savage as he. 

But over his shoulder, something—someone—pulls him out of their little slice of peace. Some little shit puffing out his chest about fifteen feet away. 

I can keep this shit up as long as you want.

Jasen all but rolls his eyes, reaching around his neck for the girl's arm to steady her against the wall. "Don't go anywhere," he urges, unclear even to himself if it's a warning or a threat, but something has to be done about the loudmouth behind them.

"You sure got a lot to say," he grunts and picks his sword back up, moving with intense purpose toward his new target. "Can you keep it up as long as I want? Let's find out."

( attacks beauden )

SluEBuZFR3sword

[ Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder -- 3.5 damage ]

sword

[Cait]

May 11, 2020 13:14:35 GMT -5 Cait said:

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

[d10f - robyne hawn - post 5 - no attack]

robyne hawn

It’s too much to hope they don’t follow. If I’ve learnt anything in the past five minutes, it’s that hunters don’t abandon a fight once they’ve had a taste of blood.

I rock back and forth, counting the seconds as they tick by. Desperate to be someplace else, warm and safe and sacred.

One, I’m 3 years old and curled up in mum and dad’s bed, and I don’t have a bed of my own, but I don’t mind one bit.

Two, I’m 8 years old with a bag of candy from the hospital, for being so brave as they put the broken pieces of my arm back together again.

Three –

“Hey.”

My fifth harsh truth:

nothing lasts forever.

“Stay back.” I’ll keep pushing them all away in the only way I know how. But I’m none for two on the scoreboard so far, and I’m already so tired. There’s no conviction in my words.

He steps closer, and I’m none for three. Innocence attracts trouble – a new lesson to learn. Why did I spend my life with my head down, hiding in the shadows? Why did my parents insist on sheltering me from the cruelty of war? I know they meant well, but right now, it feels like betrayal.

I’m going to die, and it’s all their fault.

There are new tears falling, but they burn this time. Angry and frustrated, I throw my hand out towards Boy 2’s face, gritting my teeth through the dull pain, but he catches it before it lands.

Oh.

My sixth harsh truth:

I’m not a fighter. I’m just a girl.

Is this where it ends?

No.

Instead of retaliating, he takes my tiny arm in his hands and wraps a strip of clothing around it – once, twice – and holds it in place. The action shocks me. If we’re allowed kindness in here, why are we fighting? His care reminds me of an older brother I never had. Sitting here in this temporary ceasefire, it makes me desperate for more than I’d ever thought to have.

It’s over all too quickly, and the thought makes my blood run cold. He’s done that before, and I shudder to think why he ever had to learn how to heal a wound. It should terrify me, to be in the presence of a likely killer, but I don’t have the energy to run.

“Why are you helping me?” I whisper, desperate to keep the tremor out of my voice. “You just –” I gulp, swallow, breathe. “You can’t j-just hurt someone and then try t-to fix them!”

But I don’t think he meant it, not really. He says as much, and I want to believe him so, so badly. Hunters don’t make mistakes. If he wanted to kill me back there, he would have. He knows his weapon too well to only graze the surface of my skin. He isn’t a stranger to this part of the world – the way he holds himself is not like a wounded animal. He didn’t cower in fear in Boy 1’s presence – instead, he revelled in it.

Maybe --

maybe he’s one of the good guys.

I feel that bubble of hope rising in my chest before I can squash it. It’s a dangerous thing, always just out of reach, but it’s in my grasp and I don’t want to let it go. Not just yet.

But nothing lasts forever.

Because somewhere at the back of my mind, there’s a voice telling me you don’t leave here alive without a weapon covered in blood. Blade or fists, it didn’t matter which.

All that mattered was that my hands were still clean --

and his were not.

“You won’t hurt me? You promise?”

template by Chelsey

[ali]

May 11, 2020 17:26:37 GMT -5 ali said:

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #4 // 1009

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #5 // 1013

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. 

Desdemona watched as the silver edge of the blade slice through the girls skin at her ear, and the crowd erupts with boos and cheers as blood streams down Petra's porcelin skin. Desdemona felt her face draining, turning pale, her eyes widening as Petra's petras sliced through her like a blade to her stomach, heavy and ice cold. She had never heard anything quite like it, she sounded like an animal-

No-

A human.

Desdemona's hands shook as she watched Petra turn on her, the girls blade glinting in the afternoon sunlight. She had never hurt someone like this before, she had always been so meek and quiet and had never thought back against her parents, who's beatings she could still feel like a echo on her skin. She'd always held back, she had been obedient to those who had hurt her. 

No more. She thought, gritting her teeth as Petra's blade moved towards her. Desdemona moved, without even thinking, the two metal blade zinging as the crowd erupted again, disappointed groans, as somehow the blonde managed to deflected Petra's sword, their sword glittering with iron and blood. 

Exhaling, nostrils flaring, Desdemona steadied herself as she stared at Petra for a long moment. In that moment, she could feel her whole body, her heart thrumming in her chest as her cotton tunic clung to her body, the wounds on her chest and back stinging as the frayed fabric clung to the drying blood. Gritting her teeth, Desdemona shifted, raising the sword readying for another attack. 

"God have mercy on us both..." you whisper, as you lunge, driving your sword towards the girl. 

Desdemona Shaw [D2F] attacks Petra Vanburen, D1F [Dars] with Sword
0ojIPMijaLsword
[1013 -- Shallow Cut on Right Thigh -- 3.5 damage]

lyrics: no time to die by billie eilish

sword

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

May 12, 2020 1:27:52 GMT -5 umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] said:

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Five | 1196

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Six | 1011

She tripped over something, a rather large something. It wasn't enough to hurt her, but she still fell to her knees, sparing only a second's glance behind her to see what it was. Her throat tightened.

A head.

A girl's head. With hair only a shade or two darker than Petra's own, icy blue eyes now dusted with the dirt of the arena and half-lidded.

Petra recognized a choice. Her choice. Some would let the fear wash over them, realize that it could be their head next, wonder if every move they were making was wrong and if it would bring them one step closer to being reduced to a package of organs and blood and bone. Others would see it as a challenge.

She was not going to be like this girl.

"You know," Petra sighed, standing back to her feet an instant later. Her words were to the girl she fought, who'd just muttered something about God having mercy on them. It was almost laughable; Petra would've laughed if she wasn't so divinely furious that it took every ounce of willpower she had to unclench her teeth and speak.

"You're making it much easier to do this without feeling sorry for you."

As if to accentuate her point, she felt the piece of her ear that was only barely hanging on begin to tap against her jaw and her neck again, hair blowing in the wind. Petra wiped blood and sweat and tears from her eyes but it was never enough, the sting was the reminder that they were there, and her eyes creating more tears to make it go away, and the blood would mix with it again, and she would be back where she started.

"I don't want forgiveness. I don't want mercy. I just want to fucking live."

[ petra attacks desdemona shaw, 2f ]
6OVE9pqn_esword
[1011 -- Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage]

sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

May 11, 2020 10:53:42 GMT -5 napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. said:

[ reed laghari | d7m | attack two ]

[ reed laghari | d7m | no attack ]

Reed pressed on the gaping wound in his chest, trying to staunch the bleeding at best.

The blood felt too warm; it was as if his fingertips were closed around a slow-burning furnace. But Reed knew that this warmth came from his very lifeblood, from his very self. If this kept up for long, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Reed needed to get away. Reed needed to kill this boy.

But saints, it was an easy thought, a comforting one almost, that had no easy execution. They were both boys yearning for life, desperate to cling onto this world with their last teeth. Reed could see it in his eyes, that selfish want to live, and he couldn’t fault for it because he knew it was reflected in his own bottle-brown gaze.

Somewhere nearby, chants arose in a low moan – carrying themselves over the wind, a sound he confused for prayers. Was someone worshipping his saints here, too?

But Reed found out that this wasn’t a sound of reverence to a god, it was a sound of reverence to bloodshed. To murder. His heart twisted horribly in his wounded chest. Breaths came out sharp, whetted by panic and looming terror. Reed swallowed the lump in his throat and steeled his nerves before it could render him useless. If he began to panic even more, it would do as good as laying himself down for a quick death.

“I am getting missed signals, babe,” the other boy started and Reed held back a frown. Then he lobbed his severed hand at his head, an act so shocking it kept his feet rooted to the ground – stopping him from dodging it. Reed quickly scrambled away, his features contorted by disgust, scalp stinging. “Don't call me a coward and expect me to run from you after, because I can keep this shit up as long as you want.” It was Reed’s turn to snarl then. “I’d like to see you do it.”

He hadn’t the faintest clue where all this bravery sprang from – adrenaline? his selfish want to live? or the fact that he’d encountered so many boys akin to the other male that they simply weren’t worth Reed’s fear anymore? They were questions, unanswered. He lowered his blade, but held onto it still in case the other male would make a sudden move, then began to back away, step by gentle step.

“Don't. Follow.” 

And then Reed ran.

The golden motes of sand scattered in the air were imaginary and dream-like almost; this would be a beautiful place if the blood were gone, if the carnage was washed away. But that was Reed being hopeful once more and hope, he’d learnt long ago, was a child’s piece of magic that never came true. Innocence was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He’d chosen to live, and for that, all the choices posed to him were unfair.

Tears stung Reed’s eyes as he sought for a place to hide. There was a boy fighting to his side, its blade missing an inch from a boy that looked worse for a wear, and another boy close by, all golden hair and pretty features. He wanted to hide away from both. He wanted to hide away from both. Reed Laghari was a dancer caught in a war, and his prancing feet could only keep him from falling for long.

But the blood that glistened near the end of his sword also marked him as a fighter, as a warrior. To exist, was to survive unfair choices, and this was simply one he would have to brave through.  Clutching onto the hilt of his sword, Reed understood that he would fight if he was found. 

[gamemaker kelsier]

May 12, 2020 2:10:18 GMT -5 gamemaker kelsier said:

[Babe Adroxis 9M, post 5 (no attack), -]

[Babe Adroxis 9M, attack 6, 1008]

b a b e .

"He left her
lonely with a
diamond mind"

She doesn't trust him of course and that's okay, Babe doesn't trust her either. He learned long ago that just becuase someone looks weak it doesn't mean that they are, it's the heart that measures a blade. The tears rolling down her cheeks tell him that maybe hers is just too big.

He wishes he could feel as she does, that he could let fear or sadness flow through him and his fingers brush against her skin as he ties off her arm, sending a shiver down his spine as if she is an open circuit and he a conduit. Her whole body seems to shake beneath his touch, this is no place for her.

“Why are you helping me?” she says, “You can’t j-just hurt someone and then try t-to fix them!” The shake in her voice moves through her, shaking her pronunciation.

His hands fall back to his knees and Babe stares at her for a moment, the sounds of fighting behind them leaking into their quiet moment. The crowd cheers those that please them and jeers at the rest in an entirely morbid fashion.

Babe wishes he had a clear answer for her on the duality of this moment but there's nothing reasonable. He can't tell her that he's been fighting his whole life but had lost the plot three years ago. He knows what people see when they look at him because that's the facade he's spent so long carefully crafting over a crumbling interior. Babe looks dangerous because he wants to but he's capable of just looking like the gentle teen boy that it's always been in his nature to be.

"You belong in this place," he answers and it's true. She's a flower struggling to get through a crack in the cement. "It was designed to kill kids like you, to demean you and punish the Districts with your death."

It doesn't have to be that way though. There are two options for getting her out of here, he could protect her and push her to the top, then take his own life or he could end her here in a gentle way to ease her suffering. The first option has too many variables and requires his sacrifice for a girl he only just met, the second more reasonable but requires yet another piece of his soul.

"If the others get you, they won't be gentle," he says quietly, eyes meeting hers, "They'll draw it out and you'll suffer."

He stands, and pulls his sword out carefully. Babe holds it loosely at his side, eyes still on her's. He wants to explain himself, to promise that this is the only option, but he isn't so sure it is. It's an option that's available to her though. He bleeds too, little nicks on his skin, a gift from Arc. They'll cut her over and over until she bleeds out and she'll lie in the sand, afraid and in pain.

Killing her is the merciful option.

And there is his father, holding a gun up, no shake in his arm as he shoots Cy once in the chest and once in the head. He falls to the ground on the sand beside Babe, a shocked expression carved into his features and slowly sinks into the ash.

Then the gun is pointed at Babe.

This is a walking dream, he knows that it's an illusion made by his own brain reaching an epiphany. Kill the children, don't let them be taken by the enemy, keep them safe from the things worse than death with their own execution. The scar on his chest burns bright for an aching moment and he places a hand over his heart, fingers brushing over the notched skin there.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, "I want to make that promise but I can't."

Babe cups her life in his hands carefully and it flutters against his fingers. This is where he plays god again, this is where he takes a life and he always gives himself the targets no one else wants, the broken things that you can't forget because of the way they looked at you. He's lied to himself so long, a predator is still a hunter even if he kills in one clean shot.

He's still a murderer and in the end she's just his next victim, no matter how he paints it. His father points the gun at the back of the girl's head and Babe understands.

Cy was a mercy kill, as Babe was supposed to be, he is staring down a mirror.

"I'm... I'm going to make it quick," he says and he pushes the sword down once again to sweep against her skin.

[babe attacks robyne with sword]
NCMIgReMD1sword
[Shallow Cut on Back -- 4.0 damage]sword

[kap]

May 11, 2020 17:42:00 GMT -5 kap said:

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

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 8/Attack 4 | 1083]

[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"

~

My sword stabs into the back of my target, and I feel that surge of guilt again, but I ignore it. I retain a confident look upon my face when he says he doesn't care about my name. I figured as much. I wasn't sure that I really wanted to know his, either, especially if I killed him. That would just worsen the guilt, wouldn't it? Carrying the name of a deadman, whether it be for a few moments more of a short life, or the rest of a long life, I wasn't sure I could handle it.

"You'll regret doing that," he growls at me in response to the attack I'd made on him. Little did he know, I regretted every single bit that my blade sliced into him, but I knew that I had no choice. I had to do this if there was going to be any chance of me returning home.

His blade bites my skin, but not enough for me to yell out. Instead, I grit my teeth and push through that little bit of pain. I can survive this, at least for a little while longer. Surely there's someone watching that's rooting for me, wanting me to keep fighting. Even if it's not my own family back home rooting for me, because Ripred knows what they're thinking right now, at least there's a chance of there being someone who wants me to fight.

I may be the kid who threw up in the arena, but at least I'm not the kid who didn't even try to fight after that. At least I didn't just give up in a puddle of my own vomit. Like that other tribute said when I was pinned to the wall, do I want to be the kid who died in his own vomit? I really, really don't.

Someone starts making a speech about how we should stop fighting, and no matter how badly I wish that I could listen, I have to ignore it. Instead, I speak to my opponent.

"I figured you'd say something like that," I told him. "Maybe if you'd stop talking, you'd be less distracted and actually hit me better, though."

Swing!

~

lyrics: "Bad Dream" by Ruelle

[D8M Alistair Ranger attacks D2M Arcturus Dorado]
nx509u34BFsword
[1083 -- Shallow Cut on Neck -- 4.0 damage]

sword

[revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay]

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

d3m eros desrosier | post 3 | 1144

d3m eros desrosier | post 4 | 1096

E R O S

desrosier

The faux leather garments they dressed us up in were scratchy, the clothing scraping against my skin. We were like dolls to them - dressing up in their finest clothes for their little games. But all I want is my crown, a golden halo sitting upon the expanse of midnight atop my head.

"That crown you're fighting for isn't golden, it's red. Red with the blood of children," the boy from four rears, flames flickering in the dark pools of his eyes, "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."

The people in the stands chant, roaring with each drop of blood, bellowing with each body the drops. I turn to my right, my dark eyes hooded for my need for a crown, my need for silver rings and embellished waistcoats. I pivot, raising the sword with everything in me.

"You're right - you don't know what life I've lived."

eros attacks remus d4m | sword

KeebKcP3pJsword

1096 | DG + 8.0

sword

[pup]

May 11, 2020 17:57:51 GMT -5 pup said:

[arc dorado | attack #7 | 1198]

[arc dorado | attack #8 | 1067]

The crowd is starting to hurt my already drained head. Each noise sounds like thunder as I try to maintain focus and consciousness. He keeps slashing at me, trying to kill me. If I had done anything, at least I had proven my point. At least he had given in to humanity, and that's what matters.

From the corner of my waning vision, I see a girl trying to give a speech of hope, only for her to be stabbed in the eye. I almost laugh. I would have if I had the power and the energy too. That's what you get for trying to be the peacemaker. Peace is only useful if you alone benefit. If there are other's that would gain equal power from it, it's useless. That's why I will continue to stand my ground to this boy. I will not go down powerless.


"I figured you'd say something like that," He says, preparing to strike me again with the sword now drenched in my blood. "Maybe if you'd stop talking, you'd be less distracted and actually hit me better, though."

I hop a little bit, trying to maintain my balance as he slices me again.

I grin, my smile looking even more like that of a maniac's with the blood splatters on my face. It was humorous, really. This boy had probably thought that he'd find a way to go without killing. But he was wrong. That girl who's eye just got stabbed out to the raucous cheering of the crowd was wrong. They were all wrong.

"At least you're not standing in the corner doing nothing now," I spit out, trying to seem menacing with my sword.

Maybe this time I'll try to miss. Or not. Who knows. My vision was kind of just going in and out at this point, signalling to me that my end was coming.

---

[attacks Alistair 8m with sword :hellkim:]
bYd30We8w|sword
[1067 -- Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage (Sword)]

[arc sues ripred]

sword

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

May 12, 2020 0:05:06 GMT -5 D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] said:

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #6 | 1139]

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #7 | 5114]

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

Daisy Holliday

7. Gone to Seed

For a hot second it looked like things were coming up Daisy. I got her in the bicep with my sword. I thought I was about to chop the girl's arm clean off but my left arm ain't got the same strength that I usually get with my right. My sword got to her arm bone and stopped. Damn.

Now the girl drops her sword to grab at her new wound, and I think to myself oh hey, now's a good chance to strike again! but I've been losing a crap-ton of blood from my stomach hole and the world is spinning all around me, I can barely keep a steady footing. It's enough time for Little Missy to pick up her sword again and strike.

Shoot. There goes my opening.

And there goes my arm. And shoot, my sword too.

I wonder what I look like right now. Probably ain't a very pretty sight; blood all over me, a hole in my stomach, one arm hanging down at my side, the other lying on the floor. Damn, now that I notice it there's a lot of body parts just lying around on the ground. We're all turning each other into stewing beef in here.

I'm starting to feel real sleepy too. Every second that goes by the idea of just closing my eyes and heading off to dreamland sounds like a better and better idea. Is that what dying is? That doesn't seem so bad. Probably hurts a hell of a lot less than I'm hurting right now, that's for sure.

But I ain't a quitter, I can't just quit the fight and die like that. This little girl looks like she's as close to death as I am; maybe I can finish her off and then take a breather to feel a bit better. I ain't got any working arms to work with though, and she's got both and a sword. Ain't looking good for me.

But I'm a doer.

Maybe it's time to use my head.

Daisy headbutts Nadia (attacks unarmed. Hahaha un-armed, get it?)
TJFmdjz5Vmunarmed
RESULT: 5114 -- Gash/Bruised Left Arm -- 4.0 damage (Unarmed)

unarmed

[Deleted]

May 11, 2020 16:45:54 GMT -5 @fabulousraven said:

beauden d12m / thrown hand / 4th post

Beau / 5

b e a u d e n .

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

I think I am ready to lay down and die. 

It’s a terrible thing too, my spar getting up and running away, in a better state than I. What have I done with my life? What have I done here, where do I draw the line in this sand to declare I deserve to live- I’m not scared of death, I am scared of pain. Back home I’ve seen body bags enough to fill my own mausoleum and I have always known I would be one.

Just, I always believed I would be older when it happened.

There’s a hunking man beside me, cutting into my skin again as he scares off my hunt. My own kill, that sounds strange. I hold myself to my knees, pressing my weight down onto my sword- I’ve lost a lot of blood. I’ll lose more than that if I wallow about it, but it is so fucking hard. 

It’s enough of a draw to pull myself to my feet again, holding my lame arm into my gut as if to protect it further. That’s my priority, not to live but to stitch this damn thing up somehow and I know it’s the panic. ”Fuck, you two can’t let a good bitch talk, huh!” I look over to the girl they gentle speared through the skull, they called my bluff, it’s all just a peacock.

There isn’t enough of me left to wield the sword, my arm searing something cold in the absence of my hand. There’s still a piece of me that wants to fight, and hell it may just be my severed hand at this point, but I won’t die without a fucking show. So I pick up her leg, my good nails digging in her dying ankle.

”If you’re going to kill me, you better throw my head into that damn crowd. 

I’m not dying quietly.”

TLDR Reed runs away and Beau fights Xim/Jasen
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