DTT: Round One, Fenrir vs Ace

dars
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DTT: Round One, Fenrir vs Ace Dec 29, 2023 10:28:36 GMT -5

Quote

Post by dars on Dec 29, 2023 10:28:36 GMT -5

Fenrir Forrester vs Ace Bellisario

As the last of the once-were's come into view, standing along the edges of the bowl, the ground beneath their feet begins to rumble quietly. Then, two at a time, whether they find themselves meaning to or not, they begin to step forward closer toward the center of the ring. A spectral blade appears in the tribute's dominant hand, a ghostly knife just as capable of reaping souls as the grim's scythe. The cackling of the watchers seated along the walls grows into applause and those of you waiting your turns have some time to look around and plot your escape- a futile exercise in humanness that still remains from your last moments of life.

"Begin," the thunderous voice from before declares.

--------------

REMINDERS

- 20 HP
- Weapon Round One: Knife
- Insta's count as 10 damage
- All limbs (including heads) are spectrally restored to their owners for the fights
- Blitz-length posts only unless both writers have agreed to write longer posts with each other
- Round One fights must be finished by 2nd January. If they are not, we will select a winner based on damages and/or posting times

fox / ines izar d11a 🖤 cait

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

ines izar d11a 🖤 cait
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if looks could kill

DTT: Round One, Fenrir vs Ace Dec 29, 2023 20:11:50 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ines izar d11a 🖤 cait on Dec 29, 2023 20:11:50 GMT -5

“I tried to find you.”

On the other side, I thought he’d be waiting for me. I guess that was foolish. He was always going to return to his world of worship – somewhere I could never reach.

“You said you’d be there at the end with me. But I – I died alone.”

Like I’ve lived before; like I was destined to end. The sword buries itself in the side of my neck as my veins continue to pulse desperately. Futile. I’d lost all my tethers. Nobody cared. There was no one watching back home – I’d severed those ties the moment I accepted my place on that stage against orders.

“You said you would be the one to kill me.”

He’d wanted me to fear him, but it’s not something I live with. My amygdala’s damaged. There’s some split ends in my neural wiring that keeps me from recognising the danger in front of me. Because he is dangerous. Yet, I’d been more than happy to accept his offer of a merciful end, if it meant I didn’t have to be alone through it. But not even a forest god can change the fates.

“You never finished the story.”

There was a lot of things we vowed to each other.

“You have to keep at least one promise.”

nDVPxDQHZpknife

sc on stomach - 4

knife

Last Edit: Dec 29, 2023 20:12:52 GMT -5 by ines izar d11a 🖤 cait

i always used to be into writing sort of modern abstract
lyricism stuff (that were like) slight vague indications of a feeling.

fox
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but a butt ?

DTT: Round One, Fenrir vs Ace Dec 29, 2023 23:02:27 GMT -5

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Post by fox on Dec 29, 2023 23:02:27 GMT -5

Life is violence.

Death is violence too. In the great hall of the slain, heroes are endlessly slaughtered and resurrected, fresh carnage in the evening, enshrined again in the morning. Blood runs thick and mundane. You come into the afterlife with a knife in your hands.

But there is no palace here. At the edge of nothingness, they wait for you.

“I tried to find you.”

Voice an echo, you move closer, the feeling of water beneath your feet. It's quiet, not like the lake of hundred voices. It's just them.

“I thought I told you to live.”

Your pace quickens. They are the only thing lit in the darkness.

“If I did not kill you,” and you're an inch away, suddenly stopping, reaching hesitantly to touch them. No more vicious rage laid in your mouth like teeth, but something that feels similar. The slope of anger, the soft underbelly of it bitten into. “No one was supposed to.”

You remember. You brush back their hair. Ear, no longer mangled. Whole again.

“The story.”

And your hand lingers.

“Brunhild finds him in Hel.”

ap8f_MrumQknife
2013 -- Shallow Cut on Left Shoulder -- 3.5 damage

knife

Last Edit: Dec 30, 2023 16:53:31 GMT -5 by fox

ines izar d11a 🖤 cait
Veteran Member

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if looks could kill

DTT: Round One, Fenrir vs Ace Dec 30, 2023 7:37:30 GMT -5

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Post by ines izar d11a 🖤 cait on Dec 30, 2023 7:37:30 GMT -5

“I wanted to.”

Live. When I’d held him in the lake as life flowed out of him, I had wanted to live for the both of us, truly. For the fact he couldn’t anymore. Our missing parts and broken fragments had sat together, a jigsaw incomplete. I’d thumbed the pieces and tried to make sense of them on my own.

I couldn’t.

At least we are whole again, here, now, for a few minutes, if we’re lucky.

I thought my life would end at my own hands, after one reckless decision too many, a final warning ignored. But then Fenrir had rained down on me and looked into a future bigger than ourselves and promised me he would take the pain with him.

He hadn’t.

And so, “you were wrong,” your Gods were wrong. I always had to die. I was never meant to leave this Hel.

It’s okay. I’m not mad anymore. I don’t burn the same way I used to. The flames of this new second life are hotter than they ever were within me. It’s funny, the things you lose in the fire.

“I guess I owe you a story now.”

gkfIqbMtl_knife

miss - 0 (classic ace)

knife

Last Edit: Dec 30, 2023 7:38:01 GMT -5 by ines izar d11a 🖤 cait

i always used to be into writing sort of modern abstract
lyricism stuff (that were like) slight vague indications of a feeling.

fox
Graphics

1,363 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Apr 25, 2024 12:23:42 GMT -5

but a butt ?

DTT: Round One, Fenrir vs Ace Dec 30, 2023 18:36:26 GMT -5

Quote

Post by fox on Dec 30, 2023 18:36:26 GMT -5

The hum of your bones pitches strangely, veins cold with spider silk, each inhale taken with black lungs. This body is transitory. They exist fleetingly, before the nothingness devours and spits out another fragment of existence on the darkening path.

You do not belong here. You must leave soon.

The knife, still in one hand. Your other, resting at the line of their jaw.

They're warm though.

And this time the knife falls from your fingers, swallowed into the darkness, what is finished before it has started. For once, you do not have to fight. You do not need to hunt to survive.

Death is an old story. Somehow, this is an older one. The moment of contact.

There's saplings at your feet now, birdsong, the gold and green of spring. The water rises, drags flower petals between your fingers with the scent of rain in the air. It bubbles up over your chests, branches swimming in shadows. Sunlight submerges you. You pull them into this memory.

In the roaring forest, you sit across from them on the trunk of an upturned tree, felled during the winter, its edges splintered.

“Tell me.”

h1aNEHP4LHknife
2113 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage

knife

Last Edit: Dec 30, 2023 18:37:03 GMT -5 by fox

ines izar d11a 🖤 cait
Veteran Member

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Pronouns: she/her
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if looks could kill

DTT: Round One, Fenrir vs Ace Dec 30, 2023 22:46:42 GMT -5

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Post by ines izar d11a 🖤 cait on Dec 30, 2023 22:46:42 GMT -5

It is not supposed to be a story about death. But it is, as all things turn out to be.

The explorer loses his way in the forest. No food, no water, just panic in his heart. The trees have eyes, but there is no sign of life for him to feed off of. He thinks, he might die.

He doesn’t notice the nymph watching; she materialises like a mirage, a thin red rose clutched in her hand.

The rose is dying, she says, it is my fault.

The nymph explains to the explorer the way home, for she is somewhat of an explorer herself. She has ventured east and met a king; she has ventured west and met a lamplighter. In her travels, the rose grew alone by a mossy rock, unable to follow. The nymph felt sorry for abandoning her only friend, and returned swiftly, the time away having made her heart grow fonder.

The nymph plucked the rose from the soil, not wanting to be separated from it any longer. And for a day or two, they were both happy.

On the third day, the rose starts to wilt.

On the fourth day, a petal falls.

On the fifth day, the stem softens.

On the sixth day, an explorer loses his way in the forest.

I killed her, she says.

There are other flowers, he says.

What is the point of the story?

Silence in the thinking. His hand travels from ear to jaw to clavicle. The lake water travels within us, filling up every hollowed out opening.

“Flowers do not last forever.”

nk8BSeD7k4knife

sc left shoulder - 3.5

knife

Last Edit: Dec 30, 2023 22:47:15 GMT -5 by ines izar d11a 🖤 cait

i always used to be into writing sort of modern abstract
lyricism stuff (that were like) slight vague indications of a feeling.

dars Administrator 7,697 POSTS last seen Apr 27, 2024 15:23:09 GMT -5 — 🥀 —	DTT: Round One, Fenrir vs Ace Jan 2, 2024 12:00:54 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by dars on Jan 2, 2024 12:00:54 GMT -5 Fenrir has not responded since 30th Dec. Ace is the winner of this fight.
	^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

fox
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DTT: Round One, Fenrir vs Ace Jan 3, 2024 2:18:31 GMT -5

Quote

Post by fox on Jan 3, 2024 2:18:31 GMT -5

Spring when you were a child. The elks grow their antlers. Songbirds in the foliage. Bloodroot, toothworts, then liverleaf, like organs, sprout into the body of the forest. You loved the sunlight before you lived in the mouth of the night.

The rose, they are saying.

It tugs at the lines of your body. Grows more painful in its transience. You grip onto the season with a fist. And the feeling, like the displacement of your bones.

It doesn't last.

The memory bleeds. The underside of the branches drip in copper tones. Creaking, the roots turn sinewy as they split through the dirt.

They are saying, I killed her, and you remember pulling them from the lake. You remember swimming through the frigid omens, hand on their arm, dragged to the bank in disbelief. Angrier then, but you reach for them now. And the burning feels different.

All the light pours down the landscape.

The ground crumbles. You yank them from the fissures as they widen. This world ends. You can only make so many more impermanent places to hold the anomaly of your existence.

So you hold them instead.

Your grip is too hard, but you are still learning how.

“Well.” Lit in the dark again, their eyes. “We are not flowers.”

You laugh.

“And we are already dead.”