I Offer to Thee // [ Conqs v. Jags Day 2]

There was something unsettling about this structure, the way it dauntlessly reached for the heavens and shimmered gold against a vegetative backdrop as if beckoning them to its treasures.Treasure is exactly what we’re looking for - but at what cost would it be reached? The last golden structure promising treasures had granted their wishes, but only at the price of blood and innocent souls. Five corpses, to be precise, mangled and bleeding into the dirt as if the arena consumed their life-force and accepted such gifts as a sacrifice in exchange for treasures that promised victory. But for how long would their lucky streak continue? What did this treacherous building offer that the cornucopia had not? It offered adventure, opportunities, perhaps treasure. It was carved of gold, the color of riches, of luxury, and yet Pyrian felt nauseous as he approached it, palms slippery in a layer of cold sweat in a humid mist, because the dark aura coating its golden exterior reminded him too severely of the cornucopia and how casually death had lingered by its shell, awaiting the slaughter of children. Everything was wrong about this building, this temple, but it did not stop the pack from exploring its depths. Why should Pyrian abandon his risk-taking habits so suddenly when this was the place he needed it most? I’m not scared. Mutts, humans, traps; he was prepared for all of it.

Seven faces had illuminated a cloudy sky the night before, as tributes squinted past crystal rain droplets just to take a peek. Pyrian had recognized a few of them; Gypsy’s kill from district two, a boy meant to be mighty but had fallen honorably at the hands of a queen; the girl from district eleven, pretty despite her scrawny stature; the two tributes from eight, particularly the boy they had ambushed at the bloodbath. All were familiar, all were insignificant, all were gone. Cruel as it was, a life that ceased to exist was no longer of importance in this arena, at least not to Pyrian. They were merely eliminated obstacles, melted statues in a path to potential victory. If we want to live, everyone else has to die. It was a simple rule, kill everything and anything until there is nothing remaining but ash and bone. But Pyrian was not one to familiarize himself with such limitations, especially when it involved something so drastic as spilling blood for the sake of fame. It’s not just fame, though, it’s survival. Survival of the fittest, they always called it. It was a bitter truth. Pyrian was in no way suitable for victorship. But Gypsy? She was destined for it, whether the freaks of Panem could acknowledge it or not. All he had to do was make sure everyone else died. Is that really so simple?

A serpent had waved its way into this temple in the form of an empty corridor, promising only one path, one end and no escape Whatever. It was nothing the Keenis couldn’t handle, especially Gypsy, with Owen and Asunder by her sides as valuable supporters and steel soldiers. Pyrian, meanwhile, brought up the rear. He was a deaf burden carrying a sword, practically useless. But not completely. No, he would not be deemed worthless, not when he was as determined to kill as the next line of tributes, not when he had scored an eight in the training center for his bold efforts, not when he had so much potential to turn this arena into one, mighty torch and watch everything crumble beneath his flame. He may not be the handiest when wielding a sword, but for a deaf boy who seemed so clumsy and defenseless he could achieve wonders if fueled by enough motivation. And in a place like this, where death could surprise them at every turn, motivation was no scarce resource.

Anticipation crawled excruciatingly sluggish through his pulsing veins as they found themselves imprisoned between two suffocating walls that stretched beyond vision, leading to who knows where and who knows what. Sleeping tributes seeking shelter might’ve wandered in here, and they could still be lingering, waiting, or perhaps they thought they were safe, that no other tributes would dare explore such an intimidating building. He wouldn’t blame them for believing such a thing. Mutts, on the other hand, that was a possibility as well, and not an idea he was fond of. Humans he knew how to deal with, he’d displayed that skill during the bloodbath. He knew exactly where to hit them, how to hurt them, how simple it would be for them to outnumber some of the strays. But animals? They were unpredictable. They could be large, small, poisonous, carnivorous, they could be mutants of any kind with weapons of every type, capable of tearing through flesh like paper. He wasn’t sure what would be worse, facing another human being and watching the soul abandon the blacks of their eyes, or bearing arms against a dangerous mutt that could tear his ribcage out of his chest. Actually, never mind. He changed his mind; a few people sounded lovely right about now. However, his wish was granted perhaps too soon. He noticed his allies change in posture, the way their backs straightened as if on full alert. He caught the warnings and followed their gazes, hand gripping the hilt of the dead boy’s broadsword until his knuckles were stained white. Then, he saw it; a movement. He didn’t catch what it was right away, but this did not stop his heart from attempting to leap into his throat and strike him with the illness of cowardice. Nice try. He would not fall at the hands of fear, fear would be his to control. Fear would be his flame.

Conquering this flame like he did all others, he lunged for the nearest blur of movement with one word singed into his brain by hot iron: attack.

[attacks dart jaguar #2 - broadsword]
[dice=200+1000]
[Deep Gash on Back -- 8.5 damage]

The kaleidoscope of color thrashed at his feet and bled into the rubble, scarlet bubbling against the shimmering coat of his silver sword as the tip buried itself deep into its chest. He did not hear its yowling, its hissing, its sputtering as he twisted the blade and gritted his teeth. The creature was missing a limb and bathing in its own blood, but it was determined to continue slashing and writhing even as the cold steel licked its pulsing heart. Pyrian struggled against its might, muscles tensing and arms aching and wounds burning as he tried to keep the weapon embedded and kill the evil mutt before it could lay another paw on his allies. Strength was no friend of his, however, and it was only a matter of time until he could not match its power and withdrew his sword, arms consumed in flames of pain and skin glistening in sheets of hot sweat. He took several steps backward and angled his blade for another attack, refusing to grant the beast a second chance to strike, but as soon as he could go in for the kill a second flash of silver smothered his own and permanently bound the creature with its deathbed of cracked stone. It was Owen, sinking his longsword into the jaguar’s chest and forever ceasing the howls Pyrian would never hear. It twitched and fell limp against fallen debris, its flames of war finally extinguished. He sighed with relief, taking this moment to recapture his breath, though he knew the battle was far from over.

There were still two jaguars remaining, and before Pyrian could react one of them was launching itself toward Owen and gashing him across his chest with its claws. At least it didn’t use teeth. He was bitterly reminded of the poison seeping into his veins, searing his nerves and making him cringe with every movement. He had no time to consider the consequences of this misfortunate occurrence because there was still danger on the loose, mutts pouncing and biting away as the tributes tried to absorb and process the chaos with weapons brandished and wounds leaking. Poor Asunder was still without the function of one of his legs, and Pyrian himself was beginning to feel light-headed and uncomfortably dizzy, summoning a bout of nausea to rise in his empty stomach. Must be the poison. He mentally cursed at his rotten luck and scanned the room for the missing jaguar. He spotted it sprinting across the temple grounds in an elegant blur of colors that stung his eyes, but it was not the weak, vulnerable Asunder it was aiming for; it was Gypsy.

He shouted her name in a fit of helpless panic - he was too far and too sluggish to act quickly enough to save her - though the sound that actually escaped his lips was incoherent. The creature launched itself forward with a wide, gaping mouth littered with rows of dripping teeth and managed to graze the surface of her forehead before she could dodge its movement completely. For seconds that seemed to stretch to minutes he stood in terrified silence, staring at the enormous jaws that could’ve crushed her skull in one chomp. Fucking mutts won’t touch my sister. His shocked expression faded into a nasty scowl, jaw set and right hand steady as he narrowed his eyes and locked onto his next target -

But then, suddenly, everyone had broke off into a sprint in the opposite direction, leaving the jaguars in stirred up clouds of dust as Pyrian blinked in astonishment. Even Asunder was in pursuit of another location, his crushed leg dangling limp by Owen's side as he carried the boy away and headed straight into the corridor leading further into the temple. Pyrain hadn't been informed of this sudden change in plan, but running away seemed like a pretty damn good idea compared to gambling his luck (and Gypsy's) with a bunch of rainbow-colored freak mutts. So, without the slightest hesitation he followed suit in somewhat of a clumsy stagger, feeling his head spin and his insides curl as the poison coursed through his vessels and slowly tried to demolish him from the inside out, like a flame gone rampant and too powerful to be controlled. Luckily, he was pretty sure he had one of those weird syringes in his bag, the one Gypsy had mentioned being an "anti-venom" of some sort. Maybe that would cure him of this burning sickness. He could only hope.

[Pyrian flees, uses antivenom, uses first aid, uses needle and thread, and uses 5 ft of bandages]