Who Will Ride This Dying Carousel? {KiritoXAsher}

The training never got better, it truly didn't. Each day was gruelingly annoying and quite frankly a waste of time. Sure Kirito had picked up a thing or two here and there but ultimately none of it would matter when the gong to the games finally began. All that would matter is who could adapt fast enough to their surroundings. Those who could the best would survive. These whole games were following one simple principle "Survival of The Fittest." Last year it was Katelyn, the year before it was Patricia. All the past victors had evolved to their arenas. In essence they are the human embodiment of their arenas. 

With a light hum the elevator doors slid open as Kirito stepped into the muggy training center. The stench of sweat and fear was so foul it could kill an unprepared man in a single waft. Luckily for Kirito he had grown use to the utterly disgusting smell of the other tributes. Still though he didn't want to admit it but he would enjoy when all he could smell was the metallic tang of their blood. Even though the thought of dead children made Kirito want to scream and hide there was still condolence with it. He knew one way or another he would begin to worship the sound of every canon. It would become his addictive drug, one he could not stop wanting with every passing sliver of a second. 

Clangs of brackish metal against wooden targets rang out like gun shots from every direction. With each bang sending waves of distress down Kirito's nerve endings. The entire center around him was a Capitol machine. The tributes were its gears and the districts were its driving electric heart. Every now and then a few extra gears were needed to keep things running smooth. In essence the tributes' blood would be nothing more than an unholy lubricant in the demonic Capitol death machine. They were all mindless weak gears that would spin and spin and spin until finally all but one broke in a cataclysmic explosion. Then twenty four new gears would be needed again, always again. There would never be an end. Never.

Nearby Kirito's bashful stare fell upon a brute of a man from District Seven. Without even realizing it Kirito was sent into the mists of his mind as he envision the Reaping. A name echoed ominously through the crevices of his mind. Asher. Asher Rainer. Slowly Kirito's eye brows raised as he watched the boy clumsily handle his knives. Just as Kirito did he appeared to be struggling a bit. Oh well it was natural after all that they were not the vicious monsters from the career districts.

Flash. With a piercing glint of white and silver light one of Asher's knives landed with a thud just in front of Kirito's feet. With a sort of un-amused grunt Kirito bent over before the man had a chance to retrieve the blade. Ever so cautiously Kirito lifted the blade up and watched as it shimmered gloriously within the training center lights. If it was only a few more inches forward Kirito could have been needing a foot repair. Thank goodness that he wasn't.

Then as if the incident itself wasn't bad the boy only manages a stutter of an apology out. The boy was lucky that Kirito was so shy and so much not as big as him. If he was then maybe Kirito would have looked him in the eyes instead of at the ground like he was. With a sigh Kirito handed the knife back to the boy. "It's fine at least ya didn' hit meh. If ya did we wouldda had a bigga problem."