Definitely Not Lost { Berserkers vs. Hollows, Dream Tauren}

we rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.
we rise; one wandering thought pollutes the day.
we feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,
embrace found woe, or cast our cares away.

I waited for hours for the sun to rise as we traversed through the dark forest. Every time I looked up, I hoped to see stars slowly fade away and blue skies rise with the accompaniment of the sun. Time and time again, it did not rise. I began to wonder if this whole thing was just twenty-four tributes stuck in a time warp, and the only way to escape the void-like skies is to kill your way to only one person left.

Well, that person has two less people to deal with now.. thanks to the boy from Six. Alice Sullivan of Three and Serena Fennel of Six. They were the two faces that the holographs depicted. I remember Serena from the bloodbath. When only six of us remained, she still battled among the four girls. Why did she do that? Why did she have the guts to stay when everyone else, including her allies, ran? Props to her, for whatever reasoning was behind it.

The four of us walk for who knows how long considering there’s no movement in the moon to use as a natural watch. The eternal darkness still brings and unsettling feeling to the pit of my stomach. I keep close watch on Zagreus’s tall figure as a figure to follow, and I make sure Bruce and Ella stay close too.

We stop in the middle of nowhere to set up camp. The breeze combined with piercing cool temperatures send constant shivers from the top of my neck to my toes. There’s no escape from the uncomfortableness. No escape, nowhere to hide, but plenty of places to freeze your ass off.

Together we sit, a tiny camp surrounded by ivy and trees proving to be a worse bed than the one that Ezekiel died in (and that was almost unbearable to look at.) Still, I lower my legs and lean up against the tree, staring at the barely visible faces of Ella, Zagreus, and Bruce. I don’t say anything, but I just stare. Each of them has their fair share of cuts and bruises, mostly from the bloodbath. I feel bad; had there been any way I could have stopped it, I would’ve done it with ease.

Pain is a difficult thing to swallow in daily life. It’s hard for me to imagine what the aching pain must do to their heads in a game of life or death. Papercuts and petty bruises turned into gashes and ginormous wounds within the blink of an eye.

”What the mother effing hell?” Bruce’s voice is quiet, but when in the midst of silence, it wasn’t hard for me to take notice. I look over at the little blonde boy from Three, concerned that he might have found a danger.

”What, you see a ghost?”

The question was sarcastic and genuine, but my tone made it sound the ladder. In an arena filled with spooky costumes, pumpkins, and eternal night, it probably had ghosts as well. That, and the fact that I really do believe in ghosts. Especially after Ezekiel.. spoke to me… (but was that real? Or was it truly my mind playing more tricks?) There’s souls that watch over as at night, and surely in an artificial arena there was no exception.

”No. It looks like someone was standing like right there. He was tall and white and very very creepy,” he spoke with fright as he pointed in a direction. The direction was barely visible, but I still didn’t see anything.

”I don’t see it, Bruce. Maybe it’s in your head,” it was a statement that I could ardently relate to. The monsters loom endlessly in my head, no matter how much I’d wish them not to. Maybe Bruce is having the same trouble. Maybe it’s the handing down of responsibility that Ezekiel has passed to me. I give him the best advice I can.

A few moments (or minutes, or hours, time is just a number) after, Bruce points once again in another direction. I don’t think much of it, sticking to my story that it’s all in his head, but when Ella gets up and runs in the direction, my eyes roll. In the scary movies, people who investigate weird stuff like this always end up getting into more trouble than they would’ve if they let it be.

I tag Bruce on the shoulder and nudge Zagreus as well, and I run after Ella. We’re an alliance, and I’ll stick to them no matter what. After all, four is better than three or two or one.

We run, chasing after Ella. Trudging through the pumpkins and wheat and ivy all for something that might just be a figment of Bruce’s imagination. The footsteps may all be for nothing, or maybe it might lead us into a very unsatisfying encounter. In fact, at this point, we could be following nothing and Ella is just running like a wild person to who the hell knows where.

Eventually, our travels lead us to a case of stairs. Bruce and Ella climb up them and I skip every other step. Gotta go fast :sanic:, before we lose this figure, whose reality is in question.

We make it up to the top of the stairs and stop. With deep breaths, I meet Bruce and Ella at the top of the hill. ”You’re tall, Zagreus, you should’ve been up here before the-,” I stop talking when I realize that Zagreus isn’t at the top of the hill with Bruce, Ella, and I. ”Guys, where’s Zagreus?”

Four is better than three.

I sure hope three is enough.

Ella yells at Bruce for leading us on a wild goosechase, and splitting us up from a valuable ally to us.

I curse under my breath, pushing my pirate bandana to my forehead.

”You guys? We’ve got mutts to cut.” Ella’s voice forces my body to prepare to swing the spiked ball at anything that isn’t Ella or Bruce.

In front of us stand two masked humans, no older than Bruce. Standing in between the two enemies lay a more hideous monster. Wings, horns. It’s a bull, and it’s evil.

Ella screams and forces the javelin that Mila gave her on one of the children, and Bruce follows suit. The biggest enemy in my eyes, however, is the bull. It’s shining, it looks to be much more aggressive than the children. Because of that, I take my luck with the ball, thrusting my arm so hopefully the spikes take it out in one hit.

There’s nowhere to hide now, and the stakes are even higher: we have to find Zagreus… alive.

[tobias staite d4m attacks the Dream Tauren with his flail]
DonmDnMeflail

12006 -- Block -- 0.0 damage
(Flail)

Accuracy Re-Roll Day 2
--
flail

12080 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage
(Flail)

double miss but idk

we rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.
we rise; one wandering thought pollutes the day.
we feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,
embrace found woe, or cast our cares away.

”Leave my sister alone!”

The cry from one of the smaller enemies distracts me. Ella and Bruce stab and slash at the female.. human mutation? Was it human? Or was it one of the Capitol’s evolutions? I stared at Ella as she stabbed into the girl’s body two times over and with Bruce’s help, stopped her from fighting. I smile and nod at them, although with Ella’s shrieking and battle cries, she probably failed to take notice.

One down, two to-

I sharp piercing pain runs down my body, and I accompany it wish a scream. The bull’s horns ripped into my neck, and with that I finally understood what pain in the arena was. Careful not to bash my head in with my own spikes, I throw my free hand to the wound. I can feel the blood, just like when the evil in my head led me to scratch my arms and neck until there was blood.

The gash on my neck leads enormous surges of pain from my temple to my ankles. I close my eyes shut, hoping that if I don’t see the pain that it might not feel as bad. But it doesn’t work, and when I open my eyes, Bruce is already swinging his scythe at the bull in my defense. I give him an appreciative smile and proceed to ready my weapon once more.

My once off-white, baggy pirate shirt is now stained with an ugly velvet red. My breathing gets heavier as I look at the fierce bull, still unscathed even with Bruce swinging his blade at the evil.

”Let’s kill these motherfuckers,” Bruce’s words give me enough encouragement to weigh my flail once more. My bloodied hand grips onto the wooden handle with my clean one, and I swing at the bull.

”Kill it, kill it.” Ezekiel’s voice plays in my head.

”Kill it, kill it!” I repeat him, watching the spiked ball get closer and closer to the bull.

Don’t miss this time, let him know what pain feels like.

Give the horned fiend hell.






[tobias staite d4m attacks the Johnnayy the Dream Tauren with his flail]
kiw3SpJ7flail

12105 -- Broken Left Shin -- 7.0 damage + 1.0 Strength Damage = 8.0 Total Damage
(Flail)

we rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.
we rise; one wandering thought pollutes the day.
we feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,
embrace found woe, or cast our cares away.

This time, the spikes clashed into one of the bull’s left legs. My first instinct is to smile in pride and take a breath, thinking that it might need a moment to recover before it charges again. But it didn’t hesitate, and horns first, rammed itself into my body once more. The sharp horns pierced my stomach, forcing me back to steps toward the stairs of the hill. As it ripped it’s headpiece from my stomach, I felt the storm of pain surge into a blazing eruption. My once white garments now saw a much more fitting color to describe the Hunger Games: crimson-red.

”Go fight the other one!” Ella barks orders at me. Holding my right hand tightly on the bull’s stab wound, I nod at her. Pain plays an unforgiving roll as I stare at the much smaller (but just as daunting) enemy. The boy is small, and he screams words of vengeance for the other little one, who lies on the ground, knife in her hand.

Ella and Bruce make much better contact with the bull than I do, but I don’t add to their fight. It’s one step at a time, one in front of the other until you reach your destination. If we leave the little boy unattended from our weapons, he could easily catch us by surprise.

The boy wears a gas mask that surrounds his whole head. For that, I don’t call him a human. An evil mutation of something once human but now very, very, vicious and violent.

I get ready to swing, and look at the gas mask face one last time.

I hesitate.

He’s so little, too little.

I take a deep breath. The pain from my wounds are like hurricane-force winds. Ruthless. Every breath brings along twice as many tears of hurt that pocket under my eyes.

I see him get ready to swing his bat again, and still I don’t swing.

I look at Bruce and Ella, he looks like he might be ready to hurt them again.

That’s the only drive and defense I have. I hold the handle of my weapon tightly with my left hand and hold back the blood from my stomach in my left.

”Sorry,” I whisper under my breath and swing the ball at the little boy.

--

[tobias staite d4m attacks the Bobby the Hollow with his flail]
WtPNR080flail

12111 -- Broken Right Foot -- 6.5 damage + 1.0 Strength = 7.5 Total Damage
(Flail)

--


I keep my eyes closed for a moment. I don't want to see the reaction or wincing of pain from the little child. I don't want to see what destruction I caused to what I believe to be somewhat a human child.

I can't- I can't do that.