pale red dot [krueger & olete ; day 2]
Jun 30, 2023 18:48:27 GMT -5
Post by pogue on Jun 30, 2023 18:48:27 GMT -5
G A M B L E
There's a moment of silence that occurs as Olete drives her sword into the back of the largest rabbit of the bunch, its form twisting on the ground and widening the gash of muscle and flesh that now decorates its body. It twitches, writhes, releasing a desperate sound that pierces his ears before it finally comes to a rest. The rest of the mutts scatter quickly, fangs dripping with blood pulled from his wounds, his arm half-mangled and draped with ribbons of skin curled back from the source, muscle and bone playing peek-a-boo in the folds.
His adrenaline keeps him standing, breathing if only for a moment as he palms the nearest tree and drives his spear into the ground like its wronged him as much as the mutts had, weak legs and strong heart and wobbling as his own life force leaves his body in screams of anything but glory. The adrenaline pulls back fast, too fast, and Krueger can hardly lock eyes with Olete before he coughs up something bloody and red, staining his lips with the taste of iron and the air with the smell of death.
It's the natural conclusion to an unnatural story, thoughts of his hand in the air and a martyr made running through his mind as every bite and scratch and gash and wound suddenly jumps forward into his muscle memory. His body collapses in on itself in the span of a second, his tongue hardly being able to twist the word "Olete-" out of his lips before blood loss takes over. Even then it sounds unsure, meek, like he can hardly recognize the way the world around him so desperately wants him dead, like he's begging her to acknowledge that he's still standing, alive, if only for now.
He stumbles in his own wake, five feet under and running towards six, driven heavy by the blanket of red that coats his skin, clinging to it like a child does to their mother's hand when faced with a stranger.
His last thought before he slips into unconsciousness and shock is one of desperation, realization, and something that feels like treachery.
Of a world and a boy who considered himself a man, who never thought a decision would catch up to him so quickly, who'd never felt what it was like to have your own mortality hug your skin in crimson and black, cold and lifeless,
Of a kid- just like everyone else in this arena.
Please, don't leave me.
