But Leave the Soul Alone // {Asunder v. Pyrian}

The overgrowth was a labyrinth of twisted vines and thorns gnawing at his skin. They shriveled at the brilliance of a fire’s warm glow, but the flames lighting his knives into silver torches had sizzled out the moment he had blended with the shadows of the trees. Now he was a prowling body of slick sweat and radiating heat, his dark eyes narrowed and endlessly searching for the boy who could not have strayed far from the scene of his misdeeds. His sword was withdrawn and made busy by hacking away at clingy vines and troublesome bushes, the soles of his shoes sinking into dirt clods turned moist by the humid fog wafting through the gardens. His breaths escaped in loud, ragged huffs, as if he were struggling to fill his lungs while his body continued hunting and his heart continued burning. The sounds rang silent to the deaf boy’s ears, but echoed loudly enough for others to hear if they wandered too close. He was not the most graceful hunter, staggering through the brush with missing toes and a head clouded by anger, but with silence reigning as his most obvious disadvantage in life he remained oblivious to his poor coordination and stealth. He merely ventured on without distraction, mind focused only on one, simple task: find Asunder Hayes, former ally and killer of Pyrian’s beloved friend.

His fiery rage smothered the underlying anguish that threatened to consume him. The heat boiling in his chest was enough to delay the suffering that would follow the realization that Noah was forever banished from living, smiling, and laughing on this earth again. Without even a heartfelt good-bye he had been snatched from Pyrian’s hands and tossed into oblivion so harshly that heartache was not something he could yet comprehend, not with the heat searing the backs of his eyelids or the temptation of vengeance distracting him from any sense of morality and rational thought. Some could say he wasn’t in his right mind, not when several days’ worth of stress and anxiety was finally catching up with him, and with a blow to the chest adding weight to the unbearable load. Preceding the Games Pyrian had never struggled with emotions. As a master of mischief he could easily fulfill his sinister wishes without a care in the world. He had Gypsy by his side, a father to steal money from, and an entire family of children who could not justify teasing him in any way, not when the Keenis were known as the biggest freak show in district six. He had been content with his life until the reaping had swept them into hell. Weeks later, he was beginning to feel jaded and withered like a spring flower approaching its death. It was an identical fate he would inevitably meet within several days, perhaps hours. But not before he delivered justice.

Not minutes could’ve passed since he had abandoned Owen and Gypsy at the clearing. The thought never occurred to him that they could be trying to pursue him. He was too focused on the matter at hand. How long had it been since Asunder had broken his leg? He knew it was still capable of movement and supporting weight, but a broken bone was a broken bone. Speed was not something he could possibly possess at this point in the Games, and while Pyrian could say the same for himself he knew his prey was roaming somewhere nearby, either hiding in the shadows or waiting to face him in a steel-on-steel duel to the death. He honestly didn’t care what awaited him in these gardens; battle axe, flaming arrows, he would conquer them all if he had to. He couldn’t allow Asunder to flee without punishment, even if it meant betraying the alliance on a whim. Asunder had killed his friend and destroyed the only friendship he had ever held dear (other than his impenetrable bond with Gypsy). He couldn’t lie to himself and pretend that he didn’t care about Noah, because he did, and it was voiced through every unspoken movement he made.

The mass of moving limbs entangled in the garden’s mischievous tendrils prompted him to skid to a halt and leap backward in one spastic movement. A spear jutted out of the sickly green knot and pricked pathetically at leathery vines promising death, the desperate hands clutching this weapon belonging to a figure Pyrian knew all too well. The sight of Asunder Hayes’ panicking expression brought him neither pleasure nor disgust, only an overwhelming desire to finish what he had set off to accomplish. An incoherent sound resembling the pronunciation of “You!” tore though his lungs as he lunged without a moment’s hesitation, sword unsheathed and whipping through the humid blanket in one fluid motion.

[attacks Asunder - broadsword]
[dice=200+1000]
[Block]

Their weapons colliding produced a shockwave of painful tingles that quaked through his bones. Asunder’s crippled state meant nothing if he could still resist Pyrian’s desperate wish for cold-blooded vengeance. Even from a distance one couldn’t help but notice the bloodstains and fresh rivulets of scarlet that were leaking from too many places to count, or the web of vines that had captured his limbs and turned him into a spider’s prey. He was still capable of walking and wielding a weapon, but for how long? He was dyeing the foliage red, marking the slithering vines with the scent of bitter iron and decay (or perhaps that was Pyrian’s imagination, slipping into the fabricated future he would soon make a reality). It was only a matter of time before the blood loss left him eternally withered, forcing his body into a submissive death at the pyro’s hand.

Pyrian’s grimy face twisted into a scowl of contempt as he drew back and stood his ground. He anticipated a retaliation - maybe a lash to the cheek, a strike to the chest, anything that signaled the arrival of an imminent bloody battle that would end in a flood. But Asunder didn’t move. His eyes were watering, Pyrian realized. Tears were glossing his eyes and he didn’t know how to react. Why was asunder crying? Was he afraid of death, afraid of pain, was he suffering? It took only seconds for him to remember that he shouldn’t care. Yet there was something inside of him stirring when Asunder began to speak to him, his words soundless and meaningless to Pyrian’s ears. He paused to read the boy’s lips and comprehend his (last) words.

”Please, Pyrian, what can I do?” he pleaded, and Pyrian’s scowl darkened. He had murdered Noah for whatever reason - and maybe, just maybe he didn’t completely understand how Pyrian had felt about him - and witnessed his ally blowing a fuse in an anguished reaction. What suddenly justified a right to fucking beg for mercy? Did he honestly have the audacity to plead for a bargain, or was it the fear speaking for him? Pyrian knew what it was like to be afraid, but not what it was like to express its wishes in words. He didn’t know whether Asunder was serious or if he was merely terrified of facing death. Either way, there was nothing he could do to save him - nothing he wanted to do. There was only one thing to do, and it was to kill.

Shaking his head, he held up his left hand and formed a sign. It was something he and Gypsy had used often these past few days during their silent conversations that were both private and untold to outsiders. He used it because it was the only way to answer Asunder’s question. ”What can I do?” There was one answer, and splayed fingers spelled it out in a single wordless gesture.

The vines were pesky obstacles, catching his sword by the edge and throwing it off course. He nicked Asunder’s forearm and huffed in frustration. He needed to end the struggle now before Owen or Gypsy came barreling through the bushes in some desperate attempt to restrain him. The haunting gardens, however, seemed bent on opposing him. It had Asunder deep in its clutches, raveling him further and further into an unruly knot of blood, yet the vines were shielding his vital points and obstructing Pyrian’s sword. A slow, painful death awaited Asunder if he didn’t act now, and torture wasn’t something he personally cared for. He asked himself, was it something this murderer deserved? To suffer? Quite truthfully, it didn’t matter to him whether or not Asunder died of an unpleasant drainage of life-force or a mortal wound struck by his own hand, as long as Pyrian could satisfy his craving for ruthless vengeance. This was the Games after all, and despite having never willingly watched it on television he had known there was always pain, gore, and excruciating deaths awaiting the unfortunate tributes. Now, he knew what it was like to be physically tormented by slick knives and jagged claws. He had lost a significant amount of blood these past few days and endured pains he had never imagined existed. Would he be willing to deliver the same blows to this new enemy? If Asunder continued to struggle, he would have no choice.

The district twelve boy was still speaking, still trying to spare himself the punishment and wriggle his way into the deaf boy’s fluttering heart. Not now, not ever again. ”I still want to help you..” mouthed his lips, blood spilling over the edges and spattering into the dirt. Help him? How could he possibly compensate for his unforgivable actions? You killed my friend, I can’t help you. I can only hate you. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the sword like a lifeline. Asunder claimed that he didn’t want to hurt Pyrian, and he believed him. But that was purely physical. The agony was already there, presently tearing away at his insides as the image of Noah’s corpse flashed behind his eyelids over and over again until he felt burning nausea in the pit of his stomach. By killing Noah, Asunder had ruined a part of him, and now it was his turn to execute the pain in return.

A noise rumbled in his parched throat, a grunt both painful and meaningless. He cleared his throat as his eyes drilled the boy like the flaming daggers he had used to disfigure his face. He could hardly recognize the boy’s visage after the molten tar had melted into his flesh and liquefied his wounds to a sticky paste. He didn’t feel the least bit apologetic. Noah, too, was littered in blackened scorch marks and wounds seeping dead blood, all caused by his own dangerous allies; but it was Asunder’s arrow that had finished the sin. It was this arrow that sealed Noah’s fate, sending his body plummeting harshly into the dirt with the two other perished tributes. I have to kill him. His desire was no longer merely a desire, but a necessity. He couldn’t possibly press on until Asunder’s face appeared among the stars, signaling his bloody demise by the only person who could avenge the district four brawler. Whether Asunder realized it or not, there was nothing that would extinguish these flames of fury other than his own death. He wanted to make it clear to the boy who claimed he did not want to harm his attacker. With a second shake of his head, he parted his lips and mimicked one of the words he had been taught to actually say; just one syllable, one noise that he would never hear, but a word so simple to say it took almost a minimal amount of effort.

”No.”

Then, he lashed out.

[attacks Asunder - broadsword]
[dice=200+1000]
[Miss SCREW YOU PYRIAN]

His arm wavered at the very last second, the blade brushing the very tips of Asunder’s blonde hairs. He blinked upon realizing his hesitant actions and took a step backward, face twisted into a mask of confusion.Did I seriously just miss him completely? Was he really this clumsy, or was it something else entirely? The denial bubbled in his chest, pressuring his gasping lungs and his weak heart as it tried to remind him that he could not feel guilty for somebody who had murdered his friend. Yet, as his eyes met tear-streaked ones, he felt something heavy in his chest - a burden, not from flames but from something cooler. Something that prompted him to freeze in his footsteps and stare bewildered at the suffering boy. What’s the matter with you? Kill him! Stop hesitating! He killed Noah, he killed Noah, he killed Noah Ripley. He was forced to replay this statement in his head until it stuck like glue. It was not something he wanted to remember, let alone imagine and confront, but he needed to. The opportunity had presented itself and he was not about to let a little bit of guilt to distract him from the goal.

Asunder’s cries were lost to him. Pyrian refused to decipher the words, focusing instead on his movements. His head went limp for a moment, and if it weren’t for the deep rising and falling of his chest Pyrian would’ve claimed him dead. But even he knew Asunder wouldn’t perish so quickly, not when the blood oozed out of his paling form at an excruciatingly sluggish rate. He’s dying. Slowly, painfully, and without given mercy Asunder was bleeding into the earth and with it his life was beginning to falter. It was too late to withdraw his actions now. He had killed the boy with flaming knives and a slash of his sword. Whether or not there truly was an ounce of guilt plaguing him somewhere in his system, it no longer mattered. The deed was done, and the only duty left to him now was to finish the job and perhaps speed up the process. Whatever Pyrian chose to do at this point would lead to Asunder’s death. He could walk away, he could pierce him through the heart, he could stand and watch; but his strings were cut, his life was severed. There was no saving him now.

He carefully aimed his sword and sought to finish what his heart would not let him ignore.

[attacks Asunder - broadsword]
[dice=200+1000]
[Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage]

Shit.

His skin was alive. No, he was being entangled in snakes. They writhed and anchored themselves to his flesh with dripping fangs like needles, twisting his aim and sending him into a frenzy of panic. He mentally shouted curses at Owen, whom he could recognize through the vines and the scaly chaos. I should’ve ended it quicker. He regretted the hesitation, the failure, the stalling. He shouldn’t have acknowledged Asunder when he spoke and he shouldn’t have waited and watched. He should’ve finished him and sprinted before anybody had the chance to interrupt him. Now, he was swatting little serpents from his arms and unleashing panicked yelps into the air. They were sinking their fangs into his arms, his hands, drawing more blood and releasing toxins into his bloodstream. Shit, shit, shit. He stumbled sideways and dragged his sword clumsily by his side, knowing that he needed to escape before Owen could deliver more damage. Snakes or no snakes, Pyrian was booking it, and he planned to leave a dead Asunder behind him.

[attempts to flee]
[dice=2]
[failed]

[uses antivenom from sponsors, drinks water, uses first aid, uses needle/thread, uses 5 ft bandages, uses medicinal plants, collects 2 bundles of medicinal plants]