Live Free | Die Well ( Scorpion King Fight) Day 5

Dan wasn't quite sure exactly what had gone wrong; sure, his attack had found the seabitch's armor (though who the fuck would sponsor her enough for that was beyond the cowboy) but after that, well... he was certain that when he'd applied the tar to his axe hours earlier, nothing strange had happened. And yet, there had been the explosion. Dan was thrown sideways from the force of the blast. He lost a moment or two to a creeping blackness that overcame him, but the fog cleared and he was left with a ringing right ear, a smoldering hat, and half his face covered in blood.

"Yeah," he hollered over the din in his own head, "fuck you too, Glamour!" Nothing else — no one else — could've caused such a blast out of nothing. Either the Head Gamemaker was testing him, toying with him, or decided that the arena had seen far too much cowboy action already. His head swam, but Dan still remembered to be angry.

The District Two tried to cast a sideways glance at his weapon, which had miraculously remained in hand, but a sharp pain forced him to keep his vision steady. He brought the axe in front of his face to examine it, and despite the struggle it was to keep his balance and focus alike, Dan knew exactly what had happened. The top of his axe's bit had splintered. The blade was still both useable and structurally sound, it seemed, thank fuck, but the torrent of blood that dripped off of his chin gave away what had happened.

Gingerly, he brought his left hand up to his eye. Just as he'd suspected, a shard of his own steel as thick as his thumb and twice as long had lodged itself in the steel of his right eye — not deep enough to breach the socket, but Dan didn't have to see it to know that binocular vision was a lost cause for him now. But the shard itself was a hazard — one solid smack was all it would take to force the jagged metal into his brain, and then boom! No more Dan. Gritting his teeth as hard as he could, grateful for all the adrenaline coursing through him, the cowboy gripped the metal fragment and tugged it as hard as he could. With an outstanding roar and a spike of pain so sharp the battle-hardened career doubled over and nearly blacked out.

After a few pants, he righted himself, stuck the bloodied shard in his satchel, and cultivated the beginnings of a rusted grin that had been planted on his face. "Hey Elya," he started, addressing the one-eyed sister he'd left back home. The smile sent bolts of pain through the fountain of blood that his ruined eye had become, but he held it for a moment all the same. Dan didn't need to finish the sentence — she'd fill in the gaps all on her own. We match.

He stumbled back into the fray, barely noticing the spray of water that hit him just before the District Fours did. Their blades were ineffectual, leaving small cuts that he swatted away, scarcely able to feel them over the blind pain that emanated from his face. No, if Dan were to fall on Day Five — his less-than-lucid mind realized with a jolt that it was his birthday, that he was officially too old for this shit — it was one hundred percent thanks to the depraved Gamemaker that had taken such an interest in him.

Dan didn't even notice the giant vulture circling. How fucking fitting. There was plenty of pre-carrion to go around, though, so the cowboy couldn't say he was surprised. Dignified death or no, he wasn't about to be some sort of literal buzzard bait; that was a job reserved for the lower districts. Dan was supposed to provide the food for the crows, not feed them himself. His mind still rattled from the blast, he staggered towards the giant bird, readying his wounded axe.

Only, when he swung, the bit found the girl that the vulture was dive-bombing. Shit.

[attacks Charlotte, axe]
EPs8ILevaxe
[ 11196 | Deep Gash on Left Thigh | 8.0 ]