The Journey Ends Here [Crusader vs Pearl Day 6]

{ p e a r l m i l l i s o n}

cold and bathed in light
everything fell into place
and together we got lost
lost in something bigger than us

There was no such thing as mercy, not even in a victory. The Gamemakers would never arrange a feast and allow their tributes to escape unscathed. Pearl should’ve anticipated the inevitable, but in the heat of the moment her instincts dominated rational thought and manipulated her limbs like she was her own puppeteer’s plaything, unwittingly venturing into the labyrinth without caution. The distinct rumble of collapsing rock was their first and only warning, but it had been inescapable. Debris hammered Patricia’s skull and left her in a bloodied, disoriented state. Pearl managed to evade the worst of it, but there was a sensitive patch of her cranium that had been struck by a fist-sized stone; it throbbed whenever she prodded at it. They had nearly escaped the battle with minimal injury, a feat too advantageous to be believable. She should’ve known that the feast was more than just a gathering for blood and items; it was a trap.

She never saw who had been crushed by the rubble. She could only imagine being buried alive in an arena that was already nestled within the bowels of the earth. It was a game changer for sure, knowing that the rooftop was unstable enough to cave in, whether controlled by the Gamemaker’s will or not. She imagined herself sleeping beneath the menacing points of stalactites until one dislodged itself and skewered her in the chest. She wouldn’t see it, she wouldn’t feel it – not unless it punctured her lung instead of her heart, in which case she would wake up to a thin coating of blood inside of her trachea. Patricia would then wake to the sounds of her chokes. It wouldn’t be the first time a tribute drowned in their own blood.

Exhaustion blanketed her like a cold cocoon. She slept through the anthem without disturbance, compelled by her body’s cravings rather than by desire. If she hadn’t been bone-weary from five days’ worth of walking, worrying, crying, and healing, she would’ve volunteered for first watch. She would’ve naturally stirred from a dull, dreamless sleep, shaken by the memories of Barnabas’ hacked off leg and dying words, by Blaire’s body crumpling to the ground as she stabbed him through the back like a coward, by Patricia’s head leaking a shade of red that didn’t match the rust of her hair. But tonight her mind was carefree, it wanted to forget, even if she consciously refused to ignore the wrongs she had committed in this arena. Nature compelled her to bury it in a state of paralysis, but it would return. Like a tidal wave it always drowned her with horrific reminders the moment she opened her eyes and looked upon the darkness.

She had missed the dead, and she realized it as soon as she stirred. The anthem had been background noise to her brain’s static. She didn’t know who had perished the day before, but did it matter anymore? She had lost Barnabas and Asa. All that was left to lose was Patricia. Her life was on the line as well, but its loss was imminent. She wanted to make use of herself while she could. If she could die protecting Patricia, then she would finally accomplish something heroic. She could preserve instead of destroy. That was what she had wanted; not to demolish, but to build. Pearl Millison was not destined for victory, so what use was there in wasting her potential skills? Patricia was here, and she was robust. Her sanity was solid and her motivation was fierce like an undying flame. She was worth fighting for.

Her night vision goggles were the first thing she grabbed. The green lenses were colored black instead, and she sighed upon realizing that the batteries had reached the end of their lifespan. Everything in the arena was temporary, she had learned that early on in her career life. The flashlight, however, still emitted a bright beacon of white light that could illuminated the opposite side of their cavern space. She was grateful that she would not be maneuvering in the dark. If there was one thing she had discovered about herself, it was that she couldn’t fathom the prospect of a blind death. She wanted to see it before it happened, even if it tortured her to tears. She needed to know. Darkness had surrounded her for the last five days, and that was not how she wanted to die.

They say you’re supposed to go toward the light when you die.

Her heart dropped into her pelvis. She hadn’t registered the silence before, but now it was louder than the drumbeats in her ribcage. Patricia was gone. It wasn’t just her, either. Her bags had vanished too. Every trace of her lost, other than a splotch of blood left to crust in the cracks of cavern rocks.

”Patricia?” she called into the silence. Her breaths escaped in panicked huffs. She couldn’t come to terms with failing Barnabas and losing Asa – now the one person she had left to protect was gone, and by choice. If an accident had befallen her, her stuff would‘ve remained. Had she finally decided that Pearl was not a worthy teammate? That she was weak, cowardly, and tribute fodder?

All of those things she said to me...

No, she couldn’t believe that Patricia would abandon her out of the blue without reason. There was a motivation behind it. Something selfless, perhaps.

She curled her knees to her chest and cried until her tailbone felt sore. Alone was another way she didn’t want to die, but now she may not get the luxury of a choice.

She should’ve known. I should’ve always known that this would happen. This was a slaughter, not a glorified championship. Not a tournament. She had prepared herself for the worst, then turned her back on everything she knew and believed in favor of expecting the best from her allies. Now two of them were dead and the third was without a second sword to defend her.

The least she could do was search for her in this vast darkness. So, she wiped her tears away and did just that, edging her way around corner after corner with a flashlight as her guide. The light quivered along with her left hand. She couldn’t have ventured far, right? Yet this was a maze. Every twist could lead her into a trap and every turn could ensure a tribute encounter. Her ears were as keen as ever, but how reliable was she on her own? She had relied on her teammates up to this point. Now she was alone with only her survival skills to pave the pathway to Patricia. She couldn’t trust herself with such a task. Something would go amiss, she knew it. Misfortune was her curse.

There was a distant, relentless roar that vaguely resembled the voice of a beast. It seemed to drift through her from every direction, but the further she traveled – regardless of which turn she took to try and avoid it – the louder it echoed. Eventually she could pinpoint the source of the sound. It was the sloshing of water, like river rapids, and somehow she ended up near the spray, white water and foam glistening beneath her beam of light. It was loud enough to drown the world.

It was loud enough to smother the sound of footsteps.

An explosion of pain ignited her left arm. Smoke, she could smell it; fire, she could see it; burning, she could feel it. Her flashlight dropped to the floor and highlighted a large silhouette, but screams consumed her train of thought and she couldn’t focus on recognition. Instead, she pressed the raw, rosy skin – now drenched in blood – to her shirt as she struggled to grip her sword in her lone right hand. She backed away from the figure only to stumble over a rock. She caught herself before a fall, but it whipped her back into a weakened state of focus. That wide stature and towering height was unmistakable.

”Crusader?” she whispered.

I should’ve known. She should’ve known that today was the day she would die.

[attacks Crusader - sword]
oUSGuEY_sword
Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage

into these moments, full of life
which radiate become the light that illuminates when we die
memories are all we need
as we fall into our final sleep

word count: 1350, graphics: rook
theme: phosphorescence by tall ships

{ p e a r l m i l l i s o n}

cold and bathed in light
everything fell into place
and together we got lost
lost in something bigger than us

Frozen in fear, she waited for Patricia’s cue. A shout of encouragement, a snap of aggression, a forceful shove, a pull of her shirt collar – anything. For the past five days it had been Patricia who spurred her into action. She was the leader, the one who charged first despite all odds and dangers. Aspiring to be anything like her was a goal in a fantasy world, and the rapids’ endless echo reminded her that Patricia was gone. Without a teammate she was short on courage, and she could feel her motivation wilting at the sight of Crusader’s large silhouette, his sword dripping and blazing like an extension of his massive arm. Terror and blood seeped through her wounds. Careers were trained to face off against opponents of all body types, but there was something intimidating about a man of his size that made her shrink back and forget everything. Was instinct even viable at this point? He had already wounded an arm, and that would weaken her thrusts considerably.

The career within her was shriveling, warning her to turn back. Would she be faster than him due to her smaller size, or were his legs powerful enough to match her? She couldn’t risk a sword in the back, as much as I deserve it for dooming Blaire to the same fate.

She considered her odds and found no solution. There were no odds, just the inevitable.

One pathetic lurch brought her sword down on his arm. It was a small attempt at retaliation.

“It's me Pearl. Why are we fighting? Who in this scenario wins. Certainly not us,” he said, and taken into perspective she would have to agree. Some people could win and feel like a true victor, like a champion. Her mother, for example, basked in that glory. She knew she couldn’t do the same. If she were to somehow pull through, it would mean suffering the loss of every friend and being forced to live with those consequences, those scars. Was that any better than dying?

She probably wouldn’t find out.

”I don’t want to fight,” she confessed, voice like a mouse’s in comparison to the vicious roars of the rapids. She wondered how quickly she would drown if she decided to take a plunge. Where would it take her? Would she wash up against the rocks or find herself even deeper in the caverns for the hovercrafts to find? Those were dangerous thoughts, she realized. Suicide was not an option. Diamond was counting on an effort, and that was motivation enough to edge her further away from the treacherous waters. ”But I promised my sister I would try, and I can’t break a promise to family,” she said. Especially not to Diamond. She was probably watching her right now, begging Pearl to make her next move before it was too late.

Diamond didn’t understand how terrified she was.

All those years sitting behind a screen. It was easy. The Games were just a concept back then, a possibility. A distant nightmare.

In the flesh, it was unimaginable. There was no Caesar Flickerman here to update her on the stats, there was no “commercial break!” to blind her from the true struggle of the starving tributes as they camped out and healed one another. There was no chance to turn away from the horror and hide in her room. There was no opportunity to forget names or faces. There was no time to cower. When one hesitated in fear, they risked losing the battle. Pearl was risking everything.

She tried to dash when Crusader charged again but she felt her leg catch fire, and collapsed face first into the unforgiving cavern floor. It was wet and slippery with river spray, but failed to relieve the burns that licked her shin. His sword was on fire and she was on fire and she would burn if she didn’t put it out, her leg would sizzle and crisp and the flames would crawl up her limb like a creature devouring its prey and –

And it was an illusion of pain, all of it, because when she raised her head and searched for the flames there was no leg left to burn.

Her shriek spoke of horror instead of agony. Her appendage ended at the knee, and she could see the separated piece just a few feet away from her. Trickles of blood connected the two bones together, like a trail that mocked her loss and labeled her a puppet with red strings. Patricia’s name was the first to leave her lips in a scream. Asa’s came second. She wanted – needed – to be rescued. There was no hope in a hopeless career, and death had become too real of a figure in this moment. A career couldn’t function without a leg. Miracles didn’t happen to the misfortunate. I’m as good as dead.

Panting, she rolled over onto her back and scooted away from Crusader’s looming form. This was it. She would back herself into a corner like a rabbit trapped by a fox, and wait to be skewered. She couldn’t run away anymore.

Her hand grazed something jagged behind her. Rocks, tall ones. She grabbed a rigid edge and pushed against the force of gravity with all her might. At least when she died, she could die standing.

Tears didn’t burn hot enough to rival the agony in her leg. Face scrunched into an unfaltering grimace, she raised her sword with two quivering hands and vowed never to break that promise. She knew she would die, but couldn’t allow herself to be put down like an animal. She had to raise a defense, or it was suicide. Her family couldn’t live with that.

Set aside your fears.

Her mother would probably say that. Her mother didn’t understand people.


[attacks Crusader - sword]
u4La6_odsword
Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder -- 3.5 damage

into these moments, full of life
which radiate become the light that illuminates when we die
memories are all we need
as we fall into our final sleep

word count: 960, graphics: rook
theme: phosphorescence by tall ships

{ p e a r l m i l l i s o n}

cold and bathed in light
everything fell into place
and together we got lost
lost in something bigger than us

She had underestimated death.

The Capitol warped it into a glorified display of triumph for the killer, and a moment of weakness for the victim. They simply didn’t measure up to standards. The screams and the gore were always amplified for the purpose dramatization, but no matter how many times she had imagined the pain and cringed on her sofa, it didn’t compare to the real thing. Real pain felt like gravity trying to wrench the bone from her leg. Real pain smelled like raw, bloody meat and burning hair. Real pain tasted like copper and looked like a dissection, like death wanted to expose her insides to the entire world. The worst part was that nobody in Panem cared about her suffering. Want they wanted was spectacle, what they wanted was her emotions, her strength, and they wanted the same from Crusader as well. Somebody out there was rooting for her body to be buried. Somebody out there was calling her a failure. Everyone in District One was laughing at her pettiness.

She wished Patricia were here, because Patricia would care. Asa would care too. Barnabas would care. They could rescue her. They could carry her away from here and soothe her with conversation. She missed the way Asa and Barnabas would always smile at each other like the world didn’t matter to them. She missed Patricia snapping them back to reality, displaying her resilience. She missed them.

When Crusader stepped too close for comfort she thrust her blade forward again. The edge nicked his shoulder, but it was a mere scrape in comparison to what ravaged her left forearm. It severely inhibited her ability to wield a sword properly. Crusader, meanwhile, was hardly fazed by her attempts to disarm.

Her body leaned too far forward. She couldn’t catch herself on the wall behind her and instead toppled toward Crusader, who whipped around and thrust his sword into her back. She felt an ache like a sharp muscle cramp in her lower spine – the armor. She had forgotten she was wearing it. She had forgotten what it was meant for. It felt as if the metal had melded to her body and become a piece of her, like a shell. Now it was protecting her from Blaire’s fate, yet she felt it split and clatter to the floor in fragments. They were never designed to last long.

She collapsed to her knee and used her blade as a crutch, wedging the it between two rocks to anchor herself back up. In the dim-lighting she had noticed Crusader’s tears. He didn’t want this either, but he was trying. He had a family to try for. She wondered if it was a sister or a brother, or perhaps his parents. Pearl’s own mother was probably rooting for her demise at this point. She was too weak to bear the Millison legacy with pride. Only Diamond and her father and Garnet were left to hope for her, but what if they weren’t watching? They could be sleeping or finishing chores or working. She didn’t even know what time of day it was. It could be midnight, and Diamond could be fast asleep in her bedroom.

She didn’t know what she hated more – the idea of Diamond watching her, or the idea of Diamond missing everything.

Body fallen against a leaning rock, she raised her sword again. Her grip was feeble, as if the hilt could slip from her fingers at any moment. She was starting to feel lightheaded – a symptom of blood loss. Bandages needed to be applied to the severed tissue in her leg, or it would continue to drain until the vertigo dominated her senses. Is that how she wanted to die? Disoriented and incapacitated?

No.

She sucked in a heavy breath and surged forward.


[attacks Crusader - sword]
7n1CtXWnsword
Severed Left Foot at Ankle -- 9.0 damage

into these moments, full of life
which radiate become the light that illuminates when we die
memories are all we need
as we fall into our final sleep

word count: 632, graphics: rook
theme: phosphorescence by tall ships

{ p e a r l m i l l i s o n}

cold and bathed in light
everything fell into place
and together we got lost
lost in something bigger than us

It was deliberate. The aim, the execution – somehow the microscopic section of her brain devoted to career tactics had bled through and intermingled with the blood escaping from her stump. She didn’t aim to disarm, and she didn’t aim to kill. The edge angled itself toward his ankle like a magnet, and through the blurs of hot tears she tried to focus on the target rather than the silver glimmer of his blade swinging dangerously close to her vulnerable body. Her gaze narrowed as the weapon sawed through bone. A split second was all it took for the foot to separate and for the horror to register. His scream was like an earthquake, it challenged the mighty roar of the rapids and made her heart quiver. The beating organ was heavy enough with the souls of Ryin and Blaire and Asa and Barnabas. Now it felt like an anchor that could sink to the bottom of the ocean in Four, and she was sinking with it.

Her jaw was slack and her mouth agape. She had crippled him on purpose, there was no denying the truth. For a moment, her guilt repressed the pain and her disbelief overwhelmed her to the point of silence. A breath caged itself inside her lungs and stayed there, fluttering against the tissue like a panicked bird. What have I done?

A leg for a leg?

That was something her mother would say. It was a horrible, horrible thing to say, and a horrible thought to have. That wasn’t how Pearl functioned. Revenge was not in her blood, not even when she murdered Blaire. That had been for Barnabas’ protection, because as long as his heart continued to beat she would fight for him. In the end his cannon fired, and it was all for naught, but like she had promised Diamond – she would try. And she had tried.

Crusader was far stronger than she was. He remained standing despite the pain and the loss. He balanced himself using the rocks just as she had, and pointed his sword at her. It was like a coiled snake. It was a threat. She could see it in his eyes, even in the darkness. She could sense it. It felt like death was just around the corner, and with him he brought winter. The thought made her shudder, but Diamond pleading her to try, try, try forced her sword up again. They were far from equal. Her will was withered but his had just been ignited further by pain and rage, and perhaps she deserved it.

”For what it's worth. I am sorry,” he said.

Was he? He shouldn’t be.

Awkwardly she ducked away and tried to maneuver using the jagged rocks around the rapids. They were like giant, razor teeth threatening to cut up her hands, but she didn’t care about that. She cared about the world spinning and the stinging in her neck. Blood trickled below her ear, but her carotid had not been breached. She was still very much alive, and it surprised her.

”I’m sorry too.”

Leaving her back to him for more than a second made her heart leap back up into her throat. For an instant she panicked, and whirled around with her sword already mid-thrust. She didn’t aim this time, she just wanted to keep him away.


[attacks Crusader - sword]
8ouKsMeCsword
Block

Accuracy reroll
sword
Shallow Cut on Left Thigh -- 3.5 damage

into these moments, full of life
which radiate become the light that illuminates when we die
memories are all we need
as we fall into our final sleep

word count: 551, graphics: rook
theme: phosphorescence by tall ships