Post by Gamemaker Amethyst Starfyre on Mar 21, 2020 11:37:39 GMT -5
For ages, he'd longed to hunt. Not just the paltry offerings that the humans had deigned to gift him, not just blood shared and spilled with his siblings, but an actual trek. Waiting for ages, sniping them from afar, tormenting them - all in great fun.
They'd escaped, the three of them, after they found that mere walls were not enough to contain their strength. They'd fought, as all siblings do, with tooth and nail, before retreating into the shadows to recuperate and recover.
And now, after two days, it was time to reap the rewards of all of his training, put each and every chromosome in his body to use. This was what he had been made for - not rotting away in a cage, not spending hour after hour bickering with the others. No, waiting for his prey, then taking them down once they had arrived - that was the true thrill of a hunter.
And luckily for him, the first part was almost over. One, two, three, four, five - Lady Luck had blessed him this day.
Hidden in the trees, there would be ample time to reveal himself and go for the kill eventually. But first, he had to get in their heads. Two targets, chosen at random. He raised both arms at each of them, and fired a projectile their way.
He licked his lips in anticipation. This was going to be fun.
The anthem wakes me and twists my stomach in knots.
The boy from Eleven who looks so much like my brother. Two strangers. And Silas, steely-eyed and intimidating even in death. I'd told him to go and he'd told me I might die. And look at us now, staring at each other from the earth and the sky, only one left.
"You, uh, feel. A lot. Everything... you make that hard."
I guess feeling kept me alive. Taking note of that thought, I turn over onto my good side and exhale. Feeling keeps me alive. Feeling keeps me alive. Feeling keeps me alive. I just don't know what to feel anymore. Everything. All of it. Angry. Guilty. Empty. Enraged. Scared. Hungry.
I wonder if Silas felt anything when he died. When he realised he was going. If there was a lump in his throat. If he fought for his life. Or if he just let it happen. Allowed himself to rest, finally. I hope he did both. I hope he fought. But I hope now he's at peace.
I hope he found it easy.
When I wake again my stomach lurches, because there's someone else here. He's short. He's young. Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe I'm dead. Maybe he's here to kill me. Can I kill a kid who looks no older than Sidonie?
"Who the..." I'm glad it's dark, he can't see me shake as I clutch my knife. "How..." I rub my eyes with the back of my hands and stifle a yawn, "how old are you kid?"
Sleep drags me back down to the ground. As I lay my head back on to my backpack I succumb - I am its prisoner. Rest, my body begs. Rest, he's harmless. If he was going to kill you he would have done it already.
Don't be so reckless... muses Jamie in my dreams.
"I'm too tired to fight... do it in morning... watch... my chicken..."
A half-hearted flop of my arm towards Bok-bok and I am asleep once more.
Morning arrives. I'm still alive. I'm still feeling.
Slowly I sit up, ignoring the strain sleeping on the ground has caused my spine. Bok-bok is awake, still sitting in the water, and I give him a lazy wave as my eyes blink through sleep. He seems to be very interested in the boy who joined me last night, peering down to look at him as he did me yesterday.
I follow his gaze ad study the boy, sleeping quietly a few metres away. He's got a few cuts and bruises against his pale skin, a sharp jaw - but the curly ringlets of hair strewn around his face and the daintiness of his features give away his age. He's young. I don't know his name but his arm band says Six, it's a start.
My butchered hand aches in my glove, fingers still clamped instinctively around my knife. I turn the handle once, twice, three times in my hand and look back at him sleeping. Half a thought later and my throat closes up - I'm still alive. I'm still feeling.
It would be a mercy to slit his throat in his sleep. But I can't. Not now. Not here. Not in this peaceful place. Not while my family might be watching, waiting, still and trembling as they gather around the television in our living room.
I slide the knife back into my bag and eye Bok-bok, who has turned his head to inspect me.
"Don't judge me, chicken" I mutter, zipping up my backpack.
You're the chicken, Jamie snaps back in my head.
"You think he's stuck in there?" I reply once Walter's awake, craning my neck to look long and hard at Bok-bok. The more I think about it the more it starts to make sense. He hadn't moved since yesterday. Hadn't even tried. Just sat there, staring at me, replying occasionally to my ramblings.
"Shit. Poor guy."
“Do you think we should put him out of his misery?” asks Walter, to which I shake my head and think of him slumbering on the bank, knife in my hand, asking myself the same question.
"Er, we kind of made a deal that if he didn't kill me, I wouldn't kill him," I explain - although now I think it was a bit of a one-sided deal considering he's stuck there.
“Can’t break a good deal I guess.”
I nod, stretching my arms out over my head to re-tie my hair. The muggy heat has already met the day and its only a matter of time before we're soaked with sweat. I wish they'd given me two - at least then I could braid out the heat - and as I feel the elastic band snap with a twang I really wish they'd given me two.
"You've got to be kidding me" I mutter under my breath, examining the broken band as my hair falls back around my face. I've taken apart and put back together my backpack enough times to know that there's not even a piece of string that could substitute. A fit of rage takes over as I hurl the stupid elastic into the water with a grunt, watching it flop pathetically onto the surface and drift off.
“Lets leave him then," says Walter. "I hope no other tributes take advantage..."
"Me too" I sigh, frustrated and forlorn. Glancing at him as I run my good hand through my hair, I suddenly get an idea.
Inspired by his features, I scramble for the knife in my bag and grab a pony-full of hair behind my head with my weaker hand. Mom never let us cut our hair, only trim it. Said we were lucky to have such long, thick, beautiful locks - all of us girls. The thought of her, and how my hair was just another thing she didn't let me choose, slices at me - and with one jagged swipe of my knife I cut through the bundle of hair and hold my breath.
I feel each little hair fall short, tickling the back of my neck. A little frightened at my actions, I drop what was my long, thick, beautiful hair on the ground and imagine Mom squealing at the sight of her Jules with shoulder-length hair.
Then I smile, shake out my new crop, run a hand against my head and shiver when my fingertips expect to find hair at my shoulders and only find skin.
"That's better" I grin, nodding at Walter's proposition for a walk. "Not a bad idea. If you found me here someone else is bound to."
I stretch as we stand and gather our things. "But I’m not going back to that fucking desert though."
"There is a desert?" Walter asks, and I nod sheepishly. "Yeah. Trust me, you do not want to go there."
I motion to the knife-marks that crocodile left behind and sling my backpack over my shoulders. Walter rambles a little, with curiosity and questions and detail that reminds me of my siblings. I don't mind it - it's nice to have company in the form of a human being.
"Be seeing you, Bok-bok" I wave to the chicken as we depart. "Thanks for keeping me company. Lead the way, kid."
"GO!" I yelp, shoving Walter forward into the jungle. My brain is still trying to make sense of what we just saw - but all it can process is fear. Get out, it screams. Get out. Go. Get away. It's not human.
I take heed.
"LOOK OUT WAL-!"
We duck, just in time for it to miss our heads by the skin of our teeth. "What the hell," I whisper to myself as we run. "What the hell, what the hell, what in the fucking hell-"
De ja vu, there's the three of them. That boy, with the javelins, stomach punctured by the thing. I put my hand out to stop Walter and crouch down, grabbing my own javelins and shaking out the contents of my bag to the ground.
"It wants blood," I stammer, hastily shuffling through my items until I find the jar and a block of flint. "It wants to kill something. But if we can..." inhale, "if we can give it something to feast on..." exhale, drop the flint, swear, pick it back up again, there's no goddamn time, forget it, take aim, "we distract it. Bait it. Then we run. Right?"
No time for confirmation, I lunge my javelin toward the boy from before. Jules, the brains. Jules, the planner. Jules, with the ideas. It's a shit plan, but it's our only plan. "I've got your back. You got mine, Walter?"
The chasm in my ribcage still sings from the image of Ten falling.
And when his face drifts across the sky, along with one of the Izars and one half of the pair from Two, it only gets louder. I lean back and wonder if the Gamemakers are squirming in their seats. Because the groups, the partners, are all splitting up and it's almost eerie in a way, how the order of the dead is following the pattern I created.
I mentally check them off of my list.
I gingerly poke at my ankle again, feel the dull ache from when I ventured out on one of the roots and slipped. I think my heart had stopped for half a second then, my life flashing before my eyes, but I see the starlight glint off of the fresh metal around my legs and that's justification enough.
Someone out there must be looking out for me, I think, smug in a way I recognize, because first it was the vest, and now this. The protection from my armour is almost the same as the protection from my allies. And at least I don't have to worry about my armour betraying me.
But then I watch Noel and Laurent from the corner of my eye, remember the way they fought over the past few days and I can't even bring myself to doubt them anymore. Maybe it's just my pride, maybe I'm an idiot and they're just waiting for their chances. But even then, I can't judge them. Because I'm doing the same thing.
We spend the night nestled in the roots of the bridge and I don't dream.
Setting off in the morning is almost easy, and there's something like a skip in my step. I feel the way I used to back at home, swinging my feet off of a fire escape and scraping obscenities into the rusted railing. I know there's a danger to this cockiness, but it's hard to take it seriously with Noel and Laurent still standing and still here with me.
But when we pass into the brush of the jungle, something strikes out from the foliage, firing at Laurent and hitting him in the gut. My hand immediately falls to my hammer and I take a step back, further from him and closer to Noel. There's another sound then, almost immediately, and an attack to his back.
I follow the line of sight and almost do a double take because there, with javelins of her own, is Twelve.
I'll be damned.
I guess I thought for sure that Ten had killed her, even after not seeing her face in the sky last night.
I look closer in the chaos, and see that she has a new partner, half-hidden, and it's instinctive when I go for the smaller of the two. Noel took care of Ten, so I don't doubt she'll be able to handle his friend. And maybe it's because I've always been the little brother, the one being towered over and never the one doing the towering, that I almost grin before I take a swing, relishing in the moment, "Heads up, kid."
phi attacks walter ; warhammer
BROKEN RIGHT COLLAR BONE -- 6.5 damage + 1 strength
Post by d3m laurent crest [python] on Mar 22, 2020 21:18:03 GMT -5
The tone within his company had changed. There was no dynamic beyond 'allies', but Laurent could feel the mood shift after Silas' death. Haunting phrases echoed between his ears; "No, you're an example." "Don't fuck with me." Phi had taken an aggressive approach to the boy's demise. While Laurent was relieved that Silas no longer had the chance to torment them, he found no cause to celebrate death. He remained silent in the background, awaiting Noel's signal to move on. It was clear the others craved no violence after Silas left them. Nobody parted on peaceful terms, but at least the fight was over.
He spent the rest of the day on edge. Cannons fired left and right; compared to the previous days, this one was eventful. Laurent wondered where everybody was. He hadn't seen half of the tributes since the Bloodbath. It seemed they were cursed to encounter the same ones over and over again. At this point, he preferred meeting a stranger. It would be easier to kill someone he didn't recognize, right?
His brain mulled it over as his body functioned as a machine. Driven by sweat and anxiety, he collected wood until his palms felt prickly. By sunset he was too tired to move, and sunk himself between a particularly wide section of roots. As the anthem played, he felt a sense of urgency. Four tributes dead - a larger number than the previous days. The games were picking up, and he had to prepare himself for the worst. Do you even know what the worst is?
If he did, it would've kept him awake.
He was revitalized by morning. The pineapple had charged him with energy, enough to spark an idea in his withered brain. Before they set off, he took the jar from his backpack and coated his spears in tar. He had nearly forgotten about the stuff. Now it was a precaution; he had an unsettling feeling that something awful was about to happen. Maybe not to him, but it would surround him like a swarm. There was no escaping atrocities of this place, so he wanted to be prepared. Fire was scary, it was invasive, and he needed its companionship.
Very rarely did it suck to be right.
Laurent didn't know what he was looking at. The jungle itself had been ominous enough with how many shadows it cast. Now he was staring at an eight-foot monstrosity with piercing purple eyes. He assumed in was a hallucination, until it launched something sharp into his abdomen. He groaned and doubled over, feeling the threads in his stomach tear open. A wound once patched up had been ripped open again, and it hurt worse the second time. Fuck.
He knew he had to take it out like a bandaid. One swift movement, one sickening squelch., and blood flowed as if a dam had been broken. There was no time to clutch his stomach as footsteps thudded quickly behind him, and another searing pain whipped him across the back. The sheer shock knocked him to his knees. He cried out again, hand grasping a fist full of dirt. His hair dangled in front of his face, no longer secured by Ikaros' handywork. He was a bloody, sweaty, painful mess. His eyes searched for the perpetrator - "Oh, come on!" He was exasperated. It was the same damn girl he had fought before. This time, she had different company. A younger boy - a fucking kid. He couldn't be older than fourteen.
He could also be somebody's little brother. No way.
It wasn't rage that made him rise to draw his weapon back - it was panic. A monster was closing in on them and Juliet had decided to single him out. "You're going to kill me and let me get eaten by...whatever that thing is?"
Prepare for the worst.
A spark between his hands, and the spear was alight.
laurent sets 4 javelins on fire with tar
[attack juliet - flaming javelin] rtxBVDFCkAjavelin miss
Post by d4f ◌ noel hailsham ◌ kari on Mar 23, 2020 13:14:15 GMT -5
The dove returned again.
Last night she flew high above the canopies of the trees, the rivers and plants far beneath her. She was out of place here. There were birds of tropical colors, blue, green, and even orange. Her white feathers were blinding against the green leaves and the dark mud, so she flew where no one could see, where no one would no she is different.
But slowly she was being dragged down, her body felt heavier and heavier, dragging her delicate body back down into the tangles of trees and vines. It made no sense, a few short seconds ago she was free in the air, but then she looked towards her wings. Blood was dripping down her delicate wings. Her wings were being stained crimson.
That's all it takes.
A few short seconds to find yourself drowning in another's blood.
The next morning I woke up with sweat dripping my neck, but I'm not sure if it was from the heat or the image of that pure white dove slowly drowning.
I killed a man yesterday.
I took my weapon and drove it straight through his heart, and I didn't even hesitate. No second thoughts, no regrets. Nothing.
I feel nothing.
Did it bother Bell this much? I never remember seeing her look shaken once, even when she killed time and time again. Did she just hide it? Or did she truly not have a heart, just like everyone had said all along.
I'm not sure I want to know.
Not much was said between the three of us as we hiked through the jungle. Maybe it's because we wanted to save our energy in the extreme humidity and heat. Or maybe it's because of the eeriness that seemed to follow us on our entire walk. Like something was watching.
Just as I was about to speak, to break the silence, it appeared. Tall and humanoid, but not quite enough to have a distinguishing look. Not enough to give it a name.
But certainly enough to be terrified.
It looks at us in hunger and without hesitation fires away. That is when I see them, standing only a few feet away. Then there's a javelin and its launched straight into Laurent's back. "Well Laurent, looks like it's your turn. Phi finally isn't the one who needs saving."
Walter Blake and Juliet Monaghan.
The girl is familiar, but the boy I haven't see since the Bloodbath. I figured he would be dead by now, but apparently the weak can survive as well.
My eyes lock with the girl from Twelve, now sporting short hair, and grip my weapon a bit tighter.
"I killed your boyfriend Juliet, but don't worry, I'll make sure you see him again."
I've already killed one boy, what harm would it do to add another to my list
He was my first kill of the Games, the first drop of blood on my hands.
And Silas's blood smelled like home.
( noel attacks juliet ; double ended voulge ) Ovw5|Lf4xqglaive ( dg on right calf - 8.0 )
Post by 6m walter blake [frankel] on Mar 23, 2020 14:50:40 GMT -5
He is back to being alone again. Just like it has always been…
Eloise uses notes to pass on the message.
I have to go. I can’t take care of you. I’m sorry.
”You don’t have to take care of me but are you sure you will be ok alone?”
Don’t worry about me.
”Take care of yourself. I think I’ll be just fine.”
And now Walter wanders, with no direction or plan on what to do next. He really does not know whether to stop or keep going. There has never been a time where he has had to keep a constant eye on any danger that may be lurking behind him. Infront of him. All around him. Company felt so much better, but he understands that at some point he must be alone.
He is still hiking when the anthem is projected in the sky, he takes a moment to look up. Two faces are unfamiliar. And two are the faces he witnessed die today. That is two strong allies he has outlived now. Too much luck is floating around Walter, he just hopes it does not burn out too quickly.
The sword is carried in his good arm, his left still supported with the sling. Its blade feels weightless to him now, compared to the day he picked it up in the bloodbath. It is so much better than the mega slingshot he imagined equipping when daydreaming in the Capitol. Strength must have captured his arms, or they are that truly exhausted that the pain is now numb.
His wandering takes him to an unfamiliar place. A body of water meanders along the landscape, reflections capture the moonlight as darkness falls onto the arena. Finally, he has found somewhere fresh…
Company joins him in this new setting, in the most peculiar shape. A girl and an oversized chicken. He raises his sword slightly, expecting the worst. Except there are no quarrels to be had here. “I am just thirteen…” His age, it is the first factor that everyone notices. Followed by his height and the mop of hair on his head. It is probably what has saved him so far, some carry morals not the harm a young one but their own life will favour his soon enough.
The girl falls back to sleep, insisting that Walter takes care of the large bird that sits in the shallow water. He just sits next to it, cautiously petting its feathers. ”You are a bit weird…a lot of beasts like you have tried to kill me over the past few days!” He is amazed by the fact that the gamemakers have clearly engineered a friendly mutt for the tributes to play with. ”Why didn’t I get you instead of those crocodile things?”
He does not question the bird any further. There is no response from it. Walter it is a chicken, it cannot talk back.
Walter moves to dryer land, setting out his supplies and getting himself comfortable for the night. He flicks though he pages of A Bell’s Messier, finishing a few chapters and being amazed by how quickly the character Cassette has seemed to have grown in just a few short chapters. Her life is being blessed by her saviour. Where is Walter’s saviour?
As soon as Walter wakes, he is stood by the chicken again, amazed that it has not even moved an inch since he departed it for the night. He pushes his good arm against the base of its body gently, seeing if it moves. ”They are so mean to you, poor dude, you are stuck!” Jules who he has now been formally introduced too questions whether the beast can move. Walter shakes his head, giving up on moving the bird from its spot. “Do you think we should put him out of his misery?”
A bird like that, it really would feed the poorest family in Six for probably a month. Walter last tasted a succulent chicken wing in the Capitol…the cravings are exhausting but the sweet taste of the fruit from yesterday really must quench the need for something yummier.
Jules explains the deal that she has struck up with the chicken, well Walter is not the one for cruelty so signs his name on the papers too. “Can’t break a good deal, I guess.”
He pulls the camo paint from his pack, touching up on the face paint in a blurry reflection in a puddle at his feet. If he gets out of this arena, he really needs to invest in a pair of glasses. Age thirteen and he can barely see his nose in the puddle. Sweat has mostly wiped away his war paint, he just goes with two simple lines under his cheeks. Something to mask the agony that resides on his face.
“Lets leave him then," Walter says has he flings his satchel over his back, picking up the sword with his good hand. "I hope no other tributes take advantage..."
He waits for Jules to make the first move. His only plan really is to keep moving, maybe go back to the jungle so he can stock up on the good plants. ”…so do you wanna go for a walk?” All this trust thrusted onto a girl that he only met last night. Last night, she must have had her chance to use her knife on him while he slept. She kept the giant vulnerable chicken alive, surely, she will keep alive too.
He is amazed by the sudden change in appearance from Twelve, entire locks of hair swiped away with one swish of a knife. She hasn’t cut away her beauty, just prepared herself for war. He wishes he could cut the curls that block his eyes but the sweat on his brow is doing a great job of keep them at bay.
”There is a desert?” He says as Jules complains about territories that he has yet not ventured. He will never know if he will ever see the entire arena, there are so many landscapes to explore and surprises to be flung onto him. ”Lets try and find the jungle, I like that place. Except the annoying little bugs that bite!”
Walter turns to the chicken before they depart, waving goodbye to the friendly beast. ”Take care bock!”
As quickly as his feet land in the jungle, everything flashes by as quick as the reptile swung its tail at his arm breaking it the other day.
He narrowly avoids a point edgy that bolts by him, catapulted by the mysterious creature that is quick on setting him up at his target. Jules is the one to thank as her shove probably saved him from having an arrow sticking out of his eyeball right. ”What is it? It is like something out of a nightmare!” Walter calls out to Jules, not aware of the other dangers that lurk in the jungle with them.
”I have your back but watch out, we have more company!” There are flames and more projectiles, a trio of tributes he has never seen before are victims of this beast too and soon the pair are targets of their weapons.
He raises sword but is not high enough to stop the hammer from colliding with the base of his only good arm. ”Noo!” He yells, the agony honestly sends him into turmoil. He can’t deal with it. He is not cut out for this pain. ”Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Tears stream down his eyes, the sword in his hand flails about, slashing at the air as he moves closer to the one that hit him. ”You are such a bully, there is a mutt to kill, not us!”
Post by Gamemaker Amethyst Starfyre on Mar 23, 2020 15:45:07 GMT -5
As far as his siblings went, he was the stealthy one. But as far as eight foot tall hybrid muttations went, well, compared to many things, stealth was not one of his strong suits. At least, it was hard to be stealthy when he was tall and purple in a landscape dominated by green.
But as he predicted, as he intended, his prey were too caught up in their own rivalries, too worried about each other to give him much consideration or notice. A fine development indeed; they could wear each other down, bloody themselves, all while he prowled on the outskirts, proving himself a nuisance but not the true threat.
But then, one of his charges struck the other clean through the chest with a blade. And as a cannon sounded, the latter crumbled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
His grin faltered, but only for a second. Sure, the fun had been cut short well before it had really gotten started this time. But there would be other opportunities, surely.
Without a second glance, he retreated into the shadow domain that had since become his home.
#622 disappears into the undergrowth; flees the fight
I dodge a returned javelin, gasping and dropping to the jungle floor with a thud. It lands in the ground next to me as whispers of fire vanish into the earth and I flinch at the sight - as if he'd read my mind.
I scramble upwards, brushing the dirt from my arms and snatching for a javelin but the shock kept me grounded for half a second too long. The girl in front of me spares no second before hurling her weapon into my leg. My muscle punctures - a familiar feeling - and my legs shake on impact, almost allowing myself to crave the paralyses I'd experienced the last time we met.
"I killed your boyfriend Juliet," she snarls. For a moment I am lost in confusion. "But don't worry, I'll make sure you see him again."
Silas. My eyes widen - and then narrow.
"Not my boyfriend," I spit through gritted teeth. First hand-less boy thought him my friend. Now this girl thinks the boy that terrified me, as he cut off hands with no vengeance, had a softness in him to only hold mine?
You make that hard... was the last thing he told me, tending to my wounds as I sat in the sand shaking from an imminent death. But he hadn't butchered me. He hadn't even left me to die. He'd been... kind. A strange sort of kind.
Maybe I made it hard for him to be kind.
Perhaps this girl saw something good in him. Something I hadn't seen before. Something you can only see if you trust in those around you, if you're not always looking out for yourself, if you're born giving a shit about anyone who isn't your blood. Something I clearly don't possess. Something I wasn't allowed to. But Silas is dead, and I'm still alive, and there's no time to question who might have been my friend had we been born in any other universe than this.
"Not even my frie-"
"Nooo!" a small voice bellows. My hand clenched tight around a spear ready to strike back at the girl falters at the sound of the boy I'd met in the night. In a flash my head whips behind me, short strands a tornado around my head, and I see him wincing as tears flow freely from his eyes.
"Stop it!" he begs, and my throat closes up. "Stop it! Stop it!"
Shit. "Walter!" I scream, shoving the girl away with my shoulder. "Walter I've got you-"
A canon fires in the chaos and it's my turn to scream. "NOOO!"
But Walter stays standing, his sword coated in blood.
Boy from Seven does not.
There's no time to wait. My plan worked. Kill one of them. Look after Walter. Get out. Get the hell out of here. Instinctively I launch forward and snatch him by the arm as I run, picking up my backpack with the tip of my spear in one swift movement. Get out, every cell in my body begs.
So I finish what I started, always a clean plan from beginning to end.
And then we run.
jules flees, dragging wally behind her uses f/a for -3 more in maint
“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”
Post by d3m laurent crest [python] on Mar 25, 2020 16:28:43 GMT -5
The light fizzled out. The flame was as weak as his drive to kill. As much as he was upset about his agonizing wounds, he didn't want to kill Juliet. There was a natural instinct not to harm. He could break that wall, as he had shown on previous days, but perhaps there was something holding him back. Or you just suck at throwing javelins. The pressure was on; two enemies and an eight-foot tall monster looming over them. He was shaking. The most non threatening person here was Laurent, and it was glaringly obvious. Shit.
Noel was right. He was the one who needed saving today.
As he grabbed another flaming spear, he turned in time to watch Noel eat her words. Laurent had written the younger tribute off as harmless because of his age - a stupid move, considering a kid would fight for his life just as fiercely. Laurent felt a wave of nausea overcome him as the sword consumed Phi's heart. It pierced straight through his ribs, unmistakably killing him in the blink of an eye. Laurent's jaw dropped, organs curling up inside his body, dread forming in his chest like a block of ice - not this again. Death wasn't getting any easier to witness. Wasn't he supposed to be used to this by now? The blood, the gore, the quickness of it, the unpredictability?
"I think I'm gonna be sick," he muttered.
Juliet wasted no time in fleeing the area. Both parties abandoned the murder scene, and Laurent's gaze flickered back to the monster. It seemed uninterested in the fresh corpse, but he didn't trust it. He wanted to get Phi out of here before something ate him.