Top Four: Teddy King v. Terra Montague

The world seemed to still.

Darby had taken another blow from me, but refused to let me show her the same mercy I had shown Ilya and Kaira. For them, I had made it quick. I refused to let them suffer because they simply didn't deserve to. I wanted to do the same for her, to not drag it out any longer, yet I still aimed for her leg and not her heart. Why? I don't know. 

It had been cruel, unusual punishment. But even with her severed limb resting between my feet, she still managed to pull herself to the front of the ship; still managed to hoist herself up on the edge; still managed to die her own way and not by my hand. 

Somewhere off in the distance, through the constant rocking of the boat and the crashing of waves against the hull, I hear a distant I'm still counting that! And I can't help but echo the sentiment. It was my last strike that had made Darby flee. It was my intention to kill that had pushed her to end it all before I could even get the chance. But the voice I'd heard had sounded proud. Mad, even, that he hadn't gotten the final blow. 

I'm still counting that, I think to myself. But not because I want a higher body count or because I want to instill fear in whoever I may fight next, but because it's my fault. I will bear the guilt for the rest of my days. Or minutes, depending on how lucky I get. I'm still counting that, I repeat over and over, letting the tears flow freely now. There's no sense in pretending anymore. Who do I have to be strong for now? I look around me, eyes roving over all the corpses I've created on this deck. 

Everyone else is dead.

A sudden jolt pulls me out of the black hole that is my thoughts at the moment, and I look around as the ship starts to shift and turn. The water starts to swirl as whoever is controlling this sea initiates some stupid routine. It churns my stomach as I look out toward the crowd and see their smiling faces. They clap and cheer, ooh and ahh, as sharks and whales circle about the ship. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

But before I can really express my disdain for the pageantry they've turned this game of death into, Helen's Revenge is coasting right for another ship. It saddles up side by side, coming to a sharp halt as an anchor I cannot see is lowered loudly. Gang planks creak to life and latch onto the boat that pulls up right beside me and my eyes land on a small figure, bloodied and blonde. 

This is it, I think, taking a deep breath as I climb atop the walkway and slowly make my way over. Whoever this is, she is not the only one who stands in my way. I know because off in the distance I can hear the slashing of blades and the grunting of combat. But she is who stands in my way now. 

"I guess it's just you and me then."

I don't smile. I don't greet her. I don't pause and offer my name the same way Ilya had done. I don't humanize myself or her because there's no point. We aren't human anymore. We are animals, hungry creatures circling one another at the watering hole, waiting to see who will turn their back first. 

And I know one thing for certain: it won't be me.

She blocks my strike.

Our blades connect, scraping against one another and I'm unprepared for this girl's might. The way she steadies her own blade out in front of her chest and stops my sword from piercing between her ribs. That had been my goal, anyway. I meant to attack hard and fast, so this was over sooner rather than later. Before the last threads of my sanity could come undone. Before I lost any more of myself.

I was going to make it quick.
I was going to win this fight.
But now I'm not so sure.

Bracing myself against the hilt of my sword, I push away from her and clumsily try to parry backwards. It's a shitty flourish, a messy attempt at keeping my composure after that embarrassing fumble instead of a killing blow like I had so hoped it would have been, but part of me knows she'll see right through it. I've played my hand now, shown her all my cards and gave her all she needs to put me in my place. 

And she does just that. 

It's quicker than I expect, her swipe to my leg. Smart, taking me down at the knees. I wince as a response, trying not to whimper and show just how much pain I'm in. But the truth is everything hurts now. My arms are so tired and my head is pounding from what I assume is blood loss, but I can't be sure. All I know is that Kaira stabbed me in the foot before I finally slipped a blade into her back. I hadn't felt it at the time, not with all the adrenaline, but now? As this little hellion tears open my pants and flesh beneath, it's all I can feel. 

"You are not going to make this easy, are you?" I sigh, leaning back to rest against the railing of the ship to catch my breath for a second. My voice is quiet, words spoken aloud, yes, but meant more for me than anyone else. No one else had put up much of a fight, really. And it hadn't been my specialty before all this. I like the shadows, the dark corners where nobody looks. I move quickly, quietly, and without hesitation just like my father taught me. "Guess I can't blame you."

My eyes lull shut and I inhale a deep breath of sea and iron, hating the doubt that's swelling within my chest. Loathing the pregnant pause I allow myself to take over the space between me and her. Mostly because I don't know why. When the six of us boarded Helen's Revenge, I knew immediately what had to be done. If I was to survive, the rest of them couldn't. They had to die, by any means necessary. And much to my unexpected dismay, they all did. I made it out alive and here I stand.

All I have to do is win. All you have to do is kill her, I think to myself, eyes opening and gravitating back to where she stands. Just one more.

Three, three, three...

I step forward and Ilya's voice screams in my head, piercing through every other sound and churning my insides like meat in a grinder. 

Three, four, five...

Bile rises in the back of my throat, threatening to spew right in her direction, but I swallow hard and tighten my grip on the hilt of the sword. What's one more at this point? A dark, sinister voice asks in the back of my mind and I don't like the way it feels. I don't like the way it slithers around my thoughts and soothes my conscience like it was born to do so. I look at the girl across from me and wonder what her name is. I think about what she likes to do, if she has any hobbies, if she loves anyone back home.

Who is she? I ask.
Does it matter? The voice answers back.
No, I think and hate myself for it. 

I swing my sword anyway. Because it's better than drowning. Because it's better than being devoured by sharks. Because I would rather die on my feet with a blade in my hand than on my knees turned away from a gun pressed to the back of my head.

Because I would rather die fighting. 

I have always thought I was one of a kind.

Like no other. A unique wolf in a world filled with sheep. I saw myself as the huntress and everyone else as my prey. Not because I wanted to feel that way. Not because I hoped everyone would fear me and shudder at the whisper of my name, but because I was raised that way. My father taught me to see the rest of the world as my enemy, to view them as weak and myself as strong. And I'd carried myself that way for as long as I could remember. With a knife hidden up my sleeve and a chip on my shoulder.

Looking toward my adversary now, I only see myself. Another young woman on the brink of utter destruction because of the path laid out before her. Except she looks better prepared for the journey. She's bloodied, sure, but I know I look half-dead. I can feel it in my bones, in every limb as I move them. My will is only so strong and they refuse to work for me and instead work against me at every turn. I would curse them if I had the strength.

I could kill you if I hadn't just fended off four others, I think quietly though my eyes narrow and a grimace sets in along my jaw. I want to scream that this isn't fair, that I deserve a second chance after a good night's rest. But what's the use? Standing before me is a girl with a sword in her hand and she's charging right at me. It doesn't matter if it isn't fair; it's happening anyway. 

Bringing my left arm up, I try to block away her strike just like I had seen her do before. But my other arm is throbbing and I don't raise my blade quick enough to stop it. She slices right through my wrist and I scream out in agony. My limb snaps aright off and blood gushes from what is now a stump at the end of my arm. I watch in horror as my own hand drops, no longer connected to me, and splatters atop the deck of the ship. Not only will I die today, but I'll lose every last piece of me in the process it would seem.

I refuse not to carve out a few pieces of her along the way. I'll leave my mark on you, I think as I reach my sword above my head. Forever. But I underestimate my blood loss and instead stumble forward clumsily, falling to my knees before Death herself. 

"Just make it quick," I whimper, accepting the fact that despite how hard I tried, it just wasn't enough.