#ignacius kauri

ignacius...

district : seven

private training : eight

kills : zero

weapon : axe / chainsaw

After the slaughter that was the third day of the arena, faces and slips of death play in the stormy skies with the daunting anthem echoing around the arena.

13th - Clovis Costello, killed by Juno Woon.

12th - Ignacius Kauri, killed by Hilarian Delacroix.

11th - Juno Woon, killed by Hilarian Delacroix.

Ignacius awoke to a feeling of dread. Today was private training, and although he had figured out what to do, he wasn’t looking forward to it. At least it wouldn’t hurt anyone but himself.

The night before he had met up Marcus to ask him to tattoo something else on his body that was crucial to his plans working correctly in the training center. Marcus had done as he asked, but he was also concerned with Ignacius’s eyes, for it was the first time that he had seen him since the whole incident had occurred between him and Pearl on day two of training. By appearance they were a bit cloudy, and he was partially blinded, but he wouldn’t let it get him down. Even without perfect vision he was sure he could still survive.

Making his way down to the outside of the training center, he joined the waiting tributes, anxious for when his turn would show up. Overall, today he felt the best since the incident on day two. The pain was all but gone from his body and he wasn’t having problems with his balance or having uncontrollable muscle spasms. His head was clear, and he ran through his plan for the hundredth time.

One by one the other tributes left the area where they were waiting and went into the training center for their private training with the gamemakers and the president. He jiggled his bad leg anxiously, wondering how they would react to his presentation. The only two things he was really good at were first aid and melee weapons. And his combination of the two would be interesting, to say the least.

Before long, he saw the girl for District Six-her name was Kendall-leave the training center and he stood up and walked into the training center with a straight back. Looking up at the high balcony, he made eye contact with each of the three adults before starting the countdown in his head. He had fifteen minutes to impress them. And it wasn’t going to be easy.

Walking over to the first aid table, he grabbed a pair of scissors and cut a square out of his pants, revealing his old scar and the x that was now tattooed around it. He took a second to collect himself, remembering why he was doing what he had planned. He didn’t want to hurt anyone in order to demonstrate his first aid skills, and it would show them how resilient he was.

Turning to the peacekeeper nearest to him, he said one simple phrase,

“Shoot me in the leg; right at the heart of the x.”

He saw the peacekeeper hesitate for a moment, not immediately pulling out a gun to do what he said.

“C’mon, we’re wasting time here.”

Seeing that he wasn’t going to back down, the peacekeeper brought his gun up and in one fluid motion shot him. The force of the bullet was enough to make him stumble, but only slightly. Sure, it hurt, but he had gone through much worse in the past few days, not to mention the first time he had been shot.

Two minutes down.

Grinding his teeth, he limped over to the rack of axes and dragged them to the middle of the room. Grabbing the mannequins, he lined them up in a line parallel to the balcony, and picked up the first axe, readying himself for what he was about to do.

Two more minutes were gone from him because of his little act of setting up the stage. To demonstrate his melee skills, he wanted to showcase his efficiency and ability to hit with spot on accuracy in more than just a few more places. And he wanted to show that if he was going to harm someone, it would be because of a reason, a flaw in their character or something they had done against him. He didn’t like senseless violence, and would only partake in it if there was no other way. And then he would do it his way.

Placing himself in front of the first mannequin on the left at the end of the row, he found that place where he could be numb, and get through what he was about to do without breaking down. He reminded himself that they weren’t real. They were just pawns in his game. He cleared his throat and began.

“Charles Harrington. Denial.” The axe moved swiftly through the head, through the mouth, cutting it off completely. The blood began pouring from his head, but Ignacius ignored it. He had to keep going, or else he wouldn’t make it. Dropping the axe, he reached for another one. If he was going to harm multiple things, he wasn’t going to bring himself low enough as to use the same instrument for more than one murder. It would be like saying that the two things were no different for each other, and were identical twins. Which they weren’t. If somebody had to be harmed, there was a unique reason for it to happen.

“Juno Woon. Fear.” The mannequin feel to the floor after the axe cut its way through both of its knees, leaving only bloody stumps standing. It wasn’t like he didn’t know everyone was scared of death. It was just something that everyone ignored until it was too late. This act of harming the mannequins did not become easier for him, but that of reaching for a fresh axe while letting another fall to the floor was.

“Everest McKinley. Ignorance.” Similar to the first, a part of the head fell to the floor. It was much smaller though, since the axe had gone straight through the brains. He felt a twinge of guilt as the nickname of “Tree” came to mind. He ignored it. Felt some of the fake blood on his shirt. Or was it fake? It smelled like iron. Like a machine dropped the old axe and grabbed a fresh one, moving on.

“Seraph Sinclair. Disabled.” Blood sprayed some of the mannequins towards the right that he hadn’t been to yet while the left arm fell to the floor in a fluid motion. He felt bad about the reason he gave for his violence to her. She wasn’t the only one here who was disabled in some way. She was just the one that was the most easy to pick up on with the naked eye. Reloaded his axe. Moved on.

“Shepard Gaspinadov. Cautious.” More blood splashed onto the Seraph mannequin, drawing even more attention to the area where the left arm had once been. The right wrist fell to the blood and bounced to Ignacius’s feet. He stepped away from it. Being cautious wasn’t a bad thing, but one had to known how to react in the spur of the moment as well. Reload. Move on.

“Lola Liu. Cancerous.” Blood hit Ignacius in the chest following the swift strike through the chest to the voice box, rendering the axe lodged in the mannequin. Her words brought others down, and he wasn’t okay with someone that tried to make others feel bad about the way someone was living their life. That was why he had left his family after all. Reload. Move on.

“Dory Murdock. Oblivious.” Two swift strikes. The lungs were punctured and Ignacius watched as blood ran down, puddling around the mannequin's feet. Dory only cared about himself and didn’t do anything beneficial for anyone else. Which caused him to miss crucial things happening all around him. And that wasn’t how you made the world a better place. Reload. Move on.

“Tillie Hull. Unforgiving.” The sound of the axe hitting the mannequin was halted as Ignacius stopped the strike halfway through his hit. He kept the axe lodged in the skull, where the eye sockets usually were. Her gaze was always filled with venom for those around her, and she wasn’t able to forget the past and keep moving towards the future. And if one can’t keep moving forward, they can have no hope of finding peace in their life. Reload. Move on.

“Jared Luminel. Narcissistic.” The familiar thunk of a mannequin hitting the ground accompanied the strike of the axe. The stumps stood, similar to Juno’s but much smaller, as only the feet remained. It was a dangerous thing to put one up on a pedestal before checking to see if you deserved to be there, and ignoring all evidence that suggested you weren’t as perfect as you like to believe. Reload. Move on.

“Enna Christensen. Lackadaisical.” Legs became separated from torso as the top half of the mannequin fell to the ground. She hadn’t even cared enough to come to training in order to make sure that she had better chances in the arena. It was sad to see people abandon perfectly good opportunities to improve themselves and their lives. Didn’t they see it would make them better off for the future? Reload. Move on.

“Alu Cinatio. Variegated.” In one motion, Ignacius brought the axe down, and from the top of the head to the feet split the mannequin in half vertically. It fell to the ground and, luckily missed the remaining mannequins so they wouldn’t fall over. His vision blanked out for a moment, and he ignored it, allowing himself to move onwards. He had to keep going. After all, it was okay to show the world only parts of yourself, but you can’t reveal part of yourself and then pretend like people don’t know or care about it. Reload. Move on.

“Kendall Carter. Coward.” Two small swings ensured that the achilles’ tendon was completely ripped apart. The mannequin wobbled, but didn’t fall down. Which was good. You couldn’t always run away from your problems, and sometimes you had stand up to whatever had wronged you in the past. You also couldn’t avoid training and expect that it would simply make the arena go away. Reload. Move on.

“Emily Graham. Unfiltered.” Again, a duo of swings were exact in precision, causing two ears to fall to the ground without causing the shoulders of the mannequin to spit blood. Although one could be as smart and pay attention to what was happening in their environment, it didn’t mean anything if they paid to listen a bit and learn what to say. The best way to avoid conflict is to make sure you don’t offend the people around you. Reload. Move on.

“Ratsis Montgomery. Convolved.” Ignacius sliced open the stomach of the mannequin, watching some of the fake intestines spill onto the ground. Rat was twisted around just like them. His jokes would contradict his statements, his movements contradict his facial expressions. He wondered what Rat was hiding that required so much effort in order to please almost everyone around you. Reload. Move on.

“Pearl Rosier. Poison.” A head bounced off the wall of the balcony, smearing it with blood. The axe had easily cut through at the neck, at the exact place where Pearl had stabbed him with the needles both times. She wilted everything she touched, and if there was one tribute Ignacius wanted to harm in the arena it was her. What had made her so cruel? Reload. Move on.

“Clovis Costello. Hallucinatory.” In a similar fashion to Alu’s mannequin, Ignacius tore his way through the mannequin, separating it in half horizontally. He grabbed the right side of the mannequin’s body and leaned it against Pearl’s headless mannequin so only on part of the body fell to the ground. Clovis seemed like he wasn’t there all the time, like he was floating through life, waiting for some future moment that would make everything better. He conformed his words to your statements, almost like you incented him yourself. Reload. Move on.

“Pé Ruboi. Isolation.” In four swift strikes Ignacius removed all of the limbs from the mannequin. The amount of blood coming from the mannequin covered his shoes, filling them with the liquid. From the moment Ignacius had seen her reaping, he had known had separated she was from everything. Even if you don’t like society the way it is, you have to put up with it to give as many people a chance as possible. Reload. Move on.

“Parker Yim. Day dreams.” He cut off the nose of the mannequin cleanly. He stopped the axe from hitting any other face features, and a small bit of blood landed in Ignacius’s mouth. At the reaping he had been slightly, distracted from the world around him. Ignacius had seen him around the training center in a daze. It was almost as if he was living in other world that didn’t involve death. Sometimes you just needed to wake up and smell the roses. Reload. Move on.

“Kyla Every. Algid.” In one motion Ignacius turned the mannequin around and cut through the spinal cord of the mannequin. It only made sense to have one of the parts of the body with the most nerve endings in it be severed in the mannequin for Kyla was cold. Sure, she had been kind in conversation, but unless you prompted her she was silent. Sure, it might have been because of her past but everyone had their own drama. Their own tragedies. You had to keep moving forward. Ignacius felt his numbness break for a second, and he struggled to regain it. Though they were just mannequins, they represented real people. And most of them had never done anything against him. He became a machine again as he reloaded and moved on.

“Nico Boateng. Betrayed.” Chop. Chop. No hands means he couldn’t get caught red-handed anymore. Not that he was ever the one who had done anything as far as Ignacius knew. He had seen the look on his face when he was reaped. As if someone had taken the world out from under him. He was simply the one holding the smoking gun at the end of the day. Reload. Move on.

“Apricot Thompson. Psycho.” The axe went clear through the mannequin, so far that part of the blade was sticking out of the back. It had gone straight through the heart. Even since she had jumped up and been excited at the reaping to her exuberant bits of training Ignacius had seen around the center he was certain that she was insane. She wouldn’t hesitate to kill. Unpredictability had to be kept in check for things to stay in order. Get too crazy and you might have a heart attack. Reload. Move on.

“Hilarian Delacroix. Drugged.” Swipe. Swipe. Two forearms clunked to the floor, chopped off at the point of emission where most druggies chose to insert the liquid concentrations into their veins. Lars, with his dark circles, his drug detox, his love of fighting. He dulled the world around him and found the thrill when he was most close to death. A love of disorder could never produce anything positive for the world. Reload. Move on.

“Tobias Ether. Bitter.” Ignacius used his axe like a sculpting brush, cutting a slit where all of the ribs would have been in a human on the mannequin. Seeing her at the reaping, he detected her hardness towards the Capitol. Her anger at the way society was run in Panem. But it doesn’t help to preach something and then not do anything about it. Then you’re nothing better than a snake. Ignacius reached to reload, and realized with a start that he had come to the end of his demonstration of his melee skills, and his defenses began to come down and he started to realize that he had just harmed twenty-three people. Sure, the actual things that he had cut up weren’t people, but the feelings he had put behind each swing were. He was disgusted with the reasons he had gave himself that justified harming someone to the point where they died. But he had shown the gamemakers and the president what he had in him. But he wasn’t done yet.

With the recall of his senses came the blinding pain from his injured leg. He looked down, and couldn’t tell his own blood from that of the mannequins. Telling himself to get a grip, he limped over to the first aid station and started fixing his wound.

Eight more minutes had passed by. He had three left to put himself back together.

First he grabbed the pair of tweezers, and removed the bullet from his leg. Grabbing some gauze, he mopped up the blood around the wound, and grabbed some of the antiseptic. From there he went through the motions of fixing up the wound, trying to get it to clot as fast as possible, coming in with the antiseptic and the gauze every once in a while. Once it stopped bleeding, he patched it up before placing a bandage over it all. Standing up, he ignored the pain, not stopping to grab some of the painkillers from the table. From what he had gone through the first time he had been shot, as well as the pain from the poison, this was nothing. It was almost as if the pain was natural. Now, with the bullet removed, his leg felt as it always did-like it was protesting against the fact that his body wasn’t perfect anymore.

Thirty more seconds before his fifteen minutes were up.

Walking with a mild limp over to the center of the room (he was adjusting to the pain as time went on), his eyes locked on the bloody massacre of the mannequins before him. The blood from the twenty-three was slowly seeping to cover the floor of the room and he felt it wash over his toes as he tried to regain his numbness and act like he didn’t hate himself inside. His eyes went blind as he looked at the scene.

Tilting his head upward to where he knew the balcony was, he said one message to the gamemakers and the president,

“Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a wonderful rest of the day.”

Ignacius’s tone had been sincere, for he really wanted them to have a good day. His eyesight returned, allowing him to see the blank faces of the adults. He had no idea what they were thinking.

Lars woke with a start. Clovis had gently placed two silver canisters on his chest, but the boy from Nine was also singing, which almost immediately triggered the morning person in Lars.

“Can you–”

“We gotta go,” Clovis cut him off, grabbing his own things without looking at the other boy. Lars scrunched his eyebrows, but rolled into his feet anyway. They gathered their things and weapons wordlessly, leaving only Lar’s pickaxe and Clovis’s darts out in hand. When Clovis had finished stuffing the last of his tattered sleeping bag into one of the empty parachute packs, he began to scoot backwards towards the entrance of the cave.

“What are those?” Lars asked pointing at his hand.

“Er.” Clovis paused. “Matches and antiseptic. Here, take it.” He tossed them in Lars’s direction. “It’s the little things that’ll save you the most, you know.”

Lars accepted five matches and the metal tube, inspecting them before tucking them into the torn cloth at his waist. “Why are we leaving so early?” Lars’s voice wasn’t pleasant, but Clovis shook it off. Neglecting to answer the boy, he found out for himself as they scaled the cliff to see a swarm of lurking butterflies and onlooking ants. No words were exchanged.

Ignacius and Juno awoke with a start, and, upon instinct, grabbed all of their supplies in a hurry and got to their feet, running as the lava corralled them into another section of the hellish island. And, lo and behold, Clovis and Lars stood in front of them, catching their breath. They must have had to run even farther than they did. And that’s when it clicked for the pair: the gamemakers didn’t want any more animal deaths -- they wanted human ones.

The four tributes locked eyes, all coming to the realization of the reason behind why they were now standing in this haphazard square. They quickly readied themselves, knowing that blood was to be shed. Ignacius quickly dropped the deersigner bags of meat far behind him, as well as the pelt, and tightened his grip on the double-sided axe, whilst making sure that the other weapons on him were still easily accessible on his person.

Juno followed suit, leaving only things on her person that could be used as weapons. She grabbed some of the berries, crushing them onto the blade of her dagger and the bolts that she had and kept her eyes peeled on the two boys in front of her. A part of Juno wanted to just make a break for it and hope they weren’t stupid enough to chase her, but the chances of the game makers just letting her run away from this fight scot-free were close to none. So for now, she was going to have to stay and fight.

Cycling through the different options of how to take on the duo, Ignacius watched the two boys glance over him with their eyes, a mildly confused look on their faces. Then he remembered that he looked like a demon that had just crawled out of Mount Doom over there. A smile danced across his face, one that promised pain would be behind it. Juno tensed up, a grim look entering her face as well, as she thought about her tiny chance of actually leaving this fight alive.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Lars said, staring down the opposing pair. She stopped before Ignacius did, pulling him back before he continued forward.

“No, it’s alright.” Ignacius stepped forward. He began to speak, to say something else, but Lars interrupted.

“Shut the fuck up.” It was harsh and cold sounding. Clovis sent him a look but understood. They had to kill, and the more unattached they were, the easier this would be.

“Don’t you get it? It’s kill or be killed here. Stop acting like there’s a way out.”

“Oh, I get it alright.”

Ignacius pursed his lips but something in Juno’s eyes lit up at the boys’ chattery, and she bumped her partner’s arm. Lars thought he heard her say something, but couldn’t make it out before she raised her crossbow. Getting a steady aim Juno fired off a berry-coated bolt from her crossbow, aiming for Clovis’s heart, while Clovis quickly sent a blow dart towards Ignacius’s neck.

Both projectiles missed their intended mark, but still found a target, with the bolt landing in Clovis’s thigh, and the blow dart landing on the sight of Ignacius’s “old” leg injury. Ignacius pulled out the dart, watching a small spurt of blood that had erupted from his leg. Juno took this opportunity to shoot another bolt towards Clovis, hitting him where his spleen should be.

Ignacius ran into action, and before Clovis could fire another one of his pesky darts, he was on top of the boy from Nine. The impact left Clovis with starry vision, but he managed to dodge the first of Ignacius’s punches. Even so, he launched his own fist up into the boy’s nose, and was graced with a surprising, sickening crack.

The punch caused Ignacius’s vision to blank out for a few seconds, and in that time, Clovis got on top of him, and started pummeling his fists against Ignacius’s face, causing the boy to become almost unrecognizable under the dried black blood of the day before and the fresh crimson coming from the wounds on his face. As soon as his vision came back, Ignacius kneed Clovis in the chest, and shoved him off of his body, rolling to the side and standing up, grabbing his axe again. As Clovis scrambled to his feet, Ignacius glanced to his left in his disorientation, and took in the scuffle that was occurring between Juno and Lars.

Juno had managed to put her crossbow away, her poison working its way through her victims. Lars spun in place as Juno nearly slammed into him, swiping his pickaxe out and hooking over Juno’s shoulder, the end slicing into the joint of her armpit. She cried out as Lars dragged her backward, but fell to one leg as her knife, laced in the deadly poison, cut through the tendons in his calf. Bullseye.

Ignacius snapped back to reality, but when he turned to the boy from Nine, he was met with a face full of thrown grapes. They smacked against his chest, which hardly deterred him, but still made him pause.

“Ah, those. Were probably rotten.” Clovis’s mouth pinched up around his blowgun, and he hardly noticed Ignacius had made his way to close the distance again until his axe scraped his throat. Clovis gasped, flailing out an arm to wrap around the boy’s neck. His other elbow forced Ignacius’s axe arm down and pulled his face to his chest. Ignacius made a small choking noise as Clovis drove the end of a dart into the base of his skull. It wasn’t enough to kill, but no doubt it’d hurt like a bitch. He kept shoving the needle forth until a scream erupted from his throat as Ignacius flung his axe up Clovis’s back, opening a large gash near his shoulder blade and dragging downwards.

Meanwhile, Lars took Juno with him to the ground in his fall. He grinded his pickaxe further into her shoulder while she sunk her blade deeper in his leg. He hissed at the pain and struggled, but found himself stuck below her as she straddled him and twisted the blade, shaking his weapon out of her skin.

One of her hands found the wrist of his axe hand and pressed it hard to the ground. Lars moved with instinct. He yanked his head up and clasped his teeth around her ear, tugging as hard as he could. Juno screamed, pulling back, and giving him the opening to finish his work. Lars sunk his pickaxe back into place under her armpit, and she jerked away. A mistake. Her left shoulder was suddenly torn apart, blood pouring out to the clay beneath them.

Juno was still hollering out, using her weight to shove Lars on his back and get to her feet. Her right arm still held a dagger, and she sent the knife downwards, straight into Lars’s side. He screamed in pain, his vision blurring for a moment as he tried to slide himself out from between her legs. He rolled forward as he did so, the razor wings from his backpack slicing her thighs and making her trip.

Clovis still had Ignacius in an arm-locking embrace as the other boy continued to send his axe as far as he could manage into his back and then back down to thud in Clovis’s shin. He succumbed to the pain for a moment before inhaling sharply. When minimal air filtered through the blowgun, it hit him that he still had a dart sitting inside.

He shoved the boy from Seven away from him, and then brought him back in to smash their mouths together, sending the blowgun down Ignacius’s throat. He choked and sputtered against Clovis’s lips as Nine blew the dart down the dart down his throat.

Ignacius collapsed, as did Clovis a few meters away from the boy. Trying to recover from the harsh wounds that left him in roaring pain, he struggled to think. Clovis, looking at the cracked ground around them, pulled out some of the pocketed left-over matches. Lighting one up, he dropped it among some of the dead grass, watching as the fire spread, creating a small wall of fire that prevented them from going any farther inward. The small ring of death around them ensured no one was simply running away from this fight.

Back on the ground, Lars had climbed on top of Juno, smashing her head into the dirt repeatedly as her skull thudded dully. Her screams rang out, trying feebly to get away from the boy. She stabbed her dagger into whatever open skin she could find and struggled beneath him. Clovis approached them and thought fast, ripping One out from under Lars by her pearl necklace, leaving Juno’s dagger behind. Lars’s foot kicked out in reflex, landing in Clovis’s priorly mutilated shin and forcing the other boy to the ground. He cried out, releasing Juno, who immediately made a run for her crossbow.

“What the hell?”

“Sorry, sorry!”

Despite her injuries, she picked it up with ease, firing randomly at the boys. The arrow spliced through Clovis’s palm, and his cry of pain stung in her bitten ear. Lars dodged an arrow and wrapped his pickaxe around her flank, creating the animation of a Vaudeville cane and dragging her towards him, slashing her torso and dropping her to the ground.

The air audibly escaped her lungs as her crossbow shook in her bloody hands. Her eyes were bloodshot, mouth opening to scream when Clovis crawled forward on his knees to put the feisty girl out of her misery, his blade so close to her throat. But Juno had other plans, as did Ignacius.

Ignacius seemed to leap at them from the sky, sending a deer antler through Lars’s right thigh so hard it was jerked out of his hand on the return. Lars cried out, wincing in agony for a moment as Ignacius struggled to stand back up, ready with his axe. Clovis splayed his legs out, wrapping them around Seven’s ankles and pulling forward, sending him to the clay.

Juno, with the boys distracted, recovered from her profusely bleeding torso and decided to have some fun of her own with Clovis. The bolts that had found their home in Clovis had sent the poison throughout his system and he was just beginning to feel the effects, his knife shaky in his fingers. With the poison running through his system, it was all that Clovis could do to shuffle around a punch Juno threw. Hell, he even tried to blow a few darts, but she shook her head and grinned.

Due to his sluggish pace, Juno was able to easily dodge the darts, and only one found their home in her backpack as she quickly turned her back to avoid being caught by the dart. Whilst she was dodging the darts she was recoating the dagger with the deadly berry juice, and upon reaching Clovis, stabbed him near the heart. Mind, not through it, because she wanted to watch him suffer.

She watched him wince in glee, and she retracted the dagger, before plunging it into him three more times, creating a box shape around his heart. He feebly managed to get a swipe in at Juno’s ankles with his hunting knife. She ignored the tiny cuts as she watched him lie on the ground, the nightlock having, admittedly, done most of the work for her. Nevertheless, she’d survived, and then she stepped onto his chest and jumped a few times for extra measure. Hearing him scream underneath her, with blood shooting up like a fountain, while she winced in pain due to her side wound. Soon, Clovis’s body went limp, a cannon sounding in the sky.

Simultaneously, Ignacius took a deep breath, spit out a bloody dart and turned on Lars. They were both wounded, but Lars more so, dripping blood from his legs and sides, and gasping for air. He wanted to run to Clovis who had just been sparring with Juno --

Was that a cannon he heard?

--But Ignacius blocked his way, advancing slowly.

It couldn’t be a cannon.

Lars made it to his feet and narrowly avoided the swing of Ignacius’s axe, running on pure adrenaline now. He jumped back, remaining upwards, and made a move himself, but it was weak and ill-calculated. Ignacius easily jumped away and laughed.

Maybe it was just Juno’s.

“Don’t you get it? It’s kill or be killed here.” The boy from Seven said, limping towards him. His blade made contact with his hip, clanging against something. Something lit up in Lars’s head. Something crazy, pain-driven, but something that might work.

Lars ran. He felt like a coward, Ignacius voiced as much, and every step away from his injured friend stretched him. His legs pumped until he fell to his knees, scrambling for the antiseptic and matches Clovis had given him when they woke up. It’s the little things that can save the most, you know.

His shaking fingers got the cap off and the stinging alcohol poured into his mouth, the rest spilling on the ground. He had one chance at this. Lars’s mouth felt like boiling pot. He turned around just in time to catch Ignacius’s axe with the handle of his pick.

Lars groaned in agony as Ignacius pressed downward, having both an uphill advantage and a strange smile. “Kill or be killed…” he repeated. His gleaming blade crushed through the thick air, closer and closer to Lars’s face. He panicked and spit the contents of his mouth into Ignacius’s eyes and nose.

The dripping liquid only slightly irritated him and he didn’t release Lars from his pressure.

It took any and all of the strength Lars had left, but he let one hand fall away from his pickaxe. His arm screamed with the doubled weight, and the cut on his palm reopened, folding around the handle til it was slick with red. His other hand trembled in his pocket to a match. …Nothing to strike it on.

Despair descended, and he could feel Ignacius’s breath on his face. Through his blood soaked vision, something came into view. An engraving of a butterfly. Just as Ignacius was about to make that last fatal push, Lars slid the match across the wings. It sparked into a small flame and the other boy drew back slightly.

“Sorry, Ig.” Lars said, and flicked the match into his face.

The effect was immediate. Ignacius’s eyes burst into a translucent purple flames, centering on his cheekbones and flaring outwards. He dropped his weapon and collapsed to his knees. And then the screaming. It curdled Lar’s blood and made him want to cry out with him.

“Clovis.” Lars said hoarsely, frozen, transfixed by the boy with the melting eyes. He couldn’t move.

But Clovis didn’t answer.

Hearing the screeching, Lars snapped out of his daze. He wasted no time throwing his pack to the ground and pulling out his tattered sleeping bag. Lars wrapped Ignacius’s torched head tightly in the cloth and slammed it down into a rock with a crack. His scream trembled down to a twitching gurgle, and then to silence.

“Die. Just, die.” Lars stuttered out, emotion overcoming him, but not in the form of tears. A cannon answered his words.

And then Juno did.

With the blunt of her knife, she tried to stab Lars from behind, but he saw her shadow before she could strike. The girl was smart, yes, but that wasn’t going to help her now. In his silent fury, he twisted the girl’s snake-like wrist, cracking it completely, and taking the knife that she had just held and killed Clovis with.

No. She didn’t. She couldn’t have.

Without wasting a moment, without saying anything more, he shoved the knife coated in her own sick poison and plunged it straight through her chest. Her heart pierced, blood gushed out of the already-slashed through chest. Blood rose, coating her teeth, dribbling down her chin. This time, it was her cannon that sounded.

Lars let his body fall backwards, limp to the ground, rolling his head to find Clovis’s limp body. So it was true. He was dead. Clovis’s glassy eyes stared up at the artificial moon, and Lars dragged his own gaze away, swallowing hard.

Events of the Day: 

Sponsorship: Arriving during the events of Bloody Hell, the sponsored item goes initially unnoticed by Ignacius. Inside the spherical container is a universal antidote (in syringe form), along with a note from Ignacius’s head stylist that reads as follows: I knew it was only a matter of time before you fucked up. Have fun with the rest of your sorry life kid.

Bloody Hell: Ignacius woke up feeling sick, and was surprised to find that the paradise island had been turned into hell overnight. As he looked around, taking in Mount Doom chilling in the corner, he heard the sound of rapid hooves approaching. An army of eight demon deer-two fawns and six adults-had surrounded him, donning crimson eyes, vampire-like teeth, and cat-like claws. As Ignacius defeated one fawn and five adult deer-suffering minor injuries-he became progressively more psychologically disturbed as the deer were all projecting different vocals that sounded exactly like his dead best friend from his early childhood years. Hearing these vocals made Ignacius progressively more angry with the deer, and he let the deer know just exactly how ticked off he was with them by shouting at them. Things took a turn for the worse when the doe related to the two deer he had killed the day before showed up. He has a little sentimental chat with the deer before slaughtering her, and he is already quite shaken when the last of the demon deer-a fawn-shows up. The fawn replays the vocals that Ignacius heard the night his best friend was burned alive and he collapses to the ground as he watches the fawn burst into flames. It is a long time before he moves, and when he does he notices that he is covered in the thick black blood of the deer. Ignacius finds his sponsor item and uses it, and then makes another deersigner handbag that he feels with meat. He also harvests some more antler pieces. He begins to feel better-the antidote working it’s magic-as he watches Juno approach from the distance. 

The ground was warm-no, maybe even hot-as Ignacius slowly care out of his bee-induced sleep. As he slowly became fully aware of his surroundings, his eyes widened. The area that had once been heaven was now hell. He had no idea how-or why-the paradise island had come to be this way, but he was sure it was in part the gamemakers trying to spice things up for the viewing audience. On top of that, he felt mildly sick. He knew what disease he had contracted in the arena, but he was confident that he could find a way to deal with it soon. Standing up, he gazed around the once-peaceful island, taking in the cracked, ugly ground; and Mount Doom chilling in the distance. He hoped he didn’t have to sacrifice his bullet into the volcano to calm the vengeful spirits of the gamemakers. He shook the ashes of the flower field off from him, and with a happy surprise noticed that the hell island’s heat had smoked his meat, making it safe for him to eat. It was then when he heard the sound of hooves on the cracked ground approaching him. 

Turning around, he saw deer. A motherfucking squad of demon deer that looked like they wanted to kill him. There were two demon children and six demon adults waiting to rip his guts out and eat his brains. Their eyes were red-a deep crimson that matched the color of blood-and as they hissed at him he saw their vampire-like teeth. Tightening his grip on the double-sided axe, he readied himself for the upcoming slaughter, noting the sharp claws on their feet. He wondered if they would hurt as bad as Emilia’s claws when she pounced on his chest back in District 7 wanting food. He locked eyes with each of the devil spawn, waiting for one of them to make the first move. In his head, he began playing Ironside. He was going to take down these bitches.