#turegy

From the moment the rustling started, Sadiq held fiery panic in his eyes. His grip was like a vice, his voice ice cold through his teeth. “Gupta, whatever happens, do not move. I will handle this. Do you understand?” 

Gupta was not sure what to do. This was too much, too fast. They were backed into a corner - there was no way out of this hiding spot. He knew they were trapped, but at the same time, he did not understand. How had they even found them? Gupta shook his head - not so much an objection as an act of sheer disbelief. “Sadiq…”

“Gupta, I’m deadly serious. Do. Not. Move.” His teeth still did not part. Gupta swallowed thickly and nodded, powerless. God, he had never been this powerless - not during the reaping, not during training, not for the days or weeks or eternities he had been in his arena. 

When the voices started again, the feeling increased ten-fold. 

“Oh, Ivan, darling, look what I found!” It was the Chinese tribute who emerged first through the foliage, oil-black hair ruffled and loose in it’s ponytail, falling wildly into his dark, dark, dark eyes.“If it isn’t the Turk and his… pet.” He grinned like the Cheshire cat, and Gupta felt his stomach twist. 

The chinaman stood up straight then, spinning his weapon carelessly between his fingers, and Gupta was almost shocked when he stretched to full height. The notoriously feared Chinese tribute was scarcely taller than he was.

However, the Russian tribute that followed towered over even Sadiq. “Oh, my little Yao, how wonderful!” His infamous pipe glistened in the setting sun. It was silver… and red. “We have been waiting ages for this! Which one do you want, my dear?”

Sadiq drew his blade. “Do not touch him.” He took a step forward, but looked shaky in his stance. “I’m warning you, Russian.” 

Gupta watched Sadiq’s eyes. They no longer held the animalistic, boundless, joyful gleam they once had. The man in front of him was completely different than the ruthless killer who had entered this competition. He had grown so much spiritually, mentally. Gupta would be grateful for that any other time. 

“Warning me?” The Russian giggled like a child. “How silly.” 

It all happened so quickly. A glance, a smile, and Gupta could not see Yao anymore. He moved like the win in a hurricane, something too fast to register or feel. Gupta whipped around, rooted to the spot as he was ordered to, and tried to scream. At least part of him knew it was too late, but logic did nothing to tame to red-hot fear in his lungs. “SADIQ!”

But all Gupta heard was choking. He forced himself to look, eyes burning, only to see Sadiq falling. It had taken seconds. Only seconds, and Yao’s sai had cut through his neck like paper. The so-called insane, ruthless, untouchable ‘Masked Turk’  lay gasping on the floor in less time than it had taken Gupta to turn. It felt like both a million years and a blink of the eye. 

Life snapped back into full speed before Gupta was ready for it. His heart stopped, and he screamed, louder than he had ever been in his life, as he tore through the protective limits Sadiq had placed on him and stumbled to where he lay bleeding. His vision tunneled, tunneled, until he could barely see the blood.

“Sadiq,” whispered Gupta through a dry throat. “Sadiq, no…” He broke off and muttered a prayer, just as much as instinct as it was to breathe. But Gupta felt no relief this time. The once familiar, once comforting words burnt his lips. 

“Gupta.” A line of blood ran down Sadiq’s mouth as he tried to speak. He ended up hissing through his teeth. “I’m sorry.” 

Gupta inhaled sharply. He was not crying, as he could only feel panic, flames. “Sorry? Sorry for what?” 

Sadiq coughed, and it stained his shirt rose-red. “I couldn’t… keep doing this.” He reached out slowly, likely blindly, and Gupta fumbled his hand into his. Sadiq smiled as he shakily kissed his knuckles. “Thank you,” he said, and then again. “Thank you.”

The was when Gupta realized - Sadiq had not even tried to fight back. He had taken Gupta’s preachings and verses about pacifism to heart, and he had paid the price with his life.

Gupta’s breath went ragged. He pleaded, screamed, prayed, but the cannon went off despite it, rang in his ears, his heart. None of that would say him now - no God, no belief would save him from this. 

And none of it mattered, Gupta realized with what felt like a bolt of lightning. Nothing mattered before Sadiq - not Egypt, not the mosque, not those he had preached to or those he thought he had saved - and he knew in his heart of hearts nothing would matter after him. In the end, Gupta could not save the one who mattered. Gupta could feel himself physically breaking to pieces as he put it together - No God would allow this. There was no god. 

And therefore, nothing was left.