Author's Game Entries

Task 3: A Fight

 Thirty seconds; the only time Willis has to collect his thoughts before the game for the throne begins. He knows he isn't ready for this. Some clock in the back of his mind is ticking down the seconds like a bomb about to detonate, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest almost in time with the count down.

Sixteen seconds. His gaze darts around the cramped space he had been ushered into, a space small enough that he couldn't spread his arms out farther than to his elbows. It's completely dark, and he wouldn't have been able to see anything at all if it wasn't for the light peeking through the cracks between the deteriorating stones around him. He is standing on what appears to be a wooden pedestal, much like one a suit of armor would be positioned on.

Eight seconds. Willis could feel his palms growing sweaty and his thoughts are darting from one thing to another so wildly he couldn't keep track of which worries were coherent and which weren't. He isn't ready for this, he hasn't been given enough time.

Four seconds. He doesn't want to kill anyone, he couldn't do this.

One second. He doesn't want to die; he has to do this.

Willis steels himself as a loud gong sounds and there is a rumbling in front of him as the wall slides to the right. The light that suddenly assaults his pupils temporarily blinds him and he raises a hand to his face to shield his eyes. It does not take long for his eyes to adjust and what he sees as he lowers his hand makes him surprised that he is even surprised.

His gaze is instantly drawn to the giant round table in the center of the room, piled high with weapons and supplies. Circled around it, at equal distances away, the other tributes are positioned on similar pedestals to his. It is a moment before Willis realizes that the reason why some pedestals were empty; because the tributes that had been on them had already run to the table.

Cursing at his hesitation, Willis forces his body into action and bolts forwards towards the table. His delayed reaction had only really been for a second, but it had been enough, and practically all of the other tributes had reached the table already.

The room is in shambles, fights erupting between tributes all around the table. Cries of pain and the sounds of crashing weapons fill the room, and the once clean stone floor is instantly splattered with blood. In his haste to get to the table, Willis almost ends up tripping over the skewered body of a fallen tribute; the raven haired corpse of Ivory Fairwell.

As he stumbles to detour around her, he ends up running into the table with a force that causes his wrists to ache. He ignores it though and darts his hand out to grab the closest weapon he could, which happens to be a cleaver.

Willis grimaces, having no clue how to use the brutal looking weapon, but he has no time to pick another weapon. A glinting movement flashes in his peripheral vision and with a gasp, he instantly he throws himself back, his head hitting the stone floor painfully hard. But the split second reaction had saved him from the swinging sword that had just barely missed his nose.

Willis' eyes are wide as saucers as he stares up from the ground at the tribute in horror. While he had never personally met her, he remembers her name; Jalace Holloway. The woman brandishes her sword again, lifting it in the air above Willis' head in preparation to finish him. In a blur of motion hands abruptly clamp around Willis' legs, and the rough grip instantly drags him under the table-

just as Holloway's weapon clangs down into the stone floor where Willis' head had been.

Mortified, Willis cries out and kicks at the person holding him, desperately trying to get away from whoever is holding him before they attacked.

"Ow!! Goddamn it! Willis, stop!" A familiar voice hisses and Willis' eyes widen further. He sits up instantly, only to wince as his head bangs against the table.

"Adrien!?" He exclaims, holding his head.

The blond boy chuckles. "At your service, princess. Now... Would you mind ducking for a second?"

Willis blinks in confusion, and as he follows Adrien's gaze to behind him, he manages to scramble out of the way just as Adrien lifts the slim sword at his side. A loud ringing clang sounds as his weapon clashes with the other sword that had been stabbed under the table. There is a curse from above them as Holloway pulls her weapon back.

Without thinking about anything but panicked self defense, Willis raises his own weapon and brings the cleaver down on Holloway's foot sharply. There is a howl of pain and the sword in her hand is dropped with a clatter as she stumbles back, the blood leaking from her shoe leaving a trail on the floor. The woman couldn't keep her balance and she falls back, landing harshly on the stone floor.

She isn't given a chance to get up though, and another tribute pounces on her as soon as she is down. Willis and Adrien are given a clear view of her murder from their hidden position under the table, and both of them end up averting their gaze from the gore. The murderer, a bloodied, insane looking boy by the name of Gage Creed, stumbles to his feet with a pleased look on his face when he has finished.

He looks about to skip off in his happiness, most likely looking for a new victim, when his gaze lands on the trail of blood Holloway had left on the floor. Creed slowly follows it back to the table with his eyes, and his grin widens as he sees Willis and Adrien crouched there. Giggling, he twirls the blade in his hand and starts to make his way over to them.

Both the older boys share a look before they hesitantly step out from their hiding place under the table, stepping back into the chaos of the bloodbath. Willis is almost distracted from the oncoming threat by yet another fight, the glinting metal of swords clashing catching his eye. Mala Akindi and Casper Delirious were locked in combat, both fighting fiercely, though it is already clear who is going to win.

Willis tears his gaze away from them just as Akindi runs her weapon through Delirious' stomach, and it didn't take a genius to know the boy is done for. His attention caught again instantly by the sound of a giggle, Willis' gaze snaps back to Creed. He just barely manages to stumble to the side in time to avoid the dagger the boy hurls at him, and the bloodstained weapon misses his ear by a hair's breadth.

Cursing at his own distraction, Willis raises his cleaver to fight, his eyes now locked on the giggling blond haired boy. With his longer weapon Adrien is able to keep Creed at a safe distance, though considering the boy is now weaponless, it hardly seems necessary.

Adrien looks as if he is about to lower his weapon, clearly unable to stab the younger boy, and Willis unknowingly lets his own guard down as well by relaxing his stance. Creed notices instantly and with a high pitched cackling laugh, he abruptly lunges forward, causing Willis to reel back in surprise and raise his weapon again instantly. Adrien gasps in surprise and instinctively thrusts his sword out, and Creed doesn't have enough to swerve around it, causing him to literally run right into it.

With wide eyes the boy looks downwards at the sword now impaling his chest, making a shocked choking sound before his eyes go blank and he slumps to the ground. As he falls Adrien pulls the sword up and out of the body, his expression twisted into a grimace.

"Come on," Adrien says in a tight voice, averting his gaze from Creed's body to Willis. "We... We need to get out of here."

Willis' face is pale, but he doesn't argue. Instead he turns around and swiftly snatches up one of the remaining sacks on the table. Quickly after he darts towards Adrien, who is already swerving through the melee towards one of the hallways that lead deeper into the castle.

He knew then as they run further away from the screams of the bloodbath that, for now at least, they are going to be alright. Willis knew that their alliance couldn't last forever, that something is eventually going to happen, but... For now at least, as long as he is with Adrien... everything is going to be alright.