A/N:
Beta credit to supernovanox, zara._anna, megsivy, and laneymalfoy1.
On-going TW for the rest of the story: there will be blood, there will be gore, and there will be death. Proceed with caution.
Chapter 12: The Odds Are Not In Our Favour
As the floo powder rained down on Hermione, she felt the cylinder around her contract and propel her upwards. She had traveled by floo before, but never with the knowledge that a bloodbath awaited her on the other end. The sensation of travel lasted only a few seconds before she appeared on a steep pedestal.
She was in the arena and the Games were nearly ready to begin.
Her vision blurred as she counted the tributes, each on their own pedestal, positioned 20 feet apart in a large circle. A sixty-second countdown blared over the space from somewhere above.
They would have to wait on their pedestal until the horn sounded to declare the start of the Games. Step off your pedestal too early, and you would be hit with a bout of cruciatus - an unfortunate disadvantage to have as the event began.
Standing on the pedestal, knowing that she was in the arena that might end up being the last place she ever stepped foot in, felt like an out-of-body experience. A lump formed in her throat as her parched mouth dried her airways. She made a feeble attempt to calm her nerves by reciting the mantra that ran through her mind at the interview.
This is a game of wizard's chess.
The king's piece is in sight.
Panic seized her insides and she fought the overwhelming feeling of dread.
You're probably going to die.
It was no use.
At the center of the circle of tributes laid the Cornucopia, a large golden horn that towered over everything. It was filled with weapons, food, and medical supplies. Hermione noticed other items strewn around on the grounds. Those furthest from the Cornucopia were typically the least valuable, whereas those closest were the most. But they also posed the greatest risk.
She ran her eyes over the space, trying to document as much as she could. The sight of pine trees surrounding the circle caused her heart to stutter. Amidst the silence, she heard running water somewhere far off in the distance and the creaking of large branches as the wind picked up.
They were in a forest.
Hermione didn't want to look at the other tributes nor think about their strategies. She instead tried to forge together a plan for herself. She needed to find a bow and arrow and get out.
Luckily, she spotted it fairly quickly, about 50 yards from her, not far off from the Cornucopia. It wasn't an easy path, but it was there. It was there, and she settled her mind on the fact that it would be hers.
Moody's voice rang out in her mind, urging her to avoid the risk. If the bow and arrow aren't right in front of you, don't bother… just get the hell out of there. It was all the advice he had given her, and now with the bow and arrow in sight, she realized he had underestimated her.
It was there. Right there. Not in front of her, but close enough.
It was a risk, she was willing, and knew she had to take.
Wand in hand, she zeroed in on it, anxiety quickly washed away with adrenaline, and waited for it all to begin.
Accio it? Or put up a shielding charm and run? Accio? Protego? Accio? Prot-
Her heart continued to pound in her chest. Silence plagued the grounds as every tribute readied their stance for the horn to sound.
And then it did.
Hermione's instinct hit. Run.
She threw up a silent Protego and started to move through the grounds, making a bee-line for her weapon of choice. Bodies shifted all around her, colorful spells and voices filling the space and flashing by her peripheral, but she focused her mind on moving her feet.
She knew she could reach the bow and arrow. The clearer it became in her view, the more her confidence grew.
The unexpected blast of a canon in the distance, the marking of the first death, made her stutter momentarily but she quickly picked up her pace again, shield charm enclosing her in a web of safety from spells.
The sound of a struggle reverberated against her charm and she turned her head to see two tributes facing off with spears. They were too close to each other to allow for both to survive. A spear punctured one of their stomachs and came out the other end, blood spraying out violently. The girl fell to the ground and the canon went off in the distance again.
Hermione lifted her head back up, urging herself not to succumb to repulsion, and found another gear within her. She began to sprint, nearly flying through the open grounds.
The bow and set of arrows was there, right there, that she could almost imagine the feel of her fingers wrapped around it.
You're so close. Go - Go - Go - Go - Go. Just a little bit more.
She started to wonder if she could get away from the Cornucopia quickly enough when she got what she needed.
Later, she would wonder if the thought was a jinx.
Moody's advice rang out in her mind again as her feet continued to move closer to her target - get the hell out of there. If he was watching, he was surely screaming at her through the screen. She hoped her risk would pay off.
She was moments from being close enough to grab the set, arm already extending forward when a body whizzed past it. A white head of hair she recognized too quickly appeared, grabbing the bow and arrow, and disappeared in the blink of an eye to a handy work of disillusionment.
Draco.
She'd missed it!
She'd missed her chance and he was gone with it.
It was the only thing she wanted, the only thing she needed, and it was gone. Snatched from under her fingertips by the person who knew her strength best.
The person who very likely knew she would be going after it.
It was a betrayal by the person she fooled herself into thinking might have wanted to be her ally.
This man is going to kill you.
He might as well already have.
The commotion around her continued, but she held the shield charm strong around her as she shuffled her feet and tried to make sense of what to do next.
Eyes passing over the space, she briefly spotted Harry. He was without a wand and in the midst of a hand combat match with another tribute. She recognized his opponent as the one from District 2, Cormac. A vicious-looking tribute with a mean snarl for a face.
They circled each other until Harry pulled his arm back in a fist and swung at Cormac's jaw. The punch landed with a resounding crack. Cormac stumbled back, spitting blood and what looked like several teeth to the ground.
Harry had a large gash on his cheek and a bruise forming under his eye. Cormac lunged at him but Harry was quicker. He took his feet out with a swift kick to the heels and Cormac landed hastily on his back. Harry jumped on his chest and paused to look down at him for a brief moment before he gritted his teeth and started to pummel him with his fists.
One punch - crack. Another punch - another loud crack.
A metal band on Harry's finger left pronounced indentations in the side of Cormac's face. Hermione could see his bloodied knuckles from where she stood but he was nonetheless relentless in his ministrations. He landed punch after punch as Cormac lost consciousness beneath him. She only knew he wasn't dead because the canon hadn't gone off.
To her lingering disgust, Hermione realized how easily she could get lost in the sight of a man pummelling another.
The sound of a canon in the distance snapped her out of her trance. How long had she been there? How many canons had gone off already? Was that the third? Or maybe the fourth?
In quick succession, one more went off, and then another. The tributes were falling like dominoes. She needed to grab something quickly and go.
Hermione spotted a backpack and had started to move towards it when she heard the sound of a whizzing object. A hatchet flew by her ear and lodged itself into the wall of the Cornucopia behind her, snapping her into attention. It had just barely missed her head, unimpeded by the shield charm meant only for magical spells.
She lifted her eyes and locked in on the culprit. The Career from District 1, Pansy. The girl stood fifty yards away from her, dark hair billowing in the wind. When their eyes met, a dirty smirk graced her face, as if teasing Hermione.
The immediate fear she felt was quickly overcome with anger. That bitch.
Without a second thought, Hermione lifted her shield and muttered a quick Confringo. Her spell blasted a medical kit near Pansy's foot, narrowly missing its target.
She put her charm back up as Pansy's angry eyes met hers and the girl sent a spell of her own in Hermione's direction. It wasn't a spell she recognized but it bounced off the shield charm and Pansy broke into a run. Hermione grabbed the bag near her and pushed off the Cornucopia wall, darting towards the forest.
She had one thought in her mind: get the hell out of there.
She couldn't believe how easily the spell had come out of her. Never in her life had she cursed someone, but she realized now that she had never truly had the need to. This was a matter of life or death. As Pansy neared closer, a part of her wished the spell hadn't missed.
Hermione jumped over objects and rogue weapons, thankful that she was nimble enough to move as quickly as she was. A large boulder lay ahead of her, directly in her path to the forest, and she prepared to leap over it. But when she neared, she realized it wasn't a boulder at all. It was the mangled body of a boy and she winced when her heel landed in a pool of sticky blood, and it splattered up the back of her leg.
Her Occlumency walls threatened to collapse on her but she urged herself not to think, not to do anything, but just move. Go. Go. Go. She could process this all after. She just needed to make it out alive. She adjusted the backpack on her back and continued to run.
Pansy had closed the gap on her, sending spell after spell in her direction. Hermione didn't dare lift her shield to retaliate, knowing that whatever spell she did send might not make it to Pansy before the girl hit her with her own.
Just get the hell out of there. Get the hell out of there. Get. Out.
As she neared the edge of the woods, she knew she was close, so close, to being able to blend in amongst the trees into safety. Pansy had slowed her pursuit but her intention was still clear. Hermione was her target.
She briefly wondered if the girl would continue her pursuit even into the woods. Careers typically stayed near the Cornucopia as long as they could, hoarding the best supplies and taking out every tribute in their way in the process. But the look she had given Hermione before she started to chase could have her going either way. Maybe a kill was more important.
A loud yelp suddenly reverberated off the barrier of trees. Hermione turned her head to the sound and saw Pansy behind her do the same. She didn't recognize the voice, nor did she particularly care even if she did, but she instantly noticed that Pansy did. The girl slowed her pace and turned almost fully towards the Cornucopia with a look of worry. Hermione continued to run.
Seizing the moment of opportunity, she lifted her shield charm and muttered Fumos in Pansy's direction. The spell shot out from her wand and shrouded the space between them in a heavy fog.
Hermione ran until she felt the cover of trees surrounding her. The edge of the woods were sparse but they were there, and she felt the relief of safety as the shrubbery enveloped her. Tree roots bulged out of the ground and her pace steadied as she focused on the path beneath her feet.
She continued to run until she was deep enough into the woods to be hidden and then slowed to a jog. She didn't know how much time had passed since her narrow escape from Pansy but her senses were still on high alert.
The next few hours passed in total solitude. The only thing that crossed her path was a small rabbit and a deer out in the distance. She assumed there would be other creatures, magical and probably more threatening, but she wouldn't worry about them until she had to.
Her heartbeat gradually slowed and she started to almost enjoy her surroundings. She was where she felt comfortable. The forest was as promising of a setting for her as it could have been.
The crunch of gravel under her shoes, the tickle of leaves against her arms, the feeling of the forest breeze against her skin was all too familiar. If she closed her eyes she could almost picture herself, carefree, in the forest in District 12 with Ron.
But she knew this one would never feel right. This was not that forest. And she was no longer that girl.
It was late afternoon when she heard canons again. Birds bolted out of the trees above her head at the sound, her only company on the endless trek to nowhere. One blast, followed by a few moments of silence, and then another.
It was the first canon she had heard since the ricochet of blasts amongst the grounds in the opening moments of the Games. Their sound was magicked to span across the entire arena, so there was no telling where the deaths happened and how close they were. Her heart started to race and she picked up her pace instinctively. She still didn't know where she was going, but she wasn't ready to stop yet.
Away. As far away as I can go. Not far enough yet.
Hermione had lifted the shield charm around her, but her wand remained in her hand tentatively. She allowed herself a moment to ponder the events of the day. Her narrow escape, even hours later, still made her uneasy.
It was a close call. Too close, Moody would say, and she would reluctantly agree. Reflecting on it now, going for the bow and arrow wasn't worth the risk. Especially because she found herself without it in her possession.
She hadn't yet allowed herself to mourn the chance she had or to hate Malfoy for what he took from her. All of her fleeting feelings, first thinking he was good, then that he was bad, then worse, and then good again passed through her mind like the pages of a book picked up by the wind. She had never felt certain about where he stood. But she knew now. Without a doubt in her mind, she knew.
This man is planning to kill you.
It was so easy to think then, and so easy to believe now. There was never any other alternative. He had gotten into her head, under her skin, and over her walls, and he had played her like a fiddle. He had given her just enough to think he was on her side.
Why, she still didn't know, but he did. It was just enough and a part of her, the absolutely smallest part, had held on to hope that she would have had an ally.
She had been so foolish. Her fears had been clouded by her own inordinate want to survive. There were no allies in the Games. There were killers and those who were killed. You were one until you ultimately became the other. But you were never an ally. You were never with an ally. At least not truthfully. Not with any good intentions.
Her fists clenched at her sides, the one grasping her wand closing painfully around firm wood. She wished it wasn't true. Her whole life was a testament to the power of allies. She had been one and she had had several. There was always greater strength to be found in allies, reluctant or willing. She absent-mindedly stroked the softened edges of the pin on her chest.
If you fight alone, you'll always lose. If you don't fight together, you've already lost.
Hermione was thankful that the cameras streaming the Games, the ones she knew were hidden throughout the arena and focused on her at every given moment, couldn't see into the workings of her mind. The power of allies could destroy the Games.
As the woods around her started to evolve, her feet carried her up a hidden cliffside. It took her from a low valley to a high point clearing. She was no battle strategist, but any good hunter knew that observing and attacking from higher ground was always more favorable. From there, she could also see anyone who approached without dissolution.
She had been flanked by unease for hours, but it had truthfully been more like days. The woods stretched out before her for endless miles. She was high above the ground and the grandness of the arena before her didn't even seem real. It was hard to believe it was an arena at all.
Hermione picked her tree carefully. Though she was confident she could build a strong shelter on the ground, one that could be hidden, she also knew it was a risk. There was no telling what tricks the Games-makers wove into the arena and something hidden by magic one moment, could easily be revealed the next. The safest bet was to find cover in something that couldn't be manipulated - the natural cover of branches, leaves, and trees.
Twilight had started to fall when she finally settled on her choice of a beech tree. It wasn't very tall but the low hanging curtain of leaves provided exceptional coverage. She slumped down next to it, the hours-long trek finally catching up to her. While it was still light outside, she decided to go through the bag she had grabbed in the Cornucopia.
She tugged back the flap and readied herself for disappointment. She pulled one item out after another, laying them before her, and cataloging each. A sleeping bag, a pack of jerky, an ounce of what looked like blood replenishing potion, a baseball hat, and a bottle. At first glance, she thought the bottle was empty, but quickly realized she may have hit a stroke of luck. It had water in it.
In an instant, she became aware of how dry her mouth felt. She unscrewed the cap haphazardly and took a large gulp. It felt like liquid gold running down her throat.
Hermione opened the bag of jerky and pulled at a piece with her mouth. It was difficult to chew, especially after the week of the food she had at the training grounds, but it was better than nothing. She ate one piece and then another. She had had her fair share of escapades in the District 12 forest to know how to survive on limited food. She hoped it would be enough to hold her over until at least the next day.
She knew that some tributes would be hunting through the night. Few had probably been lucky enough to find any edible resources, and those who had would be full of energy. Unlike her, she figured almost all would have weapons they were itching to use.
She only hoped she had moved far enough from the Cornucopia to not get caught in their cross-fire, or worse yet, hunted deliberately. She packed up all the materials back into her bag and climbed up the tree.
It was late evening, after she had settled on a sturdy branch and secured her sleeping bag with both magic and a belt around her, when the anthem of Regnum began to play. The announcements of the fallen would follow shortly after.
The opening day always drew the most casualties. It was considered a luxury to be where she was, just listening, instead of being one of the faces projected in the sky. From where she sat, she had a clear view of the announcement above her. She paused to watch.
The Pure Capital symbol, the one of President Riddle's movement, projected in the sky. In a greenish smoke, a skull appeared and a serpent slowly slithered out of its mouth. It was the same symbol the Head games-maker had etched into his arm.
As the symbol faded, the first tribute's face appeared. A girl from District 2, that Hermione faintly remembered was named Lavender. Following her, a boy from District 4 she didn't recognize.
Two Career tributes gone on the first day was unusual. They usually all made it through the initial bloodbath, but 2 out of 6 were already dead.
Their faces were followed quickly by both tributes from District 5, the boy from 6, and the girl from 7. Hermione's heart quickened in anticipation of seeing Harry's face in the sky, however, the girl from 7 was followed by the boy from 8, and that meant he had made it out of his earlier scuffle alive. Cormac's face too hadn't been projected so neither had killed the other.
Both tributes from 9 were projected in the sky and at the next face, her heart fell. A sudden flash of a memory whirled through her mind: a boulder in the distance, a body, and blood under her shoes. The body she had jumped over in the clearing while escaping Pansy, she could see its face now. She knew who he was even then, but her Occlumency walls had stopped her from realizing it.
The boy's face in the sky was from District 11.
Blaise.
After his face, the projection faded into darkness to a somber melody. The only sound left was that of the bristling trees around her.
She cataloged the fallen to work out who was left: two careers, both from five and nine, the girl from seven, the boys from six and eight, and Blaise from eleven. Ten tributes total, almost half gone in one day. Four Careers, Harry, Malfoy, and her remaining. A handful of others that she couldn't remember the names or faces of but knew she could figure out.
Nestled on the large branch, the darkness slowly started to envelop her. Hermione knew it was a risk to sleep, but she also knew she needed it.
With her back positioned against the trunk of the tree, legs stretched out before her on the branch, her eyes closed once. They stayed closed for only a moment before they flashed open again, not trusting the stillness that had settled around her. She tried to keep her gaze out onto the horizon but with only the light from the stars for visibility, the darkness blurred her vision.
Hermione's lids fluttered closed again, and though she tried to battle it, sleep consumed her quickly after. The last coherent thought she had before she fell into slumber was how she could trick a blonde-headed tribute into giving up a weapon. She had a flash of a vision in which she held a knife flush to his throat, but it dissipated as fast as it came to her.
The sound of a snapping branch awakened her sometime later. Her eyes shot open and were immediately blinded by the rays of the rising sun through the blanket of trees around her.
A branch snapped below her again, followed by a scuffle of dirt under scurried feet.
Feet.
Whatever it was, there was more than one. The smell of rotten fish filled the air.
Hermione placed her hand on her wand, stashed safely away in the pocket of her pants. Her movements shook the branch slightly and the sound of feet underneath her multiplied.
But the sound brought a swift realization to her. There were no voices of people, and the steps didn't sound human either. Suddenly, she heard a small phut sound before a spark ignited and a bush some distance away from her tree caught fire.
The creatures scurried in masses, almost blindly, to the blaring light. From her spot, she finally grasped what she was dealing with.
Blast-ended skrewts.
The creatures had stingers and shiny armor plates over their backs. They looked like a mix between crabs and scorpions, almost three feet in length, and there must have been at least a dozen of them below her.
They were considerably tricky creatures to deal with, made even worse by the protective plate on their backs. Because of it, they had only one spot that could kill them with a wand: their underside. The rest of their armor deflected spells, and unfortunately for Hermione, she only had a wand.
She was, to put it lightly, screwed.
From her vantage point, no spell could reach their vulnerable underside. But climbing down the tree to get a better aim was a death wish. She would be swarmed and stung in moments, dying painfully and slowly under their slimy legs and pointy stingers.
Draco had ruined it for her in more ways than one. The bow and arrow could be her lifeline. But her future at the moment didn't paint a pretty picture.
Skrewts were not known to forget a target once they spotted it. She could try to wait out their focus, but they would sooner light the tree on fire or climb it than leave. She had no way out.
Hermione's heart raced in her chest, beating so hard she felt the branch underneath her shake. She stood on wobbly legs, grabbing onto the branch above her, and stepped away from the trunk. She walked along the edge of the branch and the sway of leaves caught the attention of the skrewts below, who quickly came tumbling towards her again. She tip-toed along to the edge and saw no viable option.
She was as good as dead.
Turning to face the trunk again, she started to walk her way back, willing her mind to come up with something, anything. She thought back to her care of magical creatures classes at school and pulled spindles of memories to the forefront of her brain.
There were the obvious characteristics of the skrewts that she knew and could of course see. The biggest challenge was that they could deflect her magic. But, she also remembered her professors talking about the exceptions.
Magic was interesting that way. Even the strongest and darkest of it could be permeable. There was always an exception to the rule. She just had to figure out which one the skrewts had.
The pages of her mind flipped quickly through options and she started to fire off spells to test and confirm her ideas. She knew it might draw attention from passerby tributes, but she was a girl without a choice.
She shot off a confringo and it bounced off the side of a shell.
She followed with an expulso but that didn't work either.
In quick succession, she fired spell after spell - bombarda, reducto, deprimo, but each bounced off and vanished into nothing.
Her eyes snapped down to the ground where a particularly aggressive skrewt had started to try and climb the tree, the spells attracting its attention.
Crippling fear coursed through her body and she momentarily considered an unforgivable out of desperation, but quickly squashed that thought away. A killing curse would be her last choice, but even if she wanted to, she couldn't. The arena barred the use of unforgivables.
She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath in, eyes locking onto her targets on the out-breath. Think, Hermione, think.
What's the strongest spell you know?
There were several.
What spell permeates all else?
Also a few.
She gulped through the knot in her throat, the pieces starting to fall together.
What spell did you vow to never use?
There was only one.
The skrewt that had been climbing towards her toppled over and another quickly used its body as leverage to get higher. The creatures were more resourceful than she had given them credit for, and they were coming for her fast.
Fiendfyre.
One of the most dangerous and powerful spells known to magical kind.
As she whispered the word in her mind, the knot in her throat spread to her whole chest. It was the spell that had changed her life. She swore to never cast it as long as she lived.
Never say never, her voice of reason grumbled. It was in Moody's typical tone and she hated it. You'll have to if you want to live.
She had read everything she could about fiendfyre when her parents were killed. She took out every restricted book, scoured every unregulated source, and researched every last word on it. The spell was uncommon, unpalatable, and unendurable. She knew enough to know that she really knew nothing at all.
But that didn't mean she was without her own theories. It was why she had landed on just one to explain her own parent's death. Unlike what most believed, the spell could very much be controlled, and though she had never tested the theory herself, she thought she had a pretty good idea as to how.
The skrewts' approach had become relentless, bodies toppling over one another in a large pile, and they had reached just a few meters away from where she stood on the branch.
Her heart ached at the thought of having to perform the spell. She could still remember the feeling of her own magical core flailing, something she was certain happened the moment her parents perished in the midst of it. It was the most terrible feeling in the world.
Fiendfyre was the darkest spell she had ever known. To her, it was darker than any unforgivable, because it had taken the one thing from her life that was irreplaceable. It also wasn't quick nor painless. It dragged out death to unfathomable depths.
Hermione would go against everything she believed, everything she had learned and stood for if she muttered the incantation. She could never take it back after that.
It felt hypocritical and wrong, the thought of the words coming out of her mouth brought rising bile up her throat.
But she had to do it. It was a matter of life or death.
She had no other choice.
She looked up towards the sky and hoped they could forgive her.
The Incendio curled off her tongue and shot out into the distance, quickly catching the attention of the skrewts below. They scurried towards the fiery bush and easily cleared the grounds below her tree.
Hermione climbed down the trunk and planted her feet to the ground firmly. She lifted her wand and pointed it in the direction of the flock.
I love you, mom and dad.
A tear trickled down her cheek. She let the thought of her parents, the smiling face of her mother, and the laughing grin of her father, anchor her spell-work.
One reluctant heartbeat at a time, she whispered the fiendfyre incantation in her mind and simultaneously muttered another under her breath. "Protego Diabolica."
The spell flowed out from her wand like mercury and formed a slow-rising ring from the ground around her. She steadied the cast from her shaking hand with the support of the other and watched in awe as bright blue flames danced up from the earth.
The skrewts came quickly at the sight. When the first crossed the fiery ring, it instantly started to burn. A loud wailing sound filled the space around her as the legs of the skrewt incinerated and crumbled to dust. The protective shell burned longer but eventually too engulfed in flames, melting into liquid, and seeping into the dirt.
She stood at the center of the ring, tears rolling down her face as she willed her mind to focus. But her Occlumency walls stood strong, anchored by the faces of her loved ones in her mind.
The fire continued to burn, and to her utter relief, remained contained within the ring. It meant there were no other enemies in her near surroundings for the flames to go after. She gritted her teeth and pushed the force of her magical core into the spell.
The skrewts continued to go after her, and one by one entered the ring of blue fire and collapsed. They burned and melted to varying degrees and the smell of rotten fish that they carried with them filled the air with a revolting stench. But she stood, and she cast, and the fire continued to pour out of the tip of her wand.
They died quickly and soon the only thing that surrounded her was the heat of the flames. As carefully as she could, Hermione willed her mind to ease back the spell. An abrupt end to fiendfyre was the most dangerous kind.
The dancing flames receded to a simmer before just the thinnest wisp was leaving her wand. The wisp seeped into the ground and heated the earth beneath her feet. After a few moments, the heat dissipated and the spell seized. Her wand fell from her hand at the instant relief from the force.
She collapsed to the ground, surrounded by the ring of charred remains, and began to sob.
A/N:
If you're curious for some magical trivia, the spell Hermione uses is an iteration of one cast by Grindelwald in Fantastic Beasts. "Protego Diabolica" is from the same family as fiendfyre and works in similar ways, though is only meant to burn those that seek to harm the castor. I've taken a bit of a fanon interpretation to the canon concept, but hey, isn't all fan fiction just that?
I sprinkled in a small reference to the main man of wisdom, Socrates, in the scene where she contemplates her knowledge of fiendfyre. "I only know one thing, and that is I know nothing."
The Games are in full swing moving forward. Please note I'll be leaving a blanket TW note at the start of every chapter that references any blood, gore, or death. Unfortunately, his story will definitely earn its "lots of characters die" tag, and for that I'm both sorry and not. I hope you stick around, and for those that do, see you next Thursday 3