Chapter 12: Blood on the Dirt Floor
As the champion for the girl's winner's bracket, Venatrix had to wait out the next two rounds while the other end finished their elimination duels; whoever won there would have a chance at stealing her crown.
Eyes narrowed, Venatrix watched intently from the dugout while Coquina squared up against the girl Venatrix had defeated in her third match. Agate appeared at her side, plopping down on the bench between her and Percy with a steaming beverage in hand. "Hey, where'd you get that?" Percy asked, drawn to the warmth of the steam.
Agate moved it out of his reach. "Uh-uh, loser's privilege," she retorted, sipping cheerfully at what Venatrix deduced was hot chocolate. Ignoring Percy's grumble, Agate followed Venatrix's gaze, watching as Coquina kept her distance from her opponent, disarming the girl's shoto with a well-placed arrow. "Not bad, isn't she," Agate said appreciatively.
Venatrix grunted in response.
Coquina ended up winning the duel, eyes gleaming with elation when she rejoined the group of waiting and eliminated competitors. "Thought the hot chocolate was for losers only," Venatrix commented when Agate offered Coquina a sip of her beverage. The blonde girl shot her a dirty look, and Venatrix shrugged, turning her attention back to the duels.
Declining the drink, Coquina watched as well, nodding attentively when Julia defeated Olympia with her wicked-looking mace.
The finishing duel for the boys' winner's bracket had Lancelot facing off against Iago. The former glared at the younger boy with a stiff determination, not easily thrown off by Iago's confident, easygoing demeanor. Lancelot knew wisely not to underestimate the kid either; he allowed Iago to make the first move, dodging the knives the younger boy sent his way. By the way Iago's mouth was moving, Venatrix guessed he was throwing taunts at his opponent as wickedly as he threw knives. Part of his tactics, she knew.
Whatever he said seemed to bounce off the older boy like a rubber ball. Unsatisfied with his inability to land either kind of hit, Iago sidled in closer, sword and knife in hand.
Lancelot waited for him, snapping his blade as quickly as a viper once Iago came into range. Iago leapt backwards, and their dance began in earnest, the clashing of metal audible to Venatrix's ears. The fight ended with Iago lying in the dust, the tip of Lancelot's sword resting firmly on his chest. A thundering roar of applause swept through the crowd at the whistle, and Iago sprang back to his feet, energetic as ever.
On his way out, Percy slapped a high-five with Lancelot, grinning when Lancelot wished him luck.
His features set in a determined expression, Percy notched an arrow in preparation to take on the seventeen year-old Arthur. At the referee's signal, they moved. Quick as lightning, Percy knocked Arthur's throwing stars off-target with his arrows, just as swiftly knocking him from the tournament. Show-off, Venatrix thought, though she shared a grin with her friend when he reappeared in the dugout. She kept an eye on the next match with Percy as he'd be fighting the victor — Ilya Kres, climbing from the bottom of the loser's bracket — next round.
Back to the girls, Coquina faced off against Julia Ishida and her mace. Smartly, she stayed well out of the girl's range, not eager to meet the business end of the wicked-looking blunt. Eventually, Coquina felled her with two arrows to the stomach and one to the chest.
Coquina's almost-sheepish smile faded rapidly when the referees instructed her to remain in the square, Oberon calling Alystra to the field next.
Venatrix heard Agate let out a groan next to her. "I almost don't want to watch."
"Thought you said she wasn't bad," Venatrix quipped, and Agate gave her a light shove, watching Coquina meekly collect her fallen arrows.
At the whistle, Alystra sent her first knife flying straight into Coquina's shoulder; she'd attempted to dodge, but not well enough. Coquina sent a few arrows after her in retaliation, brushing the edges of her armor, but not enough to slow her down. Knife and sword in hand, Alystra charged at her, landing a strike from the knife on Coquina's arm. Hurriedly, Coquina blocked the incoming sword with her bow, though she was forced to let go and leap out of the way as the sword slid down the curve of the bow towards her hand.
Using her distraction, Alystra swept her foot underneath Coquina's leg as she attempted to steady herself, knocking the girl into the dirt. The bow flung from Coquina's hands; pathetically, she grasped around for it to no avail. Releasing her sword, Alsytra grabbed her by the shoulder, and Coquina's hand closed around something, a flash of light catching on metal.
Flipping Coquina onto her back, Alystra pinned her with her knees, stabbing down with her knife.
Desperately, Coquina blocked the blow, holding what looked like one of Alystra's throwing knives in her hand. That's what she picked up, Venatrix realized.
Clearly irritated, Alystra wrenched the knife out of Coquina's grasp, stabbing down again, only for Coquina to grab her by the wrist with both hands, stopping the blow. The crowd seemed to hold its breath, uncharacteristically silent in anticipation as the two girls grappled towards their goal. Venatrix flinched as she realized Agate's hand had gripped hers, tight enough to hurt.
Coquina wriggled furiously, attempting to throw Alystra off while she pushed the knife away. Tired of dealing with her, Alystra drew back a fist, punching Coquina square in the face. She cried out, still kicking, as Alystra's knife pressed against the pale skin of her throat.
The whistle blew, and Coquina finally stopped struggling.
Alystra stood, grinning, while the crowd cheered fervently at her victory. Coquina managed to hold it together until she reached the dugout, where she promptly burst into tears. "Oh, calm the fuck down, will you?" Alystra snapped, shoving past her on her way to the beverage station.
Agate shot her a vicious glare, taking it upon herself to lead Coquina away from the scrutiny of her peers. Deep inside, Venatrix was relieved that Agate decided to handle it instead of her, though she mirrored Agate's expression out of obligation.
Ignoring the ire of her enemies, the antagonistic girl seated herself next to Poppy, propping her feet lazily against the barrier between the dugout and the field. "So, Pyke," Alystra said, fiddling with the knife that she still hadn't put down. "Ready for that rematch?"
Overhead, Percy's name was called over the speaker, along with Ilya's. They stood, collecting their respective weapons.
Venatrix quirked a brow at the girl, seemingly high off her win. "Are you ready?"
Satisfied with Alystra's scowl, Venatrix wished Percy some last-minute luck before he headed out to the field, Ilya on his heels. As they squared off for the match, Iago slid into the seat Percy had vacated. "Hope Percy wins this," he said, drumming his fingers against the wooden slats of the bench. "I've been wanting to kick his ass again."
Venatrix shot him a sardonic look. "I think the others would literally murder you if you won the whole tournament."
"I'd like to see them try, if they can't even beat me out there," he said, half-grinning.
"You can't fight fifteen people at once."
"Says who?" He chuckled at Venatrix's expression. "Anyways, I'm betting they pick Lancelot for volunteer."
Venatrix had been thinking the same thing. "Percy won't like that," she noted. Out on the field, her friend ducked under Ilya's cracking whip, the sound echoing viciously through the arena. Again, Percy moved cautiously with his arrows, only firing when he knew he'd land a hit.
"Eh, he'll get over it. Plenty of other fish in the sea." Iago lowered his voice. "Besides, they're not gonna let him in with you."
Covertly, Venatrix glanced at Alystra. Thankfully, her rival seemed too deep in conversation with Poppy and Olympia Hernandez over something or another to hear; Venatrix didn't care to know what.
Iago was right; it didn't matter that Percy's opponent now had enough arrows sticking out of him to resemble a porcupine. Her brother stood at the whistle signaling Percy's win. "That's my cue."
"Good luck out there," Venatrix said, and he gave her a cheeky salute.
As Percy and Iago settled into their fighting stances, Agate returned from her sojourn with Coquina, the other girl nowhere to be found. "What'd I miss?" she asked, settling down next to Venatrix.
"Nothing much." Lancelot spoke before her; he'd appeared from deeper within the dugout, leaning against the railing to watch the match, sword still on his hip. "Just Percy absolutely wiping the floor with Ilya."
Venatrix chuckled; out of the corner of her eye, Ilya flipped Lancelot a rude gesture. "Good for him," Agate said appreciatively.
The whistle blew out on the field, and Percy and Iago sprung into action, flinging their respective knives and arrows at each other. "Let him come to you, Perce," she heard Lancelot mutter.
Venatrix shook her head, joining Lancelot by the railing. "No, he's better off keeping his distance. Weren't you watching the last time they fought?"
Lancelot shrugged. "I just don't want to fight your brother again," he said honestly. "He's kind of an asshole sometimes. No offense."
As they spoke, Venatrix watched Iago dodge another one of Percy's arrows, his mouth moving almost as fast as his limbs. She grimaced as Percy sent another one flying past his ear, his features contorted in growing frustration. "Can't deny he's good at what he does." Lancelot grunted in assent. "Hey, Lance," she said, lowering her voice.
He turned to look at her curiously, eyes still lingering on the match.
"The way this is going, it'll probably end up being the two of us volunteering this year." Venatrix glanced around to make sure Alystra still wasn't paying attention.
Lancelot raised his eyebrows. "You haven't finished your matches yet."
"It's not just about the matches," she reminded him, wincing as Percy fired off three more unsuccessful arrows in Iago's direction, taking a throwing knife to the shoulder for his troubles. "It's the Tournament, the mocks, exams, ranks, everything." She purposely didn't mention her parents, though she could tell Lancelot was thinking it anyways. "I just want to start this whole thing off on a good note."
He smiled wryly, turning his gaze back towards the match. "Fair. They could end up picking Percy, though," he said thoughtfully.
Out in the field, Percy retreated a few quick steps, smoothly launching an arrow at Iago as he did. It glanced off her brother's side as he twisted in his path, not enough to stop him. Percy reached for another one, and Venatrix clearly saw the worry flash across his face as he realized it was his last. Iago didn't miss it either, twirling his knives in anticipation rather than throwing them. "Unlikely."
The two boys paused briefly, catching their breath; Venatrix caught Percy's eyes flicking towards the clock. He flinched as Iago's knife flew past his nose, hand instinctively reaching for his last arrow, but he stopped.
Iago's mouth was moving again, no doubt taunting him, keeping Percy's attention focused on his words rather than his feet steadily closing the distance between them, itching to strike. The conversation between Venatrix and Lancelot stopped, their attention now fixed on the fight, the clock steadily ticking down the seconds until the end of the match.
Unexpectedly, Percy lunged first, his draw arm snapping forwards to strike Iago in the jaw.
Venatrix laughed in surprise as a cheer ripped through the crowd, echoed by Lancelot standing at her side
The younger boy winced, retreating to avoid the next blow and raising his knife arm to protect his face. Percy didn't let him, grabbing Iago's wrist with his free hand and headbutting him sharply in the nose. Already off-balance, Iago staggered backwards, tripping over Percy's well-placed foot to land flat in the dirt.
Her amusement shattered as Percy strung his bow and released the arrow pointed directly at Iago's head.
Venatrix didn't realize she'd screamed, didn't hear Lancelot swear, her eyes frantically taking in the scene — her brother curled up on the ground, eyes squeezed shut. The arrow sticking out of the dirt, inches from his face. Shrill whistles from the referees; her parents, immediately on their feet, panicked shock plastered onto their faces.
Percy, standing tall, his expression unreadable.
Slowly, Iago picked himself off the ground, a little shaky, but glaring fierce daggers at Percy, who had eyes for the Selection Committee only. Above, the judges exchanged conversation in what looked like heated whispers while murmurs of disquiet emanated through the crowd, unsure whether or not to cheer.
It was a minute before Oberon officially announced Percy the victor of the duel; Venatrix could hear the stone in his voice.
At the announcement, Iago stalked off towards the dugout, his expression stormy, a stream of bright red beginning to trickle from his nose. He still held his last knife in hand; with a scowl, he chucked it viciously into the dirt.
Venatrix rushed to the entrance. "Iago, are you oka—"
"I don't want to talk about it," he hissed, shoving past her. She let him go, feeling the emotion coming off him in waves, radiating into the pit of her stomach. Her eyes zeroed in on Percy as he stepped through the gate, his face still rigid.
Immediately, she rounded on him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Guilt flashed in Percy's eyes, tinged with fire. "He said—"
With a snarl, Venatrix grabbed him by the front of his armor, slamming him into a supporting pole and ignoring his visible wince. "Don't you dare try to justify what you just did, he's my fucking brother, Percy!"
"I wasn't actually going to hurt him, I swear!"
A growl rose in the back of her throat; movement out of the corner of her eye made her pause — two referees from the field, heading straight towards the dugout.
Alystra Drakos's voice cut through her anger. "Yo, Pyke, you fucking coming?"
They must've called her name over the speaker, Venatrix realized. Shooting Percy one last dirty look, she released him, following Alystra out into the pit.
"Who knew Silverhorn could be so brutal," Alystra jeered as she slipped into a crouch, fingers curling around the hilt of her knife.
Venatrix didn't respond, her lip twitching into a snarl.
In her mind's eye, the arrow flew straight into Iago's brain, his body lying lifeless in the dirt at Percy's feet. That wouldn't be too far off from reality if Venatrix failed here, failed in the Games. Stop.
The stare of the crowd pressed around her, and she glanced up, up, her parents so far away at their Victors' table. She had to win. She had to win. The Tournament was hers if she won this match, right now. The Tournament, the volunteer spot. No one would dare question her claim.
The whistle sounded, and a knife shot towards her feet; Venatrix skipped out of the way, flinching. "Pay attention," Alystra hissed, flicking another knife at eye-level.
Venatrix ducked; it would've been her eye if she hadn't.
Dropping into a squat, she propelled herself forward with a growl, driving the point of her sword towards her enemy in a two-handed strike. Alystra swerved, catching her blade with her shortsword and letting Venatrix's momentum carry her closer into a bladelock. Wisps of dark hair poked out from beneath Alystra's helmet; her brown eyes glinted dangerously, their faces so close together that Venatrix could see her individual eyelashes.
Without breaking eye contact, Alystra rammed her knee into Venatrix's stomach, driving the breath from her lungs. Her body curled in on itself, helpless as Alystra wrenched the sword from her grasp, the blade clattering uselessly on the ground. No!
One simple mistake, one flick of her enemy's sword, and that was it. That was all it took.
No. I'm still standing.
The whistle hadn't yet blown. No time to think; she ducked under Alystra's strike, retreating out of range of her enemy's blade. All eyes were on her now, but she only felt the piercing green stare of her father.
I'm still here.
Forty-five seconds. Behind Alystra, her sword sat gleaming in the dirt. If I can just get to it—
Alystra noticed her looking, shifting her stance to block Venatrix from advancing towards it with a sly grin. Her shoe stepped on something; a stray throwing knife.
With the toe of her sneaker, Venatrix kicked the knife into the air, catching it, and sent it flying towards her opponent. Alystra ducked, but it struck her in the arm, albeit doing minimal damage. Having relinquished her newfound weapon, Venatrix immediately charged, almost grinning ferociously at Alystra's wide eyes. Dodging around her enemy's blade, Venatrix's fist slammed into her shoulder, her other arm raised to protect her face from her opponent's knife strike. She punched again, this time catching Alystra in the cheek. Swiftly, she followed with a kick to the side, earning a grunt of discomfort from her enemy.
A flash of light catching on metal only barely alerted her to the incoming blow; Venatrix swerved out of the sword's path, only for Alystra to keep swinging, unrelenting in her barrage. That's gonna bruise, Venatrix thought off-handedly as the sword slammed into her thigh, singing with fury.
She had to end this. Thirty seconds on the clock, and—
The crack of a blade against her helmet interrupted the thought, and Venatrix staggered backwards, struggling to maintain her footing as her head spun. Blinking stars from her eyes, Venatrix barely managed to catch a breath before a flash of movement again connected with her head, sending her spinning face-first into the dirt. Sand crunched between her gritted teeth; Venatrix dragged herself to her elbows, but a sharp impact between her shoulder blades kept her pinned: the point of Alystra's training sword.
The whistle blew.
Venatrix blinked in disbelief, pain throbbing in her skull from the blow, speckles of dirt swimming in her vision. I lost. The roar of the crowd swept through her like an icy wave; she didn't dare glance up to the stands, to the table of judges. She knew what she'd see.
She'd lost the match, but it wasn't over; Alystra needed to defeat her again to win the Tournament.
It won't. Happen.
Ignoring the soreness in her muscles, Venatrix pushed herself off the ground, meeting the heat of Alystra's glorified smirk with a glower. The referees allowed the girls time to collect their weapons before resetting the match. Venatrix picked up her sword slowly, willing her brain to think through the stomping bleachers and thundering cheers, the simmering anger at her so-called friend, the pressure of her father's stare.
Focus on the fight. Focus on your enemy.
She could deal with the rest of the world later, but right now, the only thing that mattered was herself and Alystra Drakos.
Venatrix took a deep breath, centering herself. The competitors began to circle each other, waiting for the starting whistle. Her fingers squeezed the grip on her sword, reminding her of the control she possessed over her weapon; she would not lose it this time.
The whistle sounded; Venatrix quickly sidestepped Alystra's first throwing knife, slashing at her chest. She blocked, lunging to riposte. Venatrix parried, angling Alystra's blade off-course. The knife came, and Venatrix stepped out of reach, taking advantage of her sword's longer blade to land a hit to her opponent's offhand wrist.
Alystra dropped the knife, her features twisting into a scowl. She pulled out another knife, and another, slinging them viciously at Venatrix, who retreated, dodging and swiping at the projectiles with her sword.
Content to let her continue, Venatrix danced out of range while her nemesis wasted her knives.
Realizing what Venatrix had encouraged her to do, Alystra drew the knife but didn't throw it, instead charging at her opponent, blades flashing in the setting sunlight.
Venatrix weathered the attack, the point of her sword dancing around Alystra's blades, finding home in her shoulder. Alystra hissed, flinging her knife in retaliation. It glanced off of Venatrix's helmet as she snapped backwards, just missing a fatal blow.
Without the advantage of her second blade, Alystra smartly retreated, frustration flashing across her features. Venatrix pressed her attack, a series of controlled slashes that forced Alystra on the defensive while keeping out of the shorter sword's reach. The blade flowed naturally as she moved, each step in time with her strike, the clashing of metal singing in her ears.
Every opening she saw, she took, weakening Alystra's defense blow by blow.
The desperate, sudden cry of frustration from Alystra's lips nearly broke Venatrix from her flow of motion; disregarding her weapon, Alystra charged in close, bringing her leg up for another kick to Venatrix's stomach.
Sharply, Venatrix swerved away in time, using her sudden proximity to the girl to shove her forward in the path of her momentum, accompanying the motion with a swift crack of her sword to the back of Alystra's head.
The girl stumbled forward, landing on her knees. Venatrix's blade jabbed into her back, and the whistle sounded.
Releasing a breath, Venatrix felt a ragged smile creep onto her face. The noise of the crowd was overwhelming, a surge of emotion that swept her in its path; as she faced them, she thought she heard her name dancing through the air, passing around their lips like a kiss. Early evening sun scintillated through the gaps in the stadium, bathing her in its light, casting her a shadow as long as she felt tall.
It glinted off her weapon — the weapon of a champion, a soon-to-be Victor.
A sudden shift in her shadow raised the hairs on the back of Venatrix's neck; not her shadow. Without thinking, she ducked, dropping to one knee and simultaneously driving the point of her sword backwards as the air whistled a threat over her head.
Her blade met with strong resistance. Too late to pull back; it caved to the force of Venatrix's strike with a quiet whimper of pain, distinctly audible in the now-quiet arena.
No other attacks came. Steadily, Venatrix rose to her feet, withdrawing her sword in a fluid motion. Her eyes widened as a trail of dark liquid ran from its length, spattering across the sand. A muffled thump hit her ears; Venatrix whirled around, sword extended, only to find her opponent slumped over on the ground, hands clutching at her stomach. Vivid red leaked between Alystra's fingers into the dirt, and Venatrix's eyes widened.
The training sword, dull as it was, had gone straight through a weak spot in Alystra's armor, slipping underneath the edge of the kevlar padding just below her abdomen.
A deathly silence had fallen over the crowd of onlookers. Venatrix's hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of her weapon still, Alystra's sword still lying about a meter or so from the girl's prone form where it had been ejected from her grasp.
Bracing her shoulders, Venatrix turned towards the crowd as the people burst into undulating commotion as referees and medical personnel ran to the fallen girl's help. Up on their pedestal, the Selection Committee watched with stunned expressions, faces drawn taut at the turn of events.
They faded into a blur as her gaze zeroed in on that of her father, grinning like a wolf.
A/N: Lmao idk if anyone was expecting Percy to pull that because.. I sure as hell wasn't! What the fuck, Percy! Trix, I was aware of but Percy.. he surprised me. Fhjfdh.
Also like.. the way it took me three fucking chapters to get here.. Love that. There are gonna be two more dealing with the.. /ahem/ fallout of this so. Fun (:
And guess what ! I'm making a blog for this bitch bc apparently that's what all the hot people do :V So if you start seeing more character descriptions out of the blue, it's cus I've finally found faceclaims for them and now know what they look like ! :D Anyways, pride month starts now, Percy says be gay do crimes bye :P
- Nell