XXXV. Break Away

Most highly, is the freedom of the will,
Wherewith the creatures of intelligence
Both all and only were and are endowed.

Maybe she's the idiot for trusting a bitch who wore a tiara around the training center for half a week like she was some sort of a dreamy princess. Maybe Lethia deserves to suffer because she's a fucking moron for managing to get herself under the thumb of not one but two evil blond bitches. Fuck am I saying? I'm not even dead!

But maybe soon Lethia will die because she's apparently so fucking manipulatable she once again is being used and it seems like she's once again, letting it fucking happen.

No.

She won't let herself be fed to the wolves this time. Lethia learned her lesson when Icarus grabbed ahold of her palm and crushed her bones as if they were nothing, and she refuses to once again suffer at the hands of somebody so blatantly inferior to both her and society as a whole.

(She should've learned that lesson the first time her and Icarus were responsible for somebody no longer being able to train, when the Percheron twins were getting a bit too powerful for both of their— for Icarus' liking, so they greased the hinges of the rope suspension system on the rock wall, and sent the two of them falling to the ground with shattered femurs when they tried to climb. Lethia shouldn't have smiled when the girl, Hasana, let out a blood-curdling scream, miserable over the fact she was no longer in physical condition to prepare for the games. She shouldn't have bumped fists with Icarus when her brother Rakan was given the same diagnosis.

Lethia should've never given in to him. She should've realized that every devious action Icarus committed was ultimately not for her, but entirely for himself, and she should've retaliated against him before he even had the time to grow jealous of her existence.

There's so many things that Lethia should've never done back home, yet she did them all and now she's left with smashed bones, teenage morphling addictions, homeless prostitutes, and a convulsing corpse. She should've realized before it's too late.

Maybe she deserves to suffer because she gave into Icarus' projection of the suffering of others far too easily.)

She likes to think that she's better than that though, even now. Just her self-awareness is proof of that.

She's not like Icarus, the vainglorious fraud that sits upon a throne of lies, pretending he's supreme when he's just as filthy as the society he's deemed himself the king of. Lethia doesn't get a schadenfreudic boner when she causes others to fall. She's no sadistic freak the way he is, even if she occasionally lies awake at night, unable to think of anything besides his severed head in a pool of blood. And she's not like Vancouver either, hellbent on using the people around her like tools because she's too much of a coward to do anything herself. Lethia is desensitized enough to her wrongdoings (even if they're likely less than the Twelve girls) to not grow nauseous at the sight of blood. She may be a victim, but at least when there's blood on her hands, she fucking embraces it.

She's done wrong, but she's still always going to be better than the two of them. Not that it's hard…

Lethia takes a glance at the plastic tiara on the desk and holds back a laugh. I really didn't see this as a red flag, huh? She fiddles with it in her hands for a moment, grazing her fingers against the edges until she notices a slight pinching sensation on her thumb. Kind of sharp, damn.

She sets it back on the table and tries to figure out the best course of action after the fiasco with the Nine boy earlier in the day. Remembering how frustrated Wulfie seemed, she decides it's best that she talks to him to see how he's doing. She let Vancouver take watch of the mausoleum for a few hours so that she'd be able to talk to him without fearing that she'd overhear them, after all, and she's holding a knife in her hand incase the Twelve girl wants to try anything funny. Unfortunately, she's probably too smart to attack right after the three of them got into a verbal fight.

Lethia sits next to Wulfie on the bench and asks him, "How are you holding up after this morning?"

"Poorly, as expected," he admits, his lower lip trembling. "I've seen dead people before, and that's not even counting the bloodbath, but never anything like the little boy this morning."

"Yeah it was… not great…" She says, remembering the way he hardly seemed human after what Vancouver had done to him, instead just the unfortunate remains of someone gone too soon. Lethia's used to violence; she remembers watching the Eleven girl tear apart Magnificence on the big screens of Valhalla last year, and the shivers that ran down her spine until she got so used to the blood and gore that she just felt numb. Even that doesn't hold a candle to Nine's corpse though, even if it was funny watching Vancouver stammer as she brought it outside the mausoleum, per Lethia's instructions. "I can definitely see why you were frightened, especially since you were the one who opened the chamber's doors. I was afraid too."

"I assumed as much," Wulfie replies. Lethia glances down and notices that his cuticles have become raw and that he must've been picking at them. "I hope that you understand while I didn't agree with you on killing her, I still don't like Vancouver much."

"Isn't the point of the Games killing people, though?" She argues, her voice still soft and gentle. "Killing somebody you don't like is better than killing somebody you don't even know, don't you think?"

"I'd prefer not killing anybody, to be honest." He takes a deep breath, clearly condolent towards his words. "I know that I let you down by not agreeing with you though, so I wanted to apologize for that."

Admittedly, Lethia doesn't quite understand him. For somebody raised in District Two, land of brutes and brainlessness, she'd think he'd be a bit more eager to kill. Then again, it's already been established that Wulfie is far from the typical boy from Two, and the typical trained Tribute in general. Sure, he's a good fighter, but he seems to still have a soul, even if it's a very damaged one.

"You're fine," she says. Even if they have their differences, she can still comfort him. "I'm sorry if me saying that I want to kill her put you in an awkward position."

"It did." Wulfie nods. "I just… I think I really do regret being here. There's so many paths I could've taken in this life, and quite frankly I'm pissed that I was forced onto this one."

"What would you do instead?" Lethia asks him. "If you weren't in the Games, or never trained, I mean."

"The sad thing is, I have no idea." He sighs, leaning further back on the wall in clear disappointment and frustration. "My whole life was dedicated to the Games, so I never really had time for anything else. It was just training, more training, and then come home and show mother what I learned in training."

Again, that's something Lethia can't relate to. At Valhalla, they always insisted the students pick up a musical instrument or some other sort of artistic hobby just in case they decided the Games weren't their calling, or if they ultimately weren't chosen. If she weren't here, at least she'd have comfort in the fact she could play the violin until she eventually grew old and developed arthritis. Even if she came out of the arena dejected and miserable, Lethia would still at least have beautiful music to lift her spirits.

"You shouldn't have to feel this way," she reassures him, putting her right hand on his knee and squeezing him. "I know this sounds weird of me to say, but I wish I never met you. Because I'd only have met you here, and you deserve to have a life better than a place surrounded by death."

"It's kind of you to say that," Wulfie says with a sheepish grin. "Really, I do appreciate everything that you've said to me and all that you've helped me with in the past few days. I just wish everything wasn't so cruel and violent in this world. I know that I'll never be able to make a change, but I'm so tired of being so complicit. I wish I at least had a choice."

"I wish you had a choice too." Lethia wraps her arm around his chest, pulling him into half a hug. "I wish you were always able to choose yourself and not anything else."

He hugs her back and nestles her head underneath his chin. Despite the inherent tenderness of the moment, it still feels somewhat bittersweet. It feels like something that should've never happened, because poor Wulfie should've never been in a situation where he needed her support. Even if it's in very different ways, the two of them are victims of the atrocity that is being alive. They never should've been in a position where their paths had to cross in order for them to survive.

Wulfie lets go and awkwardly shrugs. "Thank you. For everything."

"Anytime." Lethia nods her head.

Whatever happens, she hopes that the two of them have a bit more time. Together or apart, they both deserve to live as long as possible. Still, she can't shake the feeling that this was their goodbye.

She doesn't want it to be.

He has to find her.

Calsin isn't sure why he's come to this conclusion, how he'll find her, or what exactly the benefit is, but he has to find Atlantis.

Ironic, isn't it? He's spend a week and a half of his life actively cursing her name under his breath, but suddenly he has the vicious urge to find her. For even longer than a week and a half, Calsin has brooded in corners, fantasizing about what it will be like when the mighty Atlantis Seasbane finally fucking falls, but suddenly that isn't important to him. He's aware that he sounds like a fuckin' hypocrite, but who isn't in the Games?

He'd be lying if he said that he doesn't want Atlantis to eventually die though. After all, her death is the only way he can live, but at the same time, her death is no longer something that's urgent to him, and he no longer wants to be the one who stands victorious over her remains.

Well, if he really had to, Calsin would still be keen on killing her; he's still not over all the havoc that she wreaked on Four, and as a result, on him. But killing Ellie, even though he was given no alternative, has quenched any bloodlust he may have had, especially close to him.

(Whether or not he cares to admit it, Atlantis Seasbane will always be close to him.)

(Not physically though; otherwise he wouldn't be looking for her.)

It's also probably a good idea for him to get away from the lake where he killed Ellie, 'cause seeing her bloodied body bob up and down in the water is real fuckin' disturbing. He'd think that after two days, the Gamemakers would get their acts together and retrieve the body, but apparently not.

Maybe it's 'cause we're already in heaven in this arena, Calsin thinks with a chuckle. Nah, as much as I wish it weren't true, Ellie's surely done enough bullshit to send herself to hell.

The concept of the afterlife was often brought up during his childhood. Whenever Calsin or any of his siblings messed up, one of their parents would tell them, "Keep that up and you'll never be chosen to reach heaven and reunite with the White Whale.

"There's no fuckin whale," Sevilin would typically respond. "Once you die, you're dead. That's it."

And then Calsin would hold back his agreeing laugh and sit through a nonsensical monologue from his parents about the "great significance" of the "Mighty White Whale."

They told him that the white whale was synonymous with the concept of an unobtainable dream. While alive, no human would ever be able to do everything that they wanted to do with their life, as proven when Lana Lotus was unable to win the Hunger Games. But, if they tried hard enough, they'd finally be able to achieve their goals in heaven, with Lana and the white Whale at their side. The Whale itself represents everything good a person didn't do alive, but now can do because they're one with the heavens and the seas.

Maybe it's good in theory, but Calsin has always felt like those who actually believe in he Whale are fucking numskulls. Why should he believe that he can't live life to the fullest because some girl didn't win the Games over twenty-five years ago? All the idiotic zealots in Four act like promised fulfillment in the afterlife is some sort of a miracle, but Calsin thinks it's just depressing. He'll never understand the ritualistic suicides that people take part in 'cause they're so jaded and beat up by life, they think that heaven will make them finally feel like their life actually meant something.

Why isn't Calsin Verrillo at the very least, allowed to dream? Why isn't the entire world allowed to dream?

If this arena is "heaven," then there's a reason there's no fuckin' whale, and if last year's arena was "hell," there's a reason there was no "perilous riptide" like the one his parents warned would consume him if he didn't "act right."

Besides, he's always preferred to be a storm. Ellie would probably think exactly the same.

The more Calsin thinks about it, the more confused he gets as to how exactly Atlantis Seasbane is supposed to be the second coming of Lana Lotus and her unobtainable dream. Even though his parents and his trainers forbade anyone from watching recordings of the twenty-sixth Games, one of his few moments of genuine connection with Sevilin was spent under the covers watching Lana betray everyone around her, only to be torn apart by a monster in the end.

"That's it?" Calsin had said once his brother stopped playing the video. "That's the famous Lana Lotus that everybody is obsessed with?"

"Sure is," Sevilin replied. "I was expecting a bit more too when I watched it. The way people talk about her, I assumed that she had three boobs and could fly, or something crazy like that."

Maybe Lana's treachery is similar to Atlantis, same with the feigned joy, but besides that, they're clearly more different than they are the same. Lana was far more composed, though more subtle when it came to causing misery. Sure, they both may use words as weapons, but Atlantis is brutally blunt, sugarcoating her malicious intentions far less than Lana did.

If anything, Lana is who Shane Odeen wishes Atlantis could be, and now he's trying to shape her into the waves of his savior even though she's always been a separate storm. Maybe Atlantis is Shane's White Whale, his unobtainable dream that'll never come true but he's too blinded by ambition to realize he's wrong.

Calsin feels slightly moronic for not realizing everything sooner. The pieces have always been so neatly in place, but he was too fucking stubborn to fit them together. Crista told him that he had to be nice to Atlantis, and he really should've listened. It takes one monster to mute the power of another, so maybe that's Calsin's role in Atlantis' journey. Maybe the two of them are meant to both fall, but fall together to show how painfully wrong Shane was and always has been. Shane sent him to die to prove Atlantis' supremacy, but he failed to realize that they're one and the same.

In darkness and in light, they're two halves of the same soul. No matter how cruel their actions can be, they'll always be subconsciously supported by one another, cause deep down inside, they know they'd do the same.

He can only hope that Atlantis realizes all of this as well.

On the last night before they entered the arena, Calsin heard her scream at the top of her lungs. The very next morning, she frantically tried to apologize to him, and though he brushed her off at the time, he really shouldn't have. Perhaps her yelling was related to why she wanted to apologize to him. Perhaps when Calsin told her about Shane's master plans, it broke her to a point of no return, and she was trying to reach out him because she wanted to be healed.

She wanted to get better, yet he fucking denied her of that opportunity.

It's something that a monster would do. It's something that she would do. There's no way around it; they're one and the same.

He worries though, that now that he denied her, she won't be willing to sit down by his side and try to forge a connection. Calsin worries that he jinxed himself and as a result, jinxed both of them, and now he'll be responsible for an even greater power trip for Shane Odeen. He did give Atlantis everything after all. Why would she be loyal to somebody who wouldn't even let her apologize and not the person who made her his queen?

Calsin knows that he has to find her anyway. It's risky, sure, but it's something that he has to do if he wants to restore Four back to it's posterity, the way it was before the Collective. Even if he doesn't win, he needs Atlantis to know that change is possible, and that there's no such thing as an unobtainable dream. He'll carry out her legacy, whatever it may be, so long as she promises to carry out his. Maybe he's being a bit farfetched, but deep down inside, he feels as though Atlantis also doesn't want the world to be an awful, hideous, place. Maybe all of her malice is just formed from frustration at the lack of a perfect union where everyone can roam free.

Or maybe he's wrong and he's signing himself up for a long and gruesome death, though being born a Verrillo basically already did that.

It's a risk he has to take.

Come hell or high-water, Calsin will prove that there's nothing that can stop a perfect storm.

The only interesting part of her day comes when she hears the national anthem playing from outside. She grabs Malin by the wrist and shouts, "C'mon sewer-slut; it's time to see who died today!"

"I hope it wasn't me," they mouth, following Mozi out of the bar, onto the city streets, and then outside into the light.

She sits down and waits for the day's tragedies to reveal themselves. Panem's logo flashes through the silky-blue skies, followed by text reading "In Memoriam." Mozi remembers the cannon from several hours ago, and the way she instinctively scrambled to look for Malin, even though they were right beside her, just as they always are. They flashed a jaunty smile at her and mouthed, "There's no way you actually thought I was dead; I've been beside you for hours."

"Of course I didn't," Mozi had replied. "That would be ridiculous."

One of the many flaws that comes with being Mozi Hongqi is dreadful paranoia, especially towards the well-being of those she loves. It happened with Rangani. The first time they were separate for over two hours, 'cause Rangani was at the club but Mozi was home with a stomach bug, she was horrified the entire time that something horrible would happen to her. There's always all sorts of sketchy people at the club, and she was worried that one of them would pull Rangani aside and do nasty things at her. She was worried that she wouldn't be able to protect her. Mozi still has that fear now. While she's in the arena, somebody could be searching for Rangani for the sake of hurting her. Her father could be trying to find her—which makes no sense… stop fucking worrying!

She can't help but have the same worries about Malin now that the two of them are attached at the hip, connected heart to heart and soul to soul. Even if they're right by her side, she always worries that something will happen and they'll be dead in a blink of an eye.

That's a stupid worry too, not just because well, if Malin was to die, lord knows they'd make a huge deal about it, but also Malin has to die if Mozi wants to make it back home. They have to die if she wants to make it back to Rangani.

She never should've gotten so attached. She hates that she can't help herself.

And she hates worrying about what Rangani thinks of this newfound connection. Mozi's worried that her lover watched the two of them in their platonic declaration of love, scared shitless that Mozi's promise to get home no matter what was no longer true. Because ultimately, Rangani comes first. She always has and she always will, yet there's something in Mozi's heart that's stopping her from pulling the plug on her and Malin's unlikely bond.

She never thought that her heart would beat for somebody besides Rangani, never thought that she was worthy of having a friend who liked her for who she was. Mozi always thought that Rangani somehow seeing the good in her was an anomaly, and never again would somebody actually see her for more than Dr. Prettylips, infamous doctor who'll always be untouchable and unlovable.

Her father warned her that she'd never experience genuine admiration. It never should've happened twice. Maybe she's a fucking idiot for actually having feelings; stars know he never did.

She's jolted out of her introspection when the rat in question lightly hits her in the stomach. She looks down to see Malin pointing towards the sky, so she darts her eyes upwards, only to see a familiar face in the sky.

Judas.

Is it bad that Mozi nearly forgot about him? Possibly. But he was trying to rip her apart from Malin, and even if he was right when he said that most people can't be trusted, for once, she actually prefers to be hopeful. She's tied herself to this wayward degenerate fuck for a reason, and she refuses to let somebody break their bond. At first, Mozi didn't really understand why she was so drawn to Malin, but slowly they've revealed bits and pieces of themself to her, and she can't help but feel camaraderie. He's an outsider just like her who's been forced to result to oddities and insanities just to make ends meet, even though they struggle with trust and fail to relate to the world around them. They've been broken down time and time again, yet have chosen the life of a roach, refusing to be killed. If only the two of them had met sooner. If only the two of them had met somewhere else.

Compared to Malin, Judas is just a speck. Compared to them, him and his death are just collateral damage that was bound to happen eventually, and Mozi doesn't have it in her to care. She was only supposed to care for herself until she was only supposed to care for herself and Rangani, and now that she also cares about Malin, she can't afford to care about anyone else, especially someone who's already dead.

"Well then," she says with a sigh. "How do you feel about that?"

"Conflicted," Malin mouths. "On one hand, he was kind of nasty for trying to rip the two of us apart. On the other hand, the one with less fingers, he was really hot."

She cackles. Even though Malin can't talk, everything they "say" brings her to laughter and joy. "I'm sure hotter men exist if that's what you're so worked up about."

"I'm not worked up at all," they move their lips. "At least not about the fact he's dead. If anything, I'm jealous that he's officially had a more interesting Games that we have."

"By dying?" Mozi rolls her eyes. "Not that I would know, but I reckon there's nothing interesting in dying."

"I mean… maybe it's hot," they respond, but even voiceless, it's clear that they're being sarcastic. "I'm not implying that we should die, Mozi. I'm implying that we should like… do the thing where we kill other people. You know… the fun part. Okay… murder is bad, objectively. But you know… the only fun that we can have here."

"I'm intrigued," she hums, raising a brow. "Are you saying that we should go on a hunt, my delightfully feral friend."

"Better!" Malin mouths. "With limited Tributes still alive, I assume that soon we'll be called back to the cornucopia for a little feasty-feast. What do you say… we make it extra exciting? What do you say we make it, well… explosive."

"Meaning?"

"Well… the cornucopia is inside, is it not? We could easily change that if we had the right ingredients. We could easily be the reason the heaven itself burns over, Mozi. Some of the buildings in town have generators… if we properly mess around with one, well…" They move their hands to mimic an explosion. "Boom! Or… Ahhhh Fire! Either way… it would be an excitement and a thrill. What do you say?"

She licks her lips. The idea of wreaking havoc with Rangani was something impossible. The two of them had bills to pay, and even though Mozi always had a thirst for chaos, it was never quenched. She was too focused on survival, too worried about being deemed more of an outcast than she already was. But here? Here in the arena, everything around her has been perfectly constructed for chaos. Here, she'll actually be rewarded for wreaking havoc and causing a thrill. Here, her pandemonium can run free."

"I'm in," she says, even though her voice is a smidge uncertain. Every risk she takes means there's a chance she won't make it back to Rangani. Every shifty choice means Mozi may never see her lover again. Then again… she's never had the freedom to be spontaneous and free. She's never had the freedom yo pick her heart instead of her brain. When would she ever get this opportunity again?

Malin smiles then moves their lips, "Oh Mozi! I'm so excited to cause problems with you; you have no idea how fuckin' excited I am."

"I'm excited too," Mozi replies, giving them a loving yet aggressive head rub. "Obviously, we need to think things through a bit more… but I'm going to trust you to work out these logistics."

"Wait! You actually trust me?" She's not sure why, but Mozi does. Maybe it's cause they've made her actually feel alive when she previously thought she enjoyed her blissful brand of dread. Maybe all she ever wanted was to feel alive.

"Of course I trust you," she says. "You've changed my life."

And she actually means it. Somehow this glorious rat bastard has shown her the entire world in a week and a half, permanently changing the path she's been on for so long and making her question everything. Even if she never thought it would be possible, she's suddenly alive, and no part of her ever wants to die.

With Malin, she's no longer her father's pitiful daughter, but rather she's free to be her own brand of havoc. She's free to become the world.

Part of him is worried that he's going to regret this. Even though he's mulled it over throughout the day, Beowulf is scared that leaving his alliance, that leaving Lethia is going to screw him over when push comes to shove, but that doesn't change the fact that he has to do this. He really does like her, and maybe in another world, Beowulf would love her, but for now, she's a risk. Her tensions with Vancouver just continue to rise, and he's worried that if he stays around for too long, he'll be dead in the middle of their eventual physical fight.

He's always been somebody who let his fear consume him, even if he's tried so hard to push it down, but Beowulf's never actively acted on his urges to take drastic actions in order to secure his own safety. Even though he dreamt it time and time again, he never told his mother off for treating him like shit. He never stood up for himself when it really mattered, even though he wanted to more than anything. Beowulf has never been the type to aggressively take initiative. He's always been the one who stands subdued in the corner, always been a fucking pushover, but that all changes tonight.

He feels bad about it, but it has to change.

Beowulf promised Ludovicus he'd be his own man; taking initiative is just half the battle.

With a sigh, he glances around the mausoleum, the room he's made into his home for the past five days. He knows in his heart that it was never actually a home, even if he admittedly felt that way in Lethia's arms. He's never had a hope before, after all, but maybe that'll change if he gets away from the two of them and makes it out of the arena alive. Thankfully, they're asleep. Beowulf doesn't know what he'd do with himself if he had to tell them he was leaving to their faces. Maybe then he wouldn't actually go.

He needs to go. Beowulf Haleot needs to fucking run.

He grabs a light-weight broadsword in one hand and a small pack of food in another. It isn't a lot, but it's enough to set him off on the right track until he can find a more sustainable source of supplies. While he could've easily taken all of the group's supplies, he doesn't want to cause more drama and conflict. He's already worried that his absence will make Lethia feel betrayed; he doesn't want her to feel even worse. And so, he only takes a third of the supplies, deeming that fair, and he leaves a note under her resting body.

It reads in fancy cursive lettering, "Lethia, I'm sorry that I have to go. The pressure around me is making me want to explode, and I think you've realized that. I understand you and Vancouver hate one another, but I'm horrified I'll be caught in the middle. If you do eventually kill her, you're welcome to come find me, but until then, I think this is goodbye. I'll reiterate what I told you earlier today, you're the only good thing in these fucked-up Games, and I'm endlessly thankful for these past few days. Maybe in another life we'd have more time…"

He presses a kiss to his middle and index finger and gently rubs it against Lethia's forehead. That was just about the only way his mother ever showed affection towards him, so as a result it's the only way he really knows. That and hugs; Beowulf really does like hugs. Maybe he'll get another one if he and Lethia ever reunite. Maybe in another life, he'll hug her again.

But he doesn't have time to dwell on his feelings. For once, he can't afford to feel. With tears in his eyes, he nudges open the mausoleum doors, trying so hard not to break out into full-fledged sobs. Maybe with nobody on guard, somebody will invade the base and put Vancouver out of her misery. He just hopes Lethia is safe. More importantly, he hopes that he's safe himself.

He takes one last long look at the building's exterior before turning away. Under his breath, Beowulf whispers, "This is it. There's no going back now. There's no going back, but it's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay."

Carefully, he walks towards the first bridge he finds, eyeing the cornucopia in the distance. Something tells him that it's probably best he doesn't go inside, even if it could have supplies. Sure, he didn't see anybody in the cornucopia's building when he left the bloodbath, but so much can chance in just five days. His friendship with Lethia is just one example of that.

In just a few days, he went from dreadful and lonely to somewhat hopeful even if he shouldn't be. In just a few days, he was able to connect with another soul, even if he has to pull himself away if he wants to survive. For once, he's found it within him to choose himself over anybody else, and he can't say he'd be able to come to that choice if it weren't for everything important Lethia's taught him.

Beowulf passes over the bridge with nimble steps, trying not to make any noise. He loops one hand through the straps of his bag so he can hold onto the railing and uses the other to wield his sword.

As the cathedral gets closer, he swears that he sees a figure out of the corner of his eye. Just ignore it, he thinks to himself. Be as fast as possible, and don't look whoever it is in the eye. You're going to be fine. I promise, you're going to be fine.

The second his feet leave the bridge, he begins to run. His heart is racing the same way it did during the killing tests back in Two and his hairline is dripping sweat the same way it did during the bloodbath. He looks for another bridge, somewhere else where he explore and finally be free, but at the next closet bridge, another person is standing with their hands at their hips. He turns around to find another bridge, but first person he saw seems to be standing there.

Beowulf grunts. He has to find a solution. He takes a deep breath, then prepares himself to quite literally run for his life. He runs as fast as he can, but the person at the bridge in front of him barrels towards him. Fuck. He looks over his shoulder to see the other person also approaching him. Shit.

He tries to stay calm even though they're running closer and closer to him. He raises his sword and yells, "Don't you dare come close…"

"Why not?" The person in front of him answers, now close enough that Beowulf is able to tell that he's Icarus. FUCK. SHIT. He's holding a long rope in one hand and a spear in the other, and when Beowulf turns around, he notices that Atlantis is equipped with a sword and a rope. FUCK.

He charges towards Icarus, but before he can get to him, he feels one of the ropes loop around behind him. Atlantis drags him closer to her, causing him to drop his sword onto the ground with dread. Icarus' rope swings over his head, and Beowulf can't help but shake as they get closer and closer to him.

Please don't say this is the end. Please don't say this is the end. PLEASE DON'T SAY THIS IS THE END.

THIS CAN'T FUCKING BE THE END!

They wrap their hands around Beowulf's stomach despite him kicking and screaming, "Stop it!"

"You're fighting a losing battle," Icarus scoffs as the two of them begin to lift him off the ground. "I'd quit while you're ahead, my dear friend."

"I'm not your friend," Beowulf says through gritted teeth. "Not after what you did to Lethia."

"Interesting," the One boy responds, his voice filled with sarcasm. "I don't remember asking you."

They lift him into the cathedral, the rope still too tight around Beowulf's waist for him to break free. He grunts, not out of pain but simply frustration, as they drag him towards the edge of the room, where two giant doors await him. Atlantis lets go of him and opens the doors, an abysmal black room awaiting him.

"What the fuck are you doing to me?" Beowulf spurts out. "If you're going to kill be, just do it."

This can't be the end. This can't be the end. This can't be the end. I can't die here. I can't die here. I can't. I can't. I CAN'T. I CAN'T.

"But that's so much less fun," Icarus says, dragging him through the darkness before finally setting him down. "I hope you enjoy your time with us, Beowulf dearest. I promise, you're going to learn a lot about yourself."

The doors shut, and Beowulf Haleot can't see a thing.

See you guys soon :D