PART II: STRIFE.
8
Kathvarine Guthrie - The Crow.
Traitor (Reprise).
Nobody comes for her.
The scrapes of her father's skin mangle the mops and brushes. She stares, wide-eyed, clutching the choker on her neck, as the Avoxes dig out the waste Snow blasted into the floorboards.
Nobody asks for her. The Avoxes do their duty and filter out silently. The men gaze at the gleam in Snow's eye and vie for any position he'd deign them. The women are no better. Clanking their wine glasses and swishing it under a pretence of superiority.
That is the sudden lesson in life she's assaulted by:
Nobody cares for her.
The second.
Without her father, she is nothing.
The conclusion.
The only way is to make them care.
DAY 8.
Perhaps there is a similar pity as she gazes on at Daria Makrain.
The realisation would be difficult for anybody to endure. But to see it unfold before her eyes, from a girl stuck in a pit no less, is a less-than-ideal surprise.
What are the thoughts running through Daria's head now?
It's hard to say. Makrain is a kind enough individual. A mousy wallflower, small in a way which Kathvarine understood - she'd donned that act, after all, during the 56th Games - but Makrainwas genuine in a way she was not. She could never understand that.
Was there… nothing underneath? No hatred, no seethe, no anger, no vindictiveness, no… nothing?
(She is almost envious, but shuts that thought down.)
When Kathvarine asks her question, she gazes into Daria's eyes and wills her to accept. There has to be something. Something more than your smile. What is it, Makrain? This is your chance to tell me you do.
(Tell me you're more than the face you put on to the world.)
(Tell me I'm not the only one that feels so… fake, so glossy even as I grin, as I pander to the world while I burn.)
To her delight, Daria Makrain nods.
She nods and Kathvarine smiles, as she lifts the lid of the prison, lowers the rope down the well, and she and The Metals drag Daria back to the living world again.
"I didn't expect to see you here."
"Neither did I," Kathvarine says, as they trudge away from the well of Sparrow Fort. Out of everything The Vultures could've used as a prison… the well was the most demeaning. They were in a castle, for god's sake. A partially ruined castle, since the Capitol's firebombings, where holes gaped out of its watchtowers and debris rolled from broken stone and down to the cliffs below… but still a castle.
The sight is less repulsive than it is unfortunate. For District Eight, a fort of this impressive magnitude was a feat. She wouldn't have liked to live here, per say, but it would've been a worthy relic of the National Capitol Museum. Shame.
Her feet take her, instead, towards Sparrow Fort's gates. Daria hurries to follow her. The action almost makes Kathvarine's lips quirk.
"To be honest," she continues. "I didn't think that The Vultures would've blamed you, out of all people."
"... I didn't think so either," Daria murmurs. "At least not… not till I was."
"Don't blame yourself. It's difficult to know who you can trust." Those words are breezy, and superficial. But perhaps there is - far too much truth interlaced with them, more than she'd like to admit.
Parties with her father's friends. The gifts their wives have showered her with - lapels, bracelets, beads - dressing her up with so much love. She was a second daughter to so many fathers; so many mothers. And yet -
And yet.
"Sometimes they only care for what you can do for them," Kathvarine says. "Their advancement. Their power. You could love them infinitely, but soon you'll be sapped of all."
The gates stand before her. Kathvarine grips a bar and they yield easily to her hand. She tilts her head and Daria steps through first.
"But… what if I have so much to give? What if I want to, so much, so… badly?" Daria's lips quiver, turning back to Kathvarine. "It's not bad to love…"
"No, it's not. But you need to ensure they are not leeches. And The Vultures, well." Kathvarine steps through and lets the gate clang shut behind her. She brings Daria towards the edge. The cliff drops a hundred miles under them, and farther ahead still would be the factory metropolis of Eight.
"Take a look."
Through the sulphuric mist. The ruined cityscape bores back at them.
"That was The Vultures' fault."
"H-huh?" Daria's eyes widen. "How?"
Kathvarine shrugs. "An uprising run by Rendevez. The Capitol bombed it and Eight on sight. Didn't know why The Vultures thought it was a good idea, really. Even reached here, judging the state of the castle…"
"Run by Rendevez? As in… Cynane Rendevez?"
Daria looks stricken.
Kathvarine chuckles. "No. The daughter. If Cynane were dead, Viscount would already be popping what little champagne she has." Pause. "You realise you don't have to care for your captors anymore, right?"
"I… yeah, I know that," Daria says. She bites her lip. "It's just hard. I've… been with them for so long, I just…" she exhales. "I don't know what to do, that's all."
"That's okay," Kathvarine says. "You're not alone anymore. I and The Metals are here to guide you through it. The Vultures may have turned their backs on you, but we won't."
Makrain's eyes glint. "... Thank you."
Kath's lip tightens. "Of course."
It is around the afternoon when they try to strike a fire in Sparrow Fort.
With so much metal around, one would've imagined that such a task would be easy. And yet - the wiry flames buffer at every passing moment, certainly not helped by the blown-open stone roof. Bleak skies and hoary clouds stare wearily down. The winds billow mockingly, sending spittles of cutting debris, yellow mist, and bomb residue into their faces.
She hates it.
But fakery is paramount. She is not quite a brilliant actress, but she knows well enough how to fake a stutter, distress, and a coward's walk that won't ever pull suspicion from Elkavich's watchful eyes. Here she fakes it with a stone-cold stance, arms folded under her chest, as she gazes on at the odd group of seven. Four sit variously upon pieces of debris; two are bent over the fire, trying to make it work. One - none other than the one - sits on a jutting rock, her legs swinging against the wall, as she grins and speaks fanatically.
"We'll win. I know it. The Vultures are absolutely fucked! They'll never recover from Eight. And by now, the Capitol should be decently fucked from all the war they're fighting. I think we can have some regicide as a treat! Fucking finally. It's about time I get to be leader."
The Vivisector winks at her then.
Whether they do rule does not matter to her. Though it would be nice being the one in control for once, alongside someone who cared about her…
That is a nice thought.
But killing Snow would have to be enough for now. That would be godly. Killer of Coriolanus Snow would eternally be inscribed on her body. That itself is enough of a power for anything she wanted.
Even ruling.
… Huh.
"But that aside!" Viscount says. "Talking about what will happen's a bit boring, really. I think that a bonding sesh's in order, 'specially after our newest recruit! What do you all say to that?"
"She is organic." Despite the mask, the figure seems to roll its eyes from the particularly high piece of rubble she sits on. "How pathetic. She would do well with augments."
One of the figures tending to the fire stiffens.
"Maybe just a face reveal's in order." A huff exhales from a female Metal, sitting beneath the rubble of the first. "I hate being cooped up like this all day. My skincare routine's fucking dying."
She's shouldered by the male Metal sitting beside her. "You're dead, dude. You don't need a skincare routine."
"Shut up, Ivory. Like you know shit."
Daria's eyes widen. But the quarrelling Metals don't notice.
"Roro! I know a lot!"
The female Metal— Roro— rolls her eyes. "Sure, Goliath. Say what you need to say."
The rubble they're leaning on shake. A sneer from above. "You lot are vexatious numbskulls."
"Sorry, sorry." A punch at the male Metal— Ivory. "Say something, you idiot!"
"Oh, yeah, uh, sorry."
Another scoff from the figure above.
"Are you all done?" The Vivisector rolls their eyes, but their half-smile never fades.
"Done."
"We're done."
"Yep."
Huddled in a corner, far away from the commotion, her arms tucked into the body, Daria blinks. "What's… happening?"
"Oh, that." Viscount waves their hands. "Long story, but turns out my pals here aren't just my shoulder demons."
"As if I'd willingly spend eternity with you, Vivisector," The figure on the rubble scoffs.
Viscount laughs. "See? Demons." Their smirk rests on their lips.
The male Metal tending to the fire stops. He looks up, averting most gazes, only daring to meet Daria's eyes. "Not demons. Merely… recalibrated."
Roro laughs. "Oh, Sone. Please. We were pulled out the fucking underworld. I'd say we're demons."
"Can… can someone just please tell me what's going on?"
"Yes. Let's educate the new recruit." The Vivisector smiles. "You might've noticed that all my shoulder demons have a particular attribute in common. A sorry disease called aquaphilia—"
The figure on high rubble. "Oh, shut up."
The female Metal on the fire. "Does that mean arguing?"
Sone. "That joke is old."
Ivory. "I hate the water, you dickhead."
Roro. "You do, Talon. I just hate it here."
The Vivisector laughs. "It never gets old!"
Poor Daria still seems just as— if not even more— confused.
"Get on with it, Vis," Kathvarine says. To their credit, The Vivisector does.
"In sum, my folks here are all from Four. In particular, The Forges. The world of quote-unquote illegal modifications, synthflesh augmentations, possessive branding, and so on! You see where this is going."
"The Forges made a pact with the Capitol," Kathvarine elaborates. "It essentially meant that modded Four bodies could be harvested by Snow to deploy to any end he wished. This, in particular, involved the Games volunteers that perished."
"No Rest For The Dead." The Vivisector smiles. "That's the pact. This is the end."
Realisation dawns in Daria's eyes. "O-oh," she whispers. "Oh."
Roro giggles. "Look at her face. Oh my gosh she's so cute."
"Still too organic."
Talon Ivory slaps his (metal) thigh. "Damn! We really should do this reveal with more people. Just to see their faces."
"We should absolutely!"
"But—" The Metals go silent at Daria's quirked brow. "I'm confused. Why… why not just modify the Capitol's own citizens? The Peacekeeper force? Reviving the dead seems like a lot of effort… I don't get it."
The Vivisector hops off from where she sits, and strolls towards Daria. "Do you think that Capitol citizens care for designs that are fucking tragic? Our look is metal as fuck. But just not their brand of crazy." Their pained grin is wide. "The Peacekeepers are a possibility for mutiny. Two loves their natural strength, like the drugs and booster shit they take's not it. Too much metal and they're just like ramshackle Four. A shithole. And this particular shithole doesn't give a shit about what happens to its bodies post-mortem."
Silence.
"No accountability means no fear. No fear means no stirrings, no rebellion. The Metal army was to be cultivated in secret against possible retaliation." The Vivisector wags a finger. "But you all struck early."
Daria's quiet. Taking it all in. Kathvarine could understand. When she'd first met The Metals, it was nearly impossible to believe— had she not known of the program's existence since she was a child.
Had she not met Dr. Vonsettos since she was a child.
Had she not known The Vivisector, when they were still Viscount Verdani, a Capitol child that still donned that same fucking smirk and spark in their eyes.
It was inane, was it not? Yet it wasn't so hard to believe that the Capitol would fall back to measures such as a secret army.
"How many of you are there?" Daria asks.
"Most of us's here," Viscount shrugs. "Ilyda Nagini's conquering Seven. Nobody wants her near Four - well, The Lustration - just in case she gets any ideas." They roll their eyes. "We have a few soldiers still in training. The 55th's are particularly annoying. But hey! Most of us want to be here. New lease on life and all that."
"So…" Daria's eyes land on the Metal standing atop the rubble, hesitantly averting her eyes even just after a single glance. "... you're Phaedra Xianrith, sir?"
"You remember." Even underneath the mask, Kathvarine can trace Phaedra's imperious half-smile. She gazes down at the other Metals. "I like her already."
Daria blushes.
The female Metal by the fire looks up. Her face is obscured by her mask, shaped over her face, leaving nothing but black eyes intact.
"Call me Thia," she says, her voice quiet and unused, as she meets Daria's eyes. "Now that you know our story… what do you think?"
Daria hesitates. But her hesitation morphs into a small nod.
"I think you're all… brave. To go through all of that and come out standing… that's something I want to be."
Kathvarine smiles, slightly. "Well, you're one of us now, Makrain. There's no more want to be. You are."
The fire's crackle seems to affirm her words. Underneath the orange-red glow, Daria's eyes glint.
"What do you see in me, Viscount?"
It's point-blank. No nonsense. Her arms are folded in herself. She gazes at The Vivisector warily.
Her friend - or her not quite friend. While they've always known of each other's existence throughout their lives, exchanged courtesy and small talk, they'd reconnected through her stint in the 55th Games. And Viscount was there for her during its fallout.
Perhaps it was truly friendly. Truly pitying, even.
But nobody came for her that night her world withered.
The Vivisector was not exception to the fact.
"You're already more than one of them, Kath." The Vivisector says. Their tone is soft - alluring. In that moment, she sees beneath the mocking facade they put on. Simmering underneath is the nobility they claim to have erased.
(Which never could be true, really. If The Vivisector's ambitions were to rule Panem - well, that desire had to have been purified from noble blood. There was no ridding of it, whether they damned their family or not. Whether they donned a coat of metal or royal robes.)
But either would always be a suit of armour.
"You're here. Already you're far better than those wannabe leaders and warmonger generals." The Vivisector's lips quirk. They cast a gaze away, towards Panem that bows beneath the might of the Vonsettos clan. "Look at them. What do you see, Kath? Underneath all that extravaganza?"
They stand, twirl away from their seat, and saunter towards the ceiling-to-floor windows. Glinting down at them are cuts of sunlight, ray after ray, as if they were only permitted to enter the room in narrow instances. Kath turns her fingers underneath a ray - her skin glitters - and she lifts her eyes to look where The Vivisector looks.
Each and every building - house- monument - creation - underneath, despite their glamour and eccentricity, only refracted the Vonsettos household's light.
"Followers," Kath says. "Emulators. Masses that don't understand how… easily they would be abandoned."
The Vivisector smiles thinly. "Indeed. You know… I've always admired you, Guthrie, ever since I was a child. You were the quiet star, even if nobody saw it then. Even if nobody saw your potential. Your father," The Vivisector chuckles, "Barely gave you a chance. What did he make you again? Assistant Gamemaker of the 55th?"
"Yes." She tilts her head. "Unofficial apprenticeship."
The Vivisector sighs. "So not even that. A waste, what did I say?" They exhale. Turn away from the windowsills. Saunters towards her. But their eyes flick away. "It's… unfortunate, but I do understand being passed over. Being treated lower than your worth. So I taught him a lesson," and Viscount smiles, then, a tiny genuine one, "Will you?"
Will she?
"You're a good orator."
"Thank you."
Will she?
"I want to rule Panem," The Vivisector says. "I think it would be worthwhile. No orders. No leerers from above. No trials, no experiments, no… nothing. You understand me."
"I do," she says. She understands but not as deeply as The Vivisector imagines; following orders has its own respect, after all, and it is pitifully apparent that Viscount is courting memories, but she plays along The Vivisector's charade.
Whatever it takes to win.
"You're right," she tells them, "I'd like to kill Snow for the trouble."
It's not because of that. Neither is it the classic answer - he killed my father, I want a daughter's dutiful revenge. It is out of simple desire.
Revolution is good. But only the best get out on top.
If the order is reshaping—
Then she'd better get the throne.
The Vivisector smacks their lips. "You must know," they say, "better than anyone, that The Vultures' access to Snow is limited. Ours is infinite. We have a better shot of getting you to him more than anyone. You ask what I see in you— I see the world. The Vultures believe you have them in your pocket, partner. What do you say to chaos?"
The nod is imperceptible. The Vivisector grins wider.
Night burns.
Smoke raise up into the stars. The ashes between her teeth taste brittle and heavy. A conflagration, sired only a day, reigns strong for the decades to come.
It is a sublime experience. She'd seen such sights on screen, in the Games that bulge gleefully at their flame-candent budgets and scenescape monstrosities. Feeling it engulf her body - feeling the beat of her heart in her throat - feeling drenched in toxic wind - feeling soaked in Sparrow Fort's stars -
That is glamour.
All of the Metals have long left. The Vivisector had dispersed them out - early night, folks, don't try to get into too much trouble! - and so they returned to their castle quarters. She is the only one left staring at the spluttering embers of a flame long washed, feeling the war on her skin and the warmth in her bones.
"Can't get enough?"
Her eyes flick up to meet The Vivisector's sparkling ones. Under the embers, their armour glows a full peachy red. She lets herself smile at that. How stylish. Viscount would love seeing how she's framed now.
"Not of you," Kathvarine says, instead, "Apparently."
"You wound me." Viscount snickers. "And to think I care so much about you."
"You prove it to me every day."
The Vivisector raises up their fingers and presses their pinkie and thumb together. "Here for it now. Scout's honour."
She can only focus on the way metal coils around both fingers. A spiralling infinity staircase sunk into bone. How much had that hurt?
Kathvarine shakes herself out of her thoughts.
"Here for what?"
"Just to show I give a few shits about you, but I have to admit," The Vivisector exhales. "I don't trust Daria Makrain."
"Oh? Why is that so?"
"First off," The Vivisector procures a letter from their armour, and hands it over to Kathvarine. "This."
It is a love letter.
"What of it?" Kathvarine asks. It isn't news to her - anyone with eyes would have known Cel, Daria, and Talquin's relationship.
"Love steals minds. When you're in love… you don't have any allegiance 'cept to yourself and your lovers. 'Sides," The Vivisector coughs, smiling slightly. "There's that small issue of, me killing her lover."
What?
"Viscount…" Kathvarine shuts her eyes and presses her nose bridge. "Out of everybody. Cel Ivory?"
"Please! I don't plan on making it known to Daria." She rolls her eyes. "Besides, I'm not the only one either. Talquin Seasbane's dead by Thia's hand." Another smile. "To be honest, Guthrie, I'm a little shocked that you've taken to this particular birdie. If you weren't there, I'd have executed her on the spot."
"Of course you would have. Destruction's all you know how to do."
A flash of hurt flutters over The Vivisector's face. Then a grimace, then a grin, then a clap against Kathvarine's shoulder.
"That's a good one!" Her hold is tight. "Heh. Speaking of death and all things pretty, the Capitol's called us in." A wink. Metal digs into her bones. "Wanna see who we're all in charge of killing?"
DAY 9.
Hezediah. Rhodos. Kiernan. Cynane. Jordyn. Madison.
Those names, she supposes, are generous of the Capitol to place on their hit list. Hezediah and Rhodos because they were the only ones who escaped the Capitol's camp in Four. Cynane because she was Cynane Rendevez. Madison and Jordyn because they were key figureheads of The Vultures' rebellion.
Only Kiernan Alcraiz on that list gives her pause. He was… not much, merely a child of all things, and Kathvarine couldn't fathom any warranted reason why he deserved a hit from The Metals. While he was involved in Eight's Vulture rebellion - at least in the beginning - he was nothing more than a glorified poster boy. What about him was so important?
His last name. Ah. The only one that escaped the Capitol's wrath. That survived, despite the decree of punishment bestowed upon him because of his sister's sins. Snow must be fuming.
The mental image makes her lips quirk.
The Metals will spend their resources culling Vultures - for now. The Metals will follow the Capitol's will - for now.
When they strike, the Capitol won't even have time to feel the blow.
But for now.
"Ugh," The Vivisector rolls her eyes, as they saunter round and round the dead fire last night, as the sun gleams upon their armour. "What are we, mail-order assassins?"
"That is what The Metals were made to be."
"I so do fucking wish that wasn't true, Xianrith." Roro rolls her eyes. "But your family and the Cap's just gotta make that deal, huh?"
"Watch your words, mortal," Phaedra sneers. "You are ingrained with my clan's cybernetics. I can make you suffer with a snap."
Roro shrinks away. But despite the fear gleaming, her eyes narrow. "You… can't. That's up to The Vivisector. She's our Commander. Not you."
"And you forget my family name. Would you like to try?"
"Now, now," The Vivisector raises their hands. "Let's not quarrel. Shall we just get this done with? Phaedra, you're on Hezediah. Sonellion, you're on Rhodos. Talon Ivory, you're on Cynane. Roro, you're on Jordyn. Thia, you're on Kiernan. And I am on Madison."
"Hmph. I should enjoy taking Zenkovah in battle."
"Understood."
"Hah! I can't wait for the leader's blood!"
"I can't fucking believe that they got you Cynane, given your track record, 20th placer. But I can't complain 'bout my pick…"
"..."
"Wish I had Rhodos - just one out of two is no fun, I need the friendship set! - but I'll take what I have. A One that's got experiments done on 'em… I am so ready for our rivalry kinship shtick! And—" The Vivisector's eyes swivel towards Daria. "I'd like you to come along with my little excursion!"
Daria's eyes widen. "Oh! I-I… that… you don't have to?"
"Oh, no, but I insist. It's just the gentlewomanly thing to do." They stroll towards Daria's way, lean in, and tuck a finger under her chin. "I just know you'd love to watch an ex-friend die - one as valiant as Madison Saros as that.
Kathvarine stills. Perhaps there could be... some veracity in Viscount's claim that Daria Makrain had not quite betrayed The Vultures. Maybe in person, but not in spirit. But she also knows Viscount's methods - pushing a person far past their breaking point, till they crumbled to affirm The Vivisector's beliefs - the only way they allowed.
She'd seen it happen to enough people.
She wouldn't allow that to happen to a soul like Daria.
Daria was here, and that was enough for Kathvarine to believe. She was genuine. What she said had resonated with Kathvarine, and there was only truth laced in them.
Perhaps it could be naive, but she felt she understood her.
"I'll come along," Kathvarine says. The Vivisector looks up at her in surprise, but she only smiles. Daria looks grateful.
"It's about time we ended The Vultures, after all. It'd be my pleasure to watch."
They find Madison Saros rather easily, for how well she was hidden.
Kathvarine doesn't think that Madison was hiding from anything, necessarily. Only that she took the chance, after the curbing by fire on Sadie's uprising, to escape from the madness of The Vultures' war game.
She stands within the rubble that used to be a library. As they trudged towards her way, she only cast a quiet glance towards them, before turning back towards the book cradled in her hands.
As if she didn't care for her impending end.
That thought grates on Kathvarine, more than it should. She'd never felt more alive during this violent frenzy, this panic-shifting, alliances breaking and reintegrating again and again, this… life. How could Saros look so dead?
"Heyo, fellow l'essai, most famed lab rat!" The Vivisector grins. "Look at the friends I've brought with me!"
It's only then when Madison really looks. The little colour left in her face drains.
"... Daria," she says. "... Kathvarine."
From the corner of her eye, Daria mouths a sorry.
"I apologise on her behalf." The Vivisector says. "Our companion is simply too kind! Too sympathetic to your cause, honestly." A smirk. "Wouldn't you agree, Kath, love?"
"Just finish it, Vis. Don't make it longer than it has to be."
"Oh, but that's half the fun!" The Vivisector's smile widens - but it is a different sort of sly, paired with slanted eyes and a foxy grin. "I'm sure you agree with me, Variable One. When they talk experiments and drag out their hypothesises and dole out their trials… the suffering is so beautiful I could die."
Madison's eyes flash dangerously. "You know nothing about me. Nothing about Levine. Don't you dare pretend to."
"But I do! Actually," their grin widens. "I'm probably the only other person on this planet that understands. How rude. I've forgotten to introduce myself." She does a fake bow, grins and juts their hand out. "Pleased to meet you. They call me The Vivisector, Viscount Verdani, and a whole host of other names… but you would know me best as Variable Two."
The book drops from Madison's hands. "No…"
"Oh, but it is. I'm Dr. Vonsettos's charge. What did you think he was doing when he wasn't being all surgically invasive with you? Bathing in a fuckton of money?" The Vivisector laughs. "Nah, he was hard at his job. AKA me!"
The Vivisector flips their blades in their hands, as they start to circle Madison.
Maddie's eyes narrow, as she watches their steps. "I don't understand."
"It's easy, really. Two experiments. Commissioned by The Capitol. Different environments. See which one's brought up best, to serve their predetermined end." A thin smile. "One in warehouse gutters. The other in relative luxury. But don't let that fool you. They were still experimented on. Still trained, still modified, still violated… just with a modicum more love."
Madison stares at The Vivisector in disbelief. The Vivisector's grin stays - only with a little more pain than before.
"Why are you doing this?" Maddie grits out, finally. "If they've broken you like they've broken me, then what are you still doing here? Still fighting by their side. Still playing the puppet they made you to be. God forbid, is that rewarding somehow? Do you like it? Knowing you're theirs and they've perverted you forever?"
"Wouldn't put it like that," The Vivisector says. "In fact, I have them to thank. They made me the ideal leader of the Metal army. I wouldn't be as strong as I am without them. I wouldn't be myself without them. They needed me because nobody else would fit that role, and so they made me. Shouldn't you be grateful for that too? They made you their ideal Career because nobody fit the cards. Do you know what was meant to happen after you won?"
Madison narrows her eyes. The Vivisector exhales. "You were meant to rise. I was ready to greet you. You would've been my co-commander of the Metal army. That was always your destiny."
"The experiments," Madison spits out, "are the last thing in the world I am grateful for."
"Thought you'd say that." The Vivisector spins their blades. "So I thought, what better way to settle this disparity than with a good old-fashioned brawl? I win, the experiments were good for us. You win, the experiments were bad. Sound good?"
"And what happens if I lose?"
"Then you're decapitated," The Vivisector shrugs. "Duh. I'm on a murder diet."
Madison unsheathes her blade. "Doesn't sound like I have much of a choice."
"That's the spirit!"
Their clash is adversarial. Blow after blow, pummel after pummel, hit after hit - and yet each punch is exchanged for another in return, each kick received with a sweep, each sweep with a knee. Kathvarine never thought she'd witness a world where The Vivisector was evenly matched in battle, and yet…
It is practically a ballad. A dance in rubble stone and wisps of paper pieces flying all about. Neither seemed to tire, neither would quit. Kathvarine watches with transfixion - now this was a show! - but Daria beside her had a very different mood.
She's rigid. Scared? Horrified? But for whom?
Kathvarine was certain before. But now she couldn't really tell. Daria was gazing between Madison and Viscount in equal parts. They needed something more definitive to show where Makrain's loyalties truly lay…
The Vivisector delivers a strike to Madison's neck, and she crumbles, choking. In an instant, The Vivisector's hands wrap around her neck, squeezing, squeezing—
"What - did - I - say!" The Vivisector grits out, through the struggle. "I was right. The - experiments - were -"
"Wrong." Madison knees Viscount in the stomach. They double over, groaning a curse. "Can't believe you… fell for it," she exhales, pinning them down with a sword to their throat.
Silence.
"I win."
The Vivisector's head knocks against the ground, breathing heavily. Maddie bangs the hilt of her blade against their temple and they fall unconscious.
Kathvarine looks over to Daria for her reaction.
There it is.
Relief.
She should've known. Should've known that Daria was lying all along, she didn't actually believe in the cause, that she didn't actually feel how Kathvarine felt. How could she? They're two different people, and Makrain was always too godforsaken loyal, too much of a pushover—
A pain explodes in her gut.
She looks down.
Metal juts out of her.
Kathvarine collapses.
"Daria," she gasps out, as she gazes up to the figure towering over her. But it is not Makrain that greets her eyes. But a being of metal, looking at her with nothing but resolution, black eyes so stoic—
"Thia…" Kathvarine swallows. "... Why?"
Alithiya Essetella does not respond. Instead, she inclines her head towards Daria and Madison, who stare at the Metal with transfixion and fear.
"Maddie… you have to stay at Eight," she says. "Tell the Vultures that the Metals are targeting the figureheads one by one. You've stopped The Vivisector's raging ego. I bet you can fuckin' stop the rest of 'em, yeah?"
Alithyia smiles. It is wistful.
Madison doesn't respond immediately. But her wide eyes say all it needs.
"Thank you," Madison says, finally. Her eyes flick to Daria's— can you manage?— and Daria's nod tells her all she needs to know. Without another word, she turns and vaults over the rubble, no doubt rushing to foil their fucking plans.
It hurts. Blood, gasp, blood, gasp, blood again. It never stops spilling in tandem.
"Talquin's waiting for you, Daria," Alithyia says, and her voice cracks on the names. "He's at Four. I'll bring you there."
"Alithyia, oh my gosh…" Daria's eyes crinkle in camaraderie, her tears falling from her cheeks. "I didn't think— I didn't know if you were still in there, if you were gonna come. I've missed you so much."
The reunion fades from the periphery of Kath's vision. A bitter fucking smile pulls up her lips.
Someone came for Makrain.
Someone came for her.
Someone came—
…
This is how the rebellion ends, for Kathvarine Guthrie.
Rebar stuck out of her gut. The traitor betrayed by a traitor. Nobody comes. A fitting end - is it not? She gasps for breath, but they grow shallower and shallower, a pool of breath that thins and thins till it will be no more.
From ardent revolutionary to ditch-dead; from the earthquaker to sinking skin in dirt. She always fought for herself, for no one else would. But it was not enough to save her. Not when she made betrayal her coat of arms; her swords her halo.
Who did she fool, when she told herself she'd meet a different end?