Re: The Fatal Conflict (GBS2G7) (Round 3: The Infinite Playground!)
09-21-2011, 04:03 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Eversist.
Straightening as they emerged, the small group of adolescents surrounded Bellona quickly, keeping their distance as they eyed the blade in her hand. Their white gowns appeared threadbare, aged to a dingy patina. They were all quite thin, and at the awkward stage in the journey from childhood to adulthood. Eventually, one of the female children stepped forward and spoke. Her voice sounded unnatural, immature for the body that owned it.
“You’re… too old.” There was a silence following her words; none of the other youngsters seemed keen to speak.
Too anxious to be offended, Bellona found her voice. “What do you mean?”
The girl cast a glance around the group’s grubby faces, looking for a way to explain. “You should be gone by now. They don’t want bigtalls here.”
“‘They’?” Bellona figured the word “bigtall” for adult or something similar.
The girl blinked. “The bigtalls who brought us here.” There was an air of “duh” relevant in her words.
“And they are…” This was like pulling teeth.
“Ymirhoggr’s servants.” The girl swept the hair in her face behind an ear, saying the word with a particular reverence.
Now she had gotten somewhere, although she was unfamiliar with the word clearly pronounced with a capital letter. She broke eye contact, the girl’s unwavering stare making her uneasy. The warrior couldn’t help but be reminded of Echidna, the mother of all monsters, who shared these children’s black eyes. “I don’t suppose you could tell me who that is?”
The girl was silent for a bit, clearly deliberating. “I’ll tell you if you give me something.” She stepped forward, hand reaching out on a gangly arm. “I like your necklace.”
Bellona whipped her blade forward, slicing off the very tip of the girl’s index finger. Shock was evident on the girl’s face, and she stared as her blood pattered onto the sand at their feet.
“Next time, I’ll take the whole thing.” Bellona hissed, inexplicably enraged.
A child-like wail came from the girl, but before Bellona could even consider sympathy, she lunged forward, shoving the woman into the group surrounding them. Small hands caught her, fingers and palms touching bare skin. Pain, pure agony, wracked the gladiatrix’ frame, her eyes rolling back in her skull.
Her father’s disappointed glare as she was dragged away—a sharp, white-hot pain at her hip—a deep, consuming hunger—rage, nothing but fury against anything—burning, forever burning in her chest—thick liquid, gushing—muscles straining to the point of snapping—whip cracks, pain fading to oblivion—an ache, straight to the bone, never absent—a claustrophobic, suffocating blackness—the tip of a javelin, emerging from her stomach—
Bellona came to, on top of a body, her ankle pulsing in pain. Her dagger, coming into focus next to her face, was buried in the body beneath her. Two other adolescents, throats slashed, lay heaped nearby, the sand stained wine red. Her ankle sent out another throb of agony, causing her to groan. If it wasn’t sprained before, it certainly was now.
“They… they didn’t do anything to you.”
Bellona looked up blearily to see the entire group now gathered behind the girl. Some of them looked frightened, but most of the thin faces were becoming clouded with anger.
“Why did you kill my friends?”
Bellona reached out to jerk her dagger out of the lifeless body beneath hers. She had no words to explain what had happened.
“WHY'D YOU KILL THEM?!” The group was pressing forward, slowly, the girl still in front.
Bellona drew her javelin from behind her shield. She guessed correctly what was coming.
“I’ll get your necklace once you’re dead, you know.” The girl smiled at the thought, baring crooked, yellowing teeth. The sudden change in her tone was jarring.
The gladiatrix stood, heavily favoring her left leg and leaning on her weapon. Fighting for her life while injured was nothing new. But she’d have to deal with the moral implications of what she’d unknowingly done (and would continue to do) later.
She could feel the coolness of their blood drying on her skin, and for some reason, that made her face crack into an unnatural grin that matched the girl’s. What was she worrying about, again? Killing children would be easy.
Straightening as they emerged, the small group of adolescents surrounded Bellona quickly, keeping their distance as they eyed the blade in her hand. Their white gowns appeared threadbare, aged to a dingy patina. They were all quite thin, and at the awkward stage in the journey from childhood to adulthood. Eventually, one of the female children stepped forward and spoke. Her voice sounded unnatural, immature for the body that owned it.
“You’re… too old.” There was a silence following her words; none of the other youngsters seemed keen to speak.
Too anxious to be offended, Bellona found her voice. “What do you mean?”
The girl cast a glance around the group’s grubby faces, looking for a way to explain. “You should be gone by now. They don’t want bigtalls here.”
“‘They’?” Bellona figured the word “bigtall” for adult or something similar.
The girl blinked. “The bigtalls who brought us here.” There was an air of “duh” relevant in her words.
“And they are…” This was like pulling teeth.
“Ymirhoggr’s servants.” The girl swept the hair in her face behind an ear, saying the word with a particular reverence.
Now she had gotten somewhere, although she was unfamiliar with the word clearly pronounced with a capital letter. She broke eye contact, the girl’s unwavering stare making her uneasy. The warrior couldn’t help but be reminded of Echidna, the mother of all monsters, who shared these children’s black eyes. “I don’t suppose you could tell me who that is?”
The girl was silent for a bit, clearly deliberating. “I’ll tell you if you give me something.” She stepped forward, hand reaching out on a gangly arm. “I like your necklace.”
Bellona whipped her blade forward, slicing off the very tip of the girl’s index finger. Shock was evident on the girl’s face, and she stared as her blood pattered onto the sand at their feet.
“Next time, I’ll take the whole thing.” Bellona hissed, inexplicably enraged.
A child-like wail came from the girl, but before Bellona could even consider sympathy, she lunged forward, shoving the woman into the group surrounding them. Small hands caught her, fingers and palms touching bare skin. Pain, pure agony, wracked the gladiatrix’ frame, her eyes rolling back in her skull.
Her father’s disappointed glare as she was dragged away—a sharp, white-hot pain at her hip—a deep, consuming hunger—rage, nothing but fury against anything—burning, forever burning in her chest—thick liquid, gushing—muscles straining to the point of snapping—whip cracks, pain fading to oblivion—an ache, straight to the bone, never absent—a claustrophobic, suffocating blackness—the tip of a javelin, emerging from her stomach—
Bellona came to, on top of a body, her ankle pulsing in pain. Her dagger, coming into focus next to her face, was buried in the body beneath her. Two other adolescents, throats slashed, lay heaped nearby, the sand stained wine red. Her ankle sent out another throb of agony, causing her to groan. If it wasn’t sprained before, it certainly was now.
“They… they didn’t do anything to you.”
Bellona looked up blearily to see the entire group now gathered behind the girl. Some of them looked frightened, but most of the thin faces were becoming clouded with anger.
“Why did you kill my friends?”
Bellona reached out to jerk her dagger out of the lifeless body beneath hers. She had no words to explain what had happened.
“WHY'D YOU KILL THEM?!” The group was pressing forward, slowly, the girl still in front.
Bellona drew her javelin from behind her shield. She guessed correctly what was coming.
“I’ll get your necklace once you’re dead, you know.” The girl smiled at the thought, baring crooked, yellowing teeth. The sudden change in her tone was jarring.
The gladiatrix stood, heavily favoring her left leg and leaning on her weapon. Fighting for her life while injured was nothing new. But she’d have to deal with the moral implications of what she’d unknowingly done (and would continue to do) later.
She could feel the coolness of their blood drying on her skin, and for some reason, that made her face crack into an unnatural grin that matched the girl’s. What was she worrying about, again? Killing children would be easy.