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Entry tags:
the end
Who| Hyperion | ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cutshort, Barbara | acro_bat_ic and Wyatt the_marshal
What| The ending of the fall of Hyperion! Round 2: Hyperion vs Barbara, followed by Round 3: Hyperion vs Wyatt.
Where| Tomorrowland.
When| Week 8.
Warnings/Notes| Character death, horrible violence, Hyperion being more psychotic than ever
His breath cuts through his throat like barbed wire.
He's dragging himself, back to safety, back to a place where he knows his implants will certainly save him. He almost died at the hands of Ruby, but he ran away, looking like a grotesque version of what he was when he first stepped foot in the arena. There's blood everywhere. His clothes are torn, ripped, twisted, dirty. The lines on his face are deeper than ever, the look in his eyes brighter than a lunatic's gaze.
Hand against a wound that refuses to stop bleeding, he tells himself just needs a little more strength, a little more clarity in his eyes, then everything will be all right. He can win. He can win.
cutshort, Barbara | acro_bat_ic and Wyatt the_marshalWhat| The ending of the fall of Hyperion! Round 2: Hyperion vs Barbara, followed by Round 3: Hyperion vs Wyatt.
Where| Tomorrowland.
When| Week 8.
Warnings/Notes| Character death, horrible violence, Hyperion being more psychotic than ever
His breath cuts through his throat like barbed wire.
He's dragging himself, back to safety, back to a place where he knows his implants will certainly save him. He almost died at the hands of Ruby, but he ran away, looking like a grotesque version of what he was when he first stepped foot in the arena. There's blood everywhere. His clothes are torn, ripped, twisted, dirty. The lines on his face are deeper than ever, the look in his eyes brighter than a lunatic's gaze.
Hand against a wound that refuses to stop bleeding, he tells himself just needs a little more strength, a little more clarity in his eyes, then everything will be all right. He can win. He can win.
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That hasn't saved her from starvation, though. She suspects she's had more food than most, yet it still feels like her stomach's trying to collapse. Her ribs are going to poke out of her stomach. She doesn't think she has the energy in her for another fight.
When she sees Hyperion, it's all she can do to stare. He's hurt. It's not like he could be a threat, right?
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He knew they had to be getting close. The dragon attack had all but destroyed the eastern part of the arena (all the places he had known so well), which could only mean the Capitol was trying to drive them together. Was hoping for another final bloodbath.
He wanted no part of it. Didn't want to give them the satisfaction. (He wanted to lie down somewhere and just go quietly, on his own terms.) But even with only a handful of tributes left, the arena was so very small and it wasn't long before he was running into others.
Before he was coming around a corner and coming out behind a pair of tributes, a wounded man just a head, a young woman just a stone's throw beyond.
Before he found himself in the finale whether he wanted to be or not.
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Oh, she is so wrong.
Hyperion's shoulders are hunched, his pace weak, arms concealed as though he's shrinking away and into his chest, struggling to inhale, releasing every exhale like it's about to be his last. He refuses to let it be his last. He refuses to stop. He refuses to think the girl up ahead can get away with her life.
His knife is gone. He no longer carries the poison. He has only his hands - his implants, out of shape, barely in order - and his blind fury. It should be enough.
Hyperion is headed towards her, dragging one step at a time, gaze wild and locked right on her neck. It's obvious what he plans to do once she's within his reach.
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She tries to take a step backward, though she doesn't know what way to go. She needs to make a run for it, and now. If her legs can hold out that long.
It's more of a twist then a turn when she tries to get away from him, a shuffle instead of a run or even a walk. She feels woozy.
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He could turn around, avoid the whole business, and let the chips fall where they may (and never forgive himself), or maybe, just maybe he could wash a couple of those stains away.
Later, it would bring him a small measure of comfort to know that he didn't really have to think about it.
The girl turned, trying to flee, the man bared down on, and Wyatt put everything he had left into a spirit, into a leap, and hit the stranger square in the back with the full force of his weight.
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Immediately his body gets to work. He tries to turn, get back on his feet, swing his fist against the man who dared to interfere.
Sorry - upcoming graduation swallowed me for a bit.
Maybe she can go back and hesitate. Unless the new guy would try and kill her too... For a moment she does nothing, then she half stumbles forward.
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He risked a glance past the stranger, meeting the gaze of the girl.
"Go."
He wasn't sure she could hear him, but hopefully she'd understand.
Go. Be safe. I'll take this for you.
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Poor, helpless girl. What an easy target she would've been - now he's stuck dealing with someone older, more determined, with a weapon in his hand. Hyperion has nothing of the sort left.
"Another big damn hero, are you?"
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One step than another, toward the duo, reaching out but stumbling toward her knee. There had to be something she could do. Something she could make happen.
It would have sounded more convincing to herself if she could get up off her knees.
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He was not going to survive this. The realization came in a burst of clarity as his heart stuttered beneath his ribs.
And that was all right. Would be just fine... if he could take this bastard down with him.
He let the attack rain over him, let the gloved hands wind around his throat - and then struck back, the blade of his knife disappearing into the man's side.
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It crashed against his jaw, a crack echoed in his ears, wet salt bursting across his tongue as a tooth snapped, and his vision flashed black, the crack of pain, like white lightening, the only thing he see.
The chips of his tooth fell into the back of mouth, slipped in his throat. He struggled to breathe, to swallow....
But he didn't give in.
As his lungs burned and his heart labored, he twisted the knife, determined to fight to the very last.
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"You--bastard--"
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But it's taking all her effort just to move onto her feet.
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Did they matter really? He suspected not.
The familiar cold was creeping over him, his fingers limbs turning to lead, his fingers grasping at air as the knife fell away.
Death was here again.
At last.
His eyes rolled, found the sky, and watched it turn to grey, and then to black, as he sank once more into the nothingness.
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He turns his focus to her again. For a moment it's as though he's ready to move towards her, reach for her face like his bloody fingers have turned into claws, but one step is more than what he can take now. He's weak, has been for days, and now every last piece of energy is gradually being lost in every last exhale.
He refuses to let this be his end. He refuses. But he still falls to his knees, he still stares vaguely like he's suddenly realized he's gone blind. He's losing too much blood. The knife sunk too deep and opened the door to let death inside.
Hyperion's arm reaches out into nothing, and he collapses.
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But that's a lie. It's all she can do to get to her feet. Even if she managed to get to them, she couldn't patch up those wounds - she doesn't know how. Even if she did know how, they'd still have to die. Or kill her.
It's useless.
She's useless.