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The spears, sharp and true, pierced every part of her body, and pain, pure and total, seeping through to even parts the spears didn't touch, was all she felt. Her bones shattered like glass, veins and arteries exploding as sharp points charged through them. For a moment she was thrown upwards with the force of it all, flying; it wasn't graceful, it was terrifying.
The smiling faces of her classmates and Miss Yukizome were gone by the time her body hit the floor.
What replaced them was the looming lanky figure of someone she used to call a friend; now, though, their face was blank at her suffering - or so she thought; blood trickled down over one of her eyes, and it was taking so much effort to keep open the other.
'Hinata,' She begged to a man long gone, 'Just... just one more game?'
She didn't need to keep her eye open as her muscles relaxed and her head hit the floor.
Izuru was confused, which confused them, because they were a machine, not a person with feelings and emotions. And yet they were confused. Their eyes were leaking, maybe they were crying, but they didn't know why. Or how. Izuru was not meant to cry, and the only reason they had their tear ducts intact was to aid the ultimate actor.
So why were they crying?
A hand reached up on its own, coming away damp with salty water. It was unsettling and seemingly prompted by the girl. Junko's girl. The one who was dead on the floor, begging for the boy this body used to be.
Izuru was confused, and so they ran.
Nagito and his beloved classmates watched the screens in pure unadulterated despair. They watched in fear and horror as Chiaki, their beloved, hope-filled classmate, battled on against the growing forces of this blonde's despair. It was horrid, and he wished to run to her side, to switch places, to lay down his very life for her. She was everything; she was more than hope itself. She had to make it - this despair was so pathetic it paled against her shining light. And yet she took hit after hit after hit, her soft skin shredded by arrows and saws, painting the walls red in her wake.
She had to make it, universe please let her make it.
She approached an exit. She would be safe; Chiaki was so wonderful at fully completing her games first try, and surely it would be no different. The tightness in his chest eased for a sacred moment as her hand reached for the doorknob. She made it.
The spears, sharp and true, pierced every part of her sacred body.