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"Martyn!" Cleo screamed out.
Cleo frantically swung their axe around, but the wolves kept overwhelming her, biting off chunks of her rotten body. Pearl was approaching them, with an axe in hand and a haunting grin. Cleo could see the ledge of the cliff in front of her. She was either going to die to the wolves, to the cliff, or to Pearl, and it was too late to make that decision herself.
Cleo closed their ey—Thunder.
Their wounds still stung, but they noticed they weren't getting new ones. They opened their eyes and saw the wolves back off. The canines' ferocity had suddenly ceased, as their priority changed to something else.
Cleo looked up and saw the wolves were slowly approaching a corpse—Pearl's corpse. The animals nuzzled her softly and grieved the loss of their owner. Martyn was standing near Pearl, holding a bloody sword.
Cleo started stumbling, almost falling off the cliff that nearly killed her a minute ago. Each step felt as if the world was crumbling under her feet. Their surroundings started spinning and their head started throbbing.
I need to find him, Cleo thought—or possibly mumbled.
Martyn said something about promising not to hurt them, but Cleo sprinted away.
She ran, nearly avoiding branches on her way. They had no idea where they were going, or where they last saw him.
Maybe he was at the secret red base. Where was that again? Cleo wasn't even sure what direction they were going, or what direction the red base was. Cleo just kept running, screaming out his name—but no one responded.
An uneven hill caused Cleo to twist their foot and trip into the grass. Tears started forming in their eyes out of pain, and they began to sob.
Martyn slowed down his jogging and gently approached Cleo. She was on the floor crying and shivering. He could feel the pain from the wolf bites and the twisted foot, but he could also feel the nausea and the hyperventilating gasps Cleo had to take in to breathe.
Martyn reached down to Cleo and held her.
"I killed him, Martyn. I killed Scott. I killed him, and I don't know where he is," Cleo blurted out between sobs.
Martyn pulled them closer to him, as Cleo shed tears on his shirt. "It's okay. You're okay," Martyn reassured softly and repeatedly into her hair. Cleo for now decided to ignore the fact that Martyn was the one who killed Scott.
She knew how this was gonna end, they all knew. Still, Cleo had hoped it would be different.
Maybe they should've died earlier, let Scott grieve but ultimately survive until the very end. Maybe Scott should've died a long time ago, and let Cleo earn her win without remorse. Maybe Cleo should've died instead, let Pearl's wolves push her over the cliff, and left Scott to carry the phantom feeling of killing his dearest friend.
A new layer of guilt was added to the one already there. Cleo would not wish this feeling upon anyone, especially Scott. It would haunt him for the rest of his life, being forced to coexist with his sworn enemy—the murderer of his true soulmate—until the day one of them died. Cleo would rather carry that pain instead, at least she doesn't hate Martyn that much.
Martyn. That guy whose main goal is survival, but will lose a life to push you off a cliff. That guy who never has a plan for what comes next, but always acts with a purpose that no one else understands. That guy who wanders the world on his own, but always finds someone to call home. That guy who understands pain more than many, but refuses to apologize for causing it.
Martyn grazed his thumb on her back, sprinkling small kisses and comforting whispers onto her hair. After a while, Cleo was able to compose themselves and stand up. Martyn let go of her and observed Cleo limp away from him, leveling her breathing and composing herself.
Now that Cleo was more calm, they felt some shame for the scene they just created a minute ago. They could count on one hand the amount of people who have seen them this vulnerable. Cleo knew her brave facade, instead of her physical ability, was carrying her throughout the games. Whenever she swung an axe, most assumed that she was taunting them rather than just missing her hits. Scott was one of the few people whom Cleo allowed to see through it.
Cleo and Martyn’s communicator pinged at the same time. With a sigh, Cleo opened the message and read it.
[There can only be one winner. The last person whose death is recorded on the communicator will win the game.]
Cleo could feel Martyn nervously scratching his arm, almost drawing blood. They didn’t even bother to disconnect the soulbond before their final brawl. Both soulmates will share every second of the pain they’ll cause each other until their final breath. There will be a winner, but no survivors.
Fucking dicks.
Cleo heard rapid steps on the grass behind her and turned around. She saw a sword aimed at her head and—Thunder.
[ZombieCleo was slain by IntheLittlewood]
[IntheLittlewood died]