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The thorns parted as Cleo chased her opponent across the arena. Cheers in her favour being shouted from the crowd, which she tried to ignore to the best of her abilities.
Drift stumbled through the thick brambles, clothes and skin catching as they closed her in.
Cleo fought back the tears that threatened to fall as she swung her axe, blade connecting with Drift's shield, embedding in the wood before she wrenched it free to swing again.
Drift's face had been damp with tears for a while already, though she smiled at Cleo whenever they made eye contact.
They weren't enemies, far from it, but Cleo was killing her anyway.
She had no choice.
She was never supposed to get attached, was never supposed to care. It only ever ended in tragedy. But to love is to be alive, and for some sick reason, she was still living.
The gods' toys, playing their little death game. She scoffed.
She dodged a feeble attempt of Drift's sword and swung again. Drift winced in pain as she blocked the swing with her sword, and tried again to get through the thorns.
Drift was covered in her own blood from Cleo's blade, chest heaving as she tried to stay upright. A particularly nasty wound on her dominant shoulder keeping her sword from doing any real damage, not that she had really raised it before.
She was not fighting.
Gods, she was not fighting.
The realization hit Cleo as her axe connected again, this time bringing Drift down, crashing into the bushes.
Cleo gasped, as if she too had been struck by the blade, and stared.
Drift did not get back up.
Cleo took a step back, heart beating out of her chest. She felt sick, and angry. Terribly, terribly angry at the gods who sought this violence.
Despite everything, Drift still smiled, reaching her injured arm up from where she lay, and holding her bloodied hand out.
Cleo gently took ahold of it and lowered herself down to the ground next to the woman. It was the least she could do.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking.
"I'm sorry too," Drift rasped. "But it'll be okay, I promise."
You can't make that promise, Cleo wanted to say, but she refrained.
"I'll be back, like Nobody," Drift assured her.
Cleo grimaced. Drift would come back, but that wouldn't change the blood on Cleo's hands, or the fact that come the next day there would be another fight, then another, and more still, until only one surviver stood.
Bringing Drift's hand to her cheek, she closed her eyes and let Drift hold her face as she finally cracked, a lone tear falling down. She opened her eyes and tried to smile back, but Drift dragged her thumb across her lips and gently shushed her.
"You're soft," Drift murmured, like it was something important.
Cleo nuzzled into her hand, it was only for a second, and then she was gone. Not dead, not yet, just gone.
Nothing left but a pool of her blood in front of Cleo.
After a moment, Cleo got up slowly, turning to face the crowd and forcing a neutral expression.
"I hope you're entertained," she said, looking through the crowd, at something further, something out of reach.
The gods did not answer.