Day Two: Morning

[Zangya]

She was alone.

Her heart was racing. She rushed through the streets, attempting to find some place of refuge—she could find nothing that offered her even the slightest hint of safety, and she was sure that by now, they were already catching up to her. She could not understand why she had done what she did, but she did understand why she was running now. The fighters behind her were much stronger than she, and even if it was a fake death, Zangya’s memory recalled intense pain—however brief it was—upon being sent to oblivion in Dante’s Abyss.

The Ader-jin’s feet trampled the pavement below as she rushed through the city, her mind telling her this and that—thankfully, she had stolen Bojack’s survival bag upon his untimely demise, and left the others with nothing—well, perhaps Kirano still had his supplies—and with that, the jade-skinned woman had taken off, not taking a second thought to explain her actions to her friends… Heck, she couldn’t even explain her actions to herself! Now, her mind was riddled with wonderings of ‘why’; why had she done this? She couldn’t form an answer in her mind or with her voice. She simply told herself to keep on running, because right now, there was only one thing important to her: herself.

The empty vial in her hand had taunted her for thirty hours, and finally, she had spilled it gracefully into the lips of another, and killed them. She had tasted victory, she had tasted the art of the kill—and now, it seemed, she had gained a thirst for more bloodshed. She couldn’t tell you why, but she had felt herself giving into the temptation of laziness while traveling in that large group—and she had to admit, being alone, while entrancing her with fear, already seemed far more enticing than traveling with a group ever did. She remembered last year, remembering how her partner had been the reason she died.

Her feet carried her through the streets, trying to find a building she thought they might not look in. She couldn’t find a single thing, and as she quickly made her way towards a large fountain. She raced up to it, halting herself suddenly on the edge and dipping her head down inside it. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Her face felt relieved, suddenly, as the water coasted along it, cleaning it for what seemed like the first time in too long. She looked upon herself as she raised her skull from the water, and pushed her wet hair back, tying it in a pigtail that extended from the side of her head. It was an unnatural look for the princess of war and fear, but it was one that she had enjoyed in her youth. In her happy youth. She had never felt any of the darkness that she felt now back then.

Perhaps that was why she was here. Perhaps she thought that witnessing this carnage would make her revert back to her former self—it was possible—and that she may become a better person through it all. She looked at her reflection; it looked innocent. It looked betrayed, even though she had been the one who had taken the role of the betrayer. Her life was over at the beginning of this competition—suddenly, the feelings of fear flushed over her—and now, more than ever, she felt responsible for herself, for her actions. She gazed at the city around her, and collapsed. Everything was falling apart, and it could never be rebuilt. She huddled close with her only companion, Bojack’s survival bag, and let tears run like waterfalls down her cheeks. Her mind had left her, and she had been rash. Now, she had to pay.

She let out a massive scream, calling whoever was near to her location—death was what she deserved. She didn’t deserve to live inside this world called Dante any longer. This taunting planet, this conniving earth; it had never felt altogether right to her, and from now on, she knew, she would be alone in this massive display of violence. This war, this free-for-all, was hers to fight now. And suddenly, everything seemed right. She had been condemned when she had entered the competition, and just now, she had felt new, she had felt brash, spontaneous, free—she had turned into a person that took risks. She had played the game for the first time, and she had, in one small way, made a victory. This game was hers to lose. This game was hers. She gazed up at the sky, the clouds brightening with the oncoming noon. For the first time in forever, a true, genuine smile was plastered on her face.

The young woman leaned achingly up against the fountain. Her head was aching her sorely, but this injury was the least of her worries right now. Right now, she had to focus on making sure this was the only injury she maintained for the remainder of the game—perhaps that was unrealistic, but what it basically mapped out for her in her head was substantial. She had to do something, find something to protect herself… otherwise, she wouldn’t last too long. She had gone this entire time without a true weapon, the game allowing her only enough to deceive and then destroy under the cover of friendship, a weapon that forced her to betrayal…

“My beloved,” she heard him say. She turned, and there he was, standing in the water, the fountain pouring down onto his immaterial body. He was with her, like he had always been before. He stepped out of the water, and caressed his love’s cheek—she felt his warm touch, so different from the cold air that had been circulating about the island. It seemed impossible, what was occurring, and perhaps it was, but it was almost deceiving how realistic his blue hand felt. She melted as his lips met her forehead, a single kiss assuring her that he was real, whether he was actually there or not. The Ader wrapped her arms tenderly around his waist, and held herself close to him, closer than she had ever allowed herself before. He floated upwards, lifting her into the sky—she looked down and saw her body standing there, hugging nothing, and felt her spirit fly with him.

The island was beautiful. She never could have felt it from the ground, but now, as Gokua lifted her up, she saw the island in its full glory. Its plains were vast, and clear; its city a remnant of the lovely past which must have once made itself welcome here—she watched, almost betraying herself with the hope that this view from the stars would give her further satisfaction, perhaps advantage. She was disappointed as any figure that might have been a competitor disappeared from sight, and having no more reason to look out at the island, she pressed her head into her love’s chest, beckoning him to take her back down to the city. She had found her weapon—she had found something to protect herself. No longer did she feel unsafe. No longer did she feel alone. Because she wasn’t.

She was not alone.