Grimm Games

Chapter 12: Crescent Blade

After the Witch turned and hurriedly left the cottage, the atmosphere was drenched in both relief and tension.

The air held a lingering scent of burnt wood and the faint, eerie aroma of the Witch's yeasty presence. The dim light from the eerie red hues cast long, shifting shadows across the gingerbread walls, heightening the eeriness.

Sonya continued her attempt to climb the wall of weapons. Her movements were unsteady, revealing the toll the ordeal had taken on her. She seemed fixated on a pistol placed at the top of the wall, her eyes determined and desperate.

I stood nearby, still adjusting to the newfound freedom from my restraints. My gaze darted between the crescent-shaped blade and its brass forearm cuff.

The blade resembled a crescent moon, its edges honed to a deadly sharpness, eager to slice through anything in its path. As I gripped the textured handle in the middle, it felt like an extension of my own hand, solid and familiar.

The torn fabric of my sleeve hung loosely from my arm, a vivid reminder of the sharpness of the Witch's fingernails. They had effortlessly cut through the material like a hot knife through butter.

With firm tugs, I tore at the fabric until it ripped from the seam at the shoulder, exposing the length of my bare arm.

I positioned the snug brass cuff on my forearm, securing the blade on the outer part with a magnetic grip. It ensured the blade was always within arm's reach, ready for swift action. I could detach it quickly for close combat, wielding it with precision. The blade's dual sharp edges meant every swing would have a significant impact.

Yet, this weapon could also be thrown like a boomerang. Launched just right, it would cut through the air and return to me, a deadly tool ready for action.

The sound of cranking cogs and moving heavy chains startled me. The wall began to lift back into the rafters from where it came, causing Sonya to slip and hit the ground with a thud.

Regaining her composure, she pushed herself up, wincing as she limped closer to the wall of weapons, determined to reach them before it was too late.

As it lifted, inch by inch, she yanked a wooden club with menacing metal spikes from the wall with an audible huff. And instead of rushing out of the cottage to pursue the Witch, she swung the weapon. The end of it missed me by a sliver, embedding itself into the wood behind me.

"What are you doing?" I backed away, putting considerable space between us.

She struggled to pull the club from the wall as it continued to rise. "I'm playing the game, and I'm playing to win."

Was she seriously trying to kill me? The idea momentarily stunned me, but I promptly shook it from my mind, reminding myself of our circumstances and the ruthless rules of this twisted game—only one, or one set of siblings, could survive.

"What about your brother?" I pointed out. "Don't you want to find him? You can't kill me. You need me to help."

"I've made it this far without anyone, including him. He hates me and wants me dead. They only brought him in to screw with me." She tugged the club again, but it refused to budge. "But I'm winning this entire thing and getting out of this country no matter what I have to do."

"Getting out of the country?" My eyes narrowed as I reminded myself that relocating to a private location outside of the country was one of the winning perks alongside the jackpot. "Is that why you signed up for the Games, so you can escape accountability for murder?"

"I didn't murder anyone!" she cried out. "That's what those lying producers want you to believe. It was an accident. I looked away for one second, and when I looked back, little Abigail was choking on a small toy. I tried to save her. I did everything I could. I would never hurt my baby niece on purpose, but no one wants to hear that."