You reap what you sow.
In the midst of chaos, Finnick looks at the girl, her midnight hair tha haunted his fantasies
"In this game of survival, you're the most unpredictable wildcard I've ever met sugar"
The girl smirked at him a twinkle lighting up...
Trigger Warning This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence, intense emotional distress, and themes of grief and loss. There are detailed scenes of physical combat, injury, and death, which may be distressing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
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"NO"
But he had made his choice. He let go, plunging into the abyss below. The echo of his courage lingered in the air, mingling with the desperate cries from Morella.
She couldn't tear her eyes away from her friend. Lifeless eyes still open, like the were preparing for a blink that never came.
Illyana pulled herself up, fueled by a mix of anguish and determination. She couldn't let Xander's sacrifice be in vain. Her legs scrambled to the edge of the cliff, her hand clutching the bloody wound, an emblem of the price he paid.
Morella fought desperately against the assailant, the confrontation reaching its zenith. Illyana, with a newfound fire, approached the scene, collecting the knife that had been lost at the very beginning of this chaos. Her voice cut through the chaos, a stark contrast to the quietness that had cloaked her before.
"What a miserable existence" Illyana yanked at the boys hood, causing the neckline to choke him slightly. Pulling them back just enough to provide Morella with a few inches of space between her and the knife.
The boy swung his arm but Illyana grabbed the wrist stopping the knife. Pulling on his hair tilting back his face to meet her won. "Mercy is not a good shade on me I see."
This was her fault.
It was the boy she let go.
The one that wasn't killed in her Rafall string massacre. The one she took pity one, she did this. She showed mercy, and he took advantage , her weakness got Xander killed.
The boy went on the offensive, swing his knife at Illyana wildly. In a swift dance, Illyana anticipated his every move, her gymnastic prowess evading his every attack. She twirled, leapt, and dodged with a fluid grace, her body moving with the grace of a ballerina and a mind of a tactician.
