Stealers (Newt x Reader)

Chapter 29: Confession

I raced forward before anyone could process what was happening, fear holding them in place for the few seconds I needed to get to Thomas, the same fear driving me towards him. I was almost too late, a griever that had reached Thomas faster than the others, perhaps hoping to end his life, raised a spinning blade towards him. I threw myself in front of him, holding the knife that I took from Gally's body to deflect the blow that surely would have killed him. The horrid sound of metal on metal rang out as I winced, the noise scratching angrily at my ear drums. The griever seemed shocked by the sudden defence I had taken and took a step back, throwing it's head up to let out a deathly roar. Maybe it was calling others. I shuddered at the thought. 

"You could have died," Thomas said, turning me around before the other three grievers reached us. 

"So could you," was all I said before I saw the rest of the gladers burst into action, their fear now turning into adrenaline as their own immanent deaths grew closer and closer. They packed in a circle, some facing towards the tunnel, some facing away from it, covering all ways greivers could get to us. I wish I could save everyone.. but I couldn't and all I could do was focus on mine and Newt's survival, getting to the other side. In my head I put Newt's before my own, he would serve more worth to everything. Two more grievers came charging down the tunnel, leaping out onto the cracked stone floor, their appendages flying around them in an intimidating manner. Through it all I saw no needles and I realised something. This last fight wasn't designed to just hurt us, it was designed to kill us. A flicker of terror sparked in me at the thought that none of us might live to see another day, that everything we have done the last few years was for nothing, that WICKED have no use for us anymore so we may as well give them one final battle to enjoy. I gulped, refusing to believe that it could be for nothing, that the creators were that cruel. It wasn't impossible but I had to refuse to believe it in order to carry on. 

I came out of my moment of panic just to be dropped straight into another one, a blade flying towards me at an inhumane speed, the eyes of the griever blackened into empty pools that longed for my murder. Maybe they were just here to kill us. I almost let the blade slice through me but the sounds of everyone fighting around me brought me to my senses. I dived under where it was aiming for, rolling onto my side into a pool of something warm and wet. I turned onto my stomach again, hands slick with whatever was beneath me. Blood. Now the smell hit me, coppery and fresh, forcing the meal that Frypan gave me to churn in my stomach. I look to the source of the blood, now just a mangled corpse in the hands of a griever. I already knew the image was scolded into my brain. I turned onto my back again, the only way my eyes would ever stop staring at what used to be the boy in front of me, who was beyond recognition.

 I made it to my feet just in time to observe the scene for a few seconds before the griever reached me again, trying not to look at the bodies littered around me but at the ones still fighting. Minho fought viciously, powered by his anger for WICKED as we now knew them. Thomas ran through, holding tightly to one of Chuck's hands, nearing the entrance of the tunnel. Jeff was flown onto his back and I could physically see the wind being knocked from his lungs. I couldn't see Newt and I felt a cutting pain in my heart at the thought of him dead... I couldn't deal with it so I pushed the thought and the image that came with it away from me. Others fought, battered and bruised, cuts and gashes all across their bodies. I was so entranced in the battle around me I only registered the danger I was in when a red hot pain sent a white flash across my vision. I looked down at my arm where I knife had cut straight into it, right down to the bone. Blood gushed out of it as I just stared, my face twisted into shock, the pain agonising. White spots danced in my vision as the cut oozed blood, covering my arm and my hand, dripping steadily onto the floor.

 The same knife came down again, the griever staring at me with a strange intensity, but I was ready, taking a step back, knocking the knife away with my own. I grabbed a handful of moss that was on the wall behind me, quickly using it to mop up the blood, pressing it against the injury to stop to flow. It worked a little and I managed to regain my balance on the world, only for everything to shift again. I saw the knife in the air, coming down for the final blow when someone knocked it out the way, shoving a long spear into the griever's chin and pulling it out, making it fall to the floor in a heap of mush and metal. Yellow pus seeped from the griever who lay lifeless on the floor, hopefully dead.