bloodmatch | (no subject)

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day four

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blood match night four

midnight

14 players remaining

At midnight, all is quiet when suddenly, there's a loud rumbling. If you're outside, anywhere on one of the islands, you'll see a red plume in the air as the zone zero volcano erupts. It's once, quickly, but enough to send a plume of smoke in the air that casts a bright red light over the arena.

Then there's silence again, before a voice reads the following names, audible from any point on the island:

Tamaki Suoh
Hijitaka Toshiro

Fourteen players remaining.

Setting
Competitors
Weekly Check-in

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[As soon as the first strike lands, Jack feels a splitting pain, sees a burst of white light, and thinks vaguely to himself oh, it's probably bad to be hit in the head this many times in two days.

A few more hits land, but they're closer to glancing blows now that Jack's more on his guard. His balance does waver; the bowl of muesli is knocked to the side, spilling its contents and rolling a short distance away. He throws his hands up; a shield, for a second, before he starts pushing back against the attack. Continued defense and no offense only gets a person killed, after all. That said, Jack may be physically larger, but the beatings he's taken over the past few days is definitely showing now more than ever.]

[He doesn't even notice when Jack begins to resist. Something is pounding in his ears, making it hard to concentrate. He's so used to controlling his emotions, but this outburst of violence feels so liberating, an outlet for the low burn of anger he usually feels, but that particular has been welling up and threatening to hit boiling point since this morning.

He kicks Jack hard in the ribs. He should go for the stun baton, that would be the logical next step, but he's not thinking very logically. At least logically enough to swing the corner of the kit at Jack's eye.]

[Jack's emotions well and ebb like molasses at times, and even then they're not always recognized. "Anger" and "fear" aren't as tangible to him as "hate", but the latter is something that he feels so infrequently it's almost just as foreign.

Still, the former two - while very slow in coming - are easier to separate and put a finger on than paler, happier emotions. There's an unpleasant choking sound when his ribs are kicked, and he turns his head just barely in time so the medical kit doesn't take his eye out. He can feel it hit the bone of his socket, though, and it's in that second that he both recognizes his angry panic and is swept up by a rush of adrenaline. Bloody and dizzy as he may already be, he's lunching forward on the offensive, swinging his fists forward somewhat blindly.

An attempt to be getting up may also be happening, but he's more focused by far on attack. He only has so much focus and energy to dedicate, in the end.]

[Jack can hit him, and a few of those blows land. They don't hurt, though he recognizes they likely will hurt. It's the adrenaline, too. He feels invulnerable. He bashes the kit into Jack's head a few more times, rapidly; perhaps Jack will be able to deflect, but perhaps not all of them. And then, recognizing Jack trying to get up, he discards the kit, instead giving him a knee to the gut and a shove to his shoulders, trying to push Jack down onto the ground and pin him.]

[Not all of them indeed, since he's certainly nowhere near tip-top form. He does his best, but his vision is blurring from all of the concussive hits. Kyouya will likely find it relatively easy to push him over, between the adrenaline kick and Jack just generally failing at limb mobility. He struggles, caught between trying to shove Kyouya away and catch his balance again. In the end, he definitely doesn't succeed with the latter.

His back hits the ground with the hard thud, and he makes a little surprised noise which is much too mild for the situation. His expression, on the other hand, has curled at the edges from surprise into anger.]

[At the obvious anger in Jack's expression, Kyouya's own expression curls into a smile, though not a pleasant one. His glasses have fallen off at some point, he registers, because his vision is blurred, but he's too focused on the task at hand, his thoughts are clinical. No weapon nearby, but it isn't difficult to bring someone to unconsciousness by blocking their air. He uses his knees to pin Jack's arms, straddling the body, and then wraps his hands around the throat, putting all his weight and pressure on the trachea.]

[This isn't the first time someone's tried to strangle him. It certainly isn't the first time that his life has been threatened, and even in the short few days they've been on the island, it isn't the first time that he's felt the metallic jolt of panic that comes along with a close call. It was always survival game to the him of the past, after he had met Lacie but before being reunited. None of this is new.

This is the first time that he's faced a situation without feeling certain that he'd come out a little less functional, but no less alive. It's not like a person needs to have arms of steel or a lot of weight to effectively choke the life out of another, and the pressure is crushing. He struggles wildly to free his arms or shake Kyouya off: still, his adrenaline doesn't have as much power behind it as it should. His muscles are aching. He's fatigued. Despite eating more than some, he's still malnourished. The combination of blood loss and repetitive head injuries have left him much less of a threat. He fights fruitlessly all the same, all the way until his vision starts blacking in colorless blots and he can't hear anything but ringing and the rhythmic thudding of his own heartbeat.

Somewhere between that and the burn of airhunger, he thinks so this is what it's like to really die. It seems like some stages of grief are paged through rapidly: this isn't happening and how dare he - skipping sadness and bargaining, because his emotions don't function that way. Acceptance isn't exactly where he ends up, either, but his anger has largely shifted away from wild self-preservation to a stinging sort of "ha ha, isn't this funny." He's smiling an ugly smile by the time he can't struggle anymore. ...Well, can't bodily struggle, anyway. He opens his mouth again, and it isn't to fruitlessly try gasping for air.]

Good work—

[It's hard to make out the words in that croak of a noise, and even harder to hear the ones that follow between gross choking and a lack of air to fuel it: a "this time", maybe. He'd say more if he could, but that's about all he can manage.]

[Good work? And was that -

His smug mood deflates, replaced with anger. How dare Jack be condescending to him as he murders him? The tone has something to it, though he may just be imagining it, of 'I let you win.' Jack never needed him and Tamaki, he knew Kyouya had turned on him, and even so...

Rather than dwelling on these irritating thoughts, he channels his anger into pressing harder down. At least he'll hopefully lose consciousness soon. But his pride in managing this has been effectively ripped away, replaced by the familiar fury at being underestimated.]

[It's definitely not an elegant process - several veins have likely already burst in his eyes and his face is discolored - but Kyouya won't have to wait much longer, at least. The blackness that had started to blot out his vision soon overtakes it completely, and after a second or two of stubbornly lingering awareness, it's easy to tell he's no longer conscious.]

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