#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 4500 WORDS!!!!

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 24: Radiation Poisoning

Collapsed building

4532 Words; Ouroboros

TW for violence, injury, bloodsport, blood, death

AO3 ver

An explosion shook the stands.

Gisu ducked on instinct, but the blast itself had been concentrated in the section adjacent—the crowd immediately around her, Raz, and Adam was yelling, but mostly in confusion. Gisu looked frantically for where the blast had been—

A second explosion rocked the stands, making Gisu stumble into Adam as the crowd around her started to surge in panic. A third, smaller blast, and then the screech of metal rending drew Gisu’s eyes towards the swanky private boxes overlooking the arena towards the other side of the cage. A fourth blast, as the central box started to slide forwards towards the caged arena. The crowd was screaming and panicking in earnest, now, everyone pushing for the exits like an inescapable wave of people. Gisu watched, transfixed, as the box crashed against the cage bars, forcefully bending the metal as a fifth explosion set another fire in the stands—

“Gisu!” And then Adam’s hand was on her arm, yanking her back. He was holding Raz under his other arm, “We need to get out of here!” Suddenly Gisu was being swept up with the crowd, Adam’s hand holding her shoulder until they were towards an exit blocked by a crush of bodies—

“I got this!” Raz declared, wriggling out of Adam’s grasp and readying a psi-shot. The bolt hit the exit sign, causing the crowd to scatter from the flash of sparks, and Raz wasted no time in rushing through the gap. “C’mon!”

Adam and Gisu wordlessly rushed forwards—Gisu stopped, heels digging into the ground as she turned to look back at the arena through the crowd. Several of the lights had come down, crashing against the bars of the cage. The fire that had been eating the ropes strung inside the cage bathed the whole of the stands in a hellish glow, backlighting the other audience members and turning grinning masks into surreal facsimiles of faces.

“Norma and Lizzie are still in there.” Gisu couldn’t see Norma or Lizzie through the chaos. She couldn’t see what was happening in the arena—

Adam stopped, expression hidden behind the mask. “I still can’t reach them—” He started, only to cut off. His eyes widened, and he put a hand to his temple as Morris’ frantic mental voice slammed into all of them.

You guys better get out of there, because Sam and Tala are about to bring this whole place down!

Raz choked on air. “Tala?” Huh, why did that name sound familiar—

Don’t bring the place down! Adam shot back, grabbing Gisu’s shoulder and pulling her and Raz out through the exit. Lizzie and Norma are still in the arena!

The sound of crashing metal rang out, and Gisu managed to find a gap in the rush of people large enough to spot the crashed box breaking through the cage bars to crash into the arena below—

+=+=+=+=+

Rewind a bit.

“First Death Pit, huh?”

Gisu looked up at the audience member next to her, their mask bearing a bright silver grin. She gripped the edge of her board a little more tightly. “Something like that.” She admitted, while in the arena below Norma set more of the hanging ropes on fire.

They nodded, either oblivious to or ignoring Gisu’s discomfort. “Yeah, most kids like you show up on a dare.” They said, and Gisu wasn’t even sure what to say in response to that, “But it’s not really that bad. You’re just not used to it!” Gisu really hoped that wasn’t meant to be comforting.

“Yeahhh.” Gisu cringed behind her mask, her attention turning back to the arena. The Lion seemed to have Lizzie pinned, now—a burst of ice sent him flipping away, a knot loosening slightly in Gisu’s chest.

The stands that she, Adam, and Raz had gotten into weren’t really… well, there were rows of seats in part of the section, but Adam and Raz and Gisu were all in a more open area between two sections of seats, milling about in the crowd while trying to find a way to fix the situation they were in.

And keeping an eye on the fight below. Not that they could interfere without blowing their cover, for all that Gisu wanted to shoot lightning down to force the Lion away from her friends.

The silver-grin mask was still talking. “You’re pretty lucky; the Death Pit doesn’t run every night! And you get to watch the Lion, even more lucky!” Gisu wished they would shut up. “You know, I saw the Lion’s very first fight? Against the Crane…” They breathed in deeply, as though reminiscing a more romantic memory. “Most fighters just punch and kick and stab, but the Lion innovates. He makes dodging look like a dance.” Please, shut up!

“Uh, the Lion’s first fight was against the Beetle.” Someone else interjected from behind Gisu. She flinched, looking back to see a grinning glittery pink mask. “He climbed up the cage and threw himself down on them to break their neck.”

“Oh, what do you know?” Silver Grin asked, as Gisu started to edge away. She backed up warily, afraid Silver Grin might notice her and drag her back into conversation—

Adam’s hand landed on her shoulder, stilling her. “You okay?” He asked, looking at where Raz was staring out the bars to the arena.

“Not really.” Gisu admitted. She shrunk in on herself as the audience cheered, taunts and jeers forming a cacophony that made her wish she could turn off her ears as well as her telepathy. “How’re Sam and Morris?” She almost didn’t want to know—this night had taken such an awful turn, all because they thought they were so clever and prepared when they were anything but.

“They were fine last I checked…” Adam trailed off, likely concentrating. “Well, they haven’t been caught.” He said, after a moment.

“Have they found anything?” Raz asked. With his helmet and the mask, he looked almost unreal in the hazy lighting of the stands, the goggles becoming a second pair of eyes in the low light.

“Morris mentioned a plan…” Adam hmmed, “But he didn’t sound very enthusiastic about it—”

An explosion rocked the stands.

+=+=+=+=+

All three of the fighters froze at the explosion, looking around for the source.

A second explosion lit up the stands, near the fancy private boxes. “What in the…” The Lion muttered, his voice snapping Lizzie back to the fight. She grabbed his shoulders like she’d been trying to do, yanking him away from Norma. He didn’t go very far, and twisted around in Lizzie’s grasp to slip out of her hands, but his hands weren’t inches away from Norma’s neck anymore—

Another two explosions sounded off in succession, and the sound of screeching metal made them all look up to see the central box crashing against the bars of the cage, casting a heavy shadow and making the bars creak ominously.

“Well, fuck.” The Lion breathed, backing up slowly. Despite the box blocking the lights, the fires Norma had set upon the ropes were still burning merrily, casting everything in flickering warm tones. The poetic part of Lizzie’s brain couldn’t help but compare it to hell—all of it, everything, because this whole damn place felt like some surreal fighting pit hell.

Norma ambled over to her, cradling her broken arm against her chest. “What now?” She asked, either too tired to think it or—okay, yeah, it was probably exhaustion. Lizzie sure felt ready to collapse.

The Lion was standing a ways away from them, watching them warily. Lizzie tried to call some frost to her hands, in case he charged them again—

A thousand tiny needles of pain stabbed at her reddened fingers. Okay, so no more ice. Fuck. She still had telekinesis, maybe—

Several crashes rang out above them. Lizzie glanced up to see so many shards of glass and sparks from the fallen lights raining down on the arena floor. The Lion darted to the side, avoiding the worst of the spray, and Norma managed to raise her uninjured arm to deflect most of what would have fallen on her and Lizzie with a blast of hot air, her flames stuttering. The heat of the fire all around them wasn’t quite enough to remedy the way Lizzie’s hands were stinging and shaking—

You guys better get out of there, because Sam and Tala are about to bring this whole place down! Morris’ mental message was frantic, cutting across all their minds at once in a controlled broadcast. The Lion flinched back—wait, had Morris also broadcasted the message to him?—and that was the only warning they got before the metal bars above them started to screech, the metal bending and buckling under the weight of the viewing box—

SHIT—

Lizzie called upon reserves she didn’t even know she had, tackling Norma towards the edge of the arena and flinging out her hand in the same motion. Frost sparked on her fingers, biting cold digging in under her nails, her head about ready to explode as an ice shard the size of her head launched at the box, shattering against its side and doing nothing to dissuade it from its path. No no no—

Norma grabbed Lizzie with her good arm and pulled, stumbling on the sand and glass while Lizzie stumbled forwards, hands stinging from her attempt at an ice wall. Together, they stumbled to the edge of the arena as the box fully broke through the bars to crash into the sand. A sixth explosion hit the broken top of the cage, sending flaming rope raining down across the arena as Lizzie and Norma ran for some kind of shelter—

There! One of the cage doors was open, a Wolf standing in the shadows of the entrance. With an energy Lizzie didn’t really have, she rushed forwards, bunching her hand into a fist and slugging the Wolf right in the throat. The Wolf stumbled back with a wheeze, and that was enough for Lizzie to swing her foot up between his legs, making him double over.

“C’mon!” She called out, as Norma caught up, cradling her broken arm again. “Let’s get out of here!”

+=+=+=+=+

An explosion rocked the stands.

Morris watched as Sam, concentrating hard, set off more explosions, focusing on the areas Tala had pointed out. Screams sounded out from the stands, fire beginning to eat at whatever wood it could find. The sound of tearing metal made Morris wince, gripping the edge of his chair until his knuckles were white. The three of them were situated in one of the hallways, Morris using clairvoyance and Mirtala using a TV screen up in the corner to keep track of the arena.

“Wooo.” Sam breathed, stepping back a bit. Her hair was frazzled, her eyes wide and glowing. “That’s a lot.” She declared, clutching at her hand as she turned to Tala. “I usually explode heads, yanno.” She pointed out.

Tala nodded grimly. “If we could just crack that box open…” She muttered, “then you could just blow Creed up directly.”

Morris buried his face in his hands, his chest seizing. His clairvoyance broke again—he didn’t want to watch this anymore, anyway. If the situation weren’t so panic-inducing, he’d try not to admit to how much Tala was scaring him—but really, it was well within his prerogative to panic at the fact that they were exploding audience stands in order to save two of their friends from being murdered in front of a cheering crowd—!

“Hey.” Tala had Sam’s hands in hers, now, big blue eyes full of encouragement. “Do you have any siblings?” She asked.

“Yeah…” Sam answered. “A little brother.”

Tala nodded. “And you’d do anything for him, wouldn’t you?” She was the perfect picture of innocence—but Morris barely had to try to pick up the rage simmering behind her eyes. “Tear the whole world apart to keep him safe?”

“I’m following…” Sam nodded, as Morris reluctantly tried to latch onto another audience member to clairvoyance.

“He doesn’t show it, but Dee’s really a big crybaby.” Tala said. “My sister used to call him a loser, and she wasn’t wrong.” Her eyes fluttered closed as she took a breath. “But he still went into that arena and won for my sake.” She looked at Sam, big blue eyes boring directly into her. “And I’d do the same for him if I could, because that’s what family does.” Her words were way too heavy to be coming from someone with such a small frame.

“Imagine your little brother is there, in that arena,” Mirtala began, and Sam stiffened. “And the only way to get him out is to blow Creed the fuck up.” She squeezed Sam’s hands, “Can you do that, Sam?”

Oh no. Morris could see where this was going. Abandoning his lackluster attempts at clairvoyance, he reached out with his mind, until he had found Adam, Gisu, Raz, Norma, Lizzie, and Dee’s minds. You guys better get out of there, because Sam and Tala are about to bring this whole place down! It was the only warning he could give, because Mirtala was getting Sam to chant with her to pump her up, and Sam’s eyes were glowing again, bright enough to splash onto Tala’s face—

A sixth explosion rang out, big enough for the shockwave to rattle the walls of the hall. Sam concentrated, looking ready for a seventh—

Oh, god. How many people were going to die because of this? Yeah, Morris was a junior agent, which meant one day he’d be a full agent going on dangerous missions where people would inevitably die—

But this was so brutal, in a way that Morris had never quite experienced before—not even being dementestrated by Maligula had rattled Morris this much. And he’d known that it was a bad idea to go down those stupid red-light stairs where minds descended and disappeared, but noooooo, they all had to be big brave idiots and bite off more than they could chew—

“MORRIS!” Sam was yelling, hands on the arms of Morris’ levchair. “HOW MANY FERRETS DOES IT TAKE TO SCREW IN A LIGHTBULB?”

“Wh—” Morris snapped out of his spiral as Sam’s words registered. “What?” His chest was still pounding, his head still spinning—but the ridiculousness of Sam had brought him back down to reality, somewhat, stopping the panic spiral in its tracks. Stopping it in the same way that a train stopped by crashing into a mountain, but—that was how Sam rolled, really.

“Thanks.” Morris muttered, reforming his levball. Ugh, this whole night was going to hell—

Wait. Morris glanced at Tala again. Really looked at her, at the shape of her face and the curl of her hair and the way she held herself light upon her feet like she could spring into motion at any moment. There was no way. There was absolutely no way.

“Hey, Tala.” Morris began. This was so not the time for this. “How many brothers did you say you had, again?” This was absolutely not the time for this!

Tala regarded Morris suspiciously. “What’s it to you?”

“Hey, wait, yeah.” Sam picked up on Morris’ thoughts, looking Tala over again. “You look a lot like Mrs. Aquato.” Which wasn’t how Morris wanted to lead off, but—well, it was Sam. Whatever it was, she’d make it work, and this was no different. Blundering through social conventions apparently had no negative outcomes for her—none that she cared about, at least.

Tala’s eyes widened. She exhaled sharply through her nose, staring Sam and Morris down. Her mouth opened, but whatever she was about to say was cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Morris! Sam!” Adam’s voice cut through the air, Gisu and Raz right behind him. “What were you thinking?!” He demanded, the moment he was in proper freakout range. “Blowing up—”

“TALA?” Raz interrupted, shoving his mask up away from his face. Tala froze, wide blue eyes locked onto Raz—

“Raz?!” She nearly shrieked, before rushing up and grabbing the collar of Raz’ coat. “What are you doing here, you—you idiota!”

“Wait.” Adam was rapidly looking back and forth between Raz and Tala. “You two—” He looked at Tala, voice faint with realization, “You’re Mirtala Aquato?”

“The Lion’s her brother.” Morris added, pointedly ignoring the way his heart was trying to break his ribs from the inside.

“But that means…” Gisu realized, eyes widening.

Raz realized it too, his head snapping around to look in the direction of the arena. “Dion—”

“Hey!” As one, the group looked up at Lizzie and Norma’s approach—

And the group of Wolves behind and beside them, one holding Norma in a headlock and another grasping Lizzie’s arms behind her. The Wolves stopped, noticing the group, starting to fan out slowly—

Lightning blasted out, a bright crackling line connecting all the Wolves for a moment as they thrashed and yelled. Within moments, they were all on the floor twitching, and Lizzie and Norma were making their way over to the group.

Slowly, they all looked at Gisu, who was standing, fingers outstretched, tiny sparks crackling around her hand. “Fuck this shit.” She said. “We’re getting Raz’ brother and we’re getting the hell out of here—”

Junior Agents, can you hear me?

As one, they all froze at Hollis’ mental voice.

“Oh.” Gisu said, all her bravado knocked down. The sentiment was shared between all of them, but it was Lizzie who spoke first.

“We’re fucked.”

+=+=+=+=+

Dion stood, checking himself over. He didn’t seem to be bleeding, which was good, but—

He was so tired.

It had been a long night—it felt like he was in the locker room eons ago, instead of the barely three hours it had probably been. The three back-to-back fights had been a lot, and Dion wanted nothing more than to disappear back to his and Mirtala’s shared room where he could collapse on his bed and forget that he existed as a human person with blood on his hands for the next hour—

At least, he would if the arena wasn’t in shambles. And if he had actually won that fight, instead of being interrupted by—

Dion’s head snapped around, away from the glittering ice starting to melt in the heat of the flames. Creed’s private viewing box was sitting in the arena, metal twisted and glass shattered, a large hole blown open in what used to be the back of the box but was now the top. Scattered fire filled the rest of the arena, from the bits of the lights and the stands that had fallen in along with the ropes. If Dion looked closely, he could see a bodied hand sticking out from the mess of rent metal and broken glass and burning fire—

Dion stumbled back as a section of the debris shifted, a familiar form rising up and picking its way out of the metal. Somehow, despite being in a metal box dropped directly into the arena by several explosions, Creed looked only vaguely scuffed, a little ruffled, his king cobra mask just a little crooked and his suit only mildly torn. There was some blood on his pant leg, but it didn’t look like his.

Figured. Dion scowled at the bastard who shouldn’t have gotten out so unscathed. Of course Creed would somehow defy physics and logic for his own self-interest.

“Well.” Creed commented airily, as though he and Dion weren’t standing in the middle of a burning arena. “I don’t imagine you have any idea what that was?”

“Not a clue.” Dion growled out. He wasn’t even lying, either.

Creed shrugged—then winced. Apparently he wasn’t as unscathed as he appeared. “Well, I suppose the Owl will have his hands full for the next several months,” He spat, “sorting all of this out.” He glanced about, searching for a safe path through the flames. The moment he spotted one, he nodded his head towards Dion, hand raising halfway in a “follow me” gesture.

“Wait.” Dion was so tired, his muscles still aching from the fights prior.

Creed paused, looking back. Dion didn’t need to be psychic to feel the agitation radiating off of him—the aura of danger was almost enough to give Dion pause.

Almost.

“You said nobody leaves until somebody dies.” Dion spat, glaring at the man before him.

Creed made a noise that might have been a laugh or a growl. He gestured to the stands. “Plenty have already died, boy.” His voice was soft and stern—Dion almost couldn’t hear it over the roaring flames and blaring alarms.

“Not in this arena. Not in the third match.” Dion suddenly felt very light. Like he could reach the tent’s apex in an instant, like he could soar through the air without ever touching the ground. Like he could do anything. “The fight’s not over until somebody dies.” It was the very rule Creed had set, the very rule that defined the Death Pit—that defined Dion’s role here, in this awful pit.

Creed scoffed. “Look around.” He cautioned, gesturing at the flames caging them in. “The fight’s over. Who would you even kill?”

“You.” Dion lunged, ducking low so he could sweep Creed’s legs—

A fist like a sledgehammer sent Dion sprawling to the ground, pain bursting through his shoulder and down his arm. Bits of glass in the sand dug painfully into his side as he wheezed, the air knocked out of him by the impact.

Dion didn’t get the time to recover before Creed was on him, hand closing around Dion’s neck like iron and lifting him up slowly.

“Cute.” Creed hissed, as Dion kicked at the sand ineffectually. His grip tightened, and Dion grasped at his hand as his airway cut off. “Don’t forget your place, boy.” His grip tightened further, and Dion kicked out desperately, spraying sand onto Creed’s pants. “You’re not inexpendable. There will be other Lions.”

Dion couldn’t breathe. His vision was swimming, spots dancing in from the edges, his hands grasping desperately at Creed’s in an effort to get him to let go—

Trapped cornered trapped trapped let me out let me out LET ME OUT—

Panic blanked Dion’s mind. Terror and adrenaline moved his body.

Creed bellowed as Dion’s boot slammed into his gut. Dion fell to the sand, landing on his elbow awkwardly as he gasped for air. Creed loomed over him, having recovered from the blow faster than Dion expected, and before Dion could even conceive of trying to dodge there was an iron grip on his leg lifting him up

into the air

and slamming him back down onto the sand.

Sand and a bit of rent metal, really, that dug into his back as the breath was once again knocked from his lungs. A hand grabbed at Dion’s arm, wrenching him up onto his feet—Dion squirmed, kicking out blindly and yanking his arm with as much strength as he could manage—

Crack went his arm against Creed’s grip, agony lancing all the way up to his shoulder. Creed grunted, yanking Dion back up to stand, and Dion lashed out with his free arm. He must have hit a bruise or something, because Creed jolted at the hit and let go of Dion’s arm entirely.

Dion wasted no time in putting distance between himself and Creed. His probably-definitely broken arm hung limply at his side—okay, yeah, that thing was broken—agony lancing up to his shoulder from his wrist.

Okay. Okay. Dion ducked to the side to dodge Creed’s open palm—ow, fuck, that’s right, his arm was broken, why did he try to dodge roll to his right—

Creed’s backhand nearly knocked his mask loose. It cracked, a piece down near the mouth breaking off as Dion stumbled back and away, the heat of the fire against his back—

Creeds fist came to hit Dion in the gut like a sledgehammer, winding Dion as he doubled over. Vomit and bile splashed against the inside of his mask, dripping down his chin onto the sand below him. A moment later, and Dion was being wrenched back up to look at Creed by the iron grip on his ponytail.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Creed asked, voice smooth, almost gentle.

Dion glared at Creed through his mask. The flames were starting to die down, now, but the heat and exhaustion were as present as ever. Creed’s lips were curled into a snarl, his free hand lifting up to gently trace the broken edge of Dion’s mask—

Dion hated Creed. He hated him so much. He tried to pull away, exhaustion and panic and pain making him forget the hold Creed had on him—he needed to get away—

Trapped cornered trapped trapped let me go LET ME GO TRAPPED CORNERED LET ME GO—

Dion’s knuckles cracked against Creed’s mask, his right arm flailing with the motion. His leg snapped out, boot slamming against Creed’s knee and forcing the man back and down—

Creed didn’t let go of Dion’s ponytail, but Dion leaned into that, pushing forwards to swipe at Creed’s mask and kick at his other knee. Creed fell, letting go of Dion’s ponytail with one hand and balling the other into a fist—

Dion flipped over Creed’s fist and Creed himself, his whole body aching with the effort. Creed moved to stand and twist around at the same time—

Dion scrabbled up onto Creed’s shoulders, ankles hooking together in front of Creed’s neck. Creed reached up, grabbing at Dion’s broken arm and squeezing—

Dion twisted his legs just so as he screamed, voice raw from the smoke and the exhaustion. He fell to the floor, thrown by the agony in his arm from Creed tugging at it—

But so did Creed, neck twisted at an awkward angle. Dion yelped as Creed landed on his ankle, struggling to pull back before Creed somehow twisted around to grab Dion’s leg and break that too—

But Creed didn’t move at all. Dion panted, chest heaving as he pulled his leg out from under Creed’s body. Creed’s unmoving body that wasn’t breathing—

“I did it…” Dion stood on shaking legs, staring at Creed as though any minute the man would come back to life to hit Dion again. “I—”

His legs locked up under him, keeping Dion from stumbling to the floor. But the adrenaline was still fading, the agony in his arm and the pain he hadn’t noticed in his chest—fuck, had he hit his ribs at some point? Probably, knowing his luck—starting to hit him in full.

The fires had run out of fuel to burn, now, smoking embers having replaced the roaring blaze. Dion coughed, smoke heavy in the air. He’d… he’d really done it. He’d fought Creed and he’d won—

Something small and hot slammed into Dion’s back. He whirled around—fuck, his ankle—to face the source—

A man he didn’t recognize was floating up near the broken ends of the cage bars. He was saying something, voice projecting into Dion’s skull in a way that was pissing Dion off, but Dion couldn’t make out a single word. The world spun as his legs finally gave out—

He was unconscious before he hit the sand.