SOTF Archive/SOTF Classic

No.

no no no no how the hell was Bella so fast no no she didn't deserve to live this maniac didn't deserve to live no do something anything just live just live have to get out of here it's like Ian tackling him all over again writhe struggle kick but I'm so weak no energy do anything do anything get out  must live must must live do anything

anything

Juhan rolled over and pressed the trigger on the machine gun.

Bella gritted her teeth as she pinned Juhan to the ground, struggling to maintain her hold on him through his desperate squirms against her grip. She wanted him to hurt, wanted him to look her in the eye when he realised just what she'd become. What little of her hair remained slipped over her shoulders and into her line of vision as though it were some greasy curtain, before being ripped out by her free hand as she repositioned her sickle, barely acknowledging the burn it brought to her scalp as she did so. As she hoisted the handle in her shaking hands, ready to finish what she should've started a long time ago, she was dimly aware of Juhan scrambling with something, only realising what it was the second his finger hooked around the trigger.

The roar of his gun almost deafened her, eliminating any sound from her ears save for a dull ringing that seemed to overwhelm everything else. She wasn't aware she was screaming until she felt the familiar burning within her throat, wasn't aware that the wild spray of bullets had even hit her until she glanced at what Juhan had done to her arm. One of the shells had grazed across it, tearing at flesh and splintering bone and sending waves of agony through her that harmonised with the almost rabbit-like hammering of her heartbeat.

Anger marred her features once more as she struggled to life the sickle through the bursts of pain radiating through her arm. She managed a weak swing of the blade that glanced across his skin before being forced to lower her weapon once more, visibly breaking it and spilling blood but leaving too shallow a wound to die from. Good. Any pain he managed to endure, any agony he had to face, it'd all be worth it, because then she'd know for sure he knew just how strong she'd become.

She dug her teeth into her lower lip, breaking the skin and sending a swirl of blood within her mouth as she forced herself to fight through the pain and maintain her ever-diminishing grip on Juhan's torso.

She smiled as she looked down at Juhan's writhing form, and lifted the sickle once more.

pain

oh god so much pain

cant hear anything i think i'm deaf can't see anything only red only feel pain pulsing burning on my forehead stomach throbbing burning excruciating it hurts it hurts make it stop make it stop i have to live have to live have to see kaisa and mom and dad maybe have to become a journalist have to fight have to dust off please pleas eplease have to make her pay give bella what she deserves what a murderers punishment is must hurt must make her feel what i feel scratch her face her cheeks dig in the nails draw blood cause no ones hands are dirty what difference does one person make make it hurt make it hurt

Bella screamed in frustration as Juhan managed to partially break free of her grip, only dimly aware of his hand shooting towards her face before his fingernails raked across it, causing yet another scream to vacate her throat. Instantly, her free hand instinctively rocketed up to survey the damage, her entire face burning with pain as her fingers gingerly inspected her wound. Mercifully, Juhan had managed to miss her eye - it having passed between his fingers - but she could feel the trail of blood and loose skin that he'd managed to tear through, leaving three diagonally symmetrical gashes across her face. Her vision blurred with tears of pain as she jerked backwards, landing painfully upon the cobblestones as she struggled to maintain her grip upon Juhan's body. Her free hand swatted violently at her face, trying to keep the tears at bay, refusing to let herself stoop to that level once more, but only succeeded in managing to inflict further damage upon her wound.

Her knees pushed into his chest as tightly as she could manage, sheer anger fuelling every single movement she made, and her face twisted even further as she tightened her grip upon her sickle, eyes wild and teeth bared and brow furrowed as she launched herself onto Juhan once more.

She swung the sickle down, her entire body moving violently with each ungraceful thrust of the blade, each lunge onto Juhan's body puncturing his torso and sending another stream of blood and gore to join what had already gathered around them. Droplets of red sprayed across the cobblestones of the courtyard and coated every inch of the sickle and her arms and her face, each strike of the blade increasing the anger and adrenaline that rushed through her like a tornado. She couldn't think or feel of anything beyond making him hurt, making sure she'd done enough to ensure that he knew for a certainty, didn't even feel his own defences as he clawed and cut and tore at her, not beyond the rage that propelled each and every one of her movements. But even as Juhan's fight and cuts began to slow and his limbs slackened beneath her, Bella found that she couldn't stop, couldn't prevent herself from swinging the blade down into his chest again and again, because she feared that no matter what she did, no matter how much she tore him limb from limb,

It would never be enough.

oh god cant breathe cant breathe make it stop make it stop theres a knife in bellas belt perfect perfect it can make her stop make it stop save him savior yes

scream

my vocal cords burn my body burns everything burns on fire on fire so much blood so much red wet sticky blood every move hurts but i have a knife i can live i can get out theres hope hope is all i need one deep cut two deep cuts three make it hurt makeit hurt make everything hurt doesnt matter where as long as it hits flesh yes yes use your fingernails use the knife bite scream kick claw anything anything just bring her down bring the crazy one down-

why arent my limbs working why arent they lifting no no no this cant no i cant stop shes not dead yet i havent gotten up yet i have to live go home go home need to get one more cut and maybe she'll finally die maybe she'll stop maybe the pain will stop no no no  

no

have to stay awake have to stay awake for just a few more minutes everything will be ok alright just fine juhan no worries no worries just hold on hold on dont mind the blood dont mind the fire the burning the throbbing the pulsing just bring her down make her stop make it stop make everything stop try swinging the knife cut more but limbs wont work nothing works cant breathe look at her crazy crazy face crazy eyes hate it make her hurt but i cant move

oh god im going to die

but bring her down with you. make her hurt, make her hurt.

"Fuck you."

thoughts going vision going ringing fading no no fight for the last moments stay awake stay awake dont let it be your last words come back juhan come back bring her down make it stop make the pain stop bring her down hate rage come back come back hate her come back

B045: JUHAN LEVANDI: DECEASED

17 STUDENTS REMAINING

Eventually, silence returned to the area, save for Bella's ragged breathing as she straddled used to be Juhan Levandi, his body almost unrecognisable beyond the puncture wounds strewn across his chest and the thick layer of blood that coated every inch of him. Bella found herself rooted to the spot, hands still clenched white-knuckled around the blade, which had found its resting place deep inside the cavity Juhan's body had become. Her tendons bulged as she readjusted her grip and slide her weapon from his chest, a thread of sticky droplets trailing behind it as she did so, before hugging it firmly to her chest in much the same way she'd once held her Garrett. Her heart rate didn't show any sign of stopping, continuing to drum violently within her chest as adrenaline pulsed rapidly through her system. She slowly dislodged herself from him, releasing her knees that locked in place and dug tightly against Juhan's body, before gingerly distancing herself away from what she'd done.

A smile was still faintly etched across her face, eyes unblinking as she found herself unable to look away from the corpse lying beside her. Both he and Takeshi had deserved it, had earned every bit of pain they'd undergone. It was what she needed to do to them, the only way they'd truly know who she was. And now they both did, she knew that for a certainty. And everybody else would know now, too. One kill could slip through the cracks, but three? No, she was sure they'd all know now. She was no longer some weak and scared little girl, hiding behind any protection she could find. She was strong. Better.

Her smile was quickly pulled away as a sharp burst of pain echoed within her chest, tangible even beyond the plethora of emotions surging within her. Her fingers danced along her stomach and came back glistening with red, even more blood than they were already soaked in. In the fervour of her attack, she'd forgotten about the kukri knife lodged by her side, too concerned with ensuring Juhan knew what she'd become to pay it much mind. But he hadn't, and in his final throughs he'd been able to tear and cut and deal her as much damage as he possibly could. She clutched her hands across the wound, droplets of blood seeping between her tightly-knitted fingers. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the bullet wound she'd acquired and she clenched them tightly shut, not wanting to acknowledge the injuries she'd sustained in the fight. The grazing was enough to look at even without factoring in the pain, the exposed bone and tissue making her want to retch whenever her gaze passed over it.

It was over, she'd gotten what she'd wanted. Everybody would know, and that was all she needed, even though she'd taken so much damage in the process.

A wide grin broke across her face, blood dripping into her mouth as her eyes darted around the massacre she was surrounded with.

She'd won.

((Hansel Williams, That big tough boy on the side of right? That's me.))

Years ago, Hansel had walked down shiny, linoleum tiles, his gaze passing over students he'd known, talked to, sometimes even liked. Years ago, he'd sat in the back of the class, his biggest concern being called on and asked to read sections, stuttering and mumbling through Shakespeare, through Don Quixote, through an entire debate on whether or not Da Vinci was the true renaissance man. Years ago, Hansel had noticed, smiled at, hoped for, a certain girl.

Now, he was here, confronted by that same girl with blood pooling at her mouth, surrounded by the corpses of two of those classmates. Juhan and Takeshi hadn't been friends of his by a long stretch, but they were dead. Dead at Mirabella's feet.

That meant something to him, and even as the danger of the situation closed in on him, he found himself wanting - needing - some form of closure from those years and years contained in days. Of all the people still left alive and breathing here, he hadn't expected anyone to remain innocent or untarnished, but his image of Mirabella - the girl, the beautifully shy girl in his english class - had stayed true somewhere in the recesses of his mind.

The fragrance of her perfume on prom night, when he'd shoved his flowers into Garrett's chest and walked away, willing himself not to feel, still haunted him.

But this... person, standing here, covered in gore and grinning, wasn't Mirabella. Not his image of her.

And for some reason, he was compelled to smash it. To ruin it. Make it so that this spectacle, seeing her here, disappeared, and he could still remember those years and years contained in days when she was just the girl who got away.

So he lifted his Winchester, stepped into the open, and pointed it at her torso.

Unlike Chris, unlike Marcus, unlike Kyle and Mallory and Leona and Daniel, he allowed himself a moment's hesitation.

Then, he pulled the trigger.

Bella remained in her position for far too long, too overwhelmed with her success to even entertain the notion of someone disturbing her peace. She ought to be able to loiter here for as long as she wished to, for forever if need be. She'd earned her sanctuary, earned herself a moment of reprieve before moving on. And even if someone did come, she knew that she wouldn't have the strength to move, her energy almost completely sapped from her being during the fight. But sure enough, they came calling, and answered her presence with fire.

She whipped her head around the catch a glimpse of the newcomer, but before she could garner even the slightest hint of recognition, it was too late. The bullet pummelled into her chest, the wound bursting upon and flooding with blood in its wake as she slammed onto the pavement. The slash Juhan had gifted her tore open even further as she arched her back, skin parting and sending shivers of agony through her entire system as she writhed on the ground.

Acting on adrenaline alone, she was able to roll herself onto her stomach before she crawled onto her feet, shakily regaining her footing upon the blood-soaked cobblestones. It took every remaining ounce of strength that she could muster, exhaustion and pain weighing down upon her as she gripped her sickle within her hands once more. The exposed tendons rose as she did so, resembling something akin to violin strings in shape and sending sharp bursts of pain throughout her wrist. But she fought back against it, dug her teeth into her split lip until it torn open once more and sent blood dribbling down her chin.

She smiled as she was able to ascertain who had tried to take her out, a wide grin managing to stretch across her features even as her body began to shut down.

Hansel Williams.

The boy who'd sat behind her in English, the boy who'd always seemed so sweet, despite what everybody else said, the boy who'd bought her peonies, the boy who'd sat idly by while her Garrett bleed to death in the mud.

Awhile ago, she might've pitied Hansel.

Awhile ago, she might've even loved him.

But that was not the way the world had turned for either of them, and she wasn't that person anymore. She wasn't weak or dependant or forgiving, not to anyone, and least of all not to him. She hated him, wanted to see him gone just as much as the bitch who'd done the deed. She'd been robbed of that satisfaction, but here she'd been presented with second prize on a silver platter.

She took a handful of shaking steps in his direction, and swung.

She dropped to the ground like a sack of meat, a sight that Hansel was getting used to - long removed from a time when a corpse collapsing due to bullets was surprising. He lowered the rifle, keeping both hands on it, looking down at the girl he'd once known, down on the ground, like so many other names and faces he'd come across.

She didn't stay down.

She advanced far too quickly, and he reacted instinctively, her swing whistling through the air in front of him as he juke-stepped backwards, a clattering filling the air as he sought to put distance between them. She was bleeding, and he'd shot her, and she didn't stay down.

Everyone else had.

The clack of the lever-action sounded as he rammed it out and then back in, an empty shell casing flying out of the Winchester as he shouldered the rifle again, fired again.

Bella's eyes were wild as Hansel easily dodged her swing, the blade of weapon cutting almost audibly through thin air. The roar of his gunfire was still lodged firmly within her eardrums, deafening her to any other sound that echoed throughout the area. She lunged forward as fast as she could despite the gaping wounds and the streams of blood that poured freely from them. Anger rattled her entire body, consuming every little piece of the girl she'd once been in its wake. He deserved this, he deserved it more than anyone.

Had he been surprised to see her like this?

Had he had the exact same reaction she'd craved for so long?

Bella found she didn't care, didn't want to know whether he'd have given her exactly what she wanted. All she could think of was what he'd taken from her, what levels he'd thrown her down to become what she was now. She'd defended him for what he'd done to Daniel, and that had cost Francis his life and driven Megan away. Then she'd tried to desperately to believe he couldn't be one of them, had tried to convince her Garrett that Hansel could be the exception, because otherwise she'd caused Francis's death for nothing, but that had only strengthened her boyfriend's resolve. If it wasn't for that, then he wouldn't have attacked Hansel back at the clifftops. If it wasn't for that, then she'd still be safe.

If it wasn't for that, then she'd still be the weak, dependant girl she'd always been.

He'd forced her onto this path, and part of her felt she ought to be thankful for it.

But the other part didn't care, and that part had enveloped all others. She wanted to see him die, wanted to rob him of his life just as he'd helped rob Garrett's. No matter how long she drew it out, no matter how much pain or carnage she could inflict upon him, it would be more merciful than he deserved.

She motioned to swing again, but before she could do so the crack of gunfire whipped through the air and she could feel its punch as it pierced through her ribcage, forcing another scream from her throat as it tore through her. The bullet's moment carried her backwards, once again propelling her violently onto her back. A sharp pain echoed throughout her ankle as she collided with the ground, and she knew almost instantly that she'd sprained it. Even then, she forced herself to pick herself up and swing as hard as she could; even as her tendons tensed and snapped, even as her lifeforce trickled away, even as her vision began to blur over, her eyes still fixed unwaveringly upon Hansel's form.

Killing him was all she had left.

As his second shot threw her to the ground, Hansel tossed up a quick prayer that it was all over. She'd be dead, he wouldn't have to keep pulling this trigger, draw out what had always been so quick before. He watched her, her scream mingling with the ringing in his ears from the consecutive trigger-pulls, waited.

And she got to her feet.

He pulled the lever action down again just as she swung, and he was forced to raise the Winchester in defense as her weapon slammed into it, sending it from his grasp as she approached. He took two more steps back, reaching for his shotgun only to find it dislodged in his initial dodge, and was lying somewhere behind her.

As he backpedaled, his foot caught on a table leg, and he was sent to the ground, crashing onto his back. Scrambling, he began to retreat, scooting backwards until his back hit rough brick, left hand raising - the missing fingers prominent beneath the heavy, dirty bandages.

"Wait," he said, his voice oddly monotone, disengaged. His right hand propped his body up, utilizing his elbow.

The blade missed again, the momentum of her swing tearing at her aching muscles as it cut through the air. Frustration began to nip at her as she hoisted it back up, ignoring the throbs of pain that tore through her and set her entire body aflame with agony. She ground her teeth sharply against one another and strengthened her gaze upon Hansel's form as he lay prostrate before her, her feet's grip upon the ground diminishing with each passing second.

Then he protested, propping up his elbow as a makeshift form of defence before offering her a single word, a single word he expected to halt her attack, to taper the anger that overflowed within her. And somehow, despite everything, despite all that she'd promised herself, it worked.

But only for a second.

Bella's voice was weak as she replied, barely audible to even herself through the harsh ringing in her ears. He'd given her one word, and so she paid him back in turn as a single syllable passed through her lips; though the anger behind it was almost tangible, in contrast to his one monotonic delivery.

"No."

There was nothing but truth to it as well. Why should she wait? Why should she deny herself what she'd wanted, had longed for, for so long? Why should she wait, when Andi hadn't, when he hadn't, when nobody who'd betrayed her had?

She readjusted her grip, and swung again.

She wasn't going down when he shot her in the body, and so Hansel had needed her to come closer.

He'd counted on her frantic movements, her clear signs of having lost all semblance of sanity to the island, to mask his clearly bad acting and too-happenstance positioning. His back was against the wall to provide leverage, his hand was out to create a target, his right elbow on the ground to make drawing the pistol easier.

And when she came close enough to respond, in that moment of hesitation, he made his move.

As she cocked her elbow backwards his right hand dove for his belt and his grip was around the pistol jerking it free as her hand went behind her head and the pistol was out as she began her swing and his index finger was squeezing - the barrel pointed between her eyes as the axe came forwards.

Crack.

Another scream reverberated through Bella's throat as she saw Hansel loop his finger around the trigger, tearing and burning and sending another trail of tears down her face - though she could scarcely hear anything beyond the lingering recoil of Hansel's shots and the impossibly fast racing of her heartbeat. Time seemed to slow to a crawl in that second, the entire world collapsing upon her as it did so. She could feel her legs giving way beneath her, shaking violently, her entire body awash with waves of agony. She could feel blood continuing to flow thickly from half a dozen different puncture wounds, bone and flesh splitting and tearing with every movement she made and sending yet another yelp of anguish from her as a newfound realisation dawned upon her, making itself known to her even through the chaos her mind had become.

But she refuted it instantly, shunting it aside as violently as she swung her sickle, movements ungainly and weakening dramatically with every passing second.

No. She couldn't die, not now, not after everything she'd been through, everything she'd done, everything she'd become.

Bella lunged forward, propelling herself onwards with sheer willpower, refusing to let herself be taken out now, not when she was so close, not when she'd finally gotten what she wanted. But then yet another bullet vacated Hansel's gun and punctured through her with nothing left to stop it, and she finally toppled forwards, landing with a violent crunch upon the blood-splattered pavement.

Another shot echoed throughout the air as Hansel ensured he'd ended her life, but by that point she was already dead.

Mirabella Strong might've even been dead before she hit the ground.

Physically? Just seconds ago.

Mentally? Who knows.

Mirabella finally fell, slumping backwards, her foot inches away from where his own lay spread out against the courtyard ground, a look of terrified fury still etched across her once delicate features, now smeared in gore, sweat, tears. Hansel kept the pistol raised for another few seconds, muscles tense and bunched up, before letting it sag to his side.

The pistol scraped against the ground as he let it go, lifting both shaking hands to spear through his matted hair, feeling a few flecks of moisture - blood - on his forehead, his neck. He let them stay - no point in wiping them off at this stage - as he brought his knees up, rested his elbows on them, buried his face in his hands.

Years and years ago, he'd convinced himself that he'd deserved Mirabella, and years and years ago, that hope had been squashed like an errant bug on a windshield.

Years and years ago, he'd wanted to be a vet.

Had full use of both hands.

Wasn't a murderer.

Twelve time murderer.

But the years contained in days shouldn't be his full concern right now. He took a risk confronting her to put his past firmly behind him, to focus on the future.

So, on unsteady legs, he rose from his position, scooping the pistol back up, flicking the safety on and tucking it into his belt. He stepped gingerly over Mirabella - twin holes in her forehead and two gaping wounds in her chest - to go collect his shotgun. His Winchester had a gash in the barrel, and the metal was scraped along one side from being knocked out of his hands, but the cocking mechanism still functioned. He took that, too.

He went around the courtyard, filling his bag even more with whatever supplies he could salvage from Juhan and Takeshi, not touching Mirabella's.

When he had his fill, he spared the corpses one last glance before leaving.

((Hansel Williams, There are some things a man just can't run away from.))