Gooner Games Season 3 - FINALE (PART 1)

Dawn broke on three souls who'd forgotten what mercy looked like. MADAO sat against his tree—the same tree, always the same tree—watching the sun paint the corpses gold. He hadn't moved in three days. Hadn't fought. Hadn't run. Hadn't done anything except exist. ilikebooks stood apart, still human somehow. Still wanting to be human. SilentPoppy_ smiled from the shadows. She'd been smiling for three days. No one knew why. No one asked anymore. "Just us now," ilikebooks said. MADAO grunted. "Been just us for a while, boy. Took you long enough to notice." SilentPoppy_ stepped into the light. "Three survivors. The rules say one." "There are no rules," MADAO said. "There are always rules." Her smile widened. "I'm just the only one who read them." ilikebooks looked at MADAO. Looked at the blood soaking through his own shirt—DigasB's blood, from when he'd held the champion as he died. "I should end it," ilikebooks whispered. "If I—if I kill myself, then you two can—" "Stop." MADAO's voice was quiet. Not weak—quiet. The kind of quiet that comes from being too old to shout. "If you've got time to fantasize about a beautiful death," MADAO said, "why not live beautifully until the end?" ilikebooks stared at him. "Live beautifully? In this place?" "This place is all there is." MADAO pushed himself up—slow, ancient, unstoppable. "Make it beautiful anyway." Something clicked in ilikebooks's eyes. Not madness. Clarity. "You're right," he said. "I want to live." He stepped toward MADAO, arms open, embrace offered— And the knife appeared from nowhere. Hidden for three days. Saved for this exact moment. One hit. One kill. It would have worked. But SilentPoppy_ was faster. She moved like smoke, like shadow, like something that had been waiting her whole existence for this heartbeat. She stepped between them and took the blade in her chest. Deep. Through heart. Through lung. Through everything. She fell. ilikebooks stumbled back, horrified. "I didn't—I wasn't—" But MADAO wasn't looking at him. MADAO was looking at the woman on the ground, blood pooling beneath her, smile still frozen on her face. Then ilikebooks hit him. The knife was gone, but ilikebooks had fists, had feet, had three days of watching people die and hating himself for not stopping it. He tackled MADAO into the mud and rained blows—wild, desperate, alive. "You should have run!" ilikebooks screamed. "You should have hidden! You should have—" MADAO caught his fist. "You think I'm afraid to die, boy?" He headbutted ilikebooks—forehead to nose, cartilage cracking, blood spraying. They rolled apart and rose at the same time. Two men. No weapons. No mercy. They crashed together again. ilikebooks was younger, faster, fueled by guilt and rage. His fists found MADAO's ribs—crack, crack, crack—until bones splintered and punctured something vital. MADAO gasped. Blood bubbled from his lips. But he didn't fall. "I'M STILL STANDING," he growled, and drove his knee into ilikebooks's stomach. ilikebooks doubled over. MADAO grabbed his hair and slammed his face into a rock. Once. Twice. Three times, until teeth scattered and jaw hung wrong. ilikebooks clawed at his eyes, tore skin, drew blood. MADAO roared and threw him into a tree. They both collapsed. They both rose. "WHY WON'T YOU DIE?" ilikebooks screamed, face ruined, voice broken. MADAO's laugh was wet with blood. "I'm too old to know how." He charged. ilikebooks met him halfway. They became a single mass of hate and bone—fingers in eyes, teeth in ears, knees in groins. Blood sprayed with every impact. Skin tore with every grip. ilikebooks got MADAO on the ground, hands around his throat, squeezing, squeezing— MADAO's eyes blazed. "Go ahead," he rasped. "Kill me. But you better make sure I'm dead, because if I have breath left, I'm taking your eyes with me." ilikebooks hesitated. One heartbeat. That's all MADAO needed. His hand shot up—two fingers hooked like claws—and drove into ilikebooks's eyes. Not popping—scooping. Pulling. Tearing. ilikebooks screamed and fell back, hands clutching empty sockets, blood streaming down his face. MADAO rose above him. Broken. Bleeding. Unstoppable. "I'M NEVER GIVING UP," he whispered. His foot came down on ilikebooks's throat. One crunch. Silence. MADAO stood over the body, chest heaving, blood pouring from a dozen wounds. His ribs were shattered. His arm hung wrong. One eye was gone—just a socket, just a hole. Something vital had been punctured hours ago; he could feel it leaking. He'd won. He turned to face the sunrise— Clap. Clap. Clap. SilentPoppy_ sat up. The knife was still in her chest. Still through her heart. Still there. "Being dead was not all it's cracked up to be," she said, smile never wavering, "though, so I walked it off." MADAO stared. TO BE CONTINUED