Survival Of The Fittest

Thud.

Garnet rolled, a quiet crunch, a far louder shout. She clasped her hip. No time for that, no time, no time.

Willow wasn't there.

The broken section of balcony rail stared Garnet in the face. Shit, was she...?

Gritting her teeth, Garnet crawled forward, up to the edge. Nothing was distinct in the gloom below. She groped for her flashlight, fingers slipping from it once, twice. She finally managed to tear it from her pocket, turn on the beam.

She thought—feared—hoped—that she might see Willow down there, bloodied and shattered, dead or dying. That maybe that would be the end of it.

Nothing,

She moved the light to and fro. Willow couldn't have ran away, right? It would be as good as killing herself and, and whatever that had been just a moment ago, it wasn't suicide. Had Willow hoped to burn herself, or both of them?

Nothing.

Garnet's head dipped, tucked into her chest. Ragged breaths seeped out of her, eyes welling. It couldn't just be over.

So.

She got a knee under herself, bit off a gasp as she forced herself up off the floor. She wavered, one hand flat to the balcony. Okay. Okay. Hat. Back on. Gun. Lot of good it'd done. Up.

Standing hurt. Garnet swore, started to stagger, caught herself on the rail. She didn't know if she could still feel the glass or imagined she could feel the glass but it didn't imaginarily suck. She straightened, palming her flashlight and her shotgun. The weapon weighed little enough to make that not too unwieldy, even having to grip the gun and light source at the same time. Gun was okay in one hand too, though she wasn't about to fire it like that. She liked her elbows.

Walking hurt too. She bled. She had to say that this was about seven more times than she'd ever expected to be stabbed.

Garnet moved. Off the balcony. Through the red room, refusing to look at the floor, the walls, anything other than the direct beam of her flashlight. Weird, how just one beam instead of two crowded the darkness in around her.

Top of the stairs.

Quiet in here. Garnet breathed shallow, loud as she dared.

The beam traversed the landing, the lower floor. Chandelier. Bloodstains. Diego. Ace. Door.

She started down the stairs.

One step after another.

Each jangled her nerves, heart buzzing like a hummingbird.

Creak. Deafening.

She stopped. Watched. Had Willow heard?

Garnet remained still. A rivulet run down her back. Trickling. Trickling.

Nothing.

She released her held breath.

Took a step.

Her ankle exploded in screaming agony

The gun broke under her weight. As if she were heavy. As if she were strong enough to break it. It felt like an insult, a taunt. A reminder that she had failed at something else again.

It broke, and strangely, she felt something change in her body.

Or maybe it was just the glass shards in her lungs.
She coughed. She let the broken gun there. It was complete waste. Broken in half on the stone bricks and shattered into smaller pieces against the dirt. It had broken her fall. She almost smiled, but then she coughed again.

Blood.

She had almost forgotten how she had gotten here. It was a frenzy. A scrambling until she entered the main hall. More blood. More pain. More glass. She twitched. Willow moved, her body shattering. It clicked and it creaked like a haunted house at the witching hour. She moved again, her feet gliding. She caught a light. She saw it shine.

Willow smiled.

The shiv flew on its own. It met a tendon, a piece of flesh, skin and muscles and bones. Willow’s arm stuck out from the gaps in the bannister like a broken tendril of something bigger. She cut, and again, she coughed.

Coughing was the rhythm and she was moving on the beat.

Hard fall, harder landing.

Her face hit the bottom step and she bounced. The shotgun clattered away. The light rolled.

Garnet blinked. Blinked. She couldn't see. Her glasses, where...

Her foot twitched. She shrieked.

ShitfuckmotherfuckingfuckingSHITsonofabitchfuck

Above Garnet's screaming, Willow's footfalls remained thunderous.

Garnet rolled—bad hip again but barely fucking felt it her ankle was, her ankle—and lashed out with her good leg—ha fucking fuck she had a good leg fuck—where a light bobbed in the dark, connecting with something soft, getting a hiss, a curse

she scrambled back on her elbows, panting, sobbing. The will o' wisp advanced on her.

“See.”

Willow said. Her tone haughty and distant. Her eyes filled with disdain.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had listened.”

She coughed. More blood. There was a hole in her rib cage. There was another in her cheek. She didn’t recall that one.

“Now.”

She flicked the stun gun, letting the cries of a thousand crows echoed through the mansion’s grand hall. They were surrounded by bodies. She didn’t dread death.

“Prove to me you deserve to live.”

Willow's voice spat from that space behind the light. The rasping cough did not nothing to detract from the venom.

Electricity split the air, reflecting off Willow's eyes, gleams of nothingness.

She was slow and methodical. Garnet's frantic scrabbling gained distance.

Stand up. it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, but, stand up.
Stand up.

hurts, but

Stand up.

Stand up, or she was never standing again.

Garnet put her weight down and screamed, cried, roared.

Her leg buckled, she forced it steady.

She raised her fists.

"N-not got shit to prove to you!"

There was a black cloud trailing behind Willow.

"Really? Nothing?"

Everything seemed more vivid right now. It was strange. Almost peaceful. Willow took another step forward. The darkness felt good. The floor was squishy, littered in everything ranging from blood and guts to vomit and toy cars. She smiled.

"Are you that selfish?" Blood was dripping from mouth to her chin unto her neck. "Are you that broken?"

She hummed.

"If you have nothing to prove, go die somewhere. I have things to do."

“Oh fuck off.”

She swung.

The punch landed square in Willow’s chest. Aimed or not, it flared up the broken ribs.

“Cunt.”

A jab of thunder.

Solid connection. More venom. Garnet ignored it. Couldn’t dodge with her foot. Grabbed the wrist.

The sparks crackled inches from Garnet’s arm. She cocked back her free hand and punched Willow in the face.

She already had a broken tooth.

Now, she had three.

She spat a geyser of blood and teeth, scalding Garnet’s face.

In the eye. She recoiled, almost toppled. Garnet was stumbling so she pulled, dragged Willow in, met her jaw with her forearm. Crack.

Nose? Teeth? Cheeks? Willow wasn’t sure what broke this time. She didn’t mind. Her teeth sunk.

Fucking—Garnet ripped her arm clear of Willow’s jagged mouth. Had she pierced through the sleeve?—cackling electricity tore her thoughts away from the biting. Garnet stepped, forgetting her ankle, buckled against Willow, clinging and wrestling to stay standing.