Hoseok stared into the bloodied, splintered gate that separated him from the fighting pit. He could see the bright sand outside as he peered between the bars. He could see the pool of inky red from the battles of the day that had ended less than gallantly.

He could smell the smell of rust and sweat and shit from the not too distantly dead bodies that had been dragged by their heels from the sandy stadium.

The opening games were always the most insufferable to watch. Just a bunch of prisoners and criminals from various fortresses all given the same offer: "Win this match in the fighting pit, and you can dock time off of your sentence." Brutal, bloody, clumsy deaths often were the result. The kind that can't help but make your stomach turn, no matter how seasoned you were at killing people.

At least, that was how Hoseok felt about it.

He adjusted the strap of the bracer laced against his left arm. It was a smidge too tight. He tried to focus on his gear, on the task at hand, even though Yoongi's words were still echoing in his head in that crackling tone of the in-ear comm system: "It was Tae."

This changes everything.

Chimin appeared just over Hoseok's shoulder. He reached out a hand and adjusted the back strap of Hoseok's breastplate so that it was the right degree of secure. As he did so, Chimin said, "Yoongi still hasn't been able to break the last wall of security in the anti-magic coding for this stadium, but once he does all hell is gonna break loose. Are you prepared for what comes after that?"

"You've already asked me this, Chimin, and the answer hasn't changed."

Chim stepped back and crossed his arms. He was wearing a loose fitting white shirt and green joggers, his blonde hair falling shaggily around his sharp eyes as he sized Hoseok up in his combat gear. Hobi's light reddish armor was a combination of leather and linens, with soft padding that bulged over his shoulders and major joints, but didn't restrict his movements.

Hoseok spoke up again, his grip on the hilt of his longsword tightening, "Joon, Tae, it doesn't matter. This is the right thing to do. I'm prepared for what comes next."

Chim gave a single, careful nod. "Alright then."

A horn sounded. The gate just behind Hoseok opened and light spread into and over him and Chimin inside of those shadowy barracks. An unseen announcer's voice bellowed out his name and Hoseok stepped out into the blaze of sunlight and the overbearing gaze of all who had come to throw their political jabs at each other, and then to be entertained.

Hoseok saw Kim Taehyung's slender, black leather-clad frame walking out of the open gate opposite to him.

Fire raged in Hoseok's belly, the fire of vengeance. He was ready for this. He'd been ready for this for a long time.

He and Taehyung turned towards the announcer's podium and bowed as a gesture of goodwill to the crowd. There was a roar of shouting and applause in response.

Then Hosoek and Taehyung squared up in the direction of each other.

Tae reached behind his back and unsheathed two short swords with a single jagged hook at the tip of each blade.

Hoseok shook his head in disapproval. Brutal.

Then Jung Hoseok unhooked the waste strap for the sheath of his Geji longsword. He pulled the slim blade from its case, then tossed the green sheath aside into the sand. He braced two hands onto the hilt of the blade and let it rest low towards the sand as he waited.

Kim Taehyung loved games. He was good at them. It'd been some time since he'd gotten to stop worrying about the mess inside of him concerning what was right, what was wrong, who was going to scold him after the fact, or what the terrible consequences of his actions would end up becoming.

He savored every chance he got to just let the mess inside of him rest, and focus on enjoying a good game. That was how he felt as he gripped with delicate finesse the hilts of his short swords and his toes slid and skipped into place here, then there, in the sand.

Tae was excited. Today's fight with Jung Hoseok was going to be the most fun he'd had in a long time.

He knew that Hoseok was angry. Tae knew that look in the red head's eyes. He'd been in combat alongside of Hoseok enough times to know that his former comrade was looking forward to this fight just as much as he was.

"You know that I didn't come to scrimmage, right?" Tae asked boldly, a playful grin playing about his perfectly delicate features.

"Good. Because I didn't, either," Hoseok answered with a scowl.

"Good." Tae's grin widened, his teeth glinting in the sun. "May the best man live."

The gong sounded, an explosion of applause and roars from the crowd erupted, and the fight was underway.

Tae began circling to the left.

Hoseok mirrored his movement, keeping two hands gripping his longsword firmly.

"What will he do?" Hoseok asked, taunting in his voice. "Will he dance and dance his way out of reach the whole time? Or is he brave enough to lunge?"

Tae sneered back. He was enjoying the taunting, though.

"We both know I'm the better dancer," Hoseok said through his carefully controlled expression. "I look forward to your surrender."

"As if."

The corner of Hoseok's mouth ticked up just slightly.

Tae bounced forward on his feet with brilliant speed, his shortsword blades held backwards in his grip and the blades fanning out as if they were metallic wings from the sides of his forearms.

Hoseok sense the trajectory of Tae's footwork, the spiraled motion of his defend-and-slice attack, in seconds. He smirked, let his longsword stretch forward in one hand with an extremely long reach, and swatted at Tae's legs.

The short sword-weilder stumbled forward, favoring his left knee. His right suddenly had a thin slice through leather and skin, though it was shallow.

Child's play. Hoseok let out a single laugh.

"Coward," Tae barked.

"You should have chosen a smarter weapon. You knew I'd do what I do best." Hoseok stood stock-still, two hands on his blade again as it fell gently forward.

"Oh, I knew." Tae swung one of his shortswords forwards while the other remained braced against his forearm. "I was counting on it."

Kim Taehyung didn't run forward this time. Instead, he angled himself, stepped, and LAUNCH. One of his shortswords was spinning through the air straight for Hoseok's chest.

CHINK.

A simple side-step, blade raised, he avoided the assault. But the distraction, the way that Hoseok had his blade raised around his upper torso, was all Tae needed.

As one short sword flew through the air, Tae timed his forward lunge perfectly: he ran swift as the wind past Hoseok's now-exposed right side and his hooked blade sliced and tore at leather and flesh around Hoseok's ribcage.

"GHA!"

The feisty redhead didn't pause for the pain. He twisted on his feet, the downward swing of his blade catching Tae in the right calf and tearing skin and muscle just before Tae was out of reach again.

Hoseok had felt the tension of the blade through his fingers as the tip of the blade tore through skin.

Tae tumbled out of his run and almost fell forward, flat on his face. As his body angled downward, he made sure to snatch up his spare blade from the sand and drag it up to be braced again against the back of his forearm. Two blades at the ready once again.

Hoseok didn't wait for Tae to get his footing, or turn and face him. Hoseok spun and ran on Taehyung's heels as Tae attempted to run away. Hoseok was gaining quickly, his blade trailing low and light at his his feet until he was within reach.

Tae sensed his presence and, against the pain, pushed his legs fast: he had to be quick.

Hoseok swung; the tip of his blade ticked against the leather plating at Tae's back, but nothing more. Hobi was smiling though and he picked up the pace.

Tae knew he couldn't outrun Hoseok for long with his torn calf. So he decided not to.

As Hoseok was gaining, the red head combat master raised his blade up and prepared to time the downward stroke.

Taehyung suddenly braced his feet against the sand, grains spraying beneath him, and before Hobi could pull down his blade or stop his swift forward motion, Tae made a spiraled turn back in Hobi's direction that let him spin each hooked blade once through Hoseok's chest. The force of the double blow, the bite of the hooked blades, made Hoseok be the one to loose his footing this time.

The feisty red head's vision faded for a second, and his knees found themselves in the sand—but he made sure to concentrate on keeping a firm grip on his Geji sword in one hand, and on breathing. He felt blood in his lungs, but not enough to drown in it. Not enough that his lungs were flooding completely in rapid fire. Not yet.

Tae paused a distance from where Hobi was resting on his knees. Tae was panting through a satisfied grin. Such fun.

Hoseok was still blinking through the daze over his eyes. His right hand was pressed against his chest, where blood and more blood was gushing. Such a familiar smell, he thought with a dazed warmth. Like coming home.

Tae crept up behind Hoseok, both of his small blades dropped forward now. Trickster Tae braced himself in the sand just behind Hoseok's knees.

Then.

The sound of whirring metal.

The sound of a heavy weight falling into sand.

"You should have surrendered." Hoseok had spun on his knees, that longsword twisted in both hands, and driven the blade across Tae's stomach.

Tae had fallen heavily into sand, and lay choking and gasping on the blood rising up in his throat as he lay crumpled in the dust. Both of his hands were clenching and bracing against his gut—which was overflowing with thick inky blood. He coughed, and more red sputtered from his lips.

Hoseok left his blade in the sand. He crawled hands and knees to where Tae lay and pulled Tae's head up against his legs, cradling Kim Taehyung's gasping frame in his lap. Hoseok pulled Tae's desperate hands away from his sliced stomach to see, but the geyser of black-red only pulsed on and Hoseok knew.

He pressed Tae's hands back over the wound.

"Hold steady, now."

Tae tried to choke out a reply, his eyes wide and swimming as tears overflowed down his bloodied, grimy, sweaty cheeks. He was looking directly into Hoseok's eyes, his expressive brows scrunched into confusion.

Hoseok thought he saw a strange flash of black mist pass over Tae's desperate eyes and then disappear. After that unexpected moment, an eerily happy and childlike smile curled into Kim Taehyungs bloodied lips, and his sputters and gasps and tears became bound up in a kind of slow, soundless, broken laugh.

That childlike smile that Hoseok felt like he hadn't seen in ages. The sight of it now....

Why does he suddenly look so relieved? What was...?

Hoseok swallowed, letting shock and adrenaline hold him steady as he held Kim Taehyung's gasping frame.

"I'm sorry it came to this." Hoseok's eyes were moist, but he didn't even know it. "I am, Tae, whether you believe that or not. I'm sorry. But this is your justice, you crazy bastard." Hoseok could barely breath himself, from his wounds, from the shock of what was happening to the body in his hands of this friend whom he loved so, so much. "This is your justice."

"It's ok.... The best man... lived." Tae gave one last choking sound through his bloodied smile. Then stiffness settled, his amber eyes glassed over, and his spirit left him.

Kim Taehyung had died at the hands of Jung Hoseok in the arena pit for all of the leaders of Era to behold.

____

Hoseok waved off the centries that were there to collect Tae's body. He plucked up his old friend's heels and began to drag him across the sand himself.

That is, until the figure of Chimin appeared beside him. Hobi stopped a moment, though keeping a firm grip on Tae's sweaty, sandaled feet.

Chimin choked back a sob. Then he shook himself together, though the tears continued to quietly flow and he moved as if looking through a blurred vision of reality. Chimin walked over and took Kim Taehyung's dead body by the wrists and began helping Hobi drag him from the arena.

Chim's pure white blouse shirt quickly became speckled and spattered with red, like a gory fresh canvas, far more stark than the bloodstains against Hoseok's reddish light armor.

They carried Tae slowly to the dying chambers that were under the pits. The sounds of moaning from lesser combatants finding their way towards death could be heard in adjacent rooms as Chimin and Hobi hoisted Tae's motionless frame up onto a stone slab.

Then Chimin couldn't hold it in anymore. He let out a high-pitched, almost soundless heave of pain as he stumbled backwards from the stone slab, his back colliding heavily into stone wall. His face was red-speckled and pure agony.

Hoseok was surprisingly blank faced, his tone of voice empty and stern. "Go Chimin. I'll clean him."

Chimin couldn't stop staring through his tears at Tae's dead, gory frame. He hardly heard Hoseok at all.

"Chimin! Go! You still have work to do, dammit!"

Hoseok walked over, took Chimin forcibly by the shoulders, and pushed and pulled the golden haired man out of that room for the dead-and-dying and into the hallway. Then Hoseok returned to where Tae's body lay.

Two heavy coins, Hoseok rested onto Tae's eyelids, pushing those blank gaping orbs closed. Then Hoseok reached down for one of the buckets of muddy water that rested in the room, ready and waiting. He lifted the bucket, bringing the tip of the lip to the top of Tae's head and slowly, he guided the waterfall as it cascaded down over Tae's whole body.

As blood and grime were peeled and poured from Tae's frame by the pouring water, Hoseok saw two things that much clearer: the fleshy gore and death that he had inflicted, and the memories of a friend he used to know so well. To know and love. Don't look away, Hobi. Don't look away from what you have done.

Poor Chimin had barely stumbled a few feet, almost blindly, down the hallway of those chambers for the dead and the dying. He didn't get far. Chimin had slumped up against the dimly lit hallway wall and his knees gave way as he buried his silent agony into his now-bloodied hands and he sank face-down into the filthy floor. Tae's blood. It's on my hands.

Chim was so deep into his grief that he almost didn't register the heart-shattering wail of Jung Hoseok echoing from the room he'd just left--like the sound of a man in the middle of being tortured to death.