Chapter Text
“Owen! Owen, please!"
Owen stares down at Apo, already poised to throw his red-tipped weapon.
"I've already taken care of everyone else, Apo."
His eyes are cold. Merciless. Fitting, given the life he left behind. By contrast, Apo's eyes are pleading just as much as his mouth.
"Owen, why? I loved you like a brother!"
Owen winds his arm back. There’s nowhere for his target to run.
"I'm sorry, Apo."
He throws.
"It's nothing personal."
The projectile flies through the air. Apo, worn out after having tried to defend himself, can't move.
It hits him square in the chest, and he collapses. His shirt is stained red.
"AAAAAND THAT'S IT!"
Bek's voice rings all through The Glade, amplified by a megaphone.
"OWEN WIIINS!!!"
Slowly, Apo tries to stand up- and fails, falling to his knees. The javelin (tipped with a dense ball of slime and redstone powder rather than anything dangerous) succumbs to gravity, landing on the ground with a clatter.
"Oh- ah- ow! Guys! Um, can I get a little help, please?"
Rasbi approaches Apo, her own shirt almost completely stained red, and begins hauling him to his feet.
He takes in all the red and quirks a brow.
"So....how'd he get you?" He asks. Rasbi shrugs.
"Pitfall. Still dunno how though."
"I used the time Bek gave us very efficiently," Owen lightly boasts, passing them on his way to claim his prize.
Apo stretches his arms, then promptly winces. Rasbi looks at him curiously.
"Ugh," he grouses, "why'd he throw so hard? Now I'm gonna have an ugly-ass bruise tomorrow!"
Rasbi pats his back.
"It's okay Apo. We'll have Owen MC next time."
"...Thanks Rasbi."