The fire became my signature, and all the players knew it. They knew who did the killing as they walked past the scorched earth where my victims’’ bodies lay.
Every time I would come across a person, they would try to get me to join up with them as they were unaware I was one of the Chosen. It isn’t until I pull out my lighter that they knew who I am. What I am.
“Y-you’re Fire,” they’ll stutter out and I just chuckle and nod at the sound of my new name. Within minutes, their body will be burning, and I’ll look to the score board, seeing four more points than before.
As I killed my next person, I looked up to the top of the board.
*Fire (JF): 92 Points.
I frowned. I had just had eighty-nine, why did my score only go up three points? I guess that it was now just an average way to kill people. The crowd must be tired of watching people burn to death after seeing it 22 times.
From then on, I would kill the person, then set their corpse ablaze. It was a lot easier of a process than lighting the lighter in the middle of a fight and trying to get the flame near them. I also started collecting the items off of them before burning their bodies, so the amount of weapons I had collected after the next four days was insane.
I had knives galore, a handful of throwing stars, even a sword now, though I didn’t know how to use it. I had collected a backpack after not that long and it was filled with weapons, some snacks like protein bars and nuts, and a bottle of water.
The only thing I didn’t take extra of was clothes. I might not have a soul, but I didn’t want to burn the people without them having kept some of their dignity.
As the next week past, my score steadily increased to 167. I had lost track of how many kills I had after I got to forty-five, but that amount didn’t matter to me. It was the amount of points I had that I cared about. I wanted to be a True Winner, not just the last alive.
I wanted the glory of killing the most, and making the last kill. I looked up at the Scoreboard. The number of players was one hundred and fifty-nine. Nineteen people had died since I had fallen asleep, a fairly average number.
I climbed down from where the leaves of the tree had hid me as I slept, moving from safety into the danger once more. I felt hungry as I walked, but I knew that I could just steal food off the next person I come across instead of using up my own supply.
Unluckily, I found a group. One that was following me.
I knew that every year a handful of people would group together to take out the Chosen, but the groups never last long. As it comes down to the final twenty or so, they all betray one another and the group just becomes a murder fest. You kill those you just trusted your life with, and maybe even the ones you called friend, because there can only be one winner.
I heard them whispering, trying to follow me quietly, but failing. There was to many of them for them to be silent, so I walked to where I knew I would have an escape if I needed to.
I jogged to the river, following it down to where the roaring of the waterfall could be heard. I walked close to the water, kneeling down and pretending to take a drink. As I felt on of them approach, I flipped around, grabbing the arm holding the knife that was about to stab me, and pulled the boy dawn past me, into the water. He was pulled into the current, and fell onto the pile of rocks waiting at the bottom of the drop.
The others rushed me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to fight my way out of this. There was about ten of them, and I couldn’t kill them all.
I got to my feet, and I took a running start, jumping over where I knew the rocks were at the bottom. I fell for what was only seconds before hitting the water, my feet breaking my fall. I sunk into the water, my feet touching the bottom. I grabbed onto the nearest thing I could, it was a plant that was growing at the bottom, and held onto it, staying under the water as long as my lungs would allow.
I looked up at the top of the water, trying to find the area where the waterfall was. As I spotted the bubbles racing to the top and the rocks getting pounded on, I pushed off the ground, kicking my feet until I was safely covered by the water in front of me, so no one from the group could see me.
I saw the boy who I had thrown into the river impaled on the rocks. His body was twisted and bloody, as the water pounded him farther and farther down.
I looked at his face, and surprisingly, I recognized it.
It was Jeremey, my friend from back home.
But did I care?
Did I feel bad?
Did I regret what I did?