Welcome to the Arena, Prepare to Die

[grimbiker]

WHO| Sirius and MCU Bucky
WHAT| Sirius runs from his zombie best friend into the exact wrong person.
WHEN| Middle of week 5
WHERE| Main street
WARNINGS| Violence and death



Sirius had no idea what he was doing. He'd had only a brief explanation of where he was before he was thrown into... this place. It didn't feel like a dream. It felt real. But maybe that was what all his relations who'd lost their minds thought when they finally went mad. He'd been under enough pressure. Fighting in the war for years was getting to him, the fact that his best friends had to go into hiding with their son, the suspicion eating away at him. It was amazing he hadn't lost it sooner, really.

With all that in mind, he should have been even more on edge when he saw James walking toward him.

"Prongs! Am I glad to see you." Sirius rushed towards him. On second thought, he really shouldn't be glad to see his friends because then that meant they were in a death arena together but he was a familiar face and if anyone could calm Sirius down it was him.

Only... he didn't talk. He didn't even react as Sirius came closer.

"Prongs? What's-- why are you looking at me like--"

And then James punched him.

Sirius reeled and pressed his hand to his nose. "What the hell? James--" Just as he looked up he received another fist directly at his face.

When James drew his fist back to hit him again, Sirius lunged forward. He collided with his friend, arms around his middle to knock him to the pavement but then James rolled him so he was on his back and started to whale into him. It didn't matter how many times Sirius tried to use his magic, wandless though he was, it didn't work.

Somehow, Sirius managed to punch him enough times to get him off and then he was on his feet and running away from his bewitched friend. Maybe then he could regroup and think of how to deal with him.

What he didn't know was that, as his feet carried him down the street, he was running in precisely the wrong direction.

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[tookthewheel]

Steve was dead.

So the pictures in the night sky had proclaimed. He'd retraced his steps immediately, not trusting them, wending his way back to where he'd met Steve first and attempting to track his trail from there. It had led to the sight of what looked to be a fierce battle with dried blood staining the site and yet no bodies to be seen.

The trail ended there.

Something in the Soldier refused, point blank, to believe that Steve Rogers was dead. He'd paced the area for an hour searching for some clue to prove otherwise and steadily grown more and more frustrated as he was unable to find the proof he wanted, finally planting his metal fist into the wall before stalking away. Something was wrong with him, he didn't know why it made him so angry and why it hurt. He didn't actively remember their past friendship but that same feeling that had stopped him from killing Steve before is playing havoc with his mind now.

He can't deal with that.

They told him to kill. If there's one thing he does know how to do it's that, to kill swiftly and without mercy until there was only one survivor. The Soldier latches onto that directive with a fury.

It's been days since then and he's become single-mindedly focused at this point, pushing out all other distraction but the most basic of necessities. The food and water Steve gave him have been consumed, barely enough to subsist him. He's scrounged what he can since then, he'll find others to take from soon enough.

The sound of feet rouse the Soldier from his hiding place. Someone is running directly towards him, he cocks his head to listen, moving slowly to the doorway to chance a quick glance outwards. The young man is foolish, hurtling down the street in plain sight with no care for the noise he makes.

Easy. The Soldier readies himself, his body is not what it was but he's been adapting to its new measures quickly enough and he times it perfectly to leap out, metal arm thrust forward in what will -- if Sirus doesn't manage to duck -- be a very painful clothesline hit for his target.

[grimbiker]

It was only his quick reflexes that saved Sirius. He saw the Winter Soldier at the last minute and, realizing it was too late to stop, rolled out of the way. His body hit the pavement much too fast and he felt the sharp ache as well as the jolt up his spine as he spun over the street before the momentum died. He tried to spring up onto his feet but the reaction was slower than he intended and he swayed a little on his feet.

"I'm not your enemy." But somehow he doubted that his words were going to have any effect.

Now that he was stationary, he had a better look at the man in front of him. Ragged hair and-- what was that? Armor for his arm? He thought he'd seen the glint of metal coming at him before but this was madness. Why would someone only wear armor for their arm?

"Calm down. You don't have to kill me just because someone told you to. We're not mindless killers." Or he wasn't anyway.

[tookthewheel]

In another life he would have been impressed at his opponents quick thinking. In that life he might have also listened to what Sirius was trying to say, that life was long gone though.

The weapon that he is now does not hesitate, charging for where the other man now stands and drawing back his right human hand for a solid punch at Sirius' jaw. While that's happening the metal one goes to the back of his trousers, pulling out the twisted piece of scrap metal he'd taken to using as a knife and palming it for future use.

There's no intention for this fight to last any longer than it has to.

If killing everyone else was the only way out then that was what he'd do. Then he would find out who was now thinking to hold his leash.

[grimbiker]

Sirius should have seen that one coming. This time, he wasn't so lucky. While he tried to get out of the way, he failed and the man's fist connected with his jaw. It rattled him and he had to take a quick step to adjust his balance. And then he took another quick step to try and get away from him. Just then he saw the glint of metal.

"I warned you. Bombardo."

Nothing. Just like before. He wasn't terrible at wandless magic so this really should have worked by now.

"Bombardo!"

This... wasn't going to work, was it?

Sirius stared at the knife.

"Shit."

[tookthewheel]

At first he waits, the words of warning enough to prepare himself for a counter attack.

But then nothing happens except a word that means nothing to him and only serves to give the Soldier a brief moment of confusion, eyes narrowing behind a curtain of dirty hair. Whatever had been meant to occur seemed to have failed, given his chosen targets next reaction.

The fear at least was familiar.

He twists the rudimentary dagger, metal scratching at metal and in the next step lunges forward, stabbing for Sirius throat.

[grimbiker]

The pause in the fight gave Sirius some time to react. It wasn't a lot but it was just enough to jerk back. Instead of landing in his throat, the dagger cut into Sirius's raised hand. He screamed as it went through the bone and jerked back. Blood poured from the wound and, if he survived this, he was going to have some real problems living through first blood loss and then possible infection.

What he needed to do was think. He was defenseless. He'd just been stabbed.

He was going to die in the next few minutes, if that.

Sirius tried to grab at his enemy's hand to wrest the dagger from him or at least delay getting stabbed again.

[tookthewheel]

Metal caught on bone as the man tried to pull away, highlighting the imperfection of his improvised weapon. It doesn't slow him down, he yanks it out with sheer brute force, the metal arm may be operating under inhibited strength by the force that brought him here but it is still a machine, not limited in the weakness of human muscle.

He let's Sirius grab his hand, lets him have the illusion that him might be able to catch his enemy off guard before the Soldier's human slams across to grab Sirius by the throat and hurl him down onto the hard surface of the road. with one of Sirius hands injured and the other occupied wresting with that metal wrist he calculates little opportunity for the move to fail.

[grimbiker]

It didn't fail at all. Sirius should have run, he realized as he hit the ground. The force of the impact knocked the breath from his lungs and his vision swam as he tried to regain it. That was made more difficult by the hand at his throat-- something that moved too deftly for the metal to be armor.

A metal arm. Nice transfiguration there-- or was it Muggle made? Could they do that? It was a mad thought to have now that he was about to die.

Sirius should have been scared. Instead he was angry. It shouldn't be like this.

He let go of the hand around his neck, knowing that it would be pointless to try and get it off, and instead he reached up to claw the Winter Soldier's face.

[tookthewheel]

He would give the target credit, he did better than many had in the Winter Soldier's career.

Fingers claw at his face and he shuts his eyes to avoid damage to them, dully registering the pain of having the vulnerable skin scratched raw. The hand around Sirius throat squeezes tight with as much force as he can conjure while the other brings the knife up between them. He's done this enough times that he doesn't need to see to know where to shove the blade into the target's heart. Exactly how many times he couldn't say, couldn't remember but he knows and that's all that matters in the culmination of this fight.

With a grunt of effort he aims and shoves the blade at the gap between Sirius ribs. It should be a quick death at least.

[grimbiker]

A quick death was better than what Sirius would thought he would have, in hiding, waiting for the Death Eaters to come. He should be grateful for that. He didn't have the time to be. He only had the time to think of his friends as the sharp pain burst through his chest and his heart stopped.

He wished everything had turned out different and that he knew they were safe. Then dying wouldn't be so bad. Unfortunately, it was.

There was a brief flare of fear at what, if anything, awaited him, but that look faded in his eyes as he went still.

[tookthewheel]

The clawing at his face stops.

Opening his eyes he finds as he expects; the man is dead, eyes open and unseeing. The Soldier lets go of the knife, leaving it where it had done its work. He would find something else to replace it.

For some reason he doesn't immediately leave, looking into the target's unseeing gaze for unneeded moments. The Soldier rubs his face with his human hand over the worsening beard and now the raw scratches, finding little beads of blood had welled up from them. It doesn't mean anything.

The sudden sound of a cannon jerks him out of his momentary lapse, too ambiguous to sound out its point of origin. In seconds he is up on his feet and leaving without a backward glance before any other hunters can come this way.