It feels like he's had blood on his hands forever. He doesn't remember not having that weight. But he does know it must be one. He feels that now at least.

Some could make it through these games without no cull. That took either dying early or just being so fucking lucky. It'll be hard, if what he's learned is any motherfucking indication, but it'll be figured out. It's survivable, taking a life.

He just hoped it was more a borrowing deal, and not proper taking. He needs to come back from this. Julian flees and he sighs with some relief, the shell off the monster being shucked off like armor. Only for him to grunt and shudder in pain. It's not the worst he's had, he reminds himself, but like fuck does that make it bearable. This is new, in some sense. He's never done this shit up on purpose. He's never gotten the opportunity to die a little more slow.

He doesn't want to go right here though. It's not his style to just stop, even with what he's let to be done. Maybe he can find somewhere nice in here, somewhere he can rest. He hasn't saved no one here and now, but he's stopped one death from being by his hands. Even if it forces weight on Julian anyway, he can't help feeling pleased by that. He finally fucking did it.

That alone might carry him the rest of the way he needs to drag himself, before he collapses.