One

Scruffy and haggard, the child had clearly seen better days, his smudged face sporting a swollen eye. Shooting the wounded warrior a pointed look, she rummaged in her pockets and crouched to his level, his lap filled with the warm loaf of bread from the day’s rations. Stunned, he watched her with the eye that had not managed to be damaged in his scuffle, his gratitude burned in the depth of his brown hues.

Admittedly fond of children, she ruffled his dark hair and murmured, “Be careful next time, kid.”

A surprisingly toothy smile flashed towards her and she wondered when the world had turned its people so rotten. But that was history, wasn’t it? And every poor soul in this wretched world knew the exact words to the tale of old.

The land once belonged to its people.

Devoid of proper name or rule, the country was vulnerable economically and militarily – prey to a multitude of foreign nations that sought power and raw materials. In the rising bouts of war, three ambitious men, eventually referred to the Three Lords, refused to bend their will and shackle their lives away to a pitiful life.
Spread throughout the regions, from peasantries to cities, Lee Soo Man, Yang Hyun Suk, and Park Jin Young seized the cold hearts of men and women, of warriors and naysayers, and independently pushed forth a rebellion that would last well over a decade. Thousands of lives were wasted in their pursuit of freedom and sovereignty, a resulting disproportionate amount of men and children horrifying the masses to the point they had dubbed the slaughter-fest 'The Great War.'

Ensuring a sense of security for the country, the men engaged in another grapple for power, this time amongst themselves, for the right to head a monarchy. However, the towns bemoaned the succeeding battles, numerous lives forfeited in this seemingly eternal struggle for ultimate wealth and glory and without full recovery from the treacherous war. Internal strife pushed the provinces to an edge that diminished the population to sparse numbers and forced women and children into hard labor – every effort had been made for the right of one man to rule.

Public outcry and increasing unpopularity forced the Three Lords to cast aside their selfish notions of achieving complete domination and acquiring the title of ‘King’ in place of a shaky truce. A counsel of men, comprised of each Lord’s respective party and company, lay the plans for the country post-war.

 It would become a kingdom of three – a piece for each Lord.

Lee Soo Man would be given the North, Yang Hyun Suk would have the South, and Park Jin Young would be the bridge between both worlds and reign over the Mid-Point. Successfully tying the nations into one, the three proceeded to serve separately, but harmoniously, working hard to restore the country to its former glory. Bathed with prosperity, riches, and tranquility, the territories fell into a period of peace and merriment.

But the hearts of men were fickle and weak, cursed to sway in avarice, covet and glutton for more.  

Heaving and groaning under this relaxed administration, the kingdoms began to falter, creating an opportune moment for malicious underlings to snatch the reins.
he eldest of the Noble Trio, Lee Soo Man, had retired from the throne first and foremost, and named his cousin his successor, except, he had been most unwise in his selection, his relative a constant cause of mischief and sour shenanigans. Yang Hyun Suk was believed to have lost sense of rationale and coherence, his mind deteriorated beyond recognition, and the reason to his decision to isolate his people from outsiders. And Park Jin Young had surprisingly aged past cynicism and suspicion, his weary soul comfortably ignorant and sweet in his older days, to which spared the crimes of foul-mouthed beggars and burglars. 

Disrupting the flow of politics in their fractured state, the populations bore the staggering burdens and troubles, and they raged and despaired their bleak futures. Fragmented leadership and dissipating trust permitted the roguish, peasant Kim Kwang-Soo to grasp authority with his crude hands.

Forcibly enlisted for The Great War, he had been torn from the arms of his mother and sisters, the tears in their eyes the last image he had been able to commit to memory. Half of his family had kissed Death in his absence.

In the continued conflict with the Three Lords, he had lost everything, from his home to his blood relations, and gladly welcomed the encroaching darkness on his battered soul. Far too distressed to live on, he contemplated suicide, he had brought a blade to his rugged throat, but he had survived the attempt. Regaining his strength in the walls of a friend, the sight of children toiling for a slice of rotten cheese from the daily rations struck his hazy thoughts that there had been a source for all their grief – they were to blame for their constant misery and they would pay. No longer would he beckon like a dog.

Equipped with a sweet tongue, Kwang Soo pierced the minds of grueling citizens, lit a fire in their eyes, and built an army out of them. Considering ineffective leaders could not scramble a military defense on time, he had to implement his plan to overthrow the Kings as soon as possible. Unsuspecting of an uprising, despite the rumors that flooded the towns, there had been no preparation for a defensive maneuver in over six months.

ing his blade to the grey skies, he stormed the ravishing estates and stripped the land of their precious Three Lords and permanently silenced them.

Kwang Soo had effectively conquered the country anew.

A sole monarch in his own right, Kwang Soo combined the remaining regions into one, stripped the elite and nobility of their titles, status, and shoved them into the poorest of areas. In exchange for servitude, he swapped the poor and rich, the lower-class citizens also installed in his new cabinet and counsels. Gracious in this abundant change, the bulk of the people rejoiced and celebrated in fervor.

Festivities lasted two weeks, the joy halted upon the harkening threat of the devoutly supportive followers of the late Three Lords.

Stricken by having any conspirators against him, the King felt deceived and betrayed, to which he felt his heart harden to stone. He split a third of his lands from the Deep South into three rural districts, where previous noble, authoritative or religious figures under the Three Lords were crammed into, destined for a hard life filled of poverty and ruin. Commoners that opposed his tactics were, too, thrown in with the pigs. More than half of the population found itself behind bars, faced down in the dead Earth, the rest in positions beside Kwang Soo’s throne.  

An unstoppable torrent of fury, he imposed a unique kind of punishment on these mobs of men, and traitors alike, one to crush the last remnants of their fragile hope – The Games, as they would soon both be known and feared, emerged out of his sinister pool of thoughts.

For forty years, they endured this living hell. 

Tapping into the mainstream of technology, he added the advancements to another piece of his country, higher up north, presumably less than a quarter of the mass, and constructed a dome to be infused with his inhumane series of gore. And the technology would be replaced and repaired with each improvement in foreign nations Kwang Soo took the time to invest in.

Victims would be drawn from the ‘Forsaken Sector’ in the Deep South and pressed forth in the dreaded dome to partake in The Games he saw fitting to punish their insolence. Large screens, later shifted out with holographic products, were plastered on every wall in the victimized sector, demanding the entirety of the populace to witness firsthand the loss of their families as a reminder to never cross their beloved master. Further capitalizing on their plight, the megalomaniac that embodied Kwang-Soo broadcasted the brutality for the world to see, overseas countries paying handsomely to have it aired in their vicinity.

An annual event, the gruesome activities included three rounds in this nauseating act of penance, unconventional stratagems required to survive the unfamiliar and devious obstacles. Depending on the will of its creator, very few ever reached the floor of the third round.

Should a victor arise in midst of battle, he or she was bestowed with the opportunity to join the Mad King’s cabinet and effortlessly escape a sorrowful life. Most that came out a champion fled behind gold doors, never to be seen again, like a prized caged bird. Although, they were never quite the same…

Participants, commonly referred to as ‘Players,’ were reaped from an age pool of twelve to forty-five, with the late teens usually targeted to fight.

 Her baby sister recently turned the prime age of eighteen. 

Typically flashing with propaganda and thinly veiled threats, the hovering screens shut off to an unsettling white and reeled in the attention of the empty and bruised townsfolk. Noise screeched, wailed throughout the three distraught districts of the South and commenced the selection process of the year’s Players. White, block print words arrived and announced the layout of The Games, the lovely volunteers to be meshed in with a group as opposed to the individual shafts frequently used, thus, enabling twenty groups to join the foray of savagery.

Rapidly shuffling the faces of potential and eligible candidates, the excluded elders and children watched with bated breath, mothers askew with fright, fathers stiff and straight.

Gradually, profiles of the selected participants flickered across the screen, their assigned group name and members listed beneath the captions.

Thirties on the rise, her time for the cycle of The Games was long over-due and quite expected – her absence from the barbaric display amounting to roughly eighteen years now. Startled by the sight of her face cross the shimmering screen, she lost grip of her patched bags, spilling the less than fresh contents onto the crude pavement. Slightly dazed, she reached for her petty groceries, fingertips grazing the tip of a bruised fruit when she gasped, fresh tears stinging her eyes. Mind reeling from the shock, she slapped her hand to her curled mouth, undesiring of screaming her horror.

Chosen.

Sandara Park had been chosen.

The day of reckoning had finally come. 

Silently, she fiddled with the knob of her door, decisively abandoning her sustenance from the dirtied ground, her uneasy heart somewhat placated with the lack of living relatives in the area. Her shack of a home moaned with the passing winds and she trailed to the room clear of clutter, her knees thumping loudly against the wooden boards.

She gently peeled a weathered picture from under the front flap of an issued and dated bible authorized by her King and clutched it to her chest.

Her whisper resonated in the shallow hall. “Soon.”

Crushed in the tremulous hold of her mother’s arms, she choked on her tears as her mother cried and assured her she would be fine – she would survive this mess. Her baby girl could do anything, couldn’t she?

Struggling with her faith, her mother peppered her pretty face with kisses, quietly praying she would return to this dejected home in one, stable piece. Of the Gong Household present, the members averted eye-contact with her, frightful their sturdy stance would waver under her gaze and reveal the terror etched within. She needed a pillar of support, an anchor, comfort, anything strong to contain the emotions bubbling beneath her skin. 

A strangled sob from her sister had her pause mid-stride on the eroded ground, her figure turned from the crowd of engrossed and stricken onlookers ogling the next set of doomed Players. She shifted the day's hunt to her right shoulder, her hidden bow jangling in the assortment of knick-knacks. There had been no interest to glance at the list - she would be damned before she gave them the satisfaction of paying the screen any attention. 

Not that she needed to - her older sister choking, gasping, and wringing her hand mercilessly told her everything.

Park Go Eun had not been chosen for this round - Park Bom had. 

Alarmed shrieks filled her home. 

Dusting her jacket of the morning snow, she supposed Harin had discovered the outcome of the selection, tainted with a bitter after-taste. Self-taught in preparation for The Games and daily survival, the possibility of falling prey to another's rigid blade was slimmer than most, but death was not a risk she could take. She would not leave her sister all alone.
Bolting from the other room, her baby sister herself into her arms, screaming, crying. Why. Why. Why. 

Adamantly, Harin opposed the inclusion of her elder sister in these primitive games, tears burning her eyes and obscuring the form of her last remaining relative. Said sibling softly kissed her younger sister's forehead, assuring her she had nothing to fear, but Harin noticed the slight tremble in her hands. 

"Promise me you'll come back."

She had an awful amount of promises to keep. 

"I promise."

Promise me, Chae.

The tides of change were upon them. 

Word Count: 2203

A/N: Holy Moly, that drained me. Anyways, since the piece is being rehashed, I've considered playing around with the pairings becauseimanevilauthor BUT I might keep the original set. Who is to say!? 

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I hope you enjoy this nonsense of mine. c:

*NOTE: I shall be deleting the author's note soon, just to avoid confusion! And this will not be updated until after finals, which happens to be this thursday. ;n;