I love writing Death Match so much, I'm so erratic when it comes to posting it! Also, I just wanted to say thank you for all the comments! Thank you all! Special thanks goes out to the super talented MadelineSane, who seems to get more awesome and talented by the second, for the amazing banner on the side! I love it! Thank you!

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"What do we do?" Emery probed with a panicked cry.

"Where's that gun you had?" Mason asked; Emery looked fiercely at Cayson.

"I don't have it." Cayson lifted his hand in defense.

"What the hell did you do with it!?" Emery stamped her foot with a yell; Mason shushed her. He snatched a branch off from the fire pile, crouching down.

"You're going to hit those guys with a stick? The ones with freaking . . . bows and arrows?" Cayson hysterically interrogated.

"Bet you never thought you'd say that," Zane butt in.

"I'll hit him with this and then with my fist." Finishing his reply, Mason set a finger to his lips and ventured toward the base of the cave. Emery tip-toed after him, Zane tugging Cayson up so they could follow.

Mason was huddled in the entrance. A man no older than Cayson marched around the bend. Mason burst from his hiding spot, soaring at him. Mason's stick collided with the man's stomach, throwing him off balance as Mason continued with a sucker punch. The guy banged into the nearest tree before crumbling to the ground in a heap, dropping his gun in the scuffle. Mason used his advantage instantaneously, hurdling on top of the stranger and snatching his collar.

"Sean!" A second person screeched, rushing to his fallen friend as Mason punched him in the nose. Blood trickled from Sean's nostril and Mason distributed yet again another jab to the face. His accomplice was quick, reaching Mason within seconds he nudged the barrel of his gun into Mason's temple.

"Off him, now!" He decreed in a vicious tone. Mason freed his collar, Sean's head crushing against the dirt, Mason's spiteful eyes now set on the man behind the gun. Sean crawled out from under Mason and propelled himself off the ground, clinging to his nose.

Emery dove onward, sliding into the gun-wielding stranger's ankle. He flipped frontward and ate dirt. Mason lurched for his gun, which had skidded away from him. The unknown predator saw this and rolled for his weapon as well; the two raced.

"Wait!" Sean yelled, causing everyone to come to a cessation. "They're not destroyers, Mike." Mike scowled at his comrade, swiping his gun from Mason's reach.

"Did that punch knock something loose? They attacked you, Sean!" Mike was bursting with rage. Cayson and Zane surfaced from the fortress, Zane presenting Emery a hand and ultimately carted her to her feet.

Sean scrutinized Cayson the greatest out of the bunch, his inquisitive dark chocolate just about black eyes inspecting his swathed in bandages arm.

"You're injured," he stated. Mike rolled his eyes in opposition but when he too studied Cayson he was visibly stunned. "Have you ever seen a Reaper injured? Have you ever seen a Reaper let anyone travel with them let alone live?"

"Excuse me, did you just say Reaper?" Cayson asked, recognizing just how well the name suited them.

Mike was thunderstruck. It was clear that, for the time being, he'd forgotten how to speak as he just remained motionless while looking intently at Sean with wide eyes.

"We were attacked," Emery delivered.

"Attacked?!" Sean bellowed, facing Mike with a combination of dread and misunderstanding smeared all over his expression. Mike wavered, still heading Sean's words before lowering his gun. "We'll take you back to our base . . . get you some medical help." Mike shook in accord.

"Where are we?" Emery commanded more than questioned.

"I shouldn't say anything . . ." Sean drifted off.

"We can't say anything," Mike modified. "We'll take you to someone who can explain everything."

"And we should just . . . what? Trust you?" Zane derided.

"Doesn't seem like you have any other options," Mike snarled, stepping towards his earlier pathway.

"What about the others?" Cayson chipped in. Mike stopped dead in his tracks, he and Sean gawking at Cayson as if he'd said something offensive.

"Others?" Sean gulped.

"Yeah, there was like twenty of us," Cayson stumbled on himself, articulating his words in a guarded manner.

"At least four are confirmed dead," Mason somberly provided. Cayson hadn't been informed of this and he couldn't help but visualize every single face he'd saw that morning enclosed in blood.

"Sean," Mike yanked Sean from his knocked for six state. "Is that . . . possible?"

"I . . ." Sean couldn't hit upon the right words to answer back with. He stared blankly off into space before spinning on his heels and treading heavily in the differing direction. Mike trailed after his colleague with a muddled tenor.

"Follow them," Mason ordered. "We need to think of Cayson right now."

"What if we're walking into a trap?" Cayson reasoned. Mason just tailed Sean and Mike, presuming the rest would fall in line behind him: and that's precisely what they did. The two perplexed men communicated only in low voices the full walk, not permitting Mason or anyone for that matter to come close to them.

It was only when they came up to a man-dug ditch that Mike and Sean allowed the others a sliver of their attention. Cayson halted at the edge of the gutter, identifying a handful of rocks, an array of tree branches, and any other bulky item that called the woods home stacked inside.

"Once you cross this line, you're safe," Sean reassured, crossing over it.

"Rocks? That's their security system?" Mason murmured, trudging after them. The other's emulated Mason's footsteps accurately for he was the lone reason they were alive after pure luck.

Cayson tugged on his shirt collar to permit the cool air to dampen him down.

"You alright?" Emery raised the question for perhaps the hundredth time that day alone. He geared his focus to the journey at hand. The group stomped in silence for what felt like miles before leaking out from the seemingly infinite concealment of the large oaks and into a clearing.

"What the hell?" Zane couldn't restrain his surprise.

When Cayson had caught the words 'base camp', he had anticipated people clustered around a fire for warmth, all of them covered in bruises and dirt. What he got, on the other hand, was shocking.

The base camp give off the impression of it being a miniature college campus. There were three enormous buildings distributed in the region of a football field away from each other. A small number of gigantic tents were scattered around and, what surely staggered him the most, was that there were people.

He estimated there to be around a hundred people sauntering around, all observing him and his new friends with vigilant yet inquisitive stares. They weren't filthy or savage like one would deduce an assembly imprisoned in the woods would be.

No, they were spotless and, from the looks of it, hale and hearty.

What the hell is going on?

Emery passed Cayson a gentle bump, an indicator to carry on. He hadn't even gathered that he was not moving. Pursuing after, Sean steered them to the first structure, whose red paint was massively chipped.

Sean crossed the threshold into the building whilst Mike clasped the door. Once they were all gathered inside he shut the door and strode at the back, hand clenching his gun to avert anybody from bolting. The hall was unoccupied, the lone sound stuffing it being their shoes squealing against the tile.

Sean piloted them up two flights of stairs, which demanded extra time than one would suppose due to the absence of light in the stairwell. Hurling open the finishing door, the stillness vanished.

A collection of people were arched over a table, witnessing a small map with unsystematic inscriptions on it. They all emptied into the room, Cayson and Mason swapping glimpses. Every single individual surrounding the table was talking at one time, dissimilar chats ensuing.

"They attacked us at the boundary line during the last hunting trip. Let's make sure to tell the hunters to cut back on the distance." A man, no elder than Cayson, directed a guy visibly older than him.

"Yeah, no problem Ezra," he nodded, accumulating his possessions. He advanced towards the exit, freezing when he became aware of their company.

"Ezra," he called, reverting back to his position at the counter. Five unalike pairs of eyeballs dropped onto them.

"What's going on?" Ezra interrogated, standing upright he circled round the table. His cavernous coffee eyes scanned each person, doubling back to gape at Cayson's head wound.

"Mike and I found them."

"New residents?" Ezra speculated noisily. "Why are they bleeding?" Cayson loathed how he spoke about them in the third person, as if they weren't the people right in front of him. His three additional friends lingered behind the table, glaring at Cayson as if he was a criminal.

"Because . . . when we found them they were attacked." Ezra mirrored Mike and Sean's former responses to the same idea as he too was briefly paralyzed in distress. He strained to recommence his impassive face, but the panic shined in his eyes.

"Attacked? New residents? They've never done that," Ezra mumbled, shaking his head.

"We know, we . . . we didn't know what to do with them," Sean stared at his feet as if he was ashamed to not be able to tell Ezra what to do.

"When we all woke up and found each other, we were talking and arrows started flying." Mason chipped in.

"We're not making this up." Cayson battled back, identifying an all too familiar sight on Ezra's face; disbelief.

"There used to be twenty of them sir," Mike at long last chose to express. Ezra exhaled noisily, making it obvious he had on no occasion been in under circumstances like these.

"Sean, gather up a team and go out and search for the others." Ezra ordered, standing proud. It was clear that he was the leader and no one crossed him. Sean did as he was told, taking a hold of Mike the two departed from the room.

"Names?" Even a request as simple as that was expressed like a demand.

"Cayson, Emery, Zane, and Mason. Though I loved playing the name game, why don't you tell us just what the hell is going on?" Emery crossed her arms over her chest, huffing. Cayson whistled with a quiet laugh.

"Fiery," he grinned. "Leo. Take them to the meeting room . . . Lock them in there until further notice." He sloped inward so his face was inches from Emery's. "The second you realize this isn't a game is the second you're ready to play."