Prologue: The Final
The cannon booms, and twenty-four candidates rush in towards the Cornucopia, scrambling to be the first to grab a weapon, the first to make a kill, the first to get supplies and head out. The first ten minutes of the Games are key, the actions here directing almost everything from here on out. The first ten minutes determine the victor.
Each candidate follows a plan, some using the ideas they've honed for years, others making something up on the spot, and still others following the directions given to them by their Mentors. A small boy gets to the Cornucopia first and picks up a knife, looking for an exit path but is immediately plowed into the ground by a hulking eighteen year old who ran in from the other direction. Four candidates have banded together and are wreaking havoc upon those that dare remain in general vicinity. The Bloodbath truly lives up to its name, as fourteen bodies litter the Cornucopia area.
The four allies take their time getting ready and doing a little math. Fourteen down, and four of them means that there are six unaccounted for. Though the six likely have minimal supplies, the allies make sure that they are outfitted with their favorite equipment, one carries a massive, two handed broadsword, another holds their spear at the ready. The third wields two, short, thin blades, and the last member throws a cudgel over their shoulder with ease. It's time for the hunt to start.
The hunt is nothing special, though. The four allies are more than ready for the ambush by a pair of candidates, cutting them down without even pausing to think twice. To be completely fair, the ambush wasn't well disguised, and it was in one of the few places where such a strategy would be viable. Eight remain.
The remaining candidates fall quickly as well, though the youngest remaining candidate manages to confuse the group with a double-bluff trap- while they paused to navigate around two traps that didn't exist, the boy popped up from behind cover behind the allies and opened fire with a volley of arrows, dropping the candidate with a broadsword and wounding the other blade wielding fighter, before falling to a well-placed spear throw. And then there were three.
The allies turned on each other without a second thought, the one who had been using a spear switching to a hand-to hand approach. The three were evenly matched- or would have been. The bow wound hindered the blade user, and he fell under a rapid series of elbows to the face and knees to the gut, before being put out of his misery by the club-swinging brute. Then there were two.
The two fight, bleed, sweat and surpass their limit, the same as every other, the same as every year, until at the end, one boy stands triumphant over the other, the champion of champions. His left eye is swollen shut, his nose broken, his shoulder has been dislocated, and it's obvious that he can barely keep standing, but he has done it. His knees finally buckle under him as he lets loose a victorious roar. He has won the right to two words:
"I Volunteer!"
AN. Get it? I hope it's not too terribly confusing, but I purposely tried to keep it vague. I'll clear it up if/when I get around to the next chapter. In addition, I officially welcome you to my headcannon. I hope you enjoy the ride!