Pyrrhic Victories: The Martyrdom Chronicles
Rated M for:
-Violence
- Language
- Allusions to Child Abuse and Sexual Harassment
- Mild Romance
Summary: The Capitol's tyranny has lasted for a thousand years, but with the introduction of the first ever Double Quell can a broken girl, a tormented Gamemaker, and a traitorous assassin incite rebellion?
+A/N: All characters are originals, with no allusions to Canon characters throughout the story. There are certain parallels to the Hunger Games trilogy, but generally I think (and hope) most things are different. I have the entire story wrote so I hope to be updating every day, and by the end I will/should have the sequel done ^^
Hope you guys enjoy ~
Enrique Eulacias looks roughly like Chace Crawford
Iris Hyacinth looks like Sandrine Holt from Black Robe
Etymology: "Pyrrhic": (of a victory) won at too great a cost to have been worthwhile for the victor.
Chapter One
Knights of Cydonia [Muse]
Only upon the arousal of an enemy's blood-lust will the superfluous citizens of our Capitol be appeased... And yet if I vocalize this I will have committed treason in the eyes of President Edana Eulacias.
In the eyes of my mother, whom would as quickly summon me to my death as praise my idealist heart, I would become a traitor.
I would become the Epiphany of Death. –Wyvern Eulacias
In a daze of sleep deprivation I stare at the chicken scrawl my hand has procured. It is irrelevant that these words have not pass my lips; in only matters that they have grazed the canvas of thought; embedding their core principles in my every misstep.
It only matters that I am an idealist in heart and soul; a traitor who must play the pawn of the Capitol.
Or perhaps I am the knight in rusty armor, sacrificing his self to protect the queen in the face of a deserted war.
Because the war has long since been won—the Capitol has reigned for centuries; the districts have lost, succumbing to the sufferance of starvation and tyranny.
But this year the games will involve not only the districts, but those who know too much.
The fortieth quarter quell—first ever double quell—will bring the true protectors of the Capitol to their knees. Those unfortunate individuals who have fought diligently to preserve what they once believed in but no longer can will die with their proteges—the tributes they will train for four weeks.
I know most of the determined trainers already know—they know each and every one of them will die with the knowledge burned to their memories. I know too that the few who have not discerned this will suffer the most—perhaps at the hands of their tributes.
Each awful moment of sufferance—of demented entertainment for those wretched Capiolites—is a second I am solely responsible for.
I created this arena, the mutts, and the rules. I have the power to cast any tribute to whatever retribution awaits them—knowing with each life I steal brings condemnation upon me.
I pray for this condemnation—for the punishment that ends my moment by moment turmoil.
And yet I know I do not deserve it—as by now, in my third year as gamemaker—it would be a blessing.
"Wyvern, open your door!"
In accompaniment to the soprano scream is the hollow percussion of fists raining upon the groaning wood.
With a sigh I sit up, my muscles gliding easily as I crumple the paper in one hand, retrieving the remote to the television in another. "One moment, please," I call back, discarding my treasonous words in the flames of the near antique fireplace. Clicking of the Capitol talk show I shoot a fleeting glance in the mirror, working to relay the taut muscles around my lips and eyes.
Once content all traces of weary resentment is masked by a charming half-smirk, emerald eyes sparkling I go to the door.
Taking a breath to cherish the seconds it takes to unlock the complex system of computer identification locks I swing the door open with a grandeur bow.
"Wyvern, quiescent as always."
I blink, taking in the flamboyant, orange and pink dress Mother wears, face a collage of colors unnatural to her generally pale pallor—the shade I wear simply without façade. "I would like to think I'm the opposite of quiescent, Mother." I say quietly so the tension steers clear.
She reaches a plastic hand to pat my cheek, cat-green eyes sympathetic. "Ah, the reason I try to keep you from thinking."
Biting my cheek I chuckle, glancing behind her earnestly. "Did you need something?" I ask, wiping clammy palms against my water repellent dress pants.
"I simply wished to supply you the trainer list. You will be responsible for naming the remaining twelve trainers, after all. Remember, we aren't like to get this chance again."
I nod numbly, feeling the knit in my brows as I scan the list, eyes falling on a few names in particular.
Names I recognize. Of people I know.
People I care about.
Enrique Eulacias.
Tora Yuu.
Kerem Naomi.
"You've got to be kidding," I murmur, horror squirming painfully in my stomach.
"What's wrong?" Mother asks, voice turning sickeningly sweet. Only I can see the devilish gleam in her eyes, challenging me.
You expect me to kill my uncle… my wife…my only friend.
But I only shake my head, erasing my expression. "Absolutely nothing," I say, voice alien to my own ears.
I just want to die.
I just want to run from every death I've caused; every death I will cause.
I just want to kill the one person whose name is not on this list.
She smiles an angelic, quirky smile before slithering down the hall, leaving me petrified at my door.
Petrified as the snake I wish to end leaves its poisoned prey to die a slow, painful death.
But no; my death will come second.
I will, somehow, kill the queen this knight should protect.
President Eulacias will be gone in two months, and then I will die.