Disclaimer: I do not own "The Hunger Games," or ANYTHING associated with said franchise, movie(s), literature, games, merchandise, or other media. All of the credit for the wonderfully dark world of "Earth Enthralled," and "Panem," belong SOLELY to Suzanne Collins.

Author Announcement(s): While the above statement is true, however, inspiration for starting my own series of novels, falls to Mrs. Suzanne Collins (Even Though Her Ideas Are FAR From Original), Mrs. J.K. Rowling, Mr. D.J. MacHale, Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien, Mr. C.S. Lewis, Mr. Philip Pullman, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the darkly noble Mr. George Orwell (surprised he's in that list there, right?). One day, IF (BIIIIG IF, Since It's a VERY SLIM Chance) I should happen to ever manage to get my book(s) series published, and one of you awesome readers are sitting there in "Barnes & Noble," trying to read the novel in one sitting in the store, so you won't have to pay for it (hey, no shame in it—I do it sometimes…), you might just look up at the author and say: "HEY! I KNEW that guy! I read his FanFiction! …I deserve some of his profits!"

Important Information: This is NOT an AU ("Alternate Universe"). This story takes place years, AFTER the "Epilogue," in "Mockingjay." This story is a Fan-Fiction "continuation" of the series. EVERYTHING that happened in the series, has ALREADY happened here.

Author's Amendment: …ANYWAYS… …I hope that any and all of you read and enjoy this work of FanFiction, and that I get some REVIEWS! I would greatly appreciate your opinion and/or review of this story (or any other story of mine you happen to find yourself interested in), as I take every last review and comment into account, in order to make it a more enjoyable experience for everyone reading it. ENJOY!

A World of Warriors

A FanFic By: D. Raj David

Part One: Before the Bloodbath

I. There Will Be Blood

The girl ran as fast as she could—which was well beyond the limit of the average human being, or for that matter, well beyond the limits of the average well-trained assassin or warrior. She sprinted as quickly as she could, and her body began to give way. Her mind told her body to continue, to persevere. Her body screamed at her mind to drop dead. Her mind won.

Her body was logical, and it knew when it had reached its limits. But her mind was lethal, and it knew that she could break her boundaries, go beyond her limits, if she desired to do so. So she did just that. She felt a searing pain sting her sides and give her stitches, and she knew that she had just tapped into her reserves, that she was running on empty. But she didn't care.

She didn't dare slow down, because she knew one thing above all else, one thing that the pain told her that nothing else could ever articulate so clearly. The pain told her she was still alive, and she was far too determined to lose that life now.

She would kill before she would die. Her mother had taught her that. Her father was far less aggressive, but he didn't question his wife's teachings or tactics. He wanted, more than anything, for his daughter, for his children, to survive. If that meant that they had to kill, then so be it.

She continued to run, blindingly white hot pain now permeating her entire body, but she only continued to sprint, in a constant forward motion. Even though her body was in agony, she still heard it. She heard the slice before she could even assess which of her senses were actually working correctly.

The arrow, covered in its sheath of shadows, concealed by the black paint on the arrow's steel, sliced by her head as she dodged it. She rolled forwards and to the left of the arrow's path-of-travel, using her forearms as both braces and brakes as she stopped herself in her rudimentary roll, and assumed her firm footing once again.

As she stopped and stood, she quickly turned her entire, extraneously exhausted, body to face her attacker, drawing a sharp steel blade that had been concealed on her back as she did so. Her dark hair was up in a ponytail, a classic style for females in combat, and the slight breeze that was created by the action of drawing her sword blew wisps of her dark hair over her face, only to fall back in the organized chaos that was her ponytail.

Her dark, deep blue eyes focused on the woods where the arrow shot by her head moments before. Her brief stop in motion allowed her bruised and beaten body to catch only a mouthful of well-needed air, before another arrow flew right at her face.

The arrow never made it to her face. She swung her sharpened steel sword at the incoming arrow, and her deft motion ended the projectile's path-of-travel, as it split the arrow quickly and quietly in half.

The next moment was a blur as a storm of black shaded steel arrows came flying at the girl. She smirked. She knew her attacker, and she knew that he only resorted to this tactic—"raining arrows," as he called it—when he was desperate. Desperate and mad. He was angry. His arrow had missed his target. Both of his arrows had missed his target. And he never missed. Except when he aimed at her.

She burst out in her usual blur of action, as she evaded the incoming and apparent bringers of death. The arrows descended on her—on their target, on their prey—but none of them ever hit the girl. She sliced the ones that were in her general vicinity, and those she couldn't swing her steel at, she expertly evaded—using the techniques her friends and her family had taught her.

Her attacker had seen enough of this show. He was not going to miss any longer. He emerged from the woods, his grey eyes now burning with fury and ferocity at her tenacity and at her tactics—at her humiliation of him. He lunged at her, detaching his steel bow into two separate, sharpened blades as he did so.

The girl countered, and the three blades met in the middle of their warpaths. The resounding clang of metal on metal was unmistakable. Then, the swift slices of steel began to escalate, accelerate, and increase in fury. The boy tried his hardest to get a shot in at the girl, but she allowed none of his blows to reach her body. His skill and speed were astounding—very astounding—but she was simply better than him.

Finally, the fact that the girl was far more exhausted than the boy caught up with her. She slipped, and the boy got an opening—one she couldn't defend against without proving that he had, even if only for a second, gotten the upper hand. She drew the small parrying blade that was located on her belt, and she caught the boy's bladed bow with her second smaller piece of steel. The swift motion of the slice caught the boy off guard, if only for a moment.

He quickly regained his smug smirk, and his stature resounded with an austere sense of victory, even though he knew that the girl could have easily killed him at any moment she saw fit. He knew, knew that he had forced her hand, knew that he had forced her last line of defense—her secondary steel blade. He smirked, and she scowled. The two stood there, unmoving and unnerved, but both extremely exhausted. The boy opened his mouth to speak, obviously intending to say some stupid, snarky remark, when the girl proved that he hadn't yet won the battle.

She swung her left foot swiftly underneath the boy's right leg, and she pulled her extended leg towards her body, erasing any semblance of foothold or firmness that the boy thought he had on the ground. His feet almost immediately went perpendicular to the ground, as he fell flat on his face. He turned around, only to find his sister with two blades crisscrossing over his throat. Instead of screaming or emitting even a single sound of fear, he sighed in exasperated defeat. She had beaten him—again.

"Oh man! C'mon, Prim, that wasn't fair! I beat you! The fight was over! It was at least a draw!" the boy with the blonde hair and grey eyes screamed his indignation up at his attacker, up at his captor, up at his sister.

Prim only smirked—just as her brother had done only moments before when he was sure he had won. "There are no 'draws.' There are only victories, and the fight's not over till you've killed the enemy, or until you've—" she started, but her brother beneath her finished her statement for her.

"—Died trying. Yeah, yeah, I know! Fine. Whatever, just get off if me! You're kneeling on, what should be, my 'avoidable areas!'" he screamed in agony, his hoarse voice proving that he wasn't lying. Prim smirked.

"I know. That was for actually trying to maim me with an arrow." was all she responded with. She gently eased herself off her brother, and sheathed her blades in their cases. She extended her hand out to her brother, helping him up off the ground. He got up with a gruff sound of injury, and for a second, it almost seemed as if his wound was so severe that the grim and gruesome nature of it would have stripped a well-trained solider of his ability to properly articulate words. But it was only a moment.

Prim just rolled her eyes. Her brother could handle pain well—very well. They both could. But he was a weakling when it came to pain that lasted for more than a few minutes. He handled it well regardless though—well, regardless, except for the pain he currently felt. He was milking this for all it was worth.

"When I tell mom, she is gonna—" he started, but Prim cut him off.

"She's going to what, Cain? She's going to kill dad for letting us use lethal weapons, make you watch, chase you down, beat you down, and then lecture me. Is that what you were going to say?" she asked him in a smug tone that shut him up. Cain lowered his head and shook it silently. She smirked. She won. Their mother was an avid supporter of their training and teaching, and they took their lessons, exercises, practices, and progress very seriously. However, they were prohibited from ever using actual weapons that could harm each other.

Thus, the fact that the two had just been using a real bladed, detachable bow, real steel arrows, real knives, and real swords, would have had their mother skinning them alive if she knew. Literally. Katniss loved her kids to death, but she wouldn't hesitate to kill them to keep them safe—at least that's how she put it. The children didn't quite understand it, but somehow they knew she wasn't lying.

Their father had allowed them to use such weapons—only very seldom—because he knew that they would need exposure to such things for their training and teachings to be of any use in keeping them alive in real life. And Peeta wanted nothing more than to keep them alive. Katniss's first and foremost condition for the conception of children was that they would be brought into a world without "The Games," a world without the threat of her kids being killed. All of the Victors had this very same condition for the conception of any children. Their children were brought into that world, but it quickly changed into another world entirely.

The "Power of Panem," and Panem's new governmental regime was respectful and righteous, but not everyone agreed with President Paylor's tactics. She was praised for almost every action she took, but that was only because those who did not praise her usually stayed silent. Everyone had the privilege and power to voice any and all opinions that one so wished to voice. However, even for those that did not like Paylor, respect was given to her. Thus, mostly, they chose not to act against her. But, that was not everyone.

The "Capitol Crusaders," as they called themselves, were a group of rebels led by Alma Coin's former cohorts, who sought to raise "the Capitol," and its old ways back into power. However, they were far too small in size to ever even dream of accomplishing this task. But, still, the violence and viciousness that this new and gruesome group posed to Panem was very evident. Thus, the Victors had taken to teaching their children to do one thing: to survive, at any and all costs.

Violence was a virus, and it was a very contagious one. The best defense against a virus, though, was a vaccine, an inoculation, and the best vaccine for violence, was in fact, violence itself. Violence was a tool that all of the Victors had used, and they had all used it well. They had used it to do one thing. They had used it to kill, but they only killed to survive. Thus, they had passed a great deal of these tactics and teachings on to their children.

Prim popped back into the present, and the clouds cleared in her reminiscent mind.

Prim turned her head to the window of their house across the small meadow, the window of their house in the "Victor's Village," their house that was so close the where the fence that encircled "District 12." This was the fence that remained as part of the request of the people of 12 to keep out the ferocious flesh-eaters of the woods. After the rebellion, and after Paylor took power, most other Districts had their fences removed, but 12 didn't take the chance, and for good reason.

What lay beyond the fence, in the woods, was not for the faint-of-heart. But, then again Prim and Cain were not the faint-of-heart. They were the children of Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, after all. Hunting was half of their life. The other half was breathing, but that was a given.

Through the window they saw that their father was watching them with intensely focused eyes, ready to run out to help or heal them in a moment's notice, and he was obviously unnerved by the sight of his daughter holding two blades to her brother's throat, but his worry was passing—somewhat slowly, but still passing, nonetheless.

They waved—a sign that they were alright and unharmed—and he waved back, smiling slightly at the gesture.

"Go get the arrows, and get them all in your quiver. I'll clean the blades." Prim ordered her brother, and Cain nodded, quickly reattaching both halves of his bladed bow, and drawing the highly durable and elastic string from its resting place at one end of the bow, to draw it across the entirety of the bow. It was complete again, a whole bow, as it should have been.

The two siblings dispersed to retrieve the items that Prim had just discussed. Had they had enough time, they most likely would had have opted to go hunting as well, but they were on very severe time restraints. They had to be home soon. They had company coming. People were coming that they hadn't seen in a very long time—people that they enjoyed seeing. Annie was coming. Haymitch was coming; Haymitch lived right next door, and surprisingly, he had been over more than he had been in the past, but regardless, Haymitch was still coming today. Beetee was coming. He was weird—smart, but weird. But Prim didn't mind. She was one of her parents' friends, and she knew of some of the stories of her parents' struggles and trials—and how their friends had helped them. Thus she respected Beetee. Her mother had a very strained relationship with Beetee, but Katniss didn't openly criticize or chastise him. He was respectable. But he was still weird.

Johanna was coming, as was her husband who was named Kolack. Their relationship had started in a bizarrely brutal way. It had started on the night when Johanna had almost hacked his head off when he was attempting to steal bread from her home in District 7, during the devastating destruction following the uprising and the successful rebellion against the Capitol. She had tried to kill him, and he had survived. The fact that he had survived in the least—in a battle with Johanna of all people—was truly a remarkable feat, and it made an interesting "How-We-Met-Story." He enjoyed telling that story. Every time he told it, Johanna just chuckled in the same semi-sarcastic, semi-seductive, tone that she always used. Enobaria wasn't coming—most-likely for her own safety, as Johanna really wanted to make good on her promise to kill her. Finnick—Finnick Junior—was coming, as he was to accompany his mother. And Thal.

Prim sighed at the thought. Thal was Johanna's son, and he was a disgusting excuse for a human being—or so Prim thought. He showed love to only two females—his mother and his younger sister. Every other female, he showed only lust for. He was an animal. He was like a male version of his mother. His words to his sister were always simple, and always the same. "Look at the girls I go after, and do everything exactly the opposite of them." he would constantly warn his sister. He wasn't a bad person. But Prim hated him.

The problem was that he was a very good hunter, a good predator, and he usually got his prey. In fact, she often wondered if, perhaps, her hate and horror at the mention of his name came from the memory of him having hit on her. This caused her to attack him, which caused him to show her that he was just as skilled as she was, which caused a stalemate in the brutal fight—which caused a slew of powerful profanities and offensive obscenities to spew from Prim's mouth. In fact, so much rude language graced Prim's mouth that day, that it probably slightly disgraced her namesake, her late aunt, Primrose Everdeen, whom her mother, Katniss, had only the utmost respect for.

Thal was not her most favorite person, but she dealt with him—for her mother's sake, and for Johanna's sake. Prim liked Johanna. If fact, Katniss and Johanna sometimes saw their children fighting, and they would sometimes take bets on who would win. Almost always, it ended in a draw, and no one knew who should receive the money.

Peeta did not particularly like this form of "entertainment"; it was, what he called, "degrading" to his daughter. That may have likely stemmed from the fact that Peeta did not like Thal—at all. But he never truly voiced his feelings about the boy—at least not verbally. In fact, Peeta never wished death or injury on anyone. Ever. …Except maybe, perhaps, sometimes, Thal.

There was something very big going on today, and it required all of these important people, these living legacies, these legends, to be present for whatever reason. Prim knew one thing for sure: if it, whatever this meeting was, required all of these people to be present, then it was big meeting, about big things. All their parents had told them was that President Paylor was going to make a nationwide announcement to all of Panem. Nothing of the sort had been done since the end of the rebellion.

It was big, that was for sure, but that was not what scared Katniss Everdeen-Mellark. What scared her was that the announcement would somehow endanger her children. That the announcement would not only be big, but somehow bloody as well. She had seen and heard far too many announcements that told of future bloodshed, though, so her caution and fear were somewhat warranted. She would soon learn that her fears were correct, and that Panem had not seen the last of its vicious and violent past.

The games were done, but the violence was not. There was blood coming.

A/N: Well, please R&R ("Rate-And-Review"), and let me know what you all think! …Anyways, please R&R, and stay tuned for the next update!

P.S. WHOOOO! THE MOVIE COMES OUT IN 13 DAYSSSSSSS! MY GIRLFRIEND WILL KILL ME IF DON'T GET TICKETS! (*Runs Off To Get The Tickets*)