"Sometimes the prize is not worth the costs. The means by which we achieve victory are as important as the victory itself."
―Brandon Sanderson, The Way of Kings
Seven brutal days had passed since the initiation of the Games; only two tributes remained.
Panting and gasping for air, the young, yet lean and muscular boy from Four heaved himself up onto the massive boulder overlooking the chasm below. With a sigh of relief, he set down the golden trident on his lap. His wavy, unkempt, blonde hair swayed as a gust of wind passed through the area. He yelped in agony as the open wound on his leg gushed out warm blood. The blood was a red carpet, engulfing anything it streaked upon. There was no time to heal the wound. Danger was lurking about.
The boy from One should be coming any moment now, he thought, surely coming back to finish the job. Allies, they had once been, but only one could win the Hunger Games. In their previous encounter, only hours ago, the boy from One had driven his sword into Four's leg, only to have himself pushed back down a steep, grassy hill.
Through tears of pain, Four gazed out into the valley-it was a magnificent spectacle to behold. A river meandered through the valley and split into two at the cornucopia, which was but a mere spec from the elevation Four was watching. Four dreamed of returning home, where he could be greeted by the beautiful ocean and rocky shorelines. He dreamed of his mother and father. He dreamed of victory. He glanced at the trident; after all, how could he let down his sponsors? The golden trident was said to be the most valuable sponsor gift in the history of the Hunger Games.
Suddenly, a yelp of triumph sounded behind him.
"Well, well, well. Looks like you've let yourself go, Four," snickered One. His face was covered in scars and his clothes were torn in every area imaginable. He and Four had both gone through hell. Nevertheless, he smiled and brought up his sword, its metal surface gleaming in the broad daylight.
"Lourde, we both know only one of us will make it out of here alive. And that's going to be me," Four spat back, teasing the older boy. Lourde wasn't so easily antagonized.
"You smart-ass. Barely mobile and still with the nerve to insult me! You've got nerve, I'll give you that." Lourde moved closer to Four, dragging his sword on the uneven surface of the earth.
"Come fight me then! You can join Katri in the grave!" A fire lit up in Lourde's eyes at the mention of his deceased district partner and he altered from a stroll to a jog, charging at Four with all of his fury.
He didn't make it five feet.
Lourde was thrown into the air before he knew it, entangled in a net suspending from a tree branch which belonged to the dense canopy of lush plant life. His sword flew from his hand, jutting itself into the earth below.
"Like I said: You can join Katri in the grave."
"I should have known that you didn't have the guts to fight me like a man! You killed my Katri with this net!" he yelled, "Without your pathetic snares, Four, you would be dead!"
"How you've changed, Lourde. The Hunger Games aren't about 'fighting like a man,' they are about winning. You know, you were a sensible person before. These Games have changed you."
With that, Four limped over to the trap, intent on killing Lourde once and for all. He grasped the trident in his right hand, its incredibly sharp tips stained a crimson red. Yet, an internal conflict stirred in Four's head. What if he has a family at home, praying for him? What have I become? I've killed three children so far!
They were helpless in those snares and you slaughtered them!
Monster!
Kill the boy!
I can't!
You must!
Lourde grinned at the sight of Four's mental breakdown. The boy had dropped his trident and was kneeling on the ground, his fists curled up around his temples. Pathetic, thought Lourde.
In minutes, Lourde had escaped from the devilish trap. The net dangled uselessly on the tree branch, having outlived its use. He brushed himself off and then smiled at the boy from Four, who was still caught in his own internal affairs.
Lourde pulled the sword from its place and haphazardly trotted over to the younger boy.
Lourde raised the sword.
"Any last words, Four? Oh wait, it's too late for you!"
The words snapped Four out of his trance, and he quickly recovered; his hand went for the spear.
The trident streaked forward, faster than Lourde could process any form of thought.
With his eyes wide open in shock, he dropped the blade, and fell back onto the gravel. Blood poured out of his stomach, covering the tainted gold in a fresh layer of red. The boy once named Lourde was gone.
Four looked at the fallen tribute with pride and, surprisingly, a trace of remorse.
The cannon blared. The anthem played throughout the capitol. The Caesar declared the winner.
"By the way, the name's Finnick. Finnick Odair," he said, marking the last words of the 65th Hunger Games.
Only, this was just the beginning.
The beginning of the end.
Well guys, what did you think? I know my writing isn't the best, but I've tried to do my best. Let me know if there are any other one-shots I should do! Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks for reading!