Day Six, The Feast:
Ceres Morissey, District Eleven
I am so, so tried... My survival comes as a shock even to me, but I don't feel like I can keep up with this anymore. Being in this Arena – filled with disgusting, lurking mutations and murderous tributes – has thrown me off the edge.
Every time I close my eyes, the only things I see are the faces of those who I've had a hand in killing, and those who remain that I've yet to kill. You now realize that what you've been doing has been wrong? Your destructible nature has shown you what it's like. Now, imagine if you were one of those tributes. How would you feel?
...But I am one of those tributes.
Scratching at my head angrily, I pull my hair until strips of it detach from my scalp, the burning sensation causing a slight sting to radiate from the top of my head.
Staring up, I take note of the dark forest. I've been sitting here for a few days, but nothing's been sent my way. Are they bored of me? Have they forgotten about the girl who fucked over her two allies and killed a girl? They couldn't, could they? Or maybe that's a good thing, because then they'd focus on pushing all of the other remaining tributes together.
Or maybe that's bad because they want to finish you off right here, right now. Just like that... Simple.
''No..!'' I grit, tears welling up in my eyes, turning my vision all hazy and crap. The decaying air and stifling atmosphere provides the worst type of abode for people like me – who don't worship the darkness rather than light. I can barely see a damn thing, and what's worse is that constantly – and I mean constantly – a couple of dense shadows pass by.
The primordial forest holds, what looks like, century-old trees with sprawled limbs that gather the darkness, blotting out the moonlight and any source of shimmering stars for me to view. This forest has grown more disgusting ever since I first visited; now, underneath the newly-formed moss, lethal larkspur peppers the mulchy floor. A pungent tang oozes from legit every sentient being in this crappy forest.
A bewailing sound ghosts through the trees, followed by footsteps stomping against the twigs and leaves. Tribute, or mutt? Hunter or prey, either way, only the forest knows – unless you count the viewers.
But what if that was the hunter, and you are the prey? Get up, and run! There's no time to be wasted, Ceres! my mind yells at me, but that does nothing more than make me shake.
''Ugh!'' I shout, standing up and slapping my hands against the ground, attracting all of the dirty, disgusting moss onto my fingers. ''What the fuck is wrong with you shitty people?! Send me a sign or something, give me a fucking clue as to what you want me to do! I don't understand your little games! You keep trying to throw me off with the sounds of things coming and going, but nothing's attacked. What do you want?!''
A thought crosses the path of my mind, and I think about all sorts of ways I can manipulate one of those horny, sadistic bastards into sending me something – no matter how costly the price, or how small the sponsor, I'll take it.
Slowly reaching down to grab the end of my top, I swiftly pull it up until it's right at the base of breasts, but then I stop. I can honestly feel the gazes of my audience just glued to the screen, growing disappointed with every passing second that I hesitate to reveal my body.
...But, my engagement ring stops me. Letting go of my shirt, I fall back down to my knees and realize how stupid I'm being. Seriously? Throwing yourself to the Capitol and offering your body up to them? What are you, some kind of prostitute? Some play-toy for these guys to smile at? No, you're much more than that.
Earlier in the Games, I wouldn't let a doubt cross my mind about throwing myself at them – despite how much I hate doing what they please. But I remember Oatis – and I remember Mom, with her nurturing personality; I remember Dad, someone who, no matter in what situation, made you feel like you were part of the family; I remember Aster, who's now married to Sylvia and is expecting a baby and there's a possibility that I'll never meet it; I remember Poppy, the happiest little baby sister anyone could possibly ask for; and I remember Elissa, the kind and selfless girl that I could call my best friend.
They've seen what I've done, they've seen me at my worst, but they know who I am now. I'm not the same girl I was before, and, honestly, I don't think I can ever go back to being who I once was – back to being the girl that Oatis fell in love with before he was... murdered. Looking at my token brings me back to the times where we started dating, and to that one beautiful day, on my sixteenth birthday, that he proposed to me; it was the happiest moment of my life, and now I'm at the saddest moment in my life.
But, of course, all happy things must have a sad ending, correct? The Capitol, and their stupid, stupid, stupid Peacekeepers just had to shoot him in the head. And for what? He stole morphling to help ease his little sister's pain, because she was dying of a brain tumor – and now, look at me. The same thing that happened to him is basically happening to me. We're both just pawns – were, in his case. Fuck..!
It would be so much easier to just let go and have them send whatever remaining mutts they have in their arsenal after me. Eat me alive, swallow me hole, I don't care anymore. They can take my life away from me all they want, but they can't take away my memories. I hope that one day they all burn to the ground – all the Gamemakers, all the Peacekeepers, all the idiotic Capitolites; everyone in that cursed city.
Suddenly, the Capitol Anthem starts to play, sending shivers down my spine. It takes more than the usual amount of time to show the face of the first tribute – Blush Belfluer of District One. Swallowing my spit, I nod my head in appreciation that another true competitor is out of the way. She played a role in killing Cathodette, didn't she? Yeah, she did.
Next is Ocelot, the little boy from Twelve. The only surprise for me is that he made it this far. How? Why? It's giving me a headache just thinking about this child – I just hope that his death wasn't too gruesome, but really, why should I care about him?
Why should you care about anyone at this point, other than yourself? You've already changed, you've already murdered, you've already lost.
And my conscience is right – I shouldn't care. Don't care what I say; don't care what I feel. Everything is moving at a fast pace, and before you know it—
''Wakey, wakey, tributes! I hope the Anthem didn't ruin your sleep, but then again, I do. Anyway, it's that time of the year again. You all know exactly what I'm talking about. Since your locations won't be disclosed, we're giving you three hours to reach the Cornucopia – if you don't make it there in time, well... you know what'll happen to you. Anyway, items that you desperately need will be there, and, who knows, it might increase your chances of victory. Don't take too long, now. Oh, and I really suggest going. Good luck, because you're gonna need it. And, just in case you slow ones don't get it, today's the Feast!''
It's as if these ignorant Capitolites read my mind completely. I refuse to look up into the sky, refuse to open up my eyes, so that they won't see the tears in them. I'm determined. Everything wrong that I've done is in the past now – I can let all of that go, I can repent for my sins once I get out of here, but most of all, I can be free to get my revenge.
Even as my lips tremble, heaving with emotion, unwilling to break down, I clench my shaking fists in a desperate battle against grief. A lone tear traces down my cheek but I swallow, resisting to keep the others at bay.
I can win... There'll be a weapon for me in that bag, there'll be some food, and maybe even some ointment. Plus, I'm the closest to the Cornucopia. It's only about two-thirds of a mile away, so I can just hide in there and watch the rest battle to the death, patch up my wounds, and when it's all said and done, I can hop out and kill the last tribute.
Win... I can win.
Sawyer Fira, District Seven
The starry night sky above me looks so much better than some cheap software imitation – it's almost hard to believe that I'm in an Arena. It's just... the lighter patches, the clusters of faint and bold light, the constellations altered according to the time of year... It reminds you of Seven. Of home.
Yeah, it does. Kneeling down, I scope out the Cornucopia, wondering what a few minutes of patience would cause for me in this untold ream of time. No one's around, as far as I can tell. But who really knows? The inside of the Cornucopia is extremely dark due to the time of day, and even behind it, shadows mix together, which doesn't make this situation any better.
...Risk it. You have to, if you want to live. Take the chance of going out there and grabbing your equipment before the tributes who aren't here yet arrive. One might sneak up behind you if you wait too long.
My mind is telling me yes, but my gut's telling me no. It's just the scent in the air – there's something unsettling about it. It's got a familiarity to it, but I can't place my finger on it. The scent's giving me images of the Bloodbath, of Ocelot's death...
Snap out of it!
I should just let go and move on, but I can't. They're so much less than memories but so much more than dreams. Sucking in the aroma, I feel like gagging, but I keep my hold. One... I count to myself, readying my legs for action. Two... One more second, one more moment until I'm out in the open.
A flashback of the Bloodbath transitions across my mind, back to the time when I grabbed my equipment and stabbed Blush. She asked for it, I remind myself, and the rest of these tributes will be asking for it if they decide to attack you. Be strong, be ready, be prepared.
Three..!
And with that, I take off, my feet kissing the land. Maybe I would've balked at the idea of returning to the Cornucopia, somewhere so far from where I was earlier – if the Gamemakers hadn't pushed me here, I don't know what would've happened. Maybe I would've been dissatisfied with running so far and fast, but now I relish in the prospect.
Bolting down the gravel, I tightly clutch my sweaty hands. I quicken my pace as the slapping noise of my flip-flops resonate around the vandalized structures of the Cornucopia with a clanging echo. My heart pounds against my chest, causing my throat to rasp up, and with the slight inclination of my head, I let out a scream as I bump into the boy from Two.
As I'm pushed to the ground with a sudden force, I listen to him groan as he rubs the top of his head with his free hand – and in the other... there's a machete that looks quite deadly in the midnight-silver sky. Declining his head, Atlas sends me a sorry but terrified glare, his weapon shaking in his slippery hands.
I don't say anything, I don't ask anything, I don't even move. Neither of us speak at first – and I don't wanna be the first to say anything, because if I upset him, my life could be over right now.
''What...'' he sighs, stopping himself from sounding weak. ''...What are you doing here? You should know better than to interfere with an event as big as this.''
...Hold up, what? Growing angry, I scoot back and shake my head. ''I obviously need supplies, if you haven't noticed yet. No weapon, no bag, no anything! And interfere? I'm doing noth—''
Stopping myself for a quick second, I take in everything that's going on. I'm gambling with my life. I now realize just how terrified I actually am of speaking to this guy. This situation... even back in Seven, I've never faced anything similar to it. I've saved my mother and myself so many times that I can't even count it anymore, but right now...
Please. My eyes scream at him to just back away, but he sends me a sad look. Shaking his head, I know that there's a problem – and it's mine. The silence is just too unfortunate for something good to happen. In the grip of silent panic, I scream as his machete swings for my neck, my wild eyes dilating.
Rolling out of the way just in time, I pick myself up and continue running back, throwing myself away from him. The sweat trickles down my cheek, but I realize that I'm not the only one crying – in the darkness, a watery streak falls down his cheeks.
This guy... he probably doesn't even want to kill me. ''Just stop, dammit!'' I shout, trying to get him to face the opposite way and let me be. ''You don't even—'' I duck, narrowly avoiding my head from being chopped off, ''—want to kill me, so why are you forcing yourself to do this?''
He doesn't answer me, which makes me grow even more impatient and tired of his lack of response. Tossing myself to the side, I rush near the Cornucopia, aiming for the District Seven bag that's laid out on a metal table plastered in the center. Unfortunately for me, he follows right after.
Grabbing the bag by the handle-strap, I quickly shred it open and dig in for whatever weapon's inside. My hand grasps a wooden handle, and the feeling of an axe makes me more confident in defending myself.
Throwing myself at him now, I swing my axe at his declining machete, metal smacking against iron. He doesn't seem to expect me to do that, judging by his expression. With my free hand, I collide my fist with his cheekbone, sending him skidding backwards.
There you go, girl!
Slowly turning my gaze back to my bag, I make out a few bandage wraps and a wooden stick-like thing. ...What am I— Oh, I see now. A hand grips my shoulder before I can reach the extra weapon, and with momentum, Atlas stabs his machete forward, pursuing to pierce a hole in my stomach.
Reacting on instinct, I jump up – higher than I've ever jumped before – and the machete goes straight through my leg and out my calf. Oh, my God. The pain is unbearable! The burning sensation sears through my leg hotter than a branding iron, my mind conceding to the torment, and I'm unable to think straight.
Without meaning to, my left hand reaches out and clutches at the wound, and I yell at Atlas to remove the stupid weapon from my body. ''GET THAT THING OUT OF ME!'' Doing as I say so, he slowly slides the weapon away, trying not to shake in fear.
Swiping with my right hand, I scowl at him. ''I HATE YOU! YOU AND YOUR STUPID DISTRICT, IT'S ALL YOUR FAULTS!'' The look on his face is one of torture, but I don't care – I'm in torture. ''SCREW EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU! IF YOU GUYS HADN'T SIDED WITH THE STUPID ASS CAPITOL A CENTURY AGO, WE WOULD HAVE ALL BEEN LIVING FREE, AWAY FROM THESE RULES AND STUPID GAMES AND POVERTY AND FEAR!''
Still swinging, but wincing and crying while the extra hot white pain burns and radiates, I curse him and everyone outside of the Arena. Everything just hurts, whether I move or not, it's all the same. I'm in more pain than I could have ever imagined was possible.
''YOU'RE PROUD OF YOURSELF, HUH? YOUR DISTRICT TAKES PRIDE ON TAKING THE LIVES OF OTHER CHILDREN, AND YOU PROBABLY DO, TOO! THIS IS WHY YOU VOLUNTEERED, RIGHT? SO YOU COULD DESTROY LIVES AND CAUSE EVERYONE TO FEEL SOME TYPE OF HURT?!''
The feeling keeps increasing, small lulls giving me false hope of a quick ending – but I know more than anyone here that a leg shot isn't gonna kill me; it'll only incapacitate me and render me useless. It's as though my blood's become acidic and is intent on destroying me from the inside out. All I can do is writhe and yell at him to leave me be, but an occasional shriek escapes me and echoes off the Cornucopia walls.
I'll kill him, I tell myself, closing my eyes with the thoughts. I'LL KILL ALL OF THEM! The fear's weighted on my ribs and a dull ache is in my eyes, an unwillingness for my mouth to lift past a sad expression. Doubling down on my efforts to attack, I force myself up on one leg and strike.
You're not allowed to be afraid. You're not allowed to show the tenseness that grows in your heart. Rise the expectations and do what you promised yourself you would – kill him!
Exceeding past my limits, I take a hopping step towards Atlas, the weight being lifted from my shoulders. I struggle taller, my stride growing lighter, more carefree. The white light of moon streams in on us, lighting up his entire body, and the glimmer of my axe makes me feel like I can do this.
...Perhaps he'll die right now. He'll be gone before I know it, and I'll only suffer a minor wound from his ending. Don't kid yourself. This wound is a deadly one that could ultimately decide your outcome. I am hopeful, and I won't let anyone take anything away from me. But look at you, happy to end another person's life. You've turned into a killer.
With a heart-wrenching, guttural scream, I retaliate once more. My scream's almost like a booming bark, and it makes Atlas jump with surprise. His eyes tremble, and the look on his face makes me feel mighty powerful. My hand swiftly jolts forward, and by the time I'm done roaring, my voice is hoarse.
The axe clashes with Atlas' collarbone, the squelching sound of his skin sinking and ripping making me want to fall back and pass out. His scream catches me by no surprise, but his actions do. With extreme force, he slams the end of his machete into my temple, causing my vision to blacken for a few seconds.
By the time I can properly see again, he stabs me in the neck with his machete. My mind screams out as the pain quickly engulfs my upper region, all thoughts running rampant. Weeping at my own suffering, I listen intently as his footsteps grow further away and the weapon yanks away from my skin, his yelping and shouting turning into a storm of chaos.
A sea of endless emotions fall down my face as I let the wound in my gaping neck remain uncovered, rolling in a self-loathing pain. Everything washes over me in an instance, but the thought of my mom never leaves me. Is she watching? Is she witnessing her daughter's throat bleeding out?
The grief surges with every exhaled breath that doesn't return. The old gravel is stained with my free-falling tears. My gaze falls rapidly, and I recognize the fact that life will continue on without me.
But will my mom? How will she manage? Who's going to take care of her now that I'm gone? I hope Dillon can help out, but will he? Why is life so cruel? Why was I chosen for this? Why did he kill me? Why did I accept entering this Arena? Death would have been a better option earlier... Back in the Capitol, I could've locked myself in the bathroom. A knife and water would have done the trick simply...
But no. I promised that I would kill Atlas, and I never go back on my word. But here, it looks like I have no other option than to do just that. Look at how terribly these entertaining 'Games' change you...
My heart feels empty, like a shear nothingness. It makes me want to stop the tears that I'm urging not to form but I can't.
Not until black surrounds me entirely.
Atlas Aureliano, District Two
I run, and I run, and I run, and I run! Nothing's been good as of lately, and the blood dripping from my machete says it all. Reaching the table full of bags, I pay close attention to what's been taken and what hasn't.
The girl from Seven's – who's bleeding neck I can't remove from my mind – bag is somewhere near her, and the only ones that remain are District Three and Six. Emil... He's still alive, out of everyone else. How surprising.
But if I remember correctly, aren't both tributes from Eleven still alive? Either one of them got here earlier than the other and took off, or they're both together. Either way, I shake my head and swipe at the Two bag, digging in for whatever might be contained inside of it.
You're making your District proud, Atlas. Keep it going. Shaking my head, I scoff in disgust at myself. For the upcoming volunteers and other trainees back in Two, this is would be the perfect situation for them. The final five, two kills to their name, and only Outer District tributes remain. It'll be easy, right? To win?
My chest tightens, and a nervous feeling tickles my stomach. I absolutely... hate being in here! District loyalty is nothing to throw your life over, yet I was so blinded earlier in my life... I never understood that this wasn't what I should've focused my goals around. The example of one of Two's past Victors should have been a clear representation of why you shouldn't enter the Games.
They change you... They make you angry and sad and upset and disappointed with yourself. What sane person actually wants to kill other kids? Certainly you, because you volunteered, remember?
Staring up at the moon, I shake my head. There's a danger in sealing up emotions like mine – back at the Academy, they taught us that those who experience mixed emotions aren't able to heal with words or kind eyes, that it would take years of rehabilitation for them to find comfort in the world again – that there's a reason why only people they are certain of and believe won't feel mercy or hesitation or let the Arena get to them are the ones the District chooses.
...They were wrong for choosing you, you wimp. What's the point? Your parents sent you to practice for seven straight years. If you die now, not only will you be wasting your life, but you'll also be ending up in the same place as your sister.
''Faye...'' I whimper, and then the girl's cannon booms. Startled, I spring my eyes open just as a noise bangs.
The girl from Six, Bree, stumbles across the gravel, trying to catch herself. She attaches her hands onto the grip of the metal table and swings her bag over her shoulder. ''Oh, crap,'' she says, terrified as I stare at her, but it looks like she's worried about something else. ''Kaster... Please tell me it's not you.''
Out of nowhere, she whips her head around and out comes Emil, swinging his sword at her neck with a furious amount of strength. The sight shocks me, and my mouth gapes open. Emil? Swinging, willing to kill?
Bree tries to run backwards, but she trips over my foot as she dashes into me and collides with the ground. Slamming into the terra firma, she grunts, rubbing her scraped arms. Emil merely brushes past me, his blood-soaked sword looking awfully deadly, and before Bree can do anything, he forcefully shoves his knee into her gut and brushes his sword against her neck.
He doesn't even turn to spare a look at me, almost like I'm nonexistent. It's quite ironic that our personalities for a moment like this have changed into their opposites. With what's about to happen, I can't remove my eyes away from the struggling girl, while Emil seems to be pleased in the task of ending her life.
''H-Help..!'' she tries, reaching out, but Emil raises his sword up into the air, hovers it above her forehead, and then he tries to force it downward.
It's as if the boy from Eleven appears from thin air, because his warhammer makes a thunderous sound as it connects with Emil's back. I don't know what happens inside of his body, but multiple cracks emit from his spinal cord, and I can't help the sudden sensation of wanting to cringe from reaching my brain.
''Get away from her!'' he roars, helping her up. Before anyone can say anything else, he picks her bag up off the ground, tosses it to her, and removes a golden spear from his back – Clarice's spear... She returns his gesture with a genuinely thankful look, like they have that electricity, fitting chemistry.
Let the tears flow. You know you want to. In those salty trickles is what you are completely – someone who feels. You're emotional, and no matter how much you want to disagree with me, you know it's the truth.
''A-Atlas,'' Emil whispers, stretching out his back with one eye closed in pain. His eyes travel to the girl's hands as she pulls out a broadsword, the long blade shimmering with a deadly glare. ''Me and you... him and her... Two-on-two, and together, we'll easily beat them. You can take—''
''You can take me on,'' points the Eleven boy, interrupting the sentence. Emil's eyes narrow coldly, in a way that I've never seen them do before. Just what happened to this kid? ''Since this is the second time you've attempted to kill one of my allies.''
''You're forgetting that I succeeded the first time and let you two go free,'' Emil chuckles. He killed? ''If it wasn't for my idleness, you two would've been engulfed in that fire, too – or have you forgotten?''
Shaking his head, the Eleven boy struggles to manage a rebuttal, so he just remains silent. ''I told you that I'd see you later, didn't I?'' Emil begins again, but before he can push it even further, I step in.
''How many did you kill, and when?'' I ask.
''Two, so far,'' he responds, not proudly but not ashamed either. ''First was his ally, the same day that Clarice, Zeppelin, and Avery died. And then I killed Blush yesterday... It... I had to do it. They wanted me to.'' Immediately, I understand exactly what he's talking about when he says 'they'. ''And you?''
''Cassia at the Bloodbath, and,'' I point over just a few feet away from me, in a dark center of the Cornucopia, ''the Seven girl just a few moments ago.''
''Well, then,'' Emil, once again, cracks his back, a pain-filled expression on his face. Re-averting his gaze back to the two tributes in front of us, he starts at Kaster. ''Try me!''
Kaster doesn't know what to do but somehow dodges the blade from slicing his chest open. You can't just let Emil fight. You have a job to do, too.
''Kaster, be careful!'' Bree shouts. The crunch of my boots must hit her ears, because she faces me once again. Pity is written all over my face, that I already know, but it doesn't stop me from tossing my machete to my left hand and crying out.
My machete cleaves the air in half and draws closer to her neck – my attack was intent on ending it fairly quickly, but she's not going down without a fight. Without any hesitance in her hands, she brings up her broadsword and swipes at my hand, drawing a thin line of crimson blood across my knuckles.
I stare up at her, surprised, but also respectfully. Good shot, but you could work on steadying your aim, I would've said a long time ago, but I can't be kind and friendly with everyone anymore. Especially not right now.
She doesn't even flinch when I grasp her neck with my free hand and squeeze as hard as I can. Her face contorts into a look of disgust as she struggles to intake oxygen, but she quickly retaliates and forces me to let go by stabbing her weapon into my elbow. With a holler, I force it away from me, but the jolt causes the sword to tear my skin open, and blood pours out of me like a river.
''You keep screaming like that,'' she taunts, drawing closer and closer, ''but it won't do a single thing, not when you're dead.''
Her confidence is so strong. So, so strong. That's a good trait for anyone to have, but she'll get too carried away, and when she does...
Releasing a roar, I quickly remove a knife from my pocket area and cut her cheek. Bree lets out a moan of pain and spits at the ground, but after a few seconds, she ignores the cut completely, realizing just how small my attack was compared to hers.
She glares at me much more deviously this time and forces me to block her sword with mine, but surprisingly, she possesses much more strength than a girl like her should have – just what is her background? Why is she so noteworthy with that weapon? Using enough force to get me to stutter, she pulls her sword away, causing me to fumble forward, and with no mercy, aims to shove it inside of me.
Sucking in my stomach as hard as I can to the point where I can feel my bones popping out, I escape the sudden grasp of death. It's almost like I can feel the cold breath on my nape, but I wiggle free. The blade enters my chest, but it's not deep enough to cause any profound bleeding.
''Stronger than I expected,'' I let out, admitting words that somehow roll off my tongue.
''You'll see just how strong I actually am,'' she says, seriously and coldly. ''Try me and my ally, and we fight. That's it, because you two think you're so powerful. We'll show you what happens when you fuck with the wrong people.''
''And how do you know that you'll win?'' I propose a question.
''Because I've got black in my roots from you two pissing me the hell off!'' she grunts, digging her fingernails into my arm, clawing and scratching her nails across my skin. Her adrenaline-fueled mind is helping her out, and I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. ''Just 'cuz you're the only remaining Career left doesn't mean that I'm afraid of you. I will fuck you up on sight any day of the week.''
Bree Andersson, District Six
My eyes spot the wound on Atlas' right shoulder – Sawyer didn't go out without a fight, it seems. It almost hurts me when thinking about the death of all these other tributes. I didn't know much about any of them, let alone spoke to them more than once, but they were all human. They were all people who had lives to live and things to do in the future, yet here I am, alive when I shouldn't be.
Growling, I rip my sword away from Atlas' chest, but he stares at me with blank eyes, like he's exhausted. No emotion except for sorrow and grief, yet I know that the attack did barely any damage. Maybe there's a stinging pain for him, but nothing more.
Think back to training, Bree. With a curt nod to myself, I whip around to clash my steel against his. I hold the blade even, a perfect, undaunted horizon; always leveled with the nose, the trainers taught me. I stall Atlas' lazy strike, but I notice a wretched, stained frown split his lips.
''I hate being here just as much as you do,'' he almost laughs, but doesn't. ''Weapons don't belong in the hands of people who aren't willing to use them.''
I'm not sure whether that was a jab at me or himself, but either way, our fight continues. Stepping forward, I place my face right in front of his and slam my forehead into his nose. With a bellowing holler, Atlas lets go of his grip and caresses his bloodied nose with both hands.
Taking advantage of the current situation, I bury my sword deep into that already-messed-up collarbone. Again, he lets out an ear-shattering shriek. The guilt rises into my chest, but I can't let it blindside me. You've gotta fight to live. That's what you've been doing your entire life.
Fighting to try and pursue your dreams, and fighting to learn what you missed out on in school...
As I rip it out and swing at him once more, he removes his hands from his nose and grabs my sword by the blade's sides. Blood leaks from his palms, but he's able to remove the weapon from my person. ''Like I figured, you're way too... c-confident,'' he puffs. ''And that's what'll end you.''
I've always been overconfident, with the things that I did and the people that I've spoken to. My mind has always traveled back to how good I was at completing tasks and how I would be able to succeed. But being overconfident, I realize now, isn't going to get me anywhere. It only makes me understand that I won't be able to recognize what other people are doing – for my benefit and for their own.
That's why I'm being real with myself right now. I have a fifty percent chance of winning this; not seventy, not eighty, not ninety. Everyone remaining has an equal chance at victory, but it depends on who capitalizes on their opportunities the most.
''Why'd you even volunteer?'' I ask abruptly. Immediately, I see it. The hesitation on his face, the look of regret on his features, the disappointment in himself.
''F-For my District.'' That stupid answer makes my blood boil. They all say that!
''Oh, shut up!'' I groan. ''That's what every Career says, but what's the real reason? I know that you're not that dense to just throw your life away for something so stupid as wanting to make your District happy. Hasn't it hit you that if you die, you'll be more of a failure than a succession to them? They'll forget about you and move on to the next one! What type of sense does that make?! I've never understood you idiotic Careers!''
''What do you know about anything?!'' he fires right back, both of us obviously frustrated. Angling the weapon in his hands to a tight grip, he points it at me. His sarcasm takes a turn for the worse, and he's unable to control himself right now. ''Oh, because you're a Career, right? You know how we grow up, how we think, and how we live, am I correct or am I wrong? It's easy for all of you Outer District kids to judge us because we volunteer for these Games, but you don't understand that some of us regret our decisions! Some of us don't even want to be here anymore and would prefer death over ending another kid's life! You don't think that it haunts me every night knowing that I ruined a girl's life? Two girls' lives, actually! I'm in trouble. I've been feeling troubled for multiple days now, and I just want it all to end! We're not all the same, yet you guys somehow manage to mistake us all for being one...''
He breathes roughly as he hovers over my body. Gulping, I look around for his sword. It's too far away to reach for, but the knife in his hand is wide open. Now, if only I can find an entrance...
A thought reaches my mind, and I begin to feel pity for him. He's right; not all Careers are the same, and you can sense the doubt that's reflecting off of him. He's tired, he's angry, he's crestfallen.
...Just like me.
Emil Robins, District Three
Atlas is in trouble...!
''So... how are we doing this?'' Kaster lunges his – Clarice's – spear at me, but I smack it to the side using the palm of my hand. ''Looks like their fight's almost done.''
''When have you learned to not let your own fights distract you?'' I question. ''I'm surprised that you've even been paying attention to them, let alone managing to stay toe-to-toe with me.''
''I've gotten over the adventure. It's not worth it if I allow my friends to die,'' he shakes his head. ''And it's not that hard, if I'm being honest. Bree and I have as much strength as you two. If not, then more.''
''You both sure do have a lot of faith in each other,'' I duck under another swing and dive to the ground. ''Plus, we haven't even gotten started yet. You're sorely mistaken if you think this is all that I have to offer in a fight. Atlas will knock her down in a few seconds.''
Turning his attention to his struggling ally, he smirks. ''Are you sure? I think that you're familiar with a few things that were said back when Four admitted some serious news. Didn't she kill his partner?''
My eyes widen in disbelief. How stupid of you to forget. ''Shut up!'' I attack, growing desperate to get him to close his mouth. Hurry up and kill him! You have to, for your sake and for the Capitol's sake. They'll reward you greatly if you do! ''Don't you dare say a word! Why are you so connected with her, anyway? Why are you trying to preserve her life as long as you can?!''
''Because she's like family to me.''
When he says that word – family – anger boils deep in my system, as hot as lava. It churns within, hungry for destruction, and I know that it's too much for me to handle. I hate that stupid word! ''Who cares about family?!'' I scream at him, taking him by surprise and swinging with an extreme amount of fury. ''Family is nothing but a lie! The people who birthed and raised me never gave a damn about how I felt, but you can sit here with the audacity of saying that someone you've known for only a week is like family to you?! That stupid relationship that you have with her is false, don't you understand?! Why is it that you can have people you can rely on and give your love to when I can't even get a nod of approval from my own mother? Why is it that you can have successful relationships and make everyone like you with just a simple smile plastered on your face?! Why is it that you care so much about someone who'll be dead in a short matter of time?!''
''You don't know anything about me,'' he disagrees. ''I don't have everything that you desire. Life for me was already hard with my parents literally arguing everyday. You don't understand how bad I craved to get away and do something else with my life and save the good memories before everything went downhill fast. Have you ever even spoken to your parents about your problems?''
''No, and I never will!'' I gasp, swinging my fist at his neck. The force of impact forces him to fall away from me and struggle for air, so I advance carefully. ''I hate my family life. I hate everything! Why do you think that I did all of that stupid crap? I needed the support, I needed the help, I needed the people to appreciate me for who I was and give me the attention that my parents never did! Life was terrible back in Three, and everything that's led up to now is what made me who I am today.''
Allowing the darkness that I feel to swallow me whole, I jam my foot onto Kaster's shoulder and stomp, stomp, stomp! He cries, but I bend down and smack him across the face. ''SHUT UP!''
Through the tremble of his lips, a small smirk appears. ''Yo, Atlas!'' Shit!
Just as Atlas is about to make the final blow, he stops and turns around, spotting the both of us. Quickly, I try to cuff my hand over his mouth, but he randomly swings his head back and forth. Gripping him by the shirt, I throw Kaster up and try to drag him away, but he uses the warhammer in his weak hand to crush my foot through the worn-out boots.
Screaming, I let go of him, but I soon regret it. ''You know that Clarice killed Sigrid, right?!'' When he says those words, everything starts moving slowly. Atlas drops the sword in his hand, the look on his face mixed with suspicion, disbelief, and anxiety. Six lunges herself up swiftly, removes the knife from his grip, and with a blowing force, she stabs it right through his left eye until the hilt is buried in his head.
The blood, too, pours out in slow motion. It comes out as a red fountain to spread over the already stained floor, every projection showing the struggling of Atlas' heart. He raises his already blanched hand to clutch at the knife before falling on his back, his remaining eye wide open. Before I can even reach him, though, he slumps to the ground, pulse thready and weakening.
There's no amount of horror that can prepare a person from seeing the life ebb from another – no matter how many times one has killed. The hopelessness, the tearing at the soul that's departing from the other. That's exactly what it's like when I finally reach him; one moment we're so close to eliminating these two, then the next, I'm cradling his head, trying to remove the knife from his eye socket, but the sound of his cannon blasting tells me all that I need to know.
He's dead.
But I'm alive... The two allies grow closer and closer to me, Kaster with two weapons in his hand, and Bree equipping her broadsword again. The look on Bree's face is one of dissatisfaction, and Kaster's face reads nothing but apologies, though they send each other unnecessary smiles – they're both on one side each, cornering me.
Reaching into my pocket area, I feel against the micro-electric balls. Using my fingers to feel and count them, I make out that I have five left. Five. I gotta use them wisely.
Slowly inclining my body to a prepared stance, I sprint off to the side back towards the entrance of the caves that everyone ran out from. Desperately searching for one of them that's not completely destroyed and carved in, I spot one fifty feet away from me. Kaster's hot on my tail, but he has no idea what's coming to him.
Through my peripheral vision, I see Bree starting after me as well, but a mysterious figure jumps out from the Cornucopia's shadow with a sponsor bag in its hand and swings it at her head. Bree gets knocked to the floor with a sudden burst of fury, and a glint of metal is placed right on her neck.
I almost forgot that there were four of us remaining. Thank you, whoever you are. This just makes it easier for what I have planned.
Kaster Navelle, District Eleven
Following after Emil into the cave entrance, I can't help but feel queasy in my stomach. Something's off. Thanks to the time of day, I can't see a damn thing in this cave! Slowly approaching the thin walls, I try to feel my way across.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up when a laugh comes from Emil like a newly sprung leak – it's timid at first, stopping and starting. He's not done yet, though. I fold my arms, eyebrows arched in suspicion, waiting. In moments, Emil's laugh becomes sinister, arching into the brilliant walls of this cave and soaking up everything around him with unrestrained gales that debilitate him to a pick-faced picture of glee.
Still, though, I can't see him, and the sound of his laughter is reverberating from wall to wall, so I can't assume his position, either. He's laughing at me. And then, a rolling sound catches my attention. It's slow and steady, but then a beeping noise begins. Through the darkness, I'm able to catch glimpse of a buzzing red light and jump out of the way as quick as I can.
There's an explosion. A fist of orange flames decide to spread quickly and set the cave ablaze, lighting up the walls with dusty smoke. Thousands of pieces of rock shower down. The noise of impact – shrill and deafening – erupts, and I don't even hear Emil's boots clanging against the ground below me.
''...I know where you are but you don't know where I am!'' he says, laughing once more.
A huge bite is taken out of cave's side, leaving an exit for escape, but fire soon starts to grow around it. I had seen the size of the thing that he threw, and it wasn't that big – so why did it do so much damage?
A large object flies into my head while I'm distracted, and I can feel the blood leaking from my forehead. Staring behind me, I see the rock that was thrown, and before I can whip around, Emil tackles me to the ground with his sword tucked in his pants.
''You did this?'' I question.
''With precise calculations, yeah,'' he answers, his voice raspy.
''I don't understand... how? Why are you even doing this?''
''See, I'm a dick,'' he breathes, ''so it shouldn't be that hard to swallow. And what's not to understand? I use my knowledge to do the wrong things, it's as simple as that.'' Just staring into his eyes makes my breathing rapid and shallow. I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples, telling me that I need to get him off of me.
Struggling to raise my hand up, he collides his fist with the center between my brow and my cheek. An excruciating feeling of pain runs through my face, and I feel like he shattered something.
''I don't think you understand that everyone gets dehumanized,'' he tilts his head, even as the fire grows closer to surrounding the two of us. ''These Games change everyone. Me, you, Atlas, and even Bree. They take normal kids and make them not care if others live or die.''
He runs a finger down his sword and unsheathes it from his pants. His face mirrors the grim expressions that I feel. Pressing his lips together, he forgets that I never give up. Forcing my hand up with all of my might, I stab him in the cheek with the spear, the blade entering deep into his flesh.
It's not enough to kill, but I manage to kick him off of me and stand up. Rushing after him as he struggles to put pressure on the wound – watching as the blood spurts through his fingertips – I shoulder tackle him until we both stagger into a wall. With force, I stab forward, but he swiftly slides to the right.
The spear gets stuck in the soon-to-be-burned wall, and I'm unable to remove it! A blow hits my head again, and there's another rock in his hand. He lunges forward and pretends to swing at my head just so I can move the way he wants me to. Predicting my movements, he sends his knee into my nose.
Sprawling backward, he grips my shirt as hard as he can and smacks me in the face once again with the rock, and a haunting yell from me lets him know that time's almost up. The blood drips from my forehead to my nose and down to my chin, my teeth bloodied as well.
Shaking him free from my body, I force Emil into the end of the spear, smacking his bruised back into the weapon. He grows angrier with every attack and smacks me upside my head. I feel dizzy with every blow that he lands on me – who knew that a kid from Three could be this strong?
Struggling to catch my breath, I leave myself wide open, and he takes advantage of this. With his sword gleaming in the fiery light, he spins around me and slices at the back of my legs, cutting deep into each one and out. I barely manage to seize myself, but standing is so difficult now!
I don't know what takes over me, but I grab Emil by his forearm, yank him towards me, swipe my leg under his, and stick my knee out, forcing his back to land ferociously on one of the hardest bones in my body. His cry gives me no pleasure, but I don't care for it. Aiming for his midsection, I heave my warhammer up into the air and slam it into his gut.
His eyes nearly pop out of his head; same goes for his tongue, except with his mouth. Everything goes soft for him, but he's not dead – not yet. Feeling exhausted, I fall to my knees and just breathe.
''You put up an amazing fight,'' I chuckle. ''It was a valiant effort, I'll give you that.''
''I-It's n-n-not over yet...'' he trails off.
''It'll be over soon, though,'' I deadpan, wiping my sweaty hand across my face. ''I was never expecting something like this to come out of yo—''
Emil, using his last bit of strength, lunges up through his back pain and wraps his arms around my throat, dragging me down to the ground. On top of him now, I quickly slam my elbow into his mouth, over and over and over again until he lets go. When I'm finally free of his grip, I don't spare a second look – I don't care for breathing, or thinking – I just level up my warhammer once more and crush it into his face.
With a disgusting crunch of every bone in his head breaking, I slowly lift up the weapon and look away from his destroyed face. Blood is pooling everywhere, his eyes, for real this time, have popped out of his head, and a chunk of his brain and bones are on the ground right next to his head...
I just want to throw up right now, but I can't do anything until I get out of this Arena. Not without a break.
Boom!
Wait... How many people are left? Two, or three? Is this the finale? And where's Bree?
''KASTER!'' I hear, and my stomach drops. ''KASTER—''
Running to the exit of the cave, I let the anxiety catch up to me. ''BREE!'' I call out, extremely worried. Oh, no no no no... NO! ''BREE, ARE YOU OKAY?!''
Just as I get out, I see her and... Ceres is on top of Bree with a sickle in her hand, and the two girls are battling it out to the death. Taking a step forward, I slowly come to a halt. Your ally or your District Partner? How would the District feel if you helped a foreign girl and killed your own kind?
I don't even get a chance to process that thought quick enough because a beeping noise is sounding right next to my ear. Searching for the cause of that irritating beeping, I spin around, but nothing's there. But then it hits me... ''Oh, my God.''
When Emil grabbed you, he placed a couple of those deadly explosives in your shirt. GET IT OUT, KASTER! GET THEM ALL OUT!
A blinding flash explodes, and then I feel myself issuing amid a mass of terrible sensations. The fearful blow of the explosion hits me, and everything goes black.
Not only did I leave Bree out there all alone and got caught up with my own personal fight, but I didn't give the genius-kid – keyword: genius – credit for everything that he's done and everything that he would do.
In the end, I ended up being the same me. And look where I'm at now.
''KASTER!''
6th - Sawyer Fira, District Seven
5th - Atlas Aureliano, District Two
4th - Emil Robins, District Three
3rd - Kaster Navelle, District Eleven
Megan, Sawyer was absolutely fantastic. I dunno if I ever told you when I first got her, but I knew coming into these Games that I could do a lot with her. I always wanted to transform that hostility of hers into a rage that would actually force her into wanting to kill other tributes after everything that happened. Ocelot's death definitely had an impact on her. For a moment, I wanted to ally to two, because I thought it would work, and I had her going through so much pain and suffering after he would've died and that would, most likely, have propelled her up to around 3rd or so. At times, she was my Victor. Her background was sad to me, and she deserved to go back home to take care of her mother and get her some medicine and help and afford what they couldn't have. Her life was always a struggle. She was one of my personal favorites, but I thought it was better that she died fighting like a hero and the strong girl that she was instead of falling to depression and hatred for everything in the Panem but not being unable to do anything about it. She was fantastic, honestly. R.I.P.
Metallic, dude, I loved Atlas. And really, I'm glad that I changed his District from One to Two because if he was in One, I don't think he would've made it as far as he did, with the whole Blush situation that she'd probably work on him and all. Looking back at it, so many things could have been so different for a lot of these tributes, but I'm glad that Atlas ended up where he was. After the death of one of his best friends in the Arena, I just knew that everything would go downhill from then on. The Games and his District would cloud his mind - like they've always been clouding his judgement. Killing Sawyer made him realize that he shouldn't have ever gotten himself into this, not even if it made his District happy, because his life was more important than other kids dying. Realizing that he needed to fight to win was hard to write because I couldn't see a genuinely kind guy like him wanting to go through something like that. I don't think that I ever had him winning besides once, but I always wanted him to go far because he was sort of the underdog Career. The one with the personality that wouldn't take him far, but he got past all of them - all of the real ones. I hope that I was able to write him the way that you wanted, because this guy was a blast. R.I.P.
Jalen, Emil... Oh, my God, no, Emil was my personal favorite out of all of them. Yeah, yeah, I know I say a lot of them were my favorites, especially Adonis, but Emil was the ultimate tribute. His submission form got me to smile the most, and he was the most enjoyable to write for. From his genius personality to his quirkiness to his idiocy to his humor to his attention-craving personality... It was all just amazing. I can't describe Emil in any other way, because that's just what he was - amazing. His development really hurt me. Going from that kid who was shy at some points to not really knowing if he wanted to kill, but after the Capitol continued to feed him and encourage him to go after other tributes, he realized that that was exactly what he needed to do and live up to. And when he got his sponsor gift, I KNEW that he would rule the Arena. The hype was real for him, and really, Emil was my Victor at least five different times. While I was writing this, I wanted to just forget about him dying and somehow manage to get him past Kaster's defenses and just go out there and destroy the remaining tributes. If that did happen, he would've been the highlight of the Capitol. His life would have been completed because everyone would be looking at him, the genius from Three who wasn't a weakling like all the others. But here, I figured it was the best outcome. Him and Kaster were even, and this fight turned out enjoyable for me. I know I spoiled his placement for you back when I took a break from this story, and then I lied to you and told you that I'd change it, but hey, I hope it hit you with surprise. Anyway, thank you SO much for submitting him. Possibly the best tribute I've received out of all my SYOTs. R.I.P.
Lae, I feel so bad for this one. Kaster, as you know from the beginning, was one of those tributes that I automatically clicked with. I felt so connected to him already and just understood what he needed. The adrenaline rush and all that, that's what was able to push me to decide to give him a few kills. Sure, he felt bad about it, but to protect the people that he loved and cared for... It was just what I wanted from him, because I could easily imagine someone like that in real life doing similar things. His guilty feeling for his allies dying is why he saved Bree so long ago, and he couldn't stand to see anyone he cared for get hurt. Kaster was a sweet guy who just got blindsided by his need for more. Having fun and just moving was his high, and he wanted more and more and more. I loved developing him into someone who wasn't hesitant on hurting others. After his kill on Clarice, everything just clicked even more, and I knew where exactly I wanted him to go. He found his match with Emil, though. Kaster was smart, but Emil was smarter. In the end, he turned into a new guy, but he had the same old habits - those habits that he could never grow out of is what led to his downfall, and I'm sorry about killing him. Kaster was, also, my Victor numerous times. I think I had ten different scenarios of him leaving the Arena and going back home to Eleven. He was fun to write for, believe me, and I hope that I did well with him. Though I connected with him, he was difficult to capture at times and I didn't feel confident with how I had written him. But now, I'm happy with how things turned out. R.I.P., Kaster.
Ayee! So this chapter wasn't supposed to be so long, but I couldn't help it. I actually thought it would be better to hear from every tribute in this chapter, so sorry if that was bothersome. Hopefully this chapter was better than the last, because I thought so. This is probably my favorite chapter of this story, and maybe yours, too. Idk, but hopefully it was entertaining. I don't wanna drag this A/N out, but I'd like to congratulate Soul and bookwormmocking on their tributes getting this far. These ladies sure have had one hell of a ride, and at certain points when writing this story, I concluded that these two should be the last two remaining. I know who I want to win, but granted, both of them deserve it. I want both to win, but I have something I want to do with the other more than the one who's dying next chapter. Speaking of next chapter, there will be two more remaining. The finale, and then the family lives of the dead tributes and a recap on the Victor's current life. I can't be bothered with Victory Tours, because I hate writing chapters like that - as you can tell from the Interviews. And then, after that, if I'm up to it, I might just continue from this story and write another SYOT - no matter how tiring that shit is. Anyway, a few questions if y'all don't mind?
You're a tribute in the Games, and after four more cannons boom, you realize that you're in the final two. What's going on through your mind?
Say you're either Bree or Ceres - or both. As Ceres, what would you try to do at this point, seeing as you have the advantage? And if you're Bree, how are you getting out of this situation?
Your ally and people that you've met throughout the Games have died this exact day and you see their faces in the sky. Do you feel pity for them, push them to the back of your mind and continue trudging through, burst down into tears and cry, etc?
Would you guys be interested in another SYOT? I'm honestly down for it if you guys are.
Lastly, who do you THINK will win? I feel like if I ask who you guys want to win, you'll all say the same thing. Not confident on it, but I believe so. But if you'd like to say who you want to win as well, go right ahead. I don't care if it's biased, either.
Anyway, that's all for now. Glad I took my time on this chapter, because it turned out well, in my opinion. The finale will be filled with conversation and fighting, so keep your eyes out for that. Whoever ends up winning, I hope you'll all be fine with the decision. I know that not all of you like both of these tributes, but I tried to put a lot of reader input along with my own personal opinion, because I wanna give you guys what you want while also writing the story how I picture it out to be. Hope I don't sound like an ass saying that lmao. Anyway, have a wonderful time doing whatever the hell you're doing wherever the hell you are. See y'all next time, bye! ^^