Chapter VI, Arena: Purgatory.
- Pushing Up Daisies -
The Twenty-Second Hunger Games
Murphy was pumped.
His eyes were wide and blown as he just stared at his arm. With his other hand, he gently rolled his fingers over the bark texture that was his skin. It felt foreign and strange — completely, fucking weird.
"I honestly… have no words," Murphy just continued to laugh, so jovial and bright.
Oliver just stared at him, "Murphy, I think—"
"Look at this shit! Honestly!"
Murphy's vibrancy just drowned out any of Oliver's attempts to calm him down. He had never in his wildest dream imagined that he would become a tree, and now, the possibilities were endless.
He didn't even think about the potential repercussions, or the fact that it might now be permanent.
All he knew was that he was a fucking tree and he was able to stomp his way back home.
"I wonder how many tree jokes I can make," Murphy said again.
A small rustle, however, silenced him immediately. His head shot up as the bushes parted. Oliver instinctively raised his fists and Murphy decided to stick a long, boney finger out at the oncoming person.
"I can see you haven't wised up yet."
"Frances," Murphy smiled as he saw his district partner for the first time in ages, "You're looking… well. The arena wears you well."
She's still alive!
Frances was accompanied by two girls. Murphy immediately knew Baylor — Vesper's district partner — and swallowed the pang of guilt. The other girl, however, Murphy only knew as the hysterical girl who got stung.
Frances didn't bat an eyelash at Murphy's transformation. "I can see you're… looking weird."
Murphy grinned dopily, "Yeah, it's an improvement, right?"
"At least you're not dead."
Murphy couldn't help but snort. He had missed Frances surprisingly more than he wanted to admit.
Frances was frazzled.
Murphy's new appearance didn't make any sense. Outwardly, she kept her cool appearance and stared at Murphy with such disinterest — on the inside, however, her mind quickly struggled to come up with an answer.
My power isn't the only one? Frances' throat tensed. What are the others hiding then?
"At least you're not dead."
Murphy snorted, "Not yet. Not that I plan to either."
"Tough words from a… tree?" Frances replied coolly.
Beside her, she could see Baylor and Astrid were tense. The whole atmosphere between the two warring groups was one of nerves and confusion. Frances knew they should be fighting and killing. She knew that this was the perfect opportunity to possibly wipe out all four people in one go.
And yet, staring at Murphy… she felt nothing but sympathy. Not because she liked him. More so that she didn't have the heart to take him down herself.
"The arena is dying," Frances decided to share the information — she didn't know why. "We're not sure why or the direction of it."
"It's over there," Oliver added, "I think it's a perimeter sending us in."
"Right."
"Yeah."
Frances hated everything about this. And yet, she turned to her two allies and shot them a look briefly, before turning back.
"Maybe we should stick together." Why am I doing this?
She could feel the collective reaction of guarded tension. Murphy was the only one who nodded with a smile that Frances normally hated but found strange comfort in.
"Sure," Murphy glanced at Oliver, "That'd be cool, right? A temporary truce. Just to get away from the… you know, death."
Oliver didn't reply but gave a short, curt nod. Frances didn't bother to look behind her to see the reaction. Since neither Baylor or Astrid spoke up, she took that to mean that agreed as well.
What's my plan? Frances scrambled for an answer. The boys would be good use to get nearer to the end. Plus, the possible tension will cause Baylor and Astrid to be on the end of their tether — either work together, or fester until the right time and implode.
Frances knew her plan was shaky. If the arena had taught her one thing, it was that she couldn't control everything. The arena was not the family business. It was not a ladder to climb. It was flesh and blood and forever changing options.
"What shall we do?" Murphy asked.
Frances blinked, lost, "I guess we just walk and then… we'll know when we need to split."
Nysa was numb.
Her and Riette walked quietly, neither speaking, both lost in their own thoughts.
Nysa didn't know what to feel. Numb was the only word that came to mind. She cried silently, grieved as much as she could, but she felt lost in a void of hopelessness.
You killed her.
You killed her for no reason.
You killed her because you want to survive, and next, you'll kill Riette.
"Riette…?" Nysa had to break away from the silence.
Riette stopped, turning to face her, "Yeah?"
"I—" The words seemed to fizzle on her tongue.
"I know," Riette smiled softly, grabbing Nysa's hand and giving it a firm shake, "I know."
They shared the same pain. The pain of killing someone. Self-defense? Who are you kidding. Nysa winced. Riette's response to Linden's death was valid. Nysa felt like she didn't have the right to feel the same level of guilt that Riette carried on her shoulders.
"Do you—"
"Yeah," Riette answered before she could finish, "It's in the satchel. I'll keep hold of it."
Nysa's eyes drifted down to where the satchel sat at Riette's hips. Nysa had originally wanted to abandon the knife — the horrible, violent weapon — but Riette's logic was more sound.
They needed it to defend themselves. The knife had caused problems, but the knife would also save them when the numbers narrowed and tension rose.
"Where are we heading?" Nysa asked quietly.
"I don't know," Riette answered, "...anywhere."
Neither girl realised that Brionka was their direction. Even though she inserted herself in as the de facto leader, it became apparent that without her, both girls were lost. Brionka was their guide but also their planner.
And since being without her, the mood felt heavy and thick.
"I—"
"You might not have killed her," Riette answered, sensing Nysa's thought process before she even knew it was coming, "I could've with that… weird knife."
"And the light…" They hadn't discussed it yet. "Did I… create that light?"
Riette nodded, "I think so. It all happened so fast, I don't really remember it well."
Nysa wished she didn't. But everything in her mind was so vivid. From Brionka's feral eyes as she slashed at Auberon, who looked like a wounded animal. From the panic and unease in her chest as she battled Brionka to disarm her. The fear that encapsulated her mind and blocked out any rational. As blood spilled over her hand—
Nysa choked on a sob. Riette caught on immediately and hugged her. "I know, I know. I wish I could say it gets easier, but it doesn't. It just doesn't hurt as much any more."
I want to feel the pain. I want to feel hurt and angry and self-loathing and hated. I need to.
They stayed like that for a while — Riette holding Nysa — as the girls were silent, lost, suffering great losses of their humanity.
Tirsa was angry.
Slumped against the base of a tree, Tirsa couldn't stop the fury that resonated deep inside of her. The thought of Oliver — whoever he was — was now a fleeting memory. Her mind was focused solely on destroying Enoch and Andronika.
"The traitors…" Tirsa whispered to herself, staring at the ground.
She didn't have a plan. She had no direction.
All she knew was that Limos' path would open up to her at the right moment. During her darkest moments, Limos was there. And when the time was right, it would show her the path to end both of their miserable lives.
Tirsa rose slowly, a rock in her hand. She dragged the harsh end against her palm, feeling the warmth as her blood trickled down the curve of her hand.
As quickly as she bled, the wound sealed itself shut magically.
She did it again. And once more watched as her pain seemed to fragment away as the injury disappeared, as if never happening.
She repeated it again and again.
Each time, the blood flow was thicker and slower, darker in colour. She didn't realise she was shaking until blood began to splatter onto her shoes and, when she finally glanced at her body, realised that her white shirt was now flecked with red.
Limos, please help me. I need your guidance. I need your strength. This power… it's unbelievable.
Tirsa was thankful to be graced by Limos. But it felt warped, twisted. Her eyes twitched and her fingers flinched. She could hear the sounds of the birds above, the soft thuds of animals scurrying across the ground, the whistle of the air.
She twitched again. Her body felt heavy and light at the same time. She felt like she was floating on air and sinking at the same time.
Tirsa didn't feel like Tirsa any more. And yet, she felt like who she was always meant to be.
Ashriel was lost.
She honestly didn't know when she stopped running. At some point, her feet just got too heavy and the crushing, overwhelming sadness just dragged her to a halt. When she looked behind her, fearful of the pestilent aura that followed her, it had vanished.
The trees were pink and lush again. The ground was vibrant and full of life.
Through exhausted, tearful eyes, Ashriel saw the building coming back into view. The tall steeple seemed like a beacon that called her home. Despite the frightening memories, she realised that it was all she could find comfort in.
Her pace quickened as she clambered down the rolling hill.
Maybe… maybe I can find peace. Ashriel knew it was a wishful thought, but one she needed, if not to just keep moving somehow.
As she drew nearer, though, she could smell the smoke. She heard the crackles of the fire and, as she poked her head through the doors, she could see the pyre that consumed the majority of the floor. In the distance, between the flames, Limos' statue bore down on her.
It was enough to drive her back outside. The sadness that suffocated her didn't seem so bad any more… Ashriel hated the idea that maybe she was getting used to it.
As she turned the corner, her eyes caught sight of the graveyard. She didn't know why but her feet took her towards it.
The barren stones were now engraved with names. Only a few. Ashriel didn't recognise the first few as she sluggishly walked through them.
Until she saw Castanea's one. Underneath, Ashriel was named as her killer. When she saw her placement — 19/24 — her heart sank.
She fell to her knees, a sob broken in her throat. She just stared lifelessly at the words as they sunk in deeper and deeper. No outpour of emotion appeared. No instantaneous death around her.
For the first time in a very long time, Ashriel just felt… numb.
Finn was moving.
He had long since abandoned the idea of returning to Loire and attempting to patch their alliance back together. He didn't even know what truly happened. One moment, all of these emotions overwhelmed in the fact that Loire's story was built on lies and, in turn, their possible friendship… and the next, Cliff was dead and Finn vaguely remembered being the one who pushed him.
He paused, leaning against a tree. Tears pricked at his eyes but he blinked them away.
He hated himself. Hated what he had become and done, despite not understanding it fully.
Will I be forgiven? Finn didn't know. Maybe it was the way it was meant to be. Limos was his only judge.
Finn carried on walking, legs heavy and sickness rooted in his stomach. He had no supplies. He had no weapons. He was alone, unnerved, guilt-ridden and sorry for himself.
As he pushed through a layer of trees, though, he came across the building he had run from. Disturbed memories of the screaming and fighting and hiding behind a headstone with Auberon—
His eyes caught the glimpse of blonde hair in the graveyard. She looked vaguely familiar.
Carefully, Finn edged towards the building. His eyes lingered on the feminine figure as she fell to her knees in front of a stone. Alarmed, he quickened his pace, coming to the iron-barbed fence that circled the area.
Ashriel. He recognised her immediately as Castanea's partner. When Finn realised that Ashriel was alone, bitter sadness swelled in his chest. Another good person… dead.
Despite only being able to see the back of her head, Finn could tell that Ashriel was mourning the loss of someone. Castanea always spoke highly of Ashriel and her doe-eyed kindness.
Did Limos guide me here to repent? Give kindness to absolve my sins?
"Ashriel, right?"
The words spooked Ashriel who leapt to her feet, spinning around. Her eyes softened slightly when she recognised Finn. "Finn…"
Finn kept his distance respectfully. "I can see you're alone— Castanea didn't—"
"—I'm so sorry—"
"Why are you sorry?" Finn tensed. The words resounded in his head and flashes of his apology to Loire, to himself, to Auberon for killing Cliff… "Why are you sorry?"
Ashriel was silent. She edged back slightly around the other side of the stone. Finn's eyes trailed down to see what she was staring at. Castanea's name was engraved into the rock, alongside Ashriel's name as her killer.
"Oh…" Finn didn't know what to say.
"I'm so sorry— I didn't mean to— something is wrong with me…" Ashriel choked, tears brimming in her eyes.
Finn recognised the turmoil and guilt as it reflected in himself.
Their paths were meant to meet.
"Ashriel— it's okay," Finn replied softly, "This place isn't meant to be kind to us all."
As Finn edged a little closer in a bid to comfort her, Ashriel shrieked, "Please stay back!"
"Why?" Finn panicked, "I—I'm not going to hurt you."
"I'm going to hurt you…"
"Huh?"
"I hurt everyone…" Ashriel's voice was a whisper, "I killed Cassie by accident. I killed that other girl, too, by that rock."
"Loire…?"
Finn felt his knees buckle and he struggled to keep himself up. His entire mind went blank, as if emptied of thoughts. All he could hear was the pumping of blood loud and clear in his ears.
But he had no right to judge. No right to feel guilt over Loire's death when he had ultimately abandoned her through self-loathing.
"Limos will forgive you…" Finn whispered.
"She will?"
When Finn looked up, he could see the hopeful look in Ashriel's reddened eyes. He immediately pulled his crucifix from behind his shirt and wore it proudly for the first time in forever.
"She will," Finn was resolute, "She forgives everyone. You have to atone, you have to want to atone. But she will forgive you. She'll forgive me, too— I have a confession. I— I also killed my ally by accident."
The moment between the two was tense but needed. Two heavy souls sharing their burden and reminding themselves that they were not to blame for what was thrusted upon them. Finn stepped closer and Ashriel didn't jump away.
Finn stopped just on the other side of the gravestone — Castanea's gravestone — and smiled softly, clutching his crucifix. "Will you pray with me?"
Ashriel's face lit up and the ghost of a smile appeared on her face, "Okay."
The pair held hands and closed their eyes. As they silently prayed for forgiveness and understanding from a God that had essentially doomed them, Finn realised that this was meant to have happened.
He was not only meant to find peace, but help Ashriel find hers, too.
Oliver was frightened.
A cold unease settled in his stomach and refused to go away. Whenever he stared at the foreign skin that Murphy wore with confidence, he was reminded that his dreams were most likely real. Which of course meant… teeth and hands.
He pushed the thought as deep as he possibly could. Great. So, I get the power of insight into my death. He couldn't help but feel bitter. Luckily, feeling bitter about it helped him not focus on the fear that clutched at his heart.
Behind him, Frances' allies — Baylor and Astrid — were solemn. In front, Frances spoke quietly with Murphy as they walked along together.
When did they get so chummy? Oliver wondered.
He couldn't help but feel so unsettled. The quiet confidence he radiated was now shattered.
"Hey, Oliver!" Murphy turned around and shouted, "Are we still heading the right way?"
Oliver didn't know any more. He was so trapped in his head lately that he found it hard to think ahead like he normally could. "Yeah… I think."
"Come on, man! A bit of certainty please!"
"Sure!" Oliver snapped back, a little harsher than he meant. Luckily for him, the girls behind had drifted back, unable to hear his crumble.
Murphy made a face that said don't embarrass me and turned back to Frances. Oliver swallowed the bitterness in his throat and carried on walking.
He knew at some point him and Murphy would have to split — it was inevitable — but it was beginning to look like sooner rather than later. But something clicked suddenly. His dream in the Capitol was strange. He imagined it like he was dying…
But Vesper was the one who died.
Are they just interpretations? Does it mean me? He felt obsessive to keep thinking about it, but he couldn't resist. An innate, self-destructive desire inside of him just wanted to keep thinking about it, as if he could change it somehow.
He glanced nervously behind him. The other two girls were drifting further back.
I could slip out now… But something kept him rooted in his walk, following Murphy and Frances. A deep-rooted fear that he couldn't make it on his own.
"Maybe we should head back to the building?" Oliver heard Murphy ask Frances.
"We won't be, but you can."
"Oh, yeah, temporary…"
"Yeah, temporary. Just until we can gauge where the death wave is coming from and the direction. Possibly so we can see the numbers we have left."
Oliver had a rough idea of how many people were left. The strange, deep bell tolls seemed to chime every now and then, but sometimes not long after the other. He guessed they must be about halfway… and five of those tributes were still together.
But not for much longer.
Baylor was alert.
Her head whipped from side to side, staring at the forest that encircled them. Despite the seemingly blasé attitude from the four tributes walking in front of her, Baylor refused to lessen her wits.
She also knew that the truce was going to last about five minutes, if that.
A big part of her was mad at Frances. Not only for encouraging Astrid into the alliance without so much as consulting her, but for then agreeing to the boys joining them for a little while.
As horrible as it sounded, she wished something bad would happen… and fast.
Astrid slowed down in front of her. Baylor's shoulders tensed as she made eye contact with her new "ally".
"Hey," Astrid whispered, "I don't like this."
"You can say that again," Baylor responded curtly.
"What is Frances thinking?"
A weird tingling sensation grounded Baylor's annoyance. She shoved her hand into her pant pocket. "I'm not sure…" Not that I know any more, either. "Maybe you should ask her?"
Astrid nodded with a grimace, "I'd rather not."
"Why? You two seem pretty close, all things considered." I guess I was a consolation prize.
The tingling sensation wouldn't stop bothering her. Fuzziness started to blur her vision and her head began to thud. She glanced at Astrid through the haze. She was still pretty beat up — but her face didn't seem as crestfallen as before.
"We barely know each other," Astrid answered, "She asked me to be her ally. I said no. I didn't want allies— but then, Tobi happened—"
"Tobi?"
Astrid paused. Then, she smiled softly, "Tobi. My district partner. I was with him briefly but… things happened."
Baylor knew what that meant immediately. "If it helps, my district partner is dead, too. One of the first ones to go down."
"Not sure it does but thanks for the support," Astrid cracked a wry smile.
Baylor's vision started to blur even further and she slowed down, trying to steady herself. Uncharacteristically, Astrid slowed down to stay by her side. Baylor's heart warmed at the notion since Frances' body drifted further out of sight.
"Are you okay? You're looking pale."
Frances never wanted me to begin with. It's because Astrid rejected her…
Baylor's vision kept warping. Suddenly, she saw Frances as clear as day, despite being so far away. She could make out shadows and shapes clearly, but the peripheral seemed distorted. Her heart beat so hard that she could hear it thumping in her ears.
I'll always be second best…
"I— I feel woozy…"
Baylor felt Astrid hold her, gently keeping her propped up right.
Then, as if a jolt of electricity shot right through her, Baylor's senses seemed to blow up tenfold. Her eyes snapped open, pupils dilated into a thin line, glowing a faint tinge of yellow. The vibrating sensation disappeared. Now… she felt cold, numb, but alive.
"Baylor—?"
Astrid was tense.
Baylor's faltering frame suddenly grew rigid in her grip. She seemed to suddenly… come alive, body shaking slightly.
"Baylor—?"
Astrid didn't expect the elbow that came thrusting into her stomach, winding her. She immediately let go, staggering back. As she looked up in both fury and confusion, she noticed the pale yellow eyes that bore down on her.
Baylor was speechless, staring at her with a cocked head, eyes reptilian.
"What was that for?!" Astrid hissed.
No response. Baylor motioned forward and, refusing to let her best her once more, Astrid charged in first, swinging wildly with her fists. Baylor caught and deflected most — the ones that did hit, however, didn't seem to faze her.
Baylor coolly punched outwards. The fist collided with Astrid's jaw, sending her tumbling to the floor. Pain shot up her cheek as she scrambled to her feet.
"I swear— if you hit me one more time, I will—"
As Baylor rushed her, Astrid spun on her heel and ran the opposite direction. She pumped her arms and legs through the trees, hearing Baylor keep up with her.
What the fuck is wrong with her? Astrid was so, so confused. One moment, they seemed to be having a moment — and Astrid let her guard slip slightly, idiotically — and the next, Baylor was trying to kill her.
Still running, Astrid grabbed hold of a low hanging branch and used it to propel herself around a tree. Baylor didn't expect the move as one of Astrid's knees came spinning around and slammed into her rib cage — sending her to the floor in a heap.
Astrid triumphed, grinning sardonically, as Baylor climbed to her feet steadily. That's when she noticed Baylor's hands were no longer tanned flesh. They seemed almost grey and scaly…
Baylor charged her once more, silent. Astrid ducked the blow and wrapped her arms around Baylor's waist.
"Quit it, you fucking lunatic!" Astrid grunted, digging in her heels, "You're gonna get us both killed—"
Baylor suddenly went limp in her arms. This time, Astrid wasn't so nice — she stepped back, allowing a now unconscious Baylor to fall flat on her face. She stared down at the girl who attempted to kill her. She was blissfully unaware, eyes shut, but hands still horribly different.
Astrid knelt down curiously, ignoring the pain in her chest and jaw. The scales seemed to slowly creep up Baylor's arms, shreds of skin fluttering to the floor as it enveloped her.
Her head snapped up. The pair of them were truly lost from the others.
"You stupid girl…" Astrid whispered, placing the back of her hand on Baylor's forehead.
She didn't have a fever, not that Astrid knew if that was a legitimate test to find out. She stood back up and scanned the forest, trying to work out how far they were from the beaten path.
Suddenly, the air seemed to still. Astrid frowned, looking up at the sky as a loud, sharp bell pierced through the air. She clamped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, the sound cutting through her head.
"To raise from the dust, the worm of the dead to an everlasting spirit."
Riette was determined.
She didn't know what had sparked such a fire inside of her, but as her and Nysa carried on their journey, Riette realised that she was determined to do better for them both.
They might not have had a plan between them, but Riete wasn't about to let that stop her.
"How many people do you think are left?" Riette asked cautiously.
Nysa shrugged, "I'm not sure. It's been hard to say."
"Right… well, we've got this."
"Do we?"
"Definitely," Riette tried to sound more certain than hopeful, "As long as we stick together, I think we have this."
Something about the sudden enthusiasm and determination from the girls since Brionka's death left a bitter taste in Riette's mouth that she struggled to swallow. It was almost as if by losing her, the pair of them were able to fill their shoes properly.
Plus… we don't know who killed Brionka really.
The reminder of that dampened her mood slightly. Nysa had already taken the entire blame on her shoulders, and Riette's guilt towards that was paramount… but she also couldn't let herself believe that maybe she had done it, either.
Not after Linden. She couldn't fall that deep again.
"We just need to work—"
Nysa's words were cut off entirely by a rustling sound. Instinctively, the girls pushed together, alarmed. Riette wanted to be the braver one and step towards it, but Nysa decided to do it instead.
That's when the treeline seemed to burst open and someone jumped out.
Auberon was conflicted.
He watched with a careful eye as the grass before him slowly withered away into dust. The darkness was void on the other side. Lifeless. The trees wilted and the sky seemed to suck out any air.
A part of him knew that it was drawing everyone nearer. He didn't know when he became so paranoid — but the arena had made him adapt, and he was partially thankful for that.
Instead, he stepped backwards, knowing he shouldn't but also knowing he didn't have a choice.
Face the tributes or face the impending gloom.
Auberon sighed, spinning around and striding forward. He was determined to keep a few feet in front but not too far. He felt confident in knowing that the other tributes would be desperately trying to outrun it, so it made more sense to stick to the perimeter.
When did I become so practical? Maybe his job had become useful for something after all.
It made him more mature than he ever realised.
As he kept on walking, he slowed down, allowing the death wave to catch up. As it drew near his ankles, he marched forward, attempting to be as tactical as possible with it.
Without an alliance — without the ragtag group that dissolved far too quickly — Auberon knew he had to be smarter.
On a brighter note, he realised that Nysa was still alive. At least when he last saw her. He glanced down at the cuts on his arms. They were shallow but irritating.
Was Nysa still alive? Auberon stopped to regain his thoughts, letting the darkness catch up again, before moving ahead.
He wished he stuck around. Or met Nysa in better circumstances. The bitterness of regret was hard to swallow but he knew, deep down, that it was easier to just pretend that Nysa was okay and doing better than to see the worse.
His feet quickened. He attempted to walk in a straight line but the trees made it impossible.
That's when Auberon realised that the wave was curving into itself. It flanked him from the right and drew nearer. Auberon panicked, speeding up and veering to the left in order to manoeuvre away from it. Blinded by the sudden outburst of fear, his foot snagged onto a root, sending him crashing onto the ground.
He scrambled forwards, desperate, realising that it was speeding up. He pumped his sore arms and legs.
Just my luck.
He sprinted with ferocity, ignoring the burning pain in his muscles or the branches that smacked into him carelessly.
He burst through some trees into a small clearing, not paying attention as his body crashed into someone else. He blacked out for a second as he slammed into the dirt once more, feeling his chin thud against the ground.
"Shit…" Auberon whispered, prepared for battle…
And then he saw Nysa and Riette once more.
"Nysa…"
"Auberon…? You're okay!" Nysa sounded cheerful.
Auberon pulled himself to his feet and kindly helped Nysa and Riette up. He smiled shyly at the pair before he realised that their third ally — the one that attacked him — was not with them. He frowned politely. "Oh, I'm sorry, Nysa."
"It's okay," Nysa quietly answered, "—I guess things just happen."
"And you're back," Riette added on, "It's nice to meet you properly."
Auberon didn't want to stick around for pleasantries. He glanced over the girls to see if the wave was coming, but it didn't seem so near any more. Maybe he had outrun it?
"We have to move," Auberon blurted out, "Come on."
He went to pull Nysa into the opposite direction he came, but Nysa was hesitant, "We just came that way… from the thing."
"Shit!" Auberon hissed, "It's circling in on us."
"Is that what you were running from?" Riette whispered.
Auberon could only nod. His throat was tight, clogged up with anxiety and nerves. Somehow, some way, he ended up back with Nysa as if their fates were entwined. His luck really seemed to be in his favour.
"We should—"
His voice was cut off by a sharp bell that made the arena go silent. Auberon clamped his hands over his ears, eyes straining to see Nysa and Riette naturally congregate towards each other for protection.
What is happening?
"To raise from the dust, the worm of the dead to an everlasting spirit."
Enoch was annoyed.
He stared down at the bruises that covered his right arm — ugly purple welts that only reminded him of his own failure. That once more, Tirsa got under his skin and reduced him to an anxious, scared child.
Well, no more.
Enoch was determined to use the annoyance as a means to beat her. To beat them all. To win and to prove everyone that he could do it.
"She couldn't have gotten far."
Enoch glanced over at Andronika. Her face was pulled back in concentration. She didn't reply, but Enoch didn't need her to. The moment they had gathered their bearings, they made their decision to hunt her down.
She was too reckless to leave unscathed.
"We have to put her down like the flea-ridden, lame dog she is," Enoch continued, venom in his words, self-hatred boiling under his skin.
"We will," Andronika replied.
Enoch nodded, "I want to do it."
"It doesn't matter who does it," Andronika continued, "It just matters that she's dead."
It mattered to Enoch. He felt like he would only be free when she was dead at his hands. He had to see her blood spill to be sure that she wouldn't come back to haunt him.
The pair of them walked further on in silence. Enoch was caught up in his own plans of revenge, whilst Andronika listened keenly at their surroundings, attempting to find the girl that slipped their grasp.
Andronika suddenly stilled, grabbing onto Enoch's arm. He froze, tense, heart racing in his chest.
"What is it?" Enoch whispered harshly.
He couldn't see or hear anything. But Andronika was rigid, poised like a hunter who had found their prey, her fingers digging into Enoch's wrist painfully. She said nothing, instead using her other hand to point into the treeline.
"Tirsa?" Enoch mouthed.
Andronika nodded, before she charged.
Andronika was ready.
She pumped her arms and legs, fists clenched. This time, Tirsa wasn't about to get away. Somewhere behind her, Enoch followed, the sound of his bounding footsteps crystal clear.
There was a rustle, some movement, as Andronika flanked the tree from the right.
Tirsa barely had a second to move before a fist collided with her eye socket. She staggered back, cursing under her breath, clutching her wounded eye. Andronika didn't waste any time and lunged forward, driving her knee into Tirsa's stomach.
"Andy!"
From behind, Enoch entered the scene. His head shot between the two girls before Tirsa's malevolent eyes bore right through him.
Andronika drove another knee into her stomach and Tirsa gasped for air, knees buckling.
"Enoch, now!" Andronika shouted.
As she kept her grip on Tirsa — who began to struggle and writhe in her arms — Enoch fumbled in his satchel for their secret weapon. Andronika grunted and dug her heels in but Tirsa was slippery.
"Quick!—"
Tirsa managed to wrestle free enough to grab Andronika by the leg and, with a strong yank, toppled Andronika onto the floor. She landed on her back hard, breath knocked from her lungs, before Tirsa pounced on top.
"Hi," Tirsa smiled, before bringing her fist directly down onto Andronika's nose. A crunch made Andronika scream. Coppery blood seeped into her mouth. She squirmed and tried to bring her knees up, but Tirsa used her full weight to keep her pinned.
Tirsa looked up at Enoch, who was frozen on the spot. "Not going to do anything, Enoch?"
Andronika's heart raced. She had never felt so inferior in her life, but something about Tirsa unnerved her more than she cared to admit.
In a bold move, Enoch dropped the satchel and lunged forward recklessly. Tirsa unseated herself from Andronika's stomach and caught Enoch in mid-swing, fist trapped in her hand.
"Tsk tsk."
She threw Enoch off-balance and used the momentum against him, swinging his body into the tree.
Andronika, however, rolled out of the way. She struggled to her feet, woozy, blood dripping down her face and pain blacking out her vision. Luckily, she could hear every sound and, when Tirsa charged at her, she was able to move out of the way…
Just not fast enough.
Tirsa grabbed Andronika by the arm, restraining it behind her back. Andronika then kicked her foot out backwards, connecting with Tirsa's knee.
"Enoch! Enoch!"
But there came no response. Through the blurriness, Andronika soon realised that Enoch had abandoned her.
Fury mixed with fear as she staggered forward, attempting to regain her control over the situation she had thrown herself in.
But Tirsa was behind her again and shoved her to the floor. Andronika rolled over onto her back to feel less vulnerable when the heel of Tirsa's boot slammed onto her shoulder. Fire ripped through Andronika's body as she screamed.
"Nobody can hear you," Tirsa taunted her, "Only Limos can… and She will always ignore heretics."
Andronika panted, crying, aching and sore and in severe pain. "You— you will never— win…"
"Oh?" Tirsa slammed her foot down again and Andronika screamed once more, "You thought you were better than me, didn't you? And look at us now— you're on the floor and I'm about to take your life."
Andronika's eye opened. For a split second, she was able to focus — and it all came together. Tirsa bent down and grabbed a rock stained in blood. As she towered over Andronika, her face softened.
"I hope you find peace. I really do."
"I will—" Andronika cracked the faintest smile, "—but not yet."
With the last of her strength, she kicked her foot up, connecting with Tirsa's stomach. As the girl staggered back — caught off-guard — her body collided with something invisible. Tirsa's eyes widened for a brief moment as her throat was slit open in a jagged smile.
As she fell to her knees, blood spraying from her neck, Enoch became visible from behind her — a sharpened piece of steel in his hand.
Tirsa fell forward. Her body twitched as blood pooled around her face.
Enoch breathed hard, shock and anger in his eyes. He stared at Andronika for a few brief moments before he vanished into thin air.
Andronika laid on the floor, taking harsh, ragged breaths, staring up at the sky. Everything hurt. Everything burned with savage fire. A small, triumph smile soon appeared on her lips.
Tirsa was dead. Finally.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimed. Except it got louder and louder, almost ear-splitting. Andronika tried to shield her ears, rolling over onto her good side in a feeble attempt to block it out.
"To raise from the dust, the worm of the dead to an everlasting spirit."
The bell vanished. Silence befell the forest.
…
And from behind, Tirsa's broken corpse twitched.
w w w. pushingupdaisieshg. blogspot. c o m
The Fallen:
13th — Tirsa Callas, District One.
Questions!
Final Twelve! Who do you think won't make it to Final Ten?
Revealed Powers:
Next chapter :)
So, I lied. I thought this chapter was my Capitol sideplot but that's actually next chapter. Oops.
This chapter itself was different. We touched base with every single remaining tribute and none of these POVs are in order, rather, they overlap and happen at the same time as each other. I wanted to create a sense of urgency as we head into Arena 2.0.
Time for zombies!
Finally, for the first time in a while, I gotta commend Tirsa for the fun. She was aggravating, self-righteous, and I took her a darker path than I anticipated... but she was sure fun and was exactly what this story needed.
As always, stay safe. Black Lives Matter. ACAB.
~Corey.