Chapter VII, Arena: Keep Moving.
- Pushing Up Daisies -
The Twenty-Second Hunger Games
Silence.
That was all that welcomed Andronika after the white noise. She opened her eyes, blood pounding in her ears. As she rolled over onto her back again to find respite for her sore bones, a wave of nausea assaulted her stomach.
The forest soon came back to life in an abundance of noise. Birds tweeted. The gust of wind through the trees. Everything sounded so perfectly clear, including the sound of growling…
Andronika bolted up. Her head spun from the adrenaline and her body cried out in protest.
Her eyes narrowed at Tirsa's corpse in front of her. Fear crept up inside as she realised that the noise was coming from the girl she watched just be murdered. That innate fear meant that Andronika didn't spare a glance anywhere else, waiting, watching… as Tirsa's head jerked.
A chill ran down her spine. I'm imagining this. I have to be.
But Tirsa's head jerked again. The hand laid out in front of her seemed to almost vibrate as the fingers curled into the dirt. Slowly but surely, the growling noise grew louder.
Andronika began to panic. Her heart hammered in her chest as she pulled herself up onto unsteady legs. Her vision was still blurred and the pain was now a dull thud that arched across her face. Her fists were shaky as she raised them in front of her for self-defense in case Tirsa… wasn't really dead…
She moved again!
Andronika almost stepped forward to investigate when Tirsa's head shot up. Her eyes were already clouding over, lips tinged a powder blue.
"Tirsa—" The words seemed to evaporate on Andronika's tongue.
Tirsa — or, whatever she was now — dragged herself up onto her hands and knees. A guttural moan escaped her lips as she eventually got to her feet, as if human once more. Andronika could see the look in her eyes. A feral, inhuman stare. Her lips peeled back into a toothy sneer before she lunged forward.
Andronika kicked out angrily, catching Tirsa in the stomach. She staggered back and keeled over momentarily, giving Andronika the chance to run.
She didn't even bother to look if Tirsa was coming. She just ran and ran, breathing through gritted teeth, muscles screaming in agony. She could hear the forest suddenly coming alive even louder. It bombarded her ears and threw her sense of balance off. She stumbled and fell into a tree, barely catching herself.
Do not give up now, Andronika encouraged herself. If you give up, you die!
She heard footsteps. A strange, needy sensation willed her to wish it was Enoch.
The trees in front of her, however, parted to reveal Tirsa once more, staggering slower, blood staining her dirt-spattered shirt. Andronika's heart stilled. How did she…?
But there was another one right behind her.
Another Tirsa.
Her eyes widened. She could hear the shakiness in her fingers. She clenched her fists, ready to brawl, when a third and a fourth Tirsa made their appearance. They all seemed lifeless, varying stages of decay and rot on their bodies — and yet, their faces all resembled the ally that Andronika had grown to despise so much.
As a fifth Tirsa appeared, Andronika realised that she wouldn't be able to fight her way through. They walked towards her sluggishly, dragging their feet, heads lolled and moans escaping from unmoving lips.
Instead, she punched one who got too close and diverted to the right, desperate to get away.
High up, Enoch watched from the tree, completely camouflaged, as Andronika fended herself from Tirsa once more. Only this time, Tirsa was dead incarnate.
He trembled, pressing himself against the trunk of the tree.
You're a coward.
I'm keeping myself alive.
Self-preservation? Treachery.
He felt no ill feelings about murdering Tirsa. In that moment, he felt powerful and capable. It was as if killing the embodiment of his own fears and self-hatred.
But he couldn't stick around. The only thing bounding him and Andronika together was the fact that they both wanted Tirsa dead. And now that she was — well, maybe? — Enoch knew it'd be a matter of time before Andronika turned on him.
So he bit the bullet first.
As Andronika punched one of the bodies and ran the opposite direction, Enoch breathed a sigh of relief that his weird, wonderful, strange ability that came out of nowhere had been useful.
Who knew being invisible was such a blessing?
"I'm sorry, Andi…" Enoch mouthed as she disappeared into the foliage, chased slowly by the monsters.
"Baylor!"
Baylor looked around her. The gloomy darkness of District Six was unmistakable. Steam floated into the sky and rain hammered down on the asphalt. Even in the darkness, she could see the gaggle of friends in the distance, huddled for shelter under a shop canopy.
"Baylor!"
She walked towards them, but never seemed to get near enough. She could hear them calling her name. Laughing at her for being slow, for always being behind them, for never catching up.
She tried to move faster, pushing herself more and more. She fell down and got back up. But her friends kept disappearing further away, their tormenting laughs overpowering the sound of the rain.
"Baylor!"
She just wanted to be good enough to be wanted, liked, or even cared about.
She just wanted to be someone.
"Baylor!"
A hard slap to the face sent her reeling from the dream. Stars peppered her vision as Astrid came into view, looming over her. Her face was flushed — anger and fear permeating through her expression.
"Baylor!" Astrid shouted again, "Get your fucking ass up now and let's go!"
Baylor found Astrid's hand and pulled herself to her feet. She felt groggy, sick, a wave of nausea that thrashed at her throat. She felt strange. Her line of sight travelled to her arm and, when she saw the greyish green scales that seemed to be spreading over her, she was in disbelief.
"We don't have time!" Astrid's voice was urgent. "We need to go."
"What—"
"Move!" Astrid angrily shoved her. Baylor stumbled on her feet and suddenly, the world came back in full force. She could hear growling coming from the bushes, all around them, a crescendo of hunger.
"What is it?" Baylor whispered.
"I don't know but I want to go," Astrid almost growled herself, before rushing into the treeline. Baylor didn't waste any time and followed hastily.
She could hear the sound all around her. From every direction. Growls and moans and almost human voices that blurred into something unreal. Ahead, she could see Astrid running with fervour, desperate to get away from whatever it was that was near them.
Baylor didn't even know where Frances, Murphy or Oliver were. All she remembered was seeing them disappear up ahead before Astrid slapped her awake.
As she ran, she stared down at her arms. The scales were real. They weren't some feverish dream or hallucination. They were real, stretching up her arms, stealing her skin from her body.
"Where are we going!?" Baylor shouted, only realising a moment too late that her voice had become a beacon.
Astrid skidded to a halt as she collided with something. Baylor watched as she crumpled to the floor, scrambling back. Baylor caught up when she noticed the slow-moving mass of bodies that seemed to appear from the bushes.
The growling was them.
Astrid was on her feet in seconds, spinning back to Baylor. "Shit!"
It was too late. Baylor heard the rustling as more and more appeared beside them, circling them, like a pack of animals that had surrounded their prey.
On instinct, both girls turned their backs to each other and pressed up flat.
"There's so many of them," Baylor whispered hoarsely.
She never removed her eyes from the surrounding monsters. She couldn't count how many there were — but they seemed to fill every available space. Their yellowed eyes, sunken cheeks and broken teeth seemed almost human.
One in particular caught Baylor's attention. A tanned, kind face that always looked perplexed.
"Vesper?"
She felt Astrid go rigid against her. "Tobi?"
"Shit." Baylor wasn't always the brightest, but she understood the message loud and clear. They resembled the tributes that had fallen.
"You know how I said I would kick your ass if you hit me again?" Astrid sounded breathless.
Baylor briefly smirked, "I remember."
"Well, if you see me out there, do it."
Baylor's smile was faint, but it was enough to redeem Astrid's offhandedness from their brief bickerings. "What are we gonna do?"
The hoard neared them. Closer and closer. Their rotted stench made Baylor gag. She could see their spittle, their exposed bones, their grey flesh melting from their skin. She saw her own hands again — am I gonna become one of them?
Astrid raised her fists. "We fight."
"What was that?" Ashriel asked.
Finn didn't know. He looked towards the church — the brass bell sat high upon the tower — as it rocked back and forth. The sound carried through the air and across the arena.
"It's that bell," Finn answered, "Maybe it means something?"
Something was unsettling about it — the abruptness of it, the eerie sound. It seemed as if it meant something but Finn didn't know what.
"Shall we go inside for it?"
"No!" Ashriel cut him off, "I— I don't think you'd want to…"
Finn could see that something was bothering her as much as the bell bothered him. Her face was white, eyes still full of fresh tears. Finn had a vague idea. He could smell the smoke. Something was burning inside of the building and, whatever it is, Ashriel didn't like it.
"Okay, okay," Finn smiled in an attempt to soothe her, "We don't have to. We can stay out here, if you want?"
Ashriel perked up a little. "Trust me… you don't want to know."
Finn smiled again, "I trust you."
He didn't know why he did. Something about Ashriel was wholesome and kind. She might've killed two people — purely accidentally, Finn came to realise — but she never meant to. She was lost and alone and if Castanea had placed her trust in Ashriel, then Finn believed that he should, too.
Besides — him meeting Ashriel was definitely meant to happen.
"Are we… allies now?"
Finn was hesitant but nodded regardless, "I guess it does. If you want to be, that is? I'd never be so bold to assume."
"I'd like that," Ashriel sparkled, "I'd like that a lot."
Finn smiled, "So, you believe in Limos truly?"
Ashriel was still on the other side of the tombstone. "Yeah, I do. She gives me hope and— and I need that. I think she does good."
"I agree," Finn replied, "She does do good. Having something greater than myself to focus on allows me to put everything into perspective. The Hunger Games aren't my favourite… but I know it has to be done."
Ashriel tensed. "I don't like the Hunger Games…" she whispered.
"I don't either," Finn quietened, "But without sacrifice, there is no flourish."
Behind Ashriel, Finn noticed the forest began to move. Slowly, the trees darkened to almost black, as if drained of colour. He frowned. He could hear a faint hum in the air, as if white noise.
"Do you hear that?"
Ashriel's eyes widened in panic. "No…? What is it?"
Finn couldn't tell. Something suddenly changed in the air. The atmosphere seemed heavy and thick. Then, around him, the flowers amongst the graves began to wilt. They didn't die — not like Ashriel had detailed her power — but rather just lost colour.
Almost as if they lost the will to live.
"Ashriel… we might have to go inside…" Finn's eyes followed the ground as it began to fade. "I think that bell meant something—"
His words were cut by Ashriel's sharp scream. His heart hammered in his chest as he spun back to her. From the ground, a rotten hand was clamped around Ashriel's ankle. She shrieked again and yanked herself away. A few fingers and grey sinew fell to the floor. The dirt shifted and began to mound upwards.
Finn instinctively grabbed Ashriel by the hand, "We need to go!"
All around them, as they ran, hands and limbs emerged from the dirt. Each grave seemed to burst to life.
Finn's eyes glanced inside the church once more. He could see the fire that engulfed a portion of the room.
"I'm sorry!" Finn apologised before pushing Ashriel into the church before she could protest.
He slammed the broken door shut and scrambled to barricade it, blocking it with pieces of wood and cinder. Unbeknownst, Ashriel crumpled to a nearby bench, staring wide-eyed and lost.
Finn didn't even know what was happening. But fear drove his instinct into overdrive and as he spun around to check on Ashriel, he could see shadows moving in the towering flames behind her. He felt like he was imagining it or that maybe his fear was causing hallucinations.
But slowly… a bony hand stretched out from the fire, charred black.
Finn was speechless for a few moments as the body slowly crawled from the cinders, melted skin and sinew and clothes, a skeletal jaw that creaked open as it fell to the floor in a heap. Another one soon appeared, and another, masses of blackened bodies eerily groaning.
Ashriel heard the noise and jumped to her feet. Her eyes lingered on the bodies as her chest palpitated hard and faster. Finn rushed forward, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around to face him.
"Ashriel! Look at me, look at me!"
He could see the fear in her eyes. For a split second, life blossomed in her face, and she shoved Finn away from her.
"Get back! It's gonna happen!"
Finn began to panic more. Ashriel staggered backwards, crying again, face pale.
"I— I'm gonna hurt you!" Ashriel cried, "Finn, I'm sorry!"
Finn could see the burnt bodies inching towards them as Ashriel continued to stagger back, clearly traumatised. In that split moment, Finn reacted and charged forward, shoving Ashriel to the side and bringing the heel of his foot down on a charcoaled head, crushing the skull.
The 'zombie' stilled immediately. But the other ones were coming.
Behind him, however, Ashriel had rushed for the doors in a blind panic. She scrambled to throw the wreckage away that Finn had tried to protect them with.
"Ashriel, don't!"
The door was thrown open. Ashriel didn't move outside, though. Finn could hear the growls and shuffling of feet as Ashriel edged back into the church.
She was whimpering. Finn could see her hands shaking.
Then, he realised as the vision of Castanea on one of the moving bodies became apparent. Her face was droopy, as if stuck on — mouth hung open and eyes bulging. Her once vibrant skin was pale and lifeless.
But Finn knew it couldn't have been her. Limos was powerful… but souls don't return to their bodies in death.
"Ashriel—" Finn whispered cautiously, outstretching his hand, "—they're not real. That isn't Cassie…"
More bodies began to appear behind 'Castanea'. Except they all looked like her. They piled into the building, blocking the doorway, forcing Ashriel and Finn further towards the fire. Finn looked over his shoulders briefly. Right. They're just there. He could see the other burnt bodies edging closer. It wouldn't be long before they would be swamped on both sides.
"Ashriel…" Finn spoke calmly, "We just have to go."
"C—Cassie—"
"It's not her."
"I'm—I'm so sorry—"
"It's not her, Ashriel. She's dead. You killed her… you didn't mean to, but you killed her, and now something is happening and we need to move."
"Please forgive me…"
"Forgive yourself!" Finn was shouting now. He angrily turned around and stomped down again on another body, horrifyingly surprised at how easy self-preservation was to him. They're not real, they're not real.
Ashriel looked over her shoulder at Finn. Time seemed to still. Her kind face felt bright and warm — a contrast to the girl he had known. A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips before she threw herself into the horde.
Her hands grabbed the first body in front of her and she screamed, grappling with it.
"Finn! Run!"
Finn snapped back to reality.
He motioned forward, but something compelled him to a halt. Ashriel screamed as the other bodies surrounded her. Her small frame and blonde hair disappeared under the mass of rotted, grey skin.
Finn knew he couldn't save her. He knew he had to save himself, or else her sacrifice was in vain.
Distraught and full of self-hatred, Finn ran to the back of the church, desperate for a way out. He found a staircase that led downstairs and bolted down them, trying to drown out the blood-curdling screams.
Castanea.
The guilt overwhelmed her. As she turned to see Finn in a blind panic, trapped in the building with no way out, Ashriel knew she had to do something.
She couldn't forgive herself. She couldn't forgive the things she had done or the crimes against her soul she had committed, intentional or not. No matter how she tried or Finn encouraged her, she just couldn't come back from it.
She had to atone. And she only knew one way.
She threw herself into the writhing mass, her hands grabbing the face of an ally that she had killed. Tears brimmed in her eyes. She knew it couldn't be real — but the pain was.
"Finn! Run!"
She struggled to hold the lookalike back. It swung out with feeble movements. Snarled with a toothless mouth. Stared with lifeless eyes. She felt more hands grabbing at her. Fear swelled in her chest. Ashriel briefly heard her own scream before the weight of the mob pushed her to the ground.
She felt her skin rip. She felt broken and jagged teeth tearing into her arms. She felt nails pulling her flesh from her body.
Her scream drowned out and pain overwhelmed her. The bodies began to crush her. She couldn't breathe any more. All she knew was pain, but in reality, Ashriel had only known pain since she cut into her own soul and took Castanea's life.
I was never going to fix myself, was I?
I hope you're okay, Severin. I hope you continue your fight against the corrupted factions of religion.
I hope you find peace, Castanea, and Loire.
As her eyes slipped shut and her blood pooled around her — as the creatures continued to rip chunks of flesh from her broken, young body — Ashriel found a glimmer of peace that she had long since forgotten.
I'm ready for you, Limos.
Bacchus Han couldn't look away from the screen.
He watched, unable to peel his eyes away, as the creatures tore Ashriel Denaud's body open. When they ambled away from her corpse, Bacchus could see that she was nothing more than a disfigured mess.
This… isn't what I created…
Zombies?
Panic rose in his chest as he jumped from his seat. Down below, the stream of Gamemakers were also in confusion, staring at the sheer level of horror on their individual screens. But nobody said anything. Everyone just assumed it was all part of Bacchus' grand design.
Bacchus could see his assistant, Cristobel, loitering in the corner of the room.
She wore a grim expression but didn't seem overly fazed by the show of violence.
"Cristobel, can I have a word?" Bacchus levelled his voice across the room.
Obediently, she followed. As she scurried over, Bacchus could feel the sweat on his chest. His heart raced in his chest and for the first time in a long time, he felt truly thrown off-guard.
But, deep down, he had a vague idea about what had happened.
"Cristobel…" Bacchus whispered, "I want you to go and fetch me Cyril."
"Why, Sir?"
He didn't want to show his cards. He couldn't tell Cristobel that the zombies were never his idea, that something or someone had infiltrated and ruined his arena. He couldn't even begin to fathom what President Revery might've been thinking as she watched it unfold. "Just do it, and quickly."
Cristobel scurried from the room. Bacchus pinched his nose and turned back to the main screen. All across the arena that was no longer vibrant in colour and hope — blackened by the dismay and rot of whatever had poisoned his creation — he could see the zombies amassing together.
The tributes he had grown to admire and appreciate were now running scared from creations that he had nothing to do with.
What has happened? Bacchus just knew that Cyril had something to do with it.
He just needed to hear it from the horse's mouth.
Auberon, Riette and Nysa ran.
It didn't take long for them to notice the new arrivals in the arena. Grey, rotted bodies that slowly ambled towards them, hunger-driven.
Auberon was up front, cutting a way for the girls to follow. Riette and Nysa ran in tandem, their presence encouraging the other to keep going despite the fear that radiated from them.
A hand shot from the bushes, shoving Nysa, who collided into Riette and sent both of the girls into a heap on the floor. Their petrified shouts alerted Auberon, who spun around and instinctively ran back.
The creature staggered from the bush. Nysa and Riette managed to climb to their feet in time as Auberon's fist came flying through the air, landing squarely on the zombie's chin. The lower jaw fell to the floor in a loud squelch, grey liquid dripping as the monster tipped over.
Riette and Nysa shared a scared, alarmed look. Auberon, in a twist of fate, had his shit together and seemed focused on what to do. The bigger picture could wait — for now, he needed to get himself and the girls to safety.
"Come on, we need to go."
The trio pulled to a halt. Murphy didn't continue to run.
He wanted to, he needed to, but Frances had other ideas and for once in his life, Murphy was going to not rush in foolhardy and hope for the best.
"They're coming from everywhere," Oliver gasped, out of breath from running.
Frances looked shaken. Her concentrated eyes were now faltering. Cracks of panic broke through. She stared a long time at Murphy and, for the first time ever, he realised that Frances was probably frightened more than she let on.
"What are we gonna do?" Murphy asked her, waiting for an answer.
"We need a plan," Frances breathed, "We'll never be able to run from them."
"Do you think they— they got Baylor and Astrid?"
Frances tensed, "I've only heard the bell chime one more time."
"It could be one of them," Murphy added, wincing when he realised that was probably not what she wanted to hear.
"Could be— but unimportant right now," Frances shot her head around, "They move slow. If we keep ahead of them, we should be fine."
They came out of nowhere. Murphy was minding his own business when, after that high-pitched noise disturbed the arena, these creatures seemed to sprout from the very ground themselves. Murphy didn't want to stick around to find out exactly what they were.
"We— we can't run forever," Oliver breathed again.
Frances just stared at him with her steely eyes. "We also can't fight them."
Murphy hated to admit the fear that ate away inside of him. He stared down at the weird, bark texture that engulfed his arms and realised that it wasn't worth all of this. He needed to be more serious. People were dying and it had never really sunken in.
Except now… shit got real.
"Why are we standing around then?" Murphy feigned a smile in the hopes of lifting their spirits.
"We don't even know which direction to head away from them," Oliver rationalised, "What if we're heading straight into the thick of it?"
Murphy ignored the suffocation in his chest, "Maybe the building?"
Oliver's eyes widened. "I'm not sure that's a great—"
"—It's all we have," Frances cut him up, "At least we could barricade ourselves in."
Murphy could see how uncomfortable the idea made Oliver. The terrible memories of Vesper and his death haunted him. An inkling of sadness welled in Murphy's head but he forced it out. "I think it's this way."
"You don't know that," Oliver argued.
"We have to try," Frances shot him a look, "Or, we could stay here and find out what those things do."
That settled their debate. With determination, the three began to move again, heading in the vague direction that Murphy could only hope and assume was the building. The growls around them became more prominent. A mass of bodies that made the forest shift. Behind him, Frances and Oliver were trailing, slower.
Murphy paused — just for a moment to rethink his strategy — when a ghoul clambered through the bushes.
It's broken teeth immediately clamped around Murphy's arm. "Fuck!" Murphy hollered but, to his surprise, he felt no pain.
The ghoul couldn't bite through his new skin. It slobbered and chewed. Murphy took a brief moment to realise that it looked familiar but, more importantly, it was supposed to be human. With his other arm, he slammed his elbow down on its head, cracking the skull open like a boiled egg.
"Shit!" Murphy hissed, splattered with foul juices.
Frances and Oliver quickly passed him. "Keep up!" Frances shouted.
Angry, Murphy booted the monster to the side and ran again. Up ahead, he could see the steeple of the building, the church drawing nearer and nearer. He pumped his arms and legs harder than ever before, ignoring the wind sucked from his lungs.
Frances screamed. Oliver yelled.
The fear inside of Murphy's chest clamped around his heart. Somehow, he found more speed, and burst into the open clearing before the building.
The entire field was crushed with bodies. A putrid smell hung in the air and the dozens of bodies all meandered and aimed for the building, as if drawn to it.
Frances screamed again, which brought Murphy back to his senses. To his left, Frances and Oliver were slowly being surrounded, both frantically kicking and screaming as the dead bodies circled them.
Fear froze him to the spot. A claustrophobic, innate fear that Murphy never remembered before. Unknown terror that could only make him stare.
I can't do this… I can't do this…
But as Frances shouted his name, Murphy somehow pulled himself out of it.
There was no more time for jokes. He needed to act.
Bold and brazen, Murphy let out a roar, charging into the fray in order to save his allies. The self-preservation side of him vanished as he realised that he could never live with himself if he abandoned them.
He crashed and swung his way towards them, screaming at the top of his lungs. His fists and elbows and knees moved on their own. Slowly, he got into the circle with Frances and Oliver, both of whom were barely able to keep them back.
"Fuck!" Oliver swore.
"We need to get out of here!" Frances yelled.
Murphy could barely hear anything. In the thick of the masses, all he could hear was salivating and growling and guttural moans. Instinctively, he pushed his two allies to either side of him, as if protecting them.
He knew his skin made it harder to be hurt. He knew that if he just kept fighting then maybe he could make a path for them.
A blurred face appeared for him. His heart froze. It looked just like Vesper. But it couldn't be…
"Murphy!"
"Murphy!"
"Murphy!"
Murphy roared again and smashed his fist into "Vesper"'s face. Blinded by fury and fear and rage that he didn't know he had, Murphy began to violently attack anything that drew near.
Oliver screamed.
Murphy snapped back for a brief moment — turning over his shoulder to see a monster with its teeth sunken into Oliver's arm, attempting to drag him into the mass — before Frances grabbed him by the arm.
"We have to go!"
"But— but Oliver!"
Oliver continued to scream, fighting and punching with his other hand.
"We can't save him!"
"But—!"
"Murphy, we have to go!"
Frances was tugging on him. He felt blurred. The creatures around them dispersed for a small moment, creating a clearing that Frances easily pulled a lost, dazed Murphy through. He never looked away — even as the circle of creatures eventually swallowed Oliver whole.
"He's dead, Murphy! He's dead!" Frances was crying. Murphy stared at her with empty eyes. Her arms were littered in scratches and cuts. Her white shirt was splattered with blood.
"Oliver…"
"He's dead," Frances cried out again, "We— we can't save him— we have to go!"
The pain was unbearable. His voice felt lost in the air.
Oliver screamed and screamed. Through teary eyes and looking over his shoulder, he realised that Murphy and Frances had disappeared. There was nothing but dirty, rotted bodies that growled and scrambled for him.
He couldn't fight it.
Pain blurred his vision more. Darkness pulled at the edges.
He felt hands on him, teeth sinking into him, as his knees eventually buckled and he fell to the floor. The pain felt numb. He looked down at his white shirt — now dark, cloggy red.
His head hit the dirt. He saw the sky briefly — colourless, cloudless — before a dirty face that resembled Brionka blocked out the light.
Oliver stopped screaming. He stopped fighting.
As the undead tore his body open — mirroring his own dream — he realised that he could never avoid his own fate.
Murphy… run…
Even as Cyril entered the room, Bacchus couldn't look away as another one of his tributes was torn apart.
"You requested me, Bacchus?"
Bacchus' eyes were fraught. Oliver Abendroth's final screams continued as the mass mauled him and then… silence. The bell from the church steeple chimed.
"You did this," Bacchus murmured, "You poisoned my arena."
"I did."
Bacchus snapped his head to face him. "You're not even going to deny it?"
"There is no point," Cyril's voice was low but confident.
"...Why?"
"You're not fit for this job, Bacchus," Cyril smiled with no warmth, "I was making sure you didn't make a total mockery of what we have accomplished. Your arena had no depth. It had no pizzazz. It needed something to help it."
Bacchus was furious, but he stayed silent. He settled on the words and let them simmer. "I will have you fired for this."
"No, you won't."
"Is that a threat?"
"Oh, it's a promise. Infiltrating your arena was far too easy. You barely noticed as I added in the extra zombies, created the technology to morph their faces—" Cyril began to circle the room in order to stand in front of Bacchus, "—you barely saw anything I did. How will you word that to President Revery?"
Ice crawled up Bacchus' spine. He had failed in that sense — would President Revery trust him to make more arenas if they were easily ruined by interference?
Bacchus' lack of a response made Cyril smile. "It's okay. I helped you. I made your arena memorable. I made you memorable. I just created a legacy for you."
"And what do you benefit from it?" Bacchus grimaced.
"Well, now you owe me, since this is our little secret, correct?"
Bacchus was unnerved. He was so blinded by his desire to do right, to do it all correctly, to appease and please the Capitolites and President Revery. His arena was supposed to have a message — "Limos was all powerful" — and instead… it had become a nightmare.
Cyril's hand patted Bacchus' shoulder. He tensed.
"Nobody needs to know. Just enjoy what I did for you."
Cyril departed, a spring in his step. Bacchus brooded. He stared at the screen harder. The zombies covered most of the shrinking map. Dotted around, his tributes were fighting for their very lives against them.
Worst of all — Cyril had gained the upper hand.
But Bacchus knew this wasn't the end. It was the very beginning.
w w w. pushingupdaisieshg. blogspot. c o m
The Fallen:
12th — Ashriel Denaud, District Twelve.
11th — Oliver Abendroth, District Nine.
Questions!
We're at the Final Ten! At this point, who do you see making it to Final Five?
Revealed Powers:
Astrid Marano, District Five — Pain Manipulation.
Baylor Novak, District Six — Reptilian Physiology.
Riette Lynelle, District Seven — Energy Constructs.
Auberon Reyes, District Ten — Probability Manipulation.
Nysa Rachlin, District Ten — Light Generation.
Congratulations to our Final Ten! Enoch, Andronika, Murphy, Frances, Astrid, Baylor, Riette, Auberon, Nysa and Finn.
This was a fun chapter and slightly shorter!
I touched base with everyone again, some only briefly though. I can't help it. I just want everyone to have their moments of development and time in the light before they get killed. I'm trying not to just gloss over anything.
With that being said, we only have a few more chapters to go. If I stick to my plan (which is a hard maybe), we only have a five chapters of the arena left. Maybe even four.
Because of that, I'll be opening submissions for my next story, Six Feet Under, very soon. Keep an eye out for it and have a think about submitting! It's already posted on my page if you want to have a peek, although it's a very brief insight so far.
Keep safe. Wash your hands. Wear a mask. ACAB. BLM.
~Corey.