Cascading Shifts (SYOT) Chapter 22: The Bloodbath, a hunger games fanfic

AN: This chapter took so long to write and get out, but I finally did it, and I'm terribly sorry for the delay! I mostly avoided PM's and just hunkered down and tried to get this out. I spent way longer than I wanted to, so as a result I ended up wanting to make sure the quality wasn't disappointing. The Bloodbath is super important to me, and I didn't want my writing to falter, but killing, death is new for me to write, so I stressed out a lot on the quality. I re-wrote almost every POV entirely twice. And each pov has gone through multiple edits beyond that. It's not an exaggeration at all to say I spent a month writing this. As I feel my writing alters throughout the chapter to reflect that.

Okay, moving away from that, so honestly, I used a lot of music when writing this. But I have to give thanks, to Paradigm of Writing for showing me Berlin by the Piano Guys as I think it's wonderfully tense. I would never have heard of it unless he pointed it out to me, so thanks so much! I think you all should listen to something when reading this! I recommend Berlin, from 2 minutes on and forth, having that on repeat. As of late though, I've been listening to The Knight of Rebellion, an OST for Fate/Apocrypha. Honestly, both I think are good to listen to when reading! But again, those are just suggestions. I want to thank everyone for making it this far with me, and putting up with my random periods of inactivity! Having you all here reading has been a wonderful time, and I'm super eager to make it this far into the story! I have a lot in store, and I'm super excited to get it all out in due time! On a side note, I know this is super late, but congratulations to thorne98 for beating me to the Bloodbath! You've bested me in updating speed, my fellow writer!

Disclaimer: violent character death, please be advised! I doubt I'm all that good at making it gross or vivid, but I just want people to be aware!

POV – All

12:58PM

The sun shines brightly in the cloudless sky, reflecting off the metallic hull of the cornucopia, giving it a sheen. Swords, axes, and spears are neatly placed on a few racks, inside the cornucopia and a few yards out of it. A rapier leans against the inside of the structure, while an imposing battle axe stands on the opposite end.

Other small weapons lay scattered near the opening of the metallic structure. Crates and packs find themselves slightly further away, they're placecd in a manner where they funnel towards the opening of the cornucopia. Even further, yards away, small pouches, bags, sheets of plastic, and other items lay sprinkled across the grassy smooth field.

Even further down said field lies empty circular pedestals positioned in a semi-circle. They stand a few inches elevated off the grass, with small lumps around the platform. They face the cornucopia's opening. The pedestals stand roughly 15 feet apart from the other, like sore blemishes on the neatly trimmed field.

And finally, beyond that are trees, lining around the entire opening, thick with foliage and underbrush, masking the arena beyond the setting for the bloodbath. The pedestal's platform soundlessly parts down the middle, unsealing itself and revealing a circular opening.

24 tributes slowly rise from the ground. Some smug, others confident, some nervous, and some resigned. The majority, however, take a moment to glance around their surroundings, the tributes, treeline, and cornucopia. Some tributes squint, others raise their arms, shielding their face as the presence of the blinding sun immediately casts upon them. There's a pregnant pause, a chilling lull as if the gamemakers themselves wait for the tributes to accustom to the sunlight.

After a few moments, in front and slightly above said cornucopia, a golden circle starts to materialize like cascading golden ichor. The wave starts from the top before falling to the bottom. With the circle complete, the interior starts to take shape, like a flower blooming, the 60 forms at the center before spreading outwards.

Each tick of the timer comes with a boom, a trepidation, a sense of foreboding. Nylon clenches his fists, his legs fidgeting from on top of his platform. One hand dig into his pants, procuring a vial. He looks at the white translucent liquid for a second before carefully slipping it into his pocket. His resolve hardens, as his strategy echoes throughout his head. Get goods, and then get out. Simple really, he just needs to survive the chaos, quite literally.

For once, he doesn't smile.

Mischa closes her eyes, letting the systemic drums of the counter calm her nerves. She's already in a runner stance, she's prepared, and has resolved herself for the Games. A Morrigan Sister, although a title she finds thrown at her mockingly, is still one she intends to carry with pride.

The image of one is that of beauty, people would argue that's all it is. By the end of today, she'll have changed that perception.

Harrison has never been more conflicted, more distraught by the circumstances thrust upon him. His precious diplomacy, the very crutch he uses to stabilize himself has been stripped away, especially during the most daunting and bloodiest part of the games. If he wants to survive, talking will not be the way to do so.

If he's to return home, he's to forsake his values, the very principles he's rebuilt himself on. That being said, he's destined for greatness, Dying here is unacceptable. That, unfortunately, means he must resolve himself to climb on the corpses of those he'll leave behind.

Baxton's words resonate with Cooper still. Family is a strong motivator. It can take him all the way. He holds onto that conversation like a lifeline. His hands shake, he can't conceal the nervous ticks, his throat feels dry too. He looks at the trees, and for some reason, it brings him back to the conversation he had with his friends.

Felino said the trees moved back then, didn't he? When he snuck out of the district by that hole. How the peacekeepers were distracted by it, fighting it even. It makes the breeze and the swaying branches all the more imposing, Cooper feels.

He is calm and collected, outwardly at least. Internally, he's scared, rightfully so, Harvest believes. He's standing on an arena pedestal, a similar one to that of his sister. Gwenith survived the bloodbath, she slipped away after snagging a pouch.

She didn't have a weapon to defend herself when the mutt fell upon her. He won't go unarmed into these games. His eyes fix themselves onto the bow and quiver, leaning against one of the crates. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself.

She raises her arms, stretching her back before she starts to bounce on her feet. Nervous energy she concludes. Emerald scans the weapons and realizes she can't spot any sets of throwing knives from here. It momentarily sends a spike of worry and panic through her.

She bites down on her tongue, effectively erasing her fear. Hesitation and nerves will get her killed. She can adapt, she has to. She sees some normal daggers laying around. Those will be more than enough, she thinks resolutely.

Sela looks for her allies, seeing Harvest five pedestals to her right, Nylon two more beyond that. It takes her a moment to find Velvet, who's almost directly across from her. Sela tenses nervously seeing the boy from 1 on the pedestal beside her.

Then again, she has her own concerns to be worrying about, her gaze turning to face the bald-headed tribute from 3. She holds her hands together, squeezing the nervous tremors away. She takes a deep breath and lowers herself in a sprinters form. Whatever happens, she and Harvest need to survive this bloodbath. Whatever it takes, District 9 needs a victor.

In and out, snatch the purple bag just a few meters away, she just needs to reach for it and head towards the woods. Everything else is secondary, she needs to keep herself safe, avoid conflict, and stay alert and on her toes.

"Don't stop, never stop," Corolla murmurs to herself, the mantra she abides by.

Metaphorical, to remain tenacious when in the face of danger, But, in this instance, it holds literal meaning she intends to fulfill the moment she breaks through those trees.

Mila's pincered by the boys in the outlier alliance. The tanned tall boy from 9 to her left and the lanky pale one from 8 to her right. Thankfully, she never intended to participate in this bloodbath, she'll dip into the treeline and stalk tributes who manage to escape.

She just needs to pick the right one to follow and swipe their goods when they less expect it. If that fails, she feels confident enough in her own skills to manage in a forest. Starvation and trees come naturally to a girl from 12, she thinks ruefully.

A cloudless sky, Telsa wonders if it's by design, or if what she's seeing really is the actual sky. Without gamemaker influence, the grass too, and the trees, how much has been modified or altered to craft the perfect arena? She supposes, the question comes down to being, how meticulous are the gamemakers?

Pointless thoughts, she knows that, but they're very nice distractions. She doesn't want to think of the Hunger Games. Why couldn't they be a competitive concert competition like her imagination once pictured them to be?

Cecropia, Kapok, Rubber, weird assortment of trees lines the clearing, Hazel notices. All of them are similarly found in tropical climates though, something she becomes very aware of given the humidity of the arena. The air feels heavy, and her clothes stick to her uncomfortably.

Hazel is scared, and she worries fear will paralyze her actions. She's shaking uncontrollably, and her leg is bouncing helplessly on the pedestal. Her saving grace, however, is that she has allies, she needs to find them, and help them get supplies. Thankfully, Vortex and Calder stand beside each other, so she can try to get a bag before heading towards them.

Adalyn promised to keep her temper in check, not to lash out at her ally. Only her ally though, everyone else isn't exempt from her wrath. These people, these equally as misfortunate people don't really deserve to receive unwarranted anger and frustrations from some bitter girl from 11.

But she needs to channel this anger, this resentment, this bitterness if she wants any chance of leaving this arena alive. She can't let it stew, she needs to unleash it and fight for every inch. Adalyn furrows her brows and clenches her fists, that's exactly what she plans to do.

He takes a steadying breathe, instantly regretting the action as his chest constricts painfully. As if his lungs are barbed and bleeding, the pain surges in waves. He bites down on his tongue, refusing to let any sign of pain show, only a minor wince displaying his internal turmoil.

He's not suited for this, not suited to run in there and gather supplies while simultaneously being attentive of others. Judah knows this, but he also knows that his ally will only work with him if he shows concrete contributions.

He smiles ruefully. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. If damnation awaits him regardless, then he truly lacks any reason for hesitance. Judah will push through the blistering pain.

Vortex is panicking on his pedestal, less than a minute and he's going to participate in a free-for-all fight to the death. He really wants to flee, to run away from the cornucopia but Newt insisted they get some supplies. It's either work with an ally or no one at all.

Icarus said to make strong allies too, Calder and Newt would be it, and both are ready to dive headlong into the bloodbath. Vortex chews on his lower lip, he needs to be ready too.

To Kyra's right stands Mischa Morrigan, and her left Emerald Locke. It's certainly favourable circumstances. Especially since the three of them are mostly in a centralized position, it'll make getting to their weapons easier.

Emerald is more supportive, Remy is right about that, so Kyra will mostly stick with Mischa. The two of them will unlikely face a tribute they can't handle, so It works out to be an ideal position. Her concerns don't lie with the bloodbath itself, but the actions after it. Her time to decide is running thin, the dwindling countdown only solidifying the notion.

Locust looks down the lines of tributes. To his right is the petite form of the girl from 3. The bloodbath, as he labelled. Seeing her score compared to the others, seeing her now, he stays firm with his assessment.

He looks to his left and pauses, almost surprised by how fortunate he is. The boy from 4, Calder, stands on the pedestal beside him. One of the tributes who scored a 7. One of the tributes he promised to kill.

His gaze narrows as he shifts his stance away from the cornucopia.

Newt rubs his hands together as he bounces on the balls of his feet. He's anxious, but, given that he's at the end of the long line of tributes, he only has to worry about those to his right. The girl from 11 followed by Cyrus just a pedestal after.

He scored roughly as well as both of them, so he's not intimated by them. He doesn't plan to fight anyways, just grab a bag and find his allies. Composure is paramount in this kind of environment, so he'll be damned if he cracks now.

The probability of accidental death during a chaotic environment like the bloodbath is tremendously higher than if he were to fight in an isolated setting. As such, Magnus does not feel it prudent, nor even necessary to risk himself for supplies.

He'll stay hidden and follow the person who picks up his bow. He'll neutralize them when the opportunity presents itself. It's all about minimizing unknown variables. The Games may be unpredictable, but, Magnus has every intention of taking this as methodically as he does anything else.

She hops from foot to foot as she shakes her arms. She takes a steadying breath, a calming one, standing beside Midnight Tyrian does that to her. A cornered career is what he is, and that makes him incredibly dangerous.

Velvet's fast, but she' isn't stupid. Going for a bag might work, but anything further is just going to be a death trap for her. Locust and the boy from 4, Calder are nearby too. She's in the thick of things.

Destry is just thrilled to be here, standing on this very platform, in these very games, what a dream come true. The cherry on top has to be the fact Remy fucking Cartwright is to her left. These gamemakers really know how to make a girl feel special.

Fuck going into the cornucopia, she'll get massacred, literally ripped to ribbons by a crazy career. Nope, nope to the whole damn situation. When that countdown hits zero, she's getting the living hell out of here.

He cracks his neck as he stands confidently on his pedestal. These are his Games. Remy intends to give a show. He looks for Midnight, and frowns when he spots him nearly on the opposite side of the clearing.

Now he's pressed for options, hunt him down, which although is what he wants, he realizes is not ideal. Or go for kills. He needs those if he wants to reach his goal, and he needs to secure the supplies for his alliance too.

With a click of his tongue, he decides. Midnight lives temporarily, but he's the first thing the pack hunts when Remy's done with this bloodbath.

Remy would have to be an utter idiot to target him during this bloodbath. Maybe it could be justified if Midnight stood a little closer. But, it's just such an asinine decision. The two meet gazes, and Midnight can't help but raise his chin and smirk, he makes sure to wave as Remy glares.

The wave morphs into a middle finger as Midnight's smirk turns sadistic.

Calder remains unsure of himself, even up to the final seconds of the countdown. Maurea told him to make allies, but are they, or is he simply projecting his sister onto these kids? Is this clouding his judgement? Should he abandon them? Or is that the same as killing them himself?

He shakes his head, at this point its just worthless musings. Ideally, he'd like to flee the cornucopia and live off the land. But now he'll try to keep his allies safe.

Her gaze zeroes in on some of the spears and bags. She'll gather the supplies and linger a bit for Judah. Not exactly her greatest plan, but Cyrus feels as if over planning this can be as disastrous as not planning at all.

She's confident in her abilities, she just needs to trust herself and her instincts. They tell her to avoid Magnus and the careers, but anyone else. She takes a steady breath before lowering her center of gravity. If they attack her, she will retaliate.

POV – Locust Sequoia

1:00PM

The countdown reaches zero, and a gong sounds, signalling the beginning of the 99th Annual Hunger Games.

Locust doesn't waste time, leaping off his pedestal and dashing towards his intended target. From his peripheral, he can see the majority of the other tributes heading to the cornucopia. It'll put him at a disadvantage, but he decides to rely on his allies for this segment.

He's only a few feet away from Calder when the boy notices him. The redheaded tribute from 4 only has time to throw his arms up in a weak guard before Locust tackles him to the ground.

He hears Calder groan as the wind is knocked out of his lungs. Locust lands hard too onto the grass and rolls a bit before getting to his feet. He looks across from him, and sees Calder already trying to crawl run away.

Locust shuts that idea down as he grips the boy's leg and pulls the tribute back to the ground. He drags Calder towards himself.

The boy from 4 turns to face upwards and tosses a punch. Locust weaves his head to the side. The end of the knuckles just slightly grazes his cheek. Locust doesn't even flinch as he retaliates with a punch of his own.

Calder raises his arms, covering his face and takes the blow to his forearms. Locust however remains unrelenting, slowly putting his own weight on top of the tribute from 4.

Firmly stuck, all Calder can do is keep his arms up as Locust rains blow after blow. The tribute tries another weak jab, but Locust catches it easily enough.

He yanks the arm to the side and punches Calder's exposed chest. His eyes bulge as spittle escapes his lips, he's coughs violently, as his breaths come in ragged intervals.

Locust presses his advantage, this time throwing a jab into Calder's face.

It breaks through the flimsy one-handed guard easily. His nose shatters in a burst of blood, and Calder screams out in pain.

Locust own knuckles feel raw. So, he opts instead to let go of his grip on Calder's arm and instead moves his hands around the boy's neck.

Locust starts to squeeze the life out of him. Calder quickly snaps from his daze as his eyes go wide in shock. He tries scratching at the hands around his neck, trying to peel them off him. Locust however remains firm.

Noticing it to be futile, Calder changes approaches, instead he goes for Locust face with jabs and scratches. They're weak, and only getting weaker. Calder's eyes quiver, and quickly lose focus. The blood from his nose starts to trickle down into his mouth and stain his teeth red.

Calder starts to change colour, and his hands can barely reach Locust's face. Not that it prevents the tribute from trying.

Locust squeezes down even harder, for good measure now that most of the struggling has subsided. He keeps his hands tightly around the tribute's neck even seconds after Calder stares lifelessly up at him.

POV – Remy Cartwright

1:00PM

He's one of the first to reach the cornucopia and quickly pushes that advantage. He heads inside the structure and picks out a few daggers before dashing right back out.

He doesn't spot Midnight instantly, and thus dismisses the boy from 1 outright, and instead looks towards the others in his vicinity. He zeroes in on the closest, jumping over a crate before tossing one of his knives.

It digs into the distracted tribute's shoulder causing him to slip and stumble to the ground in a shout of pain. Remy grimaces, disappointed he missed a killing blow, but decides this will at least create a good show for the Capitol.

The boy, from 8, he believes starts to backpedal away, even using his bleeding arm to do it. His eyes are wide in panic and his mouth grits in pain. Yet he still remains focused enough to attempt to escape the threat.

Remy applauds him for it.

"W-wait, go away, leave!" He shouts.

Remy shakes his head and shrugs whimsically, "can't do that, you know the drill."

"Fuck yourself!"

The humour washes from Remy's face. He takes a quick second to check his surroundings, making sure no one can get the jump on him.

It's a chaotic scene laid before him. He sees two girls trying to spear each other, Mischa and Kyra fending the weapons, Locust strangling the shit out of some unlucky bastard.

It's hectic. He doesn't catch Midnight's location. Which, of course reminds him of his resolve.

Fast kills, many of them, then find the bastard and make him pay.

"You piece of shit, fuck off, fuck you, fu-" his angry protests die the moment Remy places a boot on his chest.

The Career flips the dagger into a reverse grip, as he lowers himself closer to the frightened tribute. Remy remains quiet and expressionless as he examines the brunet.

"P-please don't," the tribute mumbles softly.

Remy remains frozen for a second.

Only a second before he pushes the tribute down with one hand, and drops the dagger with the other.

Again, and again, and again.

First the neck, but he doesn't give the tribute any time to even register the pain before he rips it out to bring it down again. This time into his face, through his eye. He digs his knife upwards, pulling it out with a crimson coat of blood. It drips onto his tracksuit, but Remy remains undisturbed as he brings it down one final time.

This time he's lazy and imbeds the knife deeply into the tribute's skull. Remy curses, as he tries to pull the knife out. It remains firmly in place. A lost cause, he concludes begrudgingly.

He grabs the knife out of the tribute's arm instead before rising to his feet. His hands have blood on them, his clothes too, he can even feel some on his face. This should spook him, unnerve him even. The blood is heavier than water, and the splatter doesn't run down his face as he'd expect it should.

Besides that stray thought, however, he dismisses any concerns regarding his first kill. All he can really think about is how he's now only 11 more to go. Just 11 kills and Spartacus's legacy will be in shambles.

POV – Adalyn Plumm

1:00PM

Adalyn jumps from her pedestal the moment the countdown rings. She beelines towards the cornucopia, much like the other tributes did from the corner of her eye. It's the deadliest race of her life, and she can feel her breath start to strain simply due to how hard she's pushing herself. From her peripheral, she sees the short blonde pull ahead on her right side. It sends a spike of worry and fear coursing through her, especially as she realizes the girl starting to pull ahead.

She kills the nerves brutally and grits her teeth, her brows narrowing as she lunges over some tarp. She wills herself to run faster, push harder. She passes some of the smaller supplies as she continues her mad dash. Those supplies would be useless to her. No, she wants a weapon, she needs a weapon if she wants any chance of surviving.

Adalyn starts to slow down the moment she's feet away from the cornucopia. If she approaches it any quicker, she'll crash into the wall or trip over the crates.

However, in doing so, she becomes hyperaware of the people surrounding her. Again, knowing now that she has this many people, this many threats in her blind spot, in front of her, in her peripheral, knowing that any could legally kill her sends a spike of panic.

She ignores the bags as she heads towards the closest weapon rack.

Adalyn's gaze hardens when she sees the short blonde girl is already there, hastily grabbing a spear. Thankfully, she's preoccupied with that and has her back to Adalyn. Quickly, she realizes this may very well be her only chance, if the blonde gets the chance to turn and get her bearings, Adalyn is as good as dead.

With that the case, there's only one thing Adalyn can do. She flings herself into the girl.

There's a loud grunt as she sends the girl, herself and the rack crashing to the ground. The spears dislodge and roll all over the place as they spill onto the grassy field. Adalyn, prepared for the faceplant, is quick to react. She reaches for the spear closest to her as she starts getting to her feet.

Her eyes widen as she quickly dives to the side, letting the pointed end of a spear pierce nothing but air. Adalyn falls into a side roll before getting onto a knee.

The girl didn't let go of her weapon, Adalyn realizes belatedly. Said girl is also taking the space she managed to make to get to her own feet.

Adalyn curses her luck, and quickly checks behind her before facing the blonde again. Without any other immediate threats flanking her, Adalyn can focus onto the blonde before her.

"Let me go, you're wasting both of our time here," The blonde reasons.

Adalyn can barely hear her through the chaos and the ringing in her ears. The adrenaline of attacking someone is surging through her veins like electricity.

She doesn't respond, instead she grips her spear tightly, solidifying her resolve. She can't leave the girl anyways, turning one's back to a spear is a fast way to get stabbed by it. The girl knows that as well, given she doesn't appear any less ready to fight herself. Whatever they wanted, Adalyn has locked them into this fight.

With a shout, she charges forward. It startles the unexpecting blonde, who blinks stupidly before matching her with a charge of her own.

Adalyn swipes with her spear, much like she used to do back home in the forests of 11 when collecting fruit. The circumstances, however, are very different. Instead of getting the satisfying feeling of connecting with something, she swings through air.

Her dark brown eyes widen, seeing the blonde drop into a power slide isn't even close to what Adalyn expects. But, now overextending, her weapon still recovering from her overcommitment, and the blonde well within her guard, Adalyn becomes incredibly aware of the spear thrusting into her.

She screams as she feels the spear pierce through her baby blue jacket, her undershirt, and finally her flesh. The pointed blade embeds deeply into her stomach, sending spikes of brain-numbing agony throughout her body. The momentum takes her off her feet and she folds under the weight before crashing to the ground unceremoniously.

She bangs her head as she lands, and white spots explode across her vision. The throbbing is nothing compared to what she feels in her stomach. The unbearable pain brings with it a crippling fear. Unlike before, she can't do anything to maintain it. Tears start to build up around her eyes, clouding her vision further.

Said pain doubles in blistering intensity the moment the spear wrenches out of her stomach. She wails, and her ability to hold back tears shatters entirely. She's quickly starting to tire, but, musters the final ounces of her strength to shakily bring her hands to the hole in her stomach.

It hurts to touch, and she can feel her palms coating in blood. She can't see it, not having the strength to even raise her head, but feeling it is a certainty. The thick sticky liquid slowly envelopes her hands, her futile efforts to apply any sort of pressure dissipating as the pain starts to numb. It feels as if her ability to move is seeping away, as if being drained from her.

To some degree that's right, her very life essence is soaking into the grass.

POV – Midnight Tyrian

1:00PM

When the countdown hits zero, Midnight doesn't waste any time lunging from his pedestal and breaking into a sprint. The countdown lasted 60 seconds, he managed to map out his desired route in 20. The other 40 was used to scan the tributes in his vicinity.

Locust, Calder and Harrison are the closest threats, thankfully, Midnight's the fastest. He's always been fast, needed to be growing up, speed is all he really had. Intelligence was cultivated, it came after the foundation of his agility was established.

He glides across the field. Since he never intends to go into the cornucopia, he settles for a few daggers laying near the outskirts. He crouches easily and scoops the blades from the hilt before pivoting on the balls of his feet.

He quickly slips one into his pocket as he starts his dash again. He sprints straight towards one of the two bags he plans to pick up before leaving the clearing. In doing so, however, he immediately notices someone already collecting his first bag, the thin tribute from 12, Judah Rockefeller he recalls.

Midnight quickly runs through the information he has on the tribute. Weak, frail, has to- no, must compensate his weaknesses somehow. Through cunning and trickery possibly? in that case, much like how Midnight fights then. He narrows his brows as he dashes towards the tribute.

Exit supplies are essential. Midnight doesn't want to risk his chances by going back into the center of things now that careers are likely armed and tributes are killing one another. Picking up these bags as he leaves is crucial, and fighting tributes for it is entirely reasonable, Midnight concludes.

Instinctively, Judah snaps his gaze from the bag up to Midnight, his eyes going wide in panic. He recovers quickly however and starts running. Midnight pities him, seeing as, despite Judah's best efforts, Midnight still manages to catch up to him easily, as if he's taking a brisk jog.

That's the extent of his pity, as he volunteered for these Hunger Games. Midnight knows the stakes, and he'll be damned if he lets himself be killed due to something as ridiculous as pity. He's a few feet away when he spots the tribute before him tense.

He notices Judah shifting weight to his front leg and quickly ducks under Judah's attempt to swing the bag like a bat. Judah's taken off-balance from his flail, giving Midnight plenty of space to run the dagger across Judah's stomach. The boy from 12 cries out, but manages to jump back, only letting Midnight cut him superficially at best, a shallow cut, he realizes annoyingly.

He needs to make this fast. Midnight reverses his grip on one of the knives, and lightly flicks it in the air. He catches the blade by the tip and eyes Judah critically. Said tribute's grey eyes firmly fix on the dagger.

Midnight smirks, exactly what he wants to see. Superficial or not, the fact he's wounded Judah at all means he's hyper-aware of it, too aware. That kind of fixation won Midnight a tournament, it'll help him kill a tribute.

Midnight sprints forward, startling Judah out of his stupor, the tribute from 12 grips the straps of the bag tightly and glues his gunmetal eyes onto the looming daggers. Midnight smirks, pleased to see events play as planned.

He flicks his wrist tossing one of his knives upwards in a forward motion. It practically hangs in the air, drawing Judah's attention. Midnight ducks low as he dashes towards him, getting entirely out of the tribute's vision.

Judah realizes instantly, his eyes going wide as he his gaze falls back down, without any hesitation he swings the bag at Midnight.

Midnight swiftly ducks under it, before lunging upwards, well inside Judah's personal space. Judah flinches, and thrusts his palm forward, trying to shove Midnight away.

It's a futile effort, as Midnight catches the hand with his own, and runs his dagger across Judah's throat with his other. A crimson smile slowly starts to form across the tribute's neck, his eyes bugging out in shock.

Midnight let's go of Judah's hand, letting the tribute use it to clutch his throat. Instead, Midnight opts to grip his elbow, preventing him from collapsing. It's much easier to strip him of the bag when he's standing. Or at least, that's what he thought. Midnight's surprised to see the death grip Judah has on the bag. It takes more effort than the actual fight to pry his fingers off the strap, wrestling with them for a few seconds. The moment his hand loses it's grip on the bag, it weakly finds it's way around his throat too, in a fruitless effort to prevent himself from spilling all over his ebony black jacket.

Midnight frowns and releases his grip, allowing Judah to fall to the ground. A distance far enough that the chaos around him drowns out the sounds of the tribute's choking. It's a bit sickening, Midnight realizes. He takes a moment to swallow thickly and inspect his blood coated dagger.

He shakes his head, he'll have time to think about it later. He needs to get his second bag and leave. Taking a steadying breath, and scouting around him, he quickly takes off towards a small pouch. Thankfully, it's entirely overlooked.

Renegade did tell him these are usually sleeping bags, and that having warmth going into nights can help not only for having a refreshed body, but a stable and sane mind. It's an obvious choice for Midnight. He picks up the pouch and rests it under his arm. He takes only a few steps before stopping entirely.

He frowns, only now noticing that Locust and Calder didn't run for the cornucopia at all, but decided to fight before it, effectively blocking his path. Locust finally rises from his position and he too freezes before Midnight.

The two boys lock gazes. Midnight quickly scans the larger tribute, noticing his bloody knuckles and a small cut across his cheek, but that's about it. Meaning, he's unarmed.

Killing him will never be any easier than now, Midnight realizes grimly. He drops the pouch and reaches for his pocket, pulling out his other dagger. Locust instantly tenses, his brows narrowing.

Midnight isn't delusional, he understands that even with both weapons, Locust still poses a very serious threat, and will be nothing like fighting Judah.

Still, even with that in mind, Locust is at his weakest, his most vulnerable, and Midnight is opportunistic if nothing else.

He lowers himself, ready to rush the large tribute when he notices something flash in his peripheral. It draws his attention, and the next moment, Midnight is diving back, letting the sudden knife whiz by him.

While still in the air, Midnight throws a dagger of his own, forcing Locust to stop his own charge and jump out the way, less his head be impaled.

The tribute from 1 lands roughly onto the ground, grunting in protest. He doesn't let it distract him too much, quickly sitting up to gather his small pouch and gets back onto his feet. He stares at the cornucopia, and sees the girl from 5, Emerald winding up another dagger.

He clicks his tongue in frustration even as he uses the pouch to shield the incoming blade. However in doing so, Locust is already half-way to the cornucopia. Midnight allows a smirk. Despite his perceived willingness, it seems Locust knows when to choose his battles.

Said smirk vanishes as he ducks under another blade. Just how many did she fucking have?! He can't turn his back to her, she'll kill him. He can however give her his side, less room to hit, and he can still run laterally, kind of like a crab.

He's enacting his plan just as Emerald moves to give Locust space to enter the cornucopia. Something must have been said as it seems she drops her focus on him. Whatever the case, Midnight doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth and turns to sprint fully dropping low to pick up one of the many daggers tossed his way.

Midnight gives one final look to the cornucopia before breaking through the treeline.

POV – Sela Fields

1:01PM

In her dash to the cornucopia, Sela has never been so focused, so determined in her life. Everything, everything she's done in the last week has led to this moment. The fear of death is crushed under the imposing responsibility she has to her district.

It steels her nerves and hardens her resolve. Her own personal feelings and concerns are irrelevant to the desperate consensus of 9. What is one girl's fears to the entire's district plea for food, for a victor's bonus? For future tribute's wellbeing and success?

Aspasia, as wonderful as the lady is, can only do so much. She knows little to help in this element, Harvest or Sela needs to win. To bring someone back for the future of 9, or it's children will continue to stain the arenas red.

Sela grabs a bag at the same time the young boy from 10 does. He freezes, almost hesitant. It gives Sela just a second to shove the tribute as she attempts to yank the bag from his grip. He manages to hold on, and starts to tug at it.

Sela lets him. Without any resistance, he manages to slingshot himself to the ground. She's already running to his side and kicks his head as hard as she can. She doesn't have time to hesitate, to concern herself with the implications of her actions.

He howls and cradles his head, startled and scared. His face is etched in pain, and his eyes shut closely, she ignores him beyond that though and reaches for the now discarded bag. She slings it over her shoulders before turning back to the boy.

He's finally recovering, but in doing so, he becomes firmly aware of his position. In a snap-second judgement, he turns before crawling into a run away from her.

Sela doesn't chase, letting him flee. She doesn't even have a weapon, and he doesn't have supplies, it's almost completely worthless to do so.

With that she turns and runs back to the cornucopia, approaching it cautiously and with her head constantly on a swivel. Too her left, two girls fight around sprawled spears. Sela, being unarmed shies away from it altogether and stays slightly closer to the center.

She doesn't venture too closely to the opening of the cornucopia, noticing Emerald by the mouth, occupied by someone in the distance.

Sela doesn't want to get too close to her or draw her attention and steadily makes her way to a dagger on the ground. She crouches to grab it and turn, coming face-to-face with the bronze skinned tribute from 6.

He stares at her, his dark brown eyes flickering to the dagger before back to her. He's low to the ground and hands spread out wide, as if ready to react.

Sela chews on her lip nervously, her gaze flicking to her right, seeing the girl from 4 skewers the one from 11. Her eyes flick to her left and she sees from over crates, Remy Cartwright dropping his knife into something, the sprays of blood the only indication sai something is someone.

She swallows thickly before turning back to the boy from 6. His faded orange jacket and dark black number emblazed over his heart being the giveaways to her assessment. She tightens her grip on the knife before lunging forward.

He nimbly steps aside, but being unarmed, he doesn't retaliate and instead runs past her. She turns trying to slash him in one swift motion, all hesitation eradicated from her intentions.

However, as her eyes trace her swing, it becomes clear that in her haste, in her hopes of slicing him with his back to her, that he didn't have any intentions of running away.

Her eyes dip low, seeing him crouching under her swing. He springs forward, putting his hands onto her stomach and shoving her to the ground.

They both fall, but the boy from 6 reacts first. He scrambles on top of her one hand making sure to pin hers with the dagger. His other goes to her neck and shoves into it as hard as he can trying to crush her windpipe. Her eyes bug, breathing becoming faint and heart beating rapidly. She'll lose consciousness quickly if she doesn't act. Her mind in a panic, she desperately throws a punch, hitting him on the side of the head.

It gives her a moment respite, as he releases a lot of the pressure, dazed. She recovers first, gulping air as she grabs his jacket collar. She flings him off her, taking an almost vindictive pleasure in hearing him choke.

He falls to the ground beside her, coughing hoarsely. She rolls away from him to make space before getting to her feet. Her ears are buzzing, and her face feels warm, likely flushed from the exertion. Her focus tunnels on the boy, her brows narrowing.

As such, she's completely blindsided when she's roughly shoved to the ground, stripped of her knife in the process. She lands on her back, with a grunt. The bag doesn't break the fall at all, as something hard pokes into her back.

"Out of my way!" A girl shouts angrily, running straight towards the treeline.

Sela stares in shock as the girl retreats with her dagger. Although, in all actuality what surprises her the most is the orange jacket she wears, identical to the boy she's been wrestling with. She shakes her head, realizing that just because she does something doesn't necessarily make it the norm.

She doesn't ponder the idea any longer, scrambling to her feet. The boy doesn't seem interested in prolonging the fight himself, turning to start running away.

He doesn't get far, an arrow whizzing across the field and embedding itself into his arm. He cries out and grips his injury as he tumbles to the ground. Sela traces the shot.

Seeing Harvest, bow in hand and sickle strapped to his belt is the most relieving thing Sela's seen in probably all her life, a huge weight lifting from her shoulders. She smiles kindly to him as the two dash to one another.

"Goodness, am I glad to see you."

Harvest nods, unlatching his sickle and giving the handle to her. She takes it hungrily, feeling a sense of security that comes with the familiar tool in her hand.

"He is not dead," Harvest points out, nodding his head towards the fallen tribute.

The boy from 6 weakly gets to his feet, but the calm composure he once had is gone and replaced with a fearful panic. He sees the two, and quickly scurries, running away from them as quickly as he can.

Neither Sela or Harvest try to chase him, and they take the small period to check their surroundings before leaning closer to one another and trying to discuss their plans over the sound of chaos.

Sela nods her head, "Let him go, we need to get away from the mayhem, then look for our allies."

Harvest nods in agreement, knocking another arrow into the bow as the two peel away from the cornucopia.

Sela makes her way to head to the treeline, ideally following where the girl from 6 dashed too, only for a hand to firmly grip her shoulder. She turns, and stares at Harvest curiously. He merely points with his head, nudging his chin forward.

Sela follows the gaze, and quickly chews on her tongue.

The pastel pink draws her attention first, the blood splatters staining it next. She frowns, not being able to recognize his face, it being too disfigured by whatever carved into it. It makes her stomach churn, and her legs feel wobbly.

A shriek of pain draws their attention, snapping their heads to the side. Remy Cartwright has a knife in one hand, and the arrow Harvest put into the boy from 6 in the other. For his part, he's clutching his arm, his jacket and fingers bloodied.

"We need to go," Harvest warns her.

Sela nods her head absently as she remains glued to the scene.

The boy weakly tosses a punch, something Remy sidesteps with ease before plunging the arrowhead into the tribute's neck. He falls to the ground a moment later, much like her heart does seeing how easily Remy dispatched the tribute she spent the better half of a minute fighting with.

Remy killed him easily, as if a simple warm-up. What's to stop him from doing the same with her or Harvest?

"Sela, we need to leave now!" Harvest shouts, grabbing her arm and dragging her away.

Remy gaze lands on her. His curly black hair sticks to his sweaty forehead, his hazel eyes narrow dangerously. It pales in comparison to the blood splattered across his face like war-paint.

It's not his. Not the boy from 6 either. No, it's Nylon's, was Nylon's. Indignation bubbles in her, anger even, but it quickly dies as an arrow soars past her head. She turns and sees Harvest already reaching for another one.

It's enough to snap her out of her trance, and she quietly murmurs an apology that drowns out in the ruckus. She turns and starts running past Harvest towards the treeline.

"I will follow, let me cover you," he explains.

She doesn't turn back, won't. She just hopes Remy won't chase them beyond the treeline. Nylon may have died, but the alliance with Velvet may very well still stand. She needs all the help she can get if Harvest or she wants to get home.

With that, she pushes even harder, harder than she did running to the cornucopia. From the jaws of death, to the foreboding unknown. The games will only get harder from here.

POV - Harrison Jones

1:01PM

When brought to the simplest of matters, simplest of terms, his survival can only come at the death of others, deaths he may very well need to orchestrate and execute. It's a testimony to how much his mentality shifted that when the cannon boomed, signaling the beginning of the games, the first thing Harrison sought was not his ally, it wasn't even survival goods, but a weapon.

He carries a pristine axe in his hand, clean of the sins he knows he must commit. He grabbed it easily with little protest, and most have avoided him ever since he's gripped the weapon. Avoiding him like the plague, like a harbinger of death, a reaper even.

All fair assessments, Harrison thinks wryly, time for the diplomat has long passed, the cloak and dagger of the pre-games will only carry him to the alliances he was capable of making there. In the arena, the only dagger in his hand should be a real one. Admitting that leaves him hollow, however.

Regardless, with axe in hand, he still can't deny how overwhelming the situation is still. Just because he's armed himself, doesn't mean he feels any safer, any more prepared. His head is on a swivel, watching fights as they break out.

Adalyn isn't on this side of the cornucopia, he concludes. It occurs to him then that, he should seek supplies before his partner. Showing up with just an axe sends the wrong message. At least with that in mind, it helps bury the bubbling anxiety he feels rising to his chest.

It's been only a mere minute, maybe two, just because he can't spot Adalyn does not mean she's faced the worst. He takes a steadying breath, trying to refocus himself. It's not as if Harrison has been idling in the middle of a battle.

He's doing only marginally worst, aimlessly running by the outskirts of the cornucopia. None of the tributes approach him, he noticed Velvet hover around him before leaving, and the boy from 6, Vortex did much the same.

Even as distracted as Harrison is, he's still not worth attacking, much less fighting. It's a bittersweet thought. He remembers a time where that's precisely what he coveted.

He shakes his head, at this point he's actively distracting himself. He turns to a bag, deciding it'll be good enough before he goes to the other side of the arena. He picks up his pace, turning to a sprint as he reaches the bag, grabbing it by the strap.

He tugs it only for the bag to suspend in the air, budging only slightly. The resistance throws him off and he turns to face the bag again, seeing the girl from 3 gripping it from the other strap.

A childish tug of war, Harrison realizes.

He also realizes she's unarmed. He tilts his head, staring at the girl in bafflement.

"Leave the bag and I will not harm you," Harrison explains, raising the axe in emphasis.

The girl seems to realize, her eyes widening. She nods her head quickly, understanding the gravity it seems. Harrison relaxes, and smiles softly at her. Perhaps all of those fears were for naught, perhaps diplomacy can work, even in the bloo-

Who is he kidding, Tesla yanks the bag from him, ripping it from his fingers. A desperate effort, one Harrison noticed the moment her eyes started to shift from bag to axe. She's without supplies even this many minutes into the bloodbath, of course she'd attempt something so clearly a last resort, a final gambit.

However, knowing this does nothing to appease his enraged indignation. The simmering frustration that comes from seeing all of his efforts ripped away by the ignorant child before him. He offered his hand in peace, gave her an opportunity to leave, unharmed and alive. And all she can think of is the bag, short-sighted machinations that only lead to forcing his hand.

Harrison's eyes burn murderously at the petite figure, carrying his bag of supplies, those same supplies that can bring him home, help him achieve his goal, his destiny. She sees a hand offering peace and she practically bites down on it, like a ravenous dog. Putting a feral animal down would be a mercy, his mind whispers in his ears.

Harrison's brow twitches as his body acts before his mind can instruct. He brings his axe down onto the fleeing girl, digging through her jacket and cleaving into her flesh with ease.

She screams out before flopping to the ground. It's her shouts of pain, her cries of agony that bring Harrison back from his relapse, blinking slowly at the transpiring events. He numbly stares at the fallen girl, she's still and deathly quiet.

Harrison swallows thickly, the anger seeping out of him much like the blood seeps from her back. He works his jaw anxiously as he goes to take the bag from the non-resisting girl. One moment, one single moment of anger managed to dismantle everything he's strived to become.

He chuckles hollowly, slinging the bag over his shoulder, making sure not to disrupt her any further. It's immensely difficult to remain angry at someone recently killed, Harrison realizes solemnly. Especially when the reason for killing is something as petty, as trivial, as a bag.

Trivial in other circumstances, he reminds himself. It was always going to come to this, Harrison knew this the moment he was reaped.

He dashes from the fallen girl, looking for his ally. Armed, and his weapon tested, those who may have thought him a target now avoid him immensely. Only a career would dare approach Harrison. He nearly runs into Corolla, who veers away from him so evidently that it seems almost as if he's personally offended her.

A fair precaution, he's killed after all. What's to say he can't do it again?

Making his way across the cornucopia is a tedious effort in vigilance. He nimbly strides behind the metal construct, not wanting to meet the careers around it's mouth. In doing so, he remains safe, but also entirely blindsided when he rounds the cornucopia.

No more than 15 yards, lays his district partner, blood staining her up to her elbows, marring the baby blue fabric in red. Harrison freezes, his eyes widening and heart clenching. His ally, his only ally lays on the ground, the only solace of home, sans his token.

He panics, almost shouting out her name in frustrated protest. Doing so would alert any tributes of his vulnerability however, and he instead clenches his jaw. Thankfully, on closer inspection, he notices her chest rises and falls, if faintly.

He runs madly to her side, checking over his shoulder as he kneels beside her. Her eyes open, staring up at him.

"H-hey," she chokes out, the action causing her eyes to shut.

"Adalyn, don't talk," he chides her gently, inspecting her over.

Adalyn nods softly, wincing even at that and he quickly goes to look at her wound. Her stomach's bleeding still, and her jacket's almost entirely stained red, meshing hideously with the puncture wound. She's been speared deeply, he notices instantly. Harrison goes to pry the jacket, only for her whimpering protests to curb that notion immediately.

"D-don't, it… it hurts," she weakly begs.

Begs! Adalyn Plumm begging, the explosive girl with a volatile temperament softly sobs before him in her fleeting moments. It's… it's incredibly jarring and all Harrison can do is nod numbly. He quickly checks his shoulder again. Remy's killed Vortex. And his focus is entirely on the pair from 9. That gives Harrison some time at least, and he turns back to Adalyn.

"I can't pick you up," he says, not asking, not speculating, simply knowing.

Adalyn nods her head weakly, agreeing. The pain would be too much, merely touching her left Adalyn in whimpers, imagine carrying her, moving her? In the terrain beyond the treeline? Harrison knows how turbulent forest terrain can be.

"And you can't move- walk either," Harrison continues, moving his head closer, trying to get a better look at the stomach wound.

"R-right."

Harrison shuts his eyes as he pulls away from her stomach, feeling suddenly exhausted. She'll bleed out, dead before nightfall. It's a chilling realization. One Harrison takes a moment to compose himself for, aware that if he spoke, his voice may waver, may reveal how devastating it is to realize he'll be in these games alone.

He rubs the back of his neck, for once, without anything to say, a lost for words. It's a terrible feeling, but the cause of said feeling sting considerably worst. He works his jaw again, clearing his throat as he looks to his ally.

"Ada-"

"Kill me."

Harrison clamps his mouth shut, silenced entirely. His mind is scrambling, trying to make sense of it all. Moments ago he feared his ally dead, then saw her alive but basically already gone, and now she asks of him to murder her? It's way too much for a minute!

"I… I will do no such thing. I'll think of something," Harrison dismisses, looking over his shoulder again.

The bloodbath is mostly settling, some stragglers like Newton or Velvet do their best to avoid the careers, and for the most part, said careers don't seem particularly invested in hunting them down.

Either way, his time is running short.

Adalyn smiles ruefully, tears spilling from her eyes.

"It hurts," she says softly.

Harrison flinches, moving away from her, when did he touch her? He made sure not to touch her stom- oh. He swallows nervously. She's been in pain this whole time, obviously, it's so fucking obvious when he thinks about it. It's a puncture wound, skewering organs no doubt.

"I… It hurts so... so much," she forces herself to finish the sentence, wincing painfully as she does.

Harrison stares at her wordlessly, the grip on his axe tightening. Her breaths start to come out as shallow gasps for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Harrison furrows his brows. She's asking him to murder her, it's a tall demand, one that would wreck havoc in most minds, to lay this on him… murder isn't really the word for it is it. She's not asking to be murdered, but to be put to rest.

He fidgets nervously, before looking into Adalyn's eyes.

"p-please," she barely whispers.

Harrison closes his eyes. He's killed already, he's done it to the girl from 3, to Tesla. He's killed before. Out of anger and rage. Now, he'll do it again out of compassion.

He snaps his eyes open and takes a deep breath, raising his axe.

She smiles up at him kindly with unfocused eyes, sweaty forehead, and shallow breaths. Harrison only focuses on how it's the kindest she's ever looked at him. He tries to return a smile of his own, but it undoubtedly comes across as strained, etched with hints of despair and fear. Still, as her ally, and only semblance of home, he'll comfort her, and honour her request.

His eyes harden, and he traces down her face just below her chin, to her neck. He clenches his jaw, and then brings the axe down.

POV - Kyra Boldar

1:04PM

Kyra stands at the mouth of the cornucopia, idly watching Remy disappear beyond the treeline, pursuing the pair from 9 after slashing a kid's throat out. It… well it isn't enough to make Kyra squirm or flinch, but to see Remy completely embrace the act of killing is a bit unsettling.

Kyra wouldn't relish in the act, she wouldn't shy from it either though. Maybe Remy's just cooked up on adrenaline. Kyra hasn't fought against anyone, just standing here, aimlessly.

She turns her head, looking behind her to see Mischa rummage through some of the supplies inside the metal construct. Mischa's crouched over some boxes, looking through them, her rapier strapped to her belt, clean and unbloodied.

That's the role Mischa assigned herself, to look over supplies, it confuses Kyra greatly. She can't quite understand the girl from 1, she's simply too guarded. Either way, seeing her avoiding the conflict made Kyra decide to do the same, just 'defend' the supplies.

As if anyone would approach the cornucopia with Emerald chucking knives and Kyra equipped to the teeth in spears.

Still, Kyra doesn't want any part in the easy slaughter. It's pointless, she came to fight against those who can do the same. She'll fight those who attack her, but not those who flee in terror. Kyra's not a monster.

At least, she doesn't want to believe as such.

She frowns as she sees Remy emerge from the trees, looking considerably dourer than he did entering them. He spots her and zeroes in on her, looking conflicted. Kyra grips her spear in response but doesn't show any obvious signs of tensing.

"Lost the 9 pair, kept getting arrows shot at me," Remy explains with a shrug as he gets close enough to Kyra.

She nods her head in understanding, not recalling actually asking him for said explanation, but deciding that indulging him is best for now.

"So, what are you doing? Valiantly defending our supplies?" Remy asks with a teasing smirk, crossing his arms as he quirks an eyebrow.

Kyra is the one to shrug this time, not finding it particularly easy to joke with someone covered in blood, especially when it isn't even there's either.

"To my very last breath," Kyra remarks dryly.

Remy's smirk grows, but that's all the indication he enjoyed her comment, he looks inside the construct and tilts his head, his brows narrowing.

"Mischa's here too? We don't need that many people guarding the supplies," Remy says, looking exasperated.

"Work in pairs, if I recall, that's what you said," Mischa speaks up, turning to face Remy with her arms folded.

"I also recall saying that for if you plan to fight any of the threats, Magnus, Calder, Midnight," Remy lists off, stopping on the boy from 1 with a pointed glare at her.

"If I'm here, surveying our supplies, it's not as if Kyra can simply go and challenge them alone, as per your suggestion of course," Mischa placates.

Kyra frowns, she doesn't need permission to go fight these tributes. She chose to guard the cornucopia to avoid killing the young. Remy looks as if he's ready to continue pressing Mischa, so instead, Kyra clears her throat drawing both of their attention.

"She has her back to the opening, I'm just making sure no one blindsides her," Kyra explains.

Remy sighs tiredly, but brushes the topic away, "whatever, Kyra you've killed a tribute yet?"

Kyra tenses, and narrows her brows, where is he going with this?

"No."

Remy shakes his head as he puts his hands on his hips, "sullying D2's name," he raises a hand as Kyra opens her mouth, "yeah I know I said I want kills, but you're going to look like an embarrassment to our district and all of Panem if you don't secure at least one."

Kyra shuts her mouth, conceding the point. D2 is known for their ferocity, Miss Kingsley, Mister Sorensen, even her own personal trainer, Miss Andrzejewski were all proficient killers, and they all managed to get at least one kill in the bloodbath. She's also looked over enough games to know kills rack up the most sponsor attention.

"Bloodbath is mostly dying down, but we got a few stragglers lingering," Remy says stepping out of the shade of the cornucopia.

Kyra follows taking a javelin with her. Remy has his arms crossed as he scans the clearing. Seeing this, Kyra does the same, noticing only half a dozen tributes nearby, the rest disappeared into the trees or lay fallen on the field.

"Those two, one for each," Remy says with chilling finality, dropping his arms to his belt, where his daggers stay.

Kyra follows his gaze with hers and feels her heart sink seeing two young tributes running with bags strapped to their backs.

"They're easy kills, but almost escaping. Take one of them out," Remy instructs, grabbing the bloody knives off his belt.

Kyra grits her teeth, staring critically at him.

He shrugs, "take your pick, a ranged kill from this distance will please the sponsors, hell, might even put you in the Boule's good graces."

Kyra chews her lip but ultimately lifts her javelin. It's not a tremendously hard shot to make, and the pair aren't looking back, as if they've already expected to escape.

They're maybe no more than 15 yards from the treeline. But they're running in a straight line, easy to hit as long as she takes into account their speed. Kyra takes a few quick strides, planting with her left foot as she hefts the javelin, she follows through her throw, taking a final step as she lets the javelin soar.

Remy's already taking off from beside her, trailing behind the gliding projectile. The bag might soften the blow, and therefore her target could potentially survive that. Remy likely knows this too, which is why he deems it an impressive throw to make. After all, with the back and thus torso, not a suitable target to hit, it narrows it down considerably.

She watches only until she knows her javelin will hit true and turns just as she sees the tipped end reach the back of the boy's head. She closes her eyes somberly and goes back into the cornucopia to pick up her spear.

As she heads out, she sees Remy walking up to the pair, or the remains of it. The boy's on the ground, javelin protruding from him. He's unmoving, so Kyra's quick to conclude he's dead. At least it was fast, she thinks sourly, making her way to her weapon.

Remy's standing before the fallen shellshocked girl, her eyes wide, mouth gaping. It's as if she wants to scream but nothing will come out. Kyra frowns seeing it. The girl is from 7, Kyra notes absently, staring at her red locks and the forest green of the jacket.

"Good throw," Remy allows, nodding slightly.

The praise makes Kyra feel sick. Her mouth thins, and she wordlessly nods in return. Not that Remy notices it already approaching the girl.

Kyra didn't see, but at some point, the girl's legs must have given out, as now, all she can do is only stare in abject horror at the pair from 2. Probably when the javelin caved in her ally's head, she chastises, the games are traumatizing enough, but to witness a death so brutal? For a girl untrained for it, the fact she's conscious or isn't spilling her breakfast is impressive in itself.

Remy shakes his head, as he marches towards the girl. Only when he grips her from her hair and raises her to her knees does she react at all, wincing and finally starting to panic. He lifts her head further, exposing her pale porcelain neck.

Remy doesn't smile, staring emptily to the side even as the girl begs and babbles for her life in between sobs. Kyra shakes her head and turns away, the sound of crying and hopeless pleas the only noise she can focus on.

"Is that three?" Kyra asks above the bawls for one's family.

"It's three," Remy answers monotonously.

Kyra hears the cries explode in suffering before ruthlessly cutting off into gurgles.

Eulogies

Calder Lynch: I had a lot of fun writing Calder, being one of the more abrasive tributes I received, It was interesting to show off his gruff exterior. But inside he was kind and compassionate, that would have shown more if he made it further into these games. However, his death was the very first I thought of, as such, I wanted to make sure people could see just how philosophical and kind he can really be. Thanks so much for submitting Calder!

Nylon Hemmings: The second death I knew I wanted to write. Nylon's humour and almost meme-like behavior was an absolute blast to write! I enjoyed very much writing his conversations with Velvet. His morbid humour fits so well in a morbid game, I'm sad to have him bow out so early, but at the same time, his death sets up things to past. Thanks Manny for submitting Nylon!

Judah Rockefeller: Judah was a very unique character to write, Defo explained him as a gentleman thief during my Persona 5 craze, so I just pictured him like Joker XD! I really enjoyed writing him very old fashion-like. But his physical illness was something I needed to take into consideration. He was a wonderful character who simply was placed in a cast where the strong were too perceptive and capable of noticing his weakness. I had a lot of fun writing him!

Vortex Senna: Vortex being from 6 let me expand on my own characters in Icarus and Karan, and honestly in doing so I feel bad for him and his partner, as they got the short end of the stick no doubt. Vortex was put down a path that simply led to an early demise, and I didn't see his story going much further than the bloodbath. His interactions with the alliance, however, was very enjoyable to write. Thank-you for submitting him santiago poncini!

Adalyn Plumm: She was a very interesting character to write, I think she meshed well with Harrison. I shamelessly must admit I loved the bee motif I had going with her, and I just ran with it. Her mix of being super quick to anger, but otherwise subconsciously trying to be demure was just a fun concept to write. I liked Adalyn a lot! Her death to Harrison came to me like an epiphany, I just knew I had to do it.

Cooper Dawson: Cooper's love for dogs was a fast track for me to love him too! Cooper and his reaping inadvertently helped me create Cronus, and for that, I'm incredibly grateful! I didn't have much plans for Cooper going far into the games. However, had he survived he would have offered a very unique and interesting approach to the Mutts in the arena.

Hazel Redford: Thank-you so much for Hazel, Para. She was simply so much fun to write, and I found myself doing so much research just to sound half as smart as she. I struggled so, so much writing this final POV, as she was one of the hardest decisions for me to make regarding the bloodbath. I was in tears when I finally resigned myself to use her in the bloodbath. Her innocence and compassion was so sweet, I truly loved writing her.

Rankings

24th Calder Lynch Killed by Locust Sequoia

23rd Nylon Hemmings Killed by Remy Cartwright

22nd Judah Rockefeller Killed by Midnight Tyrian

21st Vortex Senna Killed by Remy Cartwright

20th Adalyn Plumm Killed by Harrison Jones

19th Cooper Dawson Killed by Kyra Boldar

18th Hazel Redford Killed by Remy Cartwright

The 99th Hunger Games Tributes

District 1: Midnight Tyrian / Mischa Morrigan

District 2: Remy Cartwright / Kyra Boldar

District 3: Magnus Flux / Tesla Eddison

District 4: ELIMINATED / Cyrus Waterlily

District 5: Newton Faraday / Emerald Locke

District 6: ELIMINATED / Corolla Beron

District 7: Locust Sequoia / ELIMINATED

District 8: ELIMINATED / Velvet Snijder

District 9: Harvest Henderson / Sela Fields

District 10: ELIMINATED / Destry Coleman

District 11: Harrison Jones / ELIMINATED

District 12: ELIMINATED / Mila Carway