Chapter Thirty-Three.
Each had their own plan circling their minds whilst oblivious to the others.
Nikos stumbled over a tree root and cursed harshly, almost taking Destan to the ground with him. He didn't want to be anywhere near the boy from Four. The urge to stab him and run still continued to be an ever-present thought in his mind, but the added complication of Roarke left him doubtful that he'd make it out of that particular scuffle alive.
The only reason Nikos, now three days into the Games was still stuck in an alliance where trust was bottom of the list, was because he did not want to die. So when the inevitable happened and the alliances clashed – girls versus boys – he wouldn't stick around long enough to have any kind of input.
Let the trained imbeciles do all the dirty work. The more they did to each other, the higher his chances of making it out of these Games alive.
Destan, trying to smirk casually over his shoulder at Nikos' little trip, couldn't help but feel the nervousness thick in the air. The three of them were not waiting around any longer. This was it. Their journey back towards the Cornucopia where they would take down the three bitches who each thought they were the Queen Supreme. It had been a long time coming. Yet, the anxiety, the insecurity, the everything that he'd always felt growing up in the shadow of his mother, would not leave him alone and it left him frustrated. Roarke, with his bow in his hand, had confessed to killing two tributes.
Two!
Destan couldn't believe it, but something in the steely, focused face of Roarke next to him, told him it must have been true. He had to be smart about this. Let Roarke take down one, maybe two of them, and then dispatch of him quickly. Nikos and Destan could then take out the rest. And then Destan could somehow take down Nikos.
No, not somehow, Destan coldly reminded himself. I can. I'm trained. He had to stop thinking about his chances being so low if it came down to a normal, one-on-one fight. Without underhanded tactics, without ploys and fragile alliances, Destan would have to at some point strip all the layers back and just do what his training had been building up to. He was scared of that. So for now, he wouldn't dwell too much on the unknown future.
"This forest is never-ending," Nikos complained, finally breaking the silence.
Destan nodded irritably. "They'll all be dead by the time we get there." Doubtful, but the thought gave Destan momentary pleasure. Ugh, I feel like Chancellor.
Roarke, with his bow in his hand, arrows on his back, and guard up always around these two, looked around at the forest and realised he had no clue where they were. He couldn't spot any glimpse of the tower that he'd come across, or the treetop village, or any landmark that might have given him a clue as to where they currently were. It was all just tree, after tree, after tree, after stupid tree.
He himself was beginning to grow frustrated. There had been so many cannons since he'd left the girls that he was worried. Even though it was silly to think it could be any of them, he thought about Neviya dead, or even Britta and Linnea, and panic would flare in his heart. It would complicate things if one of them was.
Roarke knew the moment the fight began, what he would do. His loyalties were non-existent in this group and through killing Armina and Shual – accidentally, his arrow aimed for Albie, a low-point so far – he just wanted to get things going. He was willing to do any self-patching up after the Games. For now, he just needed to find the girls again.
"What led you to the boy from Eight? The one Nikos said you—" Roarke said, drawing a line across his throat as he tried to grin playfully, anything to ease the sinister edge Destan was teetering on. "—wasn't it those blue things?"
Destan looked at Nikos and the boy from Three just shrugged his shoulders. "It's worth trying," Nikos said. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Destan thought back to his training session, the private one in front of the Gamemakers, and the show he'd promised. He'd killed Castor, sure, and they'd found Roarke. But if things became stagnant for too long then surely it would be in the benefit of the Gamemakers to get the ball rolling.
Every single thing they did was being televised. Sometimes it was easy to forget that. In the heat of the Arena, the reality show that they were in became something simple to push aside. But there were cameras everywhere. Destan thought of the Gamemakers and then his frustration at not being able to find anything that might tell him which way to go.
So, he looked directly in front of him, hoping that somewhere, the Capitol was watching.
"If you want that show I promised, give a guy a little helping hand. We need to get back to the girls. Show us the way."
The three stopped in position. Nikos continued to fight the desire to run. Roarke continued to try to fight the fear over who those cannons might have belonged to. And Destan continued to fight the impatience and anxiety that continued to curse him never-ending.
"I don't think—" Nikos started.
Destan shushed him and grinned brightly, a huge smile from ear to ear, as a blue wisp popped into existence just in front of the three of them.
"Perfect," Destan said.
Let's get this show on the road.
Maisley had an eye on Carys at all times now.
Whether Carys was aware of it or not, she didn't seem to mind. Every time Carys suddenly moved, Maisley would flinch. Every time she spoke, Maisley would think the worst was about to come. She hated it. She wished Castor and even Ponche could just come back and settle the atmosphere because Maisley had no idea what to do.
The childhood lies she'd fancifully woven with her friends in her bedroom would never work with a girl like this – so hardened and angry at the world. Though Carys looked more forlorn nowadays, there was still an edge to her, blunt at the moment, but Maisley was sure would become sharp the second anything happened.
She'd thought about running – a constant companion of hers ever since the tower. Maybe she'd get far on her own and subvert expectation. Or maybe, she'd just do what the bets and sponsors probably thought and… die.
Every shadow spooked Maisley and it was becoming so inconceivably frustrating. This was not the Maisley she'd wanted to be back in the Capitol. She'd brought together a strong alliance placing herself in a position of protection. And now her longevity entirely depended on a girl that scared her.
I'm doomed.
They'd left the tower after waking up but hadn't moved much further. Carys knew it had been stupid but lying on the grass of the hill, staring at the starlit sky, had enabled her to try and calm herself down. Maisley had always been there on her peripheral but Carys hadn't paid her much attention.
The fact she'd considered pushing Maisley from the window had scared even Carys. She'd killed Spelt to protect Maisley, and there she was considering taking her life. It made Spelt's death seem completely pointless. But maybe that was the nature of the Games. She wouldn't be remembered if she died. Next year there'd be another District Ten female. Carys would become nothing but a statistic in some computer system.
Fuck that, Carys thought. She'd always been stubborn – used it in every fight, every argument, every one-way battle of words or action, even when she knew she was actually wrong. If the Capitol was going to see her as just another face or cannon, she'd prove them wrong. As she'd considered in the tower the idea that being nice or protective was no longer the Carys she could be any longer, she knew that she'd use every bit of pain and fury at the world to her advantage.
Every time Hale had told her to calm down, she would use that to channel into something productive. Which was why when she'd stood from the hill and motioned towards the forest, it felt good to be moving again, to feel the air through her fingers, the breeze in her hair, the glittery glow of the stars and fireflies buzzing around her.
She even smiled at Maisley. It wasn't a kind smile, but it wasn't insincere either. It was Carys knowing what she would now become to win these Games. It was an inner contract she'd signed to not feel guilty, not feel sad, not feel anything but an innate sense of understanding about what a Victor had to look like.
She was at peace with the concept. It felt lovely to be able to just walk in silence, without feeling like she had to fill the void with bitter words or rageful thoughts.
Maisley was a few paces in front as they broke through the treeline and came face to face with a woodland village. High in the trees, the huts were scattered amongst the canopy, branches poking through windows, vines wrapped around ladders and bridges. It looked lovely and as far as Maisley could see, there was no-one around.
"Should we explore?" Maisley asked Carys with a smile.
Carys nodded. Maisley felt a weird child-like fascination blossom in her chest and became embarrassed at the silly thought. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how she looked at it, the immature curiosity was snuffed out completely at the dried bits of blood caking somewhere underneath a rope bridge.
She wondered who it could have been. Carys did too, staring at the blood. A shiver ran down her spine at the idea of Shual being the one who had died here and she quickly looked back up, moving towards the ladder and hoisting herself up towards the first hut.
She helped Maisley and the two stood opposite each other.
"I'm hungry," Maisley confessed, her stomach rumbling.
Carys hadn't given it much thought, but she realised as she opened her last backpack, that they were down to their crumbs. "Maybe there's something growing we can eat?" Carys thought aloud, looking at the trees. She chastised herself for not paying more attention in training at these stations. She'd tried her best, but the knowledge went through one ear and out the other.
It was just easier to beat the shit out of a dummy than stare absent-mindedly at some grapes. Berries. Whatever they were.
"C'mon," Carys said, motioning towards the rope bridge. "Let's keep looking."
Maisley followed Carys obediently. She couldn't say no anymore. A no had killed Castor and this girl in front of her, that was supposed to be her ally, was no longer someone that Maisley believed she could trust. It made Maisley anxious just being in her company now. A wicked, violent thought raced through her mind as Carys continued to walk forwards, her back to her, and Maisley tried to stop herself thinking it.
The knife she had, however, made the thought impossible to get rid of.
Fuck.
As they continued to work their way through the treetop huts and bridges, Maisley almost losing her footing over a rope bridge, a cloud of fireflies hovered near to where Carys and Maisley were. The two watched them, golden little bodies gently fluttering by their ears and in front of their eyes, and Maisley couldn't help but jump as they changed colour.
"Green?"
Carys just looked at Maisley and shrugged her shoulders. The entire group of fireflies had gone a light shade of green and dispersed towards the trees. Carys knew in the pit of her stomach that something bad could happen, but she was fascinated all the same and when the fireflies began to gently flit between leaves, she couldn't contain the gleeful surprise as fruit began to grow at the smallest touch of a green firefly, a bountiful supply of food right in front of them.
"Oh my god," Carys said. "Thank you." She felt stupid thanking a fly but all the same, as her stomach rumbled, she couldn't help herself from grabbing a large, ripe-red apple from a branch. Maisley took one as well and stared at it.
"It looks good," Maisley said. Almost too good.
Carys was suspicious at the idea of the Gamemakers doing something good for them – providing them with sustenance, but at the same time, would it be fun to see two tributes just die of starvation? Surely, after Carys killing Spelt, after everything they'd been through together, it might be more interesting from a Capitol's perspective to see how their story played out.
"I'll do it if you do it," Carys said to Maisley.
The little girl stared at the apple and then up at Carys. "Okay."
They both bit into their fruit and relished in the juices that ran down their throats. "Fuck," Carys said, grinning. All thought of what she was prepared to do, even to Maisley if she had to, was vanquished for a second as she marvelled in the taste of the apple.
She stared at Maisley and Maisley stared back, both actually smiling genuine smiles. It felt almost normal, Carys realised, as the two just stood there, and part of her allowed a flicker of guilt that she'd promised herself she'd no longer feel, to spark in her gut.
There was a ripple of light just above Maisley's head as she continued to eat the apple, and the world seemed to suddenly slow down. It was as if someone had taken the forest and swirled their finger through it. The trees became blurry paint strokes of green and brown. Each star seemed to balloon in size as Carys looked up at the sky and smiled serenely as the moon shrunk to the size of an apple. She continued to eat the piece of fruit in her hand and wiped her mouth as she reached the core and dropped it to the ground.
Her mind felt foggy yet it was relaxing. She swayed, left and right, a soft, soothing sound leaving her lips as her eyes fell back from the sky onto Maisley.
She froze. Her eyes widened and her knees became jelly, her heart thudding in her chest as she stared into the eyes of someone that wasn't Maisley, but someone she could recognise, someone she'd tried to force out of memory ever since… ever since…
"Carys?" It sounded like Maisley, a softer voice, but as the figure took a step towards her, all Carys could remember was the field in District Ten, the innocence of her younger self as she wandered in believing they were her friends, and this… this boy in front of her… taking her hand… pulling her closer…
She screamed and the blurriness of her world became even darker and mistier, the apple's poisons seeping through her veins and she pulled out the knife in her hand and lunged at the villain before her. There was a girl's scream but it sounded distant and impossible to Carys.
All she could feel were hands round her throat. It was this boy that had created the Carys that loathed the world and this boy that had made her try to become a better person in these Games. But it had been ruined and she would get her revenge. She would… she would…
Carys couldn't keep her mind focused but that girl's scream wouldn't stop even as the knife sliced open a deep wound in his forearm. Carys couldn't stand up straight – she'd intended to stab the disgusting boy's neck, not his arm. As she tried again, her knees gave way and she collapsed, the stars and the green fireflies, and the clammy, sweaty sensation of hands around her throat, the last thing she thought, heard or felt as her vision went dark and Carys fell asleep.
Maisley looked down at Carys. Her own vision was going funny, everything seemed wonky and uneven, but the one thing she could feel was the biting pain in her arm as warm blood trickled from an open wound and splashed… splashed… splashed against the wood.
The sound was almost peaceful. A lullaby that sent Maisley to the ground, her head lulling sideways as she began to fall asleep to the apple's poison. The last thing she saw, as her vision became soft, beautiful swathes of colour, were two feet moving towards her, and a face that came into view, bending down to stare at Maisley.
Odd, Maisley thought, convinced she was now dreaming. Celestin – you have mud on your face.
She smiled.
And fell asleep.
Albie regretted not trying to take her down.
When Britta had come running through the trees, sword out, panting and crying and clearly a visible mess, Albie had almost leapt at her. But something had held her back. This wasn't like Linnea where there was a clearer, sneakier way of taking her down. Britta was emotional and as Albie could attest to, emotions were sometimes bad, but also sometimes very good when doing what a tribute had to do in these Games.
Now, Albie sat on a tree stump, taking a swig of water and eating a stale slice of bread that she'd had from the beginning. Part of Albie felt something close to shame at what she'd done to Linnea, but that part of Albie was lost underneath a wall she'd constructed to keep such thoughts from stopping her doing what she had to do.
She'd killed a Career. One of the strongest competitors in these Games. It wasn't the person that had taken Armina and Shual from this world, but it was someone who still was part of the ideology they all stood for. She knew, deep down, she was becoming the very person that she hated, but Albie couldn't give in to that thought. If she did, she was lost, and trying to work through all these emotions was tiring enough.
There had been twelve cannons since the start of the Games, which meant she had now reached the halfway point. Two of those cannons were Careers, which left four out of the remaining twelve still trained tributes. The odds were still not in her favour but she refused to be stupid about this. If she continued to bridge the old Albie with the new, then she had the perfect formula.
At least that was what Albie believed. It was that belief that kept her going.
In the clearing before her, Albie saw a dozen or so fireflies almost play with each other, darting this way and that, overlapping their golden trail and buzzing around. It made Albie smile and it felt good to be able to still do that. Armina would have loved these fireflies. She wasn't silly or immature, but there was something so tranquil about her former ally and friend. It made the smile on Albie's face falter and she gripped the tree stump to try and compose herself.
Albie continued to watch the display in front of her until the colour began to shift. It was only one firefly to begin with, but as the yellow soon turned to red, she was amazed by the dozen or so fireflies leaving not a trail of harmless light, but wisps of fire that crackled and burnt the night-time air.
Fire.
She wasn't sure why they'd suddenly turned red, because after thirty or so seconds of demonstrating this new ability they had, they switched back to a peaceful yellow and flew away, leaving Albie alone once more.
It took a few seconds for Albie to realise what she'd just seen. The image of Armina's face was replaced by Shual, the two of them standing in the treetop village, surrounded by wooden huts and bridges that they'd planned to set alight and kill the Careers. If the fireflies had an unnatural way of creating fire then maybe… maybe…
When she stood up, the idea giving her a new sense of drive, another speck of colour suddenly appeared not too far from where they were. This time it wasn't fireflies and Albie looked curiously at a small looking ghostly apparition that hovered over a rose-bush. The blue pulsating glow made Albie once again smile as she moved towards it, but she stopped, frozen, as behind the blue wisp someone appeared.
She couldn't quite believe it at first, but as Roarke broke through from the darkness and his eyes landed on Albie, she didn't give herself time to believe it.
"YOU-!" She leapt forwards, threw her body into Roarke and he cried out loud, falling to the ground as Albie scrambled atop him. His bow went one way and the arrows spilled out into the mud. She saw Armina and Shual and the anger became unparalleled, the grief blending into one sheet of red that she saw as she pulled out her knife, the same knife she'd used to kill Linnea, and she watched Roarke's eyes widen as—
Albie was swept aside. Her head hit the ground and she groaned out painfully, her eyes going funny as they finally settled on Roarke being helped to his feet, a boy that looked like Destan helping him collect his arrows, and… and…
"Nikos?!"
Albie's anger at Roarke was somehow momentarily extinguished for the sheer confusion and almost relief she felt at seeing him still alive. It was odd but his presence immediately brought tears to her eyes and she couldn't help but throw her arms around him, wavering in his awkward hold.
It wasn't as if Albie had ever liked Nikos. She'd only ever seen him as an inconvenience really. But after Armina, after Shual, after everything, the sight of his stupid, gruff face made Albie feel overwhelming happiness.
When she opened her eyes, however, blurry from tears, they settled on Roarke and she stumbled backwards.
"Y-You're with – with – with him?"
Nikos suddenly looked ashamed of himself and nodded. "Albie it's—"
"Do you know what he did?!" Albie shouted. "Who he killed?!"
When Nikos nodded grimly, she sank to her knees and dropped her knife. Nikos knew who Roarke had killed, and he knew who Albie had teamed up with, and yet here he was, standing side by side with not just Roarke, but another Career.
She looked up and her eyes now narrowed bitterly. "I suppose you volunteers stick together, don't you?"
The words seemed to sting Nikos but it wasn't him who spoke next, it was the slimy looking boy from Four, who wore a calm smile on his face, almost as if he was trying his best to appease Albie. Well, fuck that. She couldn't stop staring at Roarke and her hands formed fists in the mud. Armina… Shual…
"Albie, isn't it?" Destan said.
"Destan. You don't have to—" Nikos started, but Destan held a hand up to stop him as he neared Albie, taking tentative footsteps towards her.
"I know what it must look like, how bad it might seem. But we're only together to take down the girls. A mutually beneficial alliance, that's all it is," Destan said, smiling at Albie. "I know what Roarke's done but right now, think about what's best for you and your chances, and perhaps help us?"
Albie looked at her knife and when she went to grab it, Destan flinched but she only stood up, holding it lax by her side. A smile played on her lips and she couldn't help but harshly look into Destan's eyes, then over at Roarke, and then back Destan.
"I killed Linnea," she said.
Destan's eyes widened. Nikos just stared at her. But it was Roarke's reaction, which Destan could not see, but Albie could over his shoulder, that gave her the most pleasure. His face paled and he seemed to stagger slightly to the right.
It was only when Destan turned around gleefully that Roarke composed himself and met Albie's stare. She knew what he was now feeling, because it was exactly what he had made her feel twice over. Where there was anger, Albie now just smiled at him, tilting her head slightly sideways, just staring.
"I'm in," she said. "Two against four. How hard can it be?"
Destan clapped his hands together. Albie looked at him almost with pity because he was none the wiser to Roarke's quite obvious loyalty to the girls not too far ahead. He wasn't going to survive this.
And neither is Roarke, Albie thought. That she would make sure of.
When her eyes met Nikos, he was the only person that made her feel any sense of sadness over this situation. She understood, though. The logical part of Albie that still existed could not be mad at Nikos for the choices he had made.
But he was still just another obstacle, and with twelve left, an obstacle that she would have to overcome very shortly.
A raindrop fell on her nose and all four of them looked up at the sky, grey clouds hiding the bright stars from view and the moon sinking into the background. When their eyes fell back on each other, the downpour beginning, they all knew that this was it.
It was time to fight.
"It's raining," Neviya said.
No shit, Britta kept the thought to herself. Since finding Linnea's body, the two of them had barely said a word to each other. There wasn't anything more that needed saying. Britta did not hate Neviya, but she knew that with twelve cannons, whatever laughter they'd shared, whatever friendship had become whole and beautiful, was now nothing but memories. It felt almost liberating to Britta – no longer did she had to try so hard, to feel like she had to be the centre of attention, the life of the party. She could just be the Career she was supposed to be – what everyone expected of her. And win.
Neviya felt very much the same but could not shake off the guilt she felt every time Britta looked at her, every-time she thought of Linnea, every-time she realised how easy it now would be having to do what had to be done.
District Two really have no idea, Neviya thought. She'd spent her whole life around such stoic, boring people who truly believed they were destined for the greatness of a Victor's crown. Even Neviya, though trying to remain as grounded as possible, had been swept up into believing it would have been easy. And it wasn't. Nothing, no matter how rigorous the training, could have prepared either girl for this.
Linnea's cannon and corpse just proved that.
"After this, yeah?" Britta said, wiping her hair from her face that hang sodden through the battering of the rain. She looked at Neviya and tried one of her grins again, and this time, knowing what was to come, it came across more honest than it had done in a while. "Get this done and that's it?"
"That's it," Neviya agreed.
Britta nodded her head, resolved to their future. "Alright then."
Both girls had agreed to leave the other after the impending fight. Roarke wouldn't understand, Neviya knew. When he'd left, the girls had still been swept up in the fantasy of their friendship and he would expect to find all three of them, side-by-side, a quick dispatch of Destan and then they could get back to normal.
Neviya couldn't stay around her allies anymore. When what was about to happen had happened, she would go it alone. Make it to the end the way she knew she could. She was glad Britta had agreed to that. From everything that they'd gone through together, the two shared respect, and that respect ran deep.
"Had to rain though didn't it?" Britta said, laughing. "What an atmosphere they've made."
Neviya chuckled back as a lightning bolt struck the sky swiftly, revealing the dark shadows of a group of tributes walking forwards from the treeline. Britta looked over at Neviya, eyebrows knitted confusingly, both glancing back to the trees.
"I counted four," Britta said.
What's happened? Neviya nodded. "Yeah…" The sudden nerves were unwanted but fierce in their attack on Neviya's optimism on the fight ahead. "Why are there four?"
"Let's just get this over with," Britta said, moving forwards.
She had spent her entire childhood and teenage years in Four believing she was a star in the sky. And as she'd trained, flippantly some might say, but still determined in her special Britta-esque way, she'd truly believed that she had what it took to win this. The experience had been grounding, but the experience was not over. She did not want Neviya to die, but she would have to at some point if she was to claim the title of Victor.
It didn't make her happy the idea of killing someone from home, but Destan had forced their hand the moment he'd flipped the script back in the Capitol. It was his fault. Britta was just finishing the chapter.
Through the thick rain drops and streaks of lightning in the night-sky, Neviya and Britta faced off against the four tributes in front. They immediately recognised Roarke standing there sodden and Neviya couldn't stop herself from feeling a slight flutter in her chest. Even now, the dorky smile she knew he had undernearth the grim expression he wore, made her feel happy.
Britta met Destan's eyes and both just sneered at the other. Mutual dislike made it easier for both of them about their course of action. He passed the spear between hands and she just rolled her eyes at his blatant showboating.
But it was the two between Roarke and Destan that the girls hadn't expected. Somehow, they'd roped in the pair from Three. Neviya had no idea whether that had been Roarke's doing and Destan had five enemies around him, as opposed to just three, or something else had gone on in their absence.
The girl, Albie, had been allies with the girl from Eight who Roarke had killed. Something told Neviya as that realisation flashed through her mind that indeed, something else had happened.
"Took you long enough!" Britta called out.
Neviya didn't have it in her anymore to roll her eyes, or snap at Britta for her comments. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Even with their decision to part ways, it was nice to still see the glimpses of the Britta she'd come to cling to still existing.
"Traffic," Destan called back, grinning. "It's a bastard."
"Made some friends?" Britta gestured towards the two from Three who just glowered back at her. Britta bit her lip to stop herself from saying anything else. They clearly weren't in on this back and forth between her and Destan. It felt silly but it felt somehow natural. The way his eyes just bore into hers, sizing her up, reminded her of the Capitol.
"Missing Chancellor?" Neviya called out, this time focusing in on Roarke. Avoid suspicion. "I took you for many things, but joining him to fight someone from home? You don't deserve the crown."
"I did what I had to do!" Roarke shouted back. "I don't care if you're from Two. Only one of us can make it home anyway."
Good boy, Neviya thought, almost grinning.
There would be time to grin later.
With the scene set, the rain and the lightning raging around them, the two groups stood opposite the other. Neviya and Britta knew that it was about to happen, and Roarke, Destan, Albie and Nikos readied themselves for the clash.
They all had their plans. Each oblivious to the other.
"Three…two…" Britta whispered under her breath, watching a cloud roll in, and then the lightning flashed and chaos to rival the bloodbath broke loose.
Nikos didn't waste a second.
But neither did Roarke.
As soon as Destan ran forwards with Albie by his side, Nikos turned around and bolted straight for the trees. He would not stick around to risk his head, not for some stupid Career vendetta. It was not worth it.
Roarke grabbed an arrow, watched Nikos begin to flee towards the forest, and pulled back the string to release it into the air. It soared upwards, arced back down, and pierced Nikos right through the back of the neck.
BOOM!
The sound of the sudden cannon startled everyone. Neviya's sword swiped above Albie's head and she ducked, rolling in the mud to avoid her next swing. Both girls looked over at Roarke, rain pouring heavily on him as he tried to stumble his way back to the group.
Destan, in the distance, saw Nikos face-down dead and his mind became frazzled. What the fuck-?! He looked at Roarke and then at Britta a few metres ahead of him and roared with anger. I should have fucking known! I should have-!
Britta's sword came towards Destan and he didn't have time to rage at Roarke's betrayal. He blocked the blow and slashed at her neck, Britta twirling to the left to avoid it and bringing her sword back up to try and slice into his shoulder. Britta saw it as some flashy dance she'd trained years for. Destan saw it as some aggravating bitch trying to murder him.
Roarke hadn't wasted a second and was glad for it. He didn't know Nikos that well, but he couldn't just let him run away. Not when they were at the halfway point. Right now, maybe he wasn't the biggest threat, but anyone could become one in the future. He had no idea what had gone on between Neviya and Britta, and he still felt a pang of sadness in his chest at the thought of Linnea, but he still had a fight to win.
He'd continue to do anything for himself, but also the girls he called friends.
Albie looked over and saw Nikos' body in the grass and then glanced back over her shoulder at Neviya.
"Sorry about that," Neviya said. "In our defence, we weren't expecting you."
Albie in that second wanted to punch her square in the jaw and knock the fiery determination from her smug face. But she didn't. Because she saw Roarke, bow in hand, and the arrow sticking out of Nikos, and knew that once again, the boy from Two had taken someone she cared about from this world.
It was always him. Somehow Roarke and Albie's fates had intertwined and she knew he would never stop. Whatever his reasons were, whatever his intentions, Albie did not care. In that moment, she saw red and ran towards him as fast as her legs would take her. Roarke wasn't quick enough to grab an arrow, wet fingers missing the fletching and he stumbled backwards as Albie knocked right into him, a mirror image of their encounter back in the forest playing out once more.
Only this time, Albie was not knocked aside.
"Please – please – I didn't—"
Armina. Shual. Nikos.
"I don't care."
With Roarke unarmed, his bow knocked from him, Albie stabbed into his chest and revelled in the cannon that tore through the Arena. Blood pumped from the wound and Albie didn't waste a second. She saw Neviya stare at her from where she had been giving chase suddenly freeze in her place, staring between Albie, the bloody knife, and Roarke's still body.
Their eyes locked. Albie smiled.
She bolted for the forest, taking a split-second to register Nikos' still body and say a silent farewell, before disappearing from the fight and into the moonlit woodland.
Neviya just stood there. Roarke… Roarke?!
A gut-wrenching sob ripped its way to her throat but she swallowed it down, blinking quickly to stop herself crying. Don't, Neviya. Mourn him later. She told herself the exact same thing she'd thought about Linnea. That this was just the way it had to be. And it was now easier – because she didn't have to be the one to do it.
Neviya turned her head and watched Destan and Britta trade blows. Britta was becoming frustrated but nothing could quite match the way Destan suddenly felt at the sight of Roarke now dead to join Nikos, Albie gone, and Neviya marching over to help her friend.
"Fuck this—" Destan charged forwards, throwing the spear aside, and barrelled into Britta. Her sword went flying at the unexpected approach and he pulled out a knife, grabbing onto Britta's hair and hoisting her upright, the bitter touch of the blade against her throat.
She struggled but he dug it in deeper, blood welling up from where the knife met her skin.
"Move again and I fucking swear—"
Neviya halted. "Destan. Please."
He shook Britta and again the knife bit into her throat, pain searing through Britta's body. In absence of everything Destan had believed he'd been building up to secure his survival, in the space of seconds it had fallen to pieces just like the bloodbath with Chancellor's body.
Every ounce of control he'd had over his life had fallen apart, twice. He blinked back angry tears and the nausea in his stomach did nothing to help the rage he felt. Britta had given up trying to twist from his grasp, the knife was so close to doing the unthinkable, and all she could do was stare into Neviya's wide-open eyes, a quiver in her lip.
"Let me fucking guess," Destan shouted. "Roarke came to you straight after the bloodbath?! Why the fuck did I not think of that?! Stupid fucking girls always fucking ruining everything. I didn't want this. I didn't—"
"What do you mean you didn't want this?" Neviya snapped back. "You did this to our alliance. You are the cause of every shitty thing that has happened to you. It's no one's fault but your own."
She regretted shouting at him the second Britta yelped with pain. Her anger relaxed as fear drummed in her heart at the sight of Britta hanging helplessly. She knew, looking at Destan, there was only one way this was going to go.
Looking at Britta, the happiest, brightest, shrillest, most shallowest girl Neviya had ever had the absolute pleasure to meet, she felt tears fall from her cheeks. She had lost one ally in Linnea. She had now lost Roarke – a kindred spirit that had been the kindest boy she'd ever come across. They were good people who had done bad things and chosen a path that most others would find horrifying.
Somehow, they'd united together and through their strength, Neviya had found a determination. It was a determination that went against their bond, but it was the fire she needed to win this. For Linnea. For Roarke.
And now for Britta.
"I'm sorry," she said, face wet with tears, as Britta's body relaxed, a delicate smile on her face as she realised what Neviya was doing.
Both girls understood there was no way out. Destan had to die. For Neviya to win, so did Britta. It was just the way the Games worked. The way a Victor clawed their way to the crown.
"Win for me, yeah?" Britta called.
Neviya nodded, sobbed aloud, and threw her axe directly into Britta's chest.
BOOM!
Britta's body went slack and Destan looked horrified as his hand let go, the knife fell to the ground, and he stumbled backwards. Neviya charged towards him, a knife from her hip-side belt taken out, and he shifted his body round to face the trees in terror.
The rain grew thicker and heavier as he ran for it, a knife whizzed through the air but through the harshness of the weather, it grazed over his shoulder causing Destan to wince in pain. He almost tripped over Roarke's body as a lightning bolt shattered the sky and blinded the two of them.
Neviya could barely see ahead of her. She slowed her pace to steady herself and watched as Destan fled into the forest. Another lightning bolt stopped Neviya in her tracks and she fell onto her back, scrambling around in the mud, trying to force herself to stand.
Stop, Neviya.
Her inner voice made her smother the frustration that threatened to drive her forwards blindly. Destan was gone. She had to stop herself from screaming and throwing another knife into the breeze as she walked back to the Cornucopia, staring at Roarke, her eyes then falling on Britta.
Britta…
She fell to her knees by her body and wiped a strand of hair from her friend's cold skin. Her fingers traced their way up her face until she closed Britta's eyes, bowing her head and allowing herself to cry and shiver in the wind.
Somewhere in the forest, Albie was fleeing. Destan was blindly running. Neviya, near the Cornucopia, sat by the body of her dead friend and ally – alone.
Around the two of them, joining Britta in the afterlife, was Nikos and Roarke.
She allowed herself to sob, knowing she would have to get over this, but knowing that right now, to hell with the entire world.
She'd killed Britta to get to Destan because she was dead anyway. And that had failed. She'd urged Roarke to lure in Destan so they could take him on. That had failed.
But her victory – she could not allow that to be her last failure.
For all of them: Linnea, Roarke and Britta, she would win.
She would survive.
It was the end of the day.
As the rain came to a halt and the Capitol seal flashed in the sky, trumpets blared from hidden speakers and the tributes in the Arena watched the faces amongst the stars.
Most tributes saw Linnea, Roarke and Britta's defeat as a silent victory, a pat on the back that they'd made it this far, and maybe with their loss, could actually make it home.
Albie watched Nikos' face with sadness and continued running through the trees, as far away as she could possibly get from the others.
And then Bryce and Iva, two outer-District tributes, with their own stories, their own past, and their own now impossible futures, faded into the blackness of the sky as the six faces vanished from view forever.
The moon and the stars disappeared as the birds, the sun and white clouds drifted into view.
The Games were taking their toll on everyone. But it was a new day. All of them ready to fight, survive and win.
Yet, like always, no matter how much they fought, stripped themselves of humanity, and became the bare bones of who they once were, only one could.
Only one.
And each had made the decision that it would be them.
12th: Nikos Rioux, District Three Male.
11th: Roarke Lumally, District Two Male.
10th: Britta Somerset, District Four Female.
I think this might be my favourite Games chapter I've ever written?
Just wanted to say that the support for this has been crazy. It's made it my most successful story in terms of reviews per chapter etc. Luxury had 31 chapters and 484 reviews, and when I got to chapter 31 for this we beat that so… just wow. Thanks sooo much it makes me feel great that y'all are digging this story as much as I am writing it.
Might as well ask the same sorta question I did a couple chapters back.
One more death until final eight, who do you think it will be? Who do you want it to be?
Listen to Rina Sawayama if you've never heard of her :) ok bye