Chapter Thirty-Seven.
The world was hot and fiery, choked with smoke that billowed into thick, black clouds filling the starlit sky.
Neviya felt the flames lick her body, singeing the ends of her hair and parts of her clothing as she ducked under a falling branch. Her heart beat nervously in her chest, fearfully as chaos swallowed the forest. She could barely see ahead of her, but what she had seen had been enough, giving her purpose as she continued to weave through the fires that had erupted.
Red fireflies darted around, trailing little wisps of fire, but as soon as they brushed against something wooden it blew open into a torrent of red and yellow. Neviya cursed as a firefly landed on her shoulder and she swatted it away, burning the back of her fingers. She ignored the pain, felt her fingers clammy around Linnea's spear, with the sword in her hand now back in its scabbard. The arrows cluttered around in her backpack as she continued through the forest.
Neviya could see the end but did not delude herself that it would now be an easy path forward. If anything, despite seeing Destan and now following him, everything had been dialled up to a thousand. She knew she was now in the end game but could not let the possibility of actually surviving cloud her judgement. There were still four more tributes to die so she could get there. Four more tributes – three if she excluded Destan – who did not deserve to fall, yet had to so she could win in memory of her fallen friends.
Though Neviya had smothered down her smile and joviality underneath the layers she'd needed for the Games, she could still feel them fluttering in her heart as she thought of Britta, Linnea and Roarke. They were with her. Not in body, but in spirit. They willed her through the blazing inferno.
The wall of fire that had stopped her advancing on Destan straight away was now behind her, Neviya taking a longer route to avoid the crumbling treetop structure. It was now a misshapen pile of burning debris behind her as she jumped over a rose bush, almost tripping over a clump of roots, and she continued to pump her arms and legs to carry her on speedily towards her fleeing enemy.
Destan, in the distance, was panicking. His entire body ached – the skin torn into rivulets of blood that hung by his broken hands from clinging onto the tree for dear life. He could barely see ahead of him, his eyes teary and misty, his lungs choking on smoke that he continued to cough a hacking cough that shook through his entire body. He felt weak – every fibre of his body willing him to fall over and let what was about to happen just happen.
But Destan refused. He refused to give into weakness. He refused to let himself stumble at the final hurdle. After all the stupid, silly actions he'd taken, he was somehow now in the final chase and he could see it just on the horizon: his Victory. And behind him, a girl hell-bent on stopping him reaching it.
He managed to avoid a tree root as he heard the running behind him reach an even louder volume. Destan was able to turn, bring up his spear clumsily, as Neviya's own weapon collided with his. A metallic ring reverberated around. They had an audience of buzzing red fireflies, spreading the flames through the trees, a coliseum of burnt red and orange. Neviya ground her teeth together and watched Destan, waiting for him to spring into action, knowing him to be more impulsive than she was.
He didn't move a muscle. Pain flared through his body but he bit his tongue to stop him crying out. Holding the spear was agonizing enough, clamped between fingers that were shot with wooden splinters, ripped apart that left his grip clumsy.
"Neviya," Destan said. He had no quip. Nothing annoying or antagonizing to say. If anything, he silently and inwardly commended her on making it this far. He'd always seen Linnea as the more rational of the group – Neviya clinging to Britta's every musical laugh and silly, spotlight-craving whim. Yet here she stood. Resolute in killing him. "Final five, huh. Can you believe it?"
Neviya just shook her head. "How about we don't speak. I wouldn't want to burn to death before whatever happens actually happens."
"The Games have stolen your voice? Fine," Destan shrugged, though fearful, literally terrified at having to face a girl that seemed much more well put-together than him; but he was ready to take a stand. "Let's do this."
He swung his spear at Neviya and she easily swiped it away with her own, twisting it around her torso and lashing out, jabbing the spear as her feet gracefully swept her body forwards in unison with her weapon. He hit it away and jumped backwards, avoiding Neviya's fist that tried to shatter his nose, and he side-stepped another tree root that threatened to trip him over.
Though the world burned around them, in this moment, it was just two trained Careers fighting earnestly. It was exactly the type of fight Destan had always wanted to avoid – a purveyor of using words and masks to get what he wanted. Because deep down, he had never believed he was good enough. But as he dodged another blow from Neviya, hitting out at her with his own spear and managing to slice open her cheek, he felt confidence bloom in his chest.
A confidence that he knew his mother would be proud of. Yet it was his confidence, and he allowed it to fill him up, disregarding his mother's opinion. It was him in this Arena – not her. It had never been about her.
Neviya cried out in pain but did not allow herself to stumble. She pulled out Britta's sword and with a weapon in both hands, though the sword being in her left which made it slightly awkward to use, she saw Destan's eyes now widen with newfound fear and she cut out with both. He easily dodged the spear but the sword bit into his shoulder and he matched Neviya's shout of pain.
"Fuck," he said through gritted teeth, eyeing up both weapons, unsure of his next move.
A firefly flitted between the two of them and he made the stupid decision to try and swat it away, mirroring exactly what Neviya had just done, blistering his skin with yet another swathe of agony that ripped through his body. He fought through it. Kept his mind focused. And lunged again.
Neviya twisted her body sideways. Destan managed to knock Neviya's sword from her hand and brought his leg out, tripping her up, the spear now falling from her open fingers. She cursed loudly but grabbed out with her hands, wrapping them round Destan's ankle, bringing him down with her. He cried out as his chin collided with the muddy floor and he bit his tongue, tasting the metallic tang of blood.
With no apparent weapons, Destan rolled onto Neviya and glared at her, narrowing his eyes. A monster took over him. A hungry need to survive. Neviya saw it in his eyes and willed herself to fight as his hands wrapped round her throat.
No… no not now… Neviya felt tears in her eyes as her hand clumsily snatched thin air by her side as Destan's grip tightened. When she felt her body start to relax, Britta's smile somewhere in the distance, she found the backpack strap and swung it upwards in an arc, colliding with enough force to knock Destan sideways.
Where there had suddenly been a darker version of Destan, fixated on choking the life out of his fellow Career, he cried out with fear as he rolled sideways and saw Neviya unzip her backpack. Before he could do anything, he felt the burning pain in his neck, and suddenly the corners of his eyes went dark as she pulled the arrow out from his throat.
He choked on blood and stared at her, clamping his hand round the open wound. He tried to speak but couldn't make out anything as everything started to go blurry, dizzying Destan as he lolled his head back and felt his body relax against the tree stump.
Neviya watched the life literally pump out of Destan. She threw the arrow aside, picked up Linnea's spear and Britta's sword, the backpack over her shoulders, and quickly jumped over Destan as his cannon shook through the trees.
At the sight of another victim, the inferno seemed to only intensify, until something else happened. The red fireflies suddenly changed colour. Or lost their colour. No longer yellow, nor red, nor the green of a poisonous bounty, little hovering black-winged muttations brought with them a cloud of death. As they hovered through the flames, not only were they extinguished, but the trees seemed to lilt, the rose petals died and shrivelled up, and a literal wall of destruction came flying towards Neviya.
She gasped as Destan's body seemed to rot instantaneously as they flew past him, enshrouding him in pitch blackness, and she ran for it.
Her entire body protested, but this was it. She was so close.
So close.
I'm almost there.
From where she sat on the crest of the hill, the tower looming up behind her, Carys watched the flames rip through the forest in total destruction.
She could feel the warmth against her cheeks and closed her eyes, thoughts drifting to mind that she could no longer control. A blonde-haired boy amongst towering grass, transforming Carys into who she now was. Her standing on the stage at the Reaping, unable to control her fists from shaking at her side, fearfully watching Hale weep from his position in the crowd. Meeting Shual. Pushing away their Escort. Maisley, Castor and Ponche – each engraved into her being in their own way.
Especially Maisley. Carys could still hear her painful sobs as she crawled through mud and did not hate the girl for what she had done. She had simply been trying to survive. Carys allowed her mind to try and find some semblance of peace from everything she had gone through. From one emotion to the next, like the fire, they swathed over her, trying to overpower Carys, but she fought against it.
This close to the end – it did not matter whether she was the angry girl beating dummies, or the girl that tried to be a better person. She was just Carys, the girl who had killed two tributes and was now in the final five.
BOOM!
The cannon ripped through the Arena.
Final four.
She opened her eyes and watched as the fire slowly went out. Carys stood up, exhausted, yet as far as she was aware, she still seemed to be relatively unscathed after everything she'd been through. It was hard for her to look at the Arena from her viewpoint and not feel some sense of anger over what the Gamemakers had done – making her dig deep into the darkest points of her mind, memories buried for a reason. But as she watched the fire go out and a cloud of black rise above the trees, she bit that all down and focused on herself.
Because it was just about her. Not even about Hale, anymore. She was the one fighting for her life. She was the one who could not allow herself to become overshadowed by any of the emotions she had been too stubborn in another life to give up.
A small part of Carys regretted not killing Celestin, but knew in that moment she could never have done it unless provoked. He was still out there, somewhere, unless he was the most recent cannon, and she knew soon enough once again she'd be pulled back towards a fight.
If the darkness that spread thickly through the trees, bridging the gap between sky and land was anything to go by, then clearly it was happening sooner than Carys would have liked.
Carys gripped onto the backpack strap around her shoulder firmly and almost turned to run when she saw it, trees rippling aside as to her horror, three bears came roaring through the woodland. Her heart choked the fearful cry in her throat but they seemed to totally ignore her. Completely. Focused on something else as they scampered over the hill and disappeared into another part of the forest.
What the-?
Carys could not finish the thought. The darkness continued to spread and she saw from where the bears had just ran, the dark, pinpricks of black fireflies flittering towards her. With it, they brought forth the wall of pitch blackness, and she turned around startled, pumping her legs and arms swiftly to carry her towards the forest.
Carys thought about all those memories swirling around her mind but ground her teeth together and shook them away forcefully. She was a tribute, she was a murderer, she was everything she had so stubbornly once believed she would never allow herself to become. But she'd lost control. It had happened. And with it, Carys was determined to see it through to the end. To make all the nightmares worth it.
She refused to look over her shoulder as she continued running, feeling a horrific chill seep into her bones. This was the final jump to be made.
The end of these Games.
I'm almost there.
Run, run, RUN!
Sheridan had barely made it very far from where she'd finally killed Sinta, snuffing out the corrupted light from this world, when everything had fallen to smoke and fire.
And then it was gone. She wasn't close enough to have seen the actual flames, but the smoke was clear enough, choking even Sheridan from where she had been. With it though, as soon as that last cannon tore through her surroundings, came a darkness. Total in its suffering.
With it, however, more foreboding, came the fireflies.
She continued to rip her way through the Arena, ignoring the sting of the cuts littering her body, the awkward angle her nose was, the throb in her shoulder. She'd been put through the ringer in this Arena but Sheridan wasn't about to take anything she'd experienced for granted. She didn't feel strong or intimidating, she didn't feel as if anything was a guarantee, she just wanted to live.
It was a simple wish, yet being so close, she could almost feel it.
Saraya's arms around her shoulders. The rich, warm air of Eleven, a place she'd never thought she'd miss. Even the apple orchards, breaking her back for the devilish overlords that presided over her. She wanted it so much that she could almost feel the sun kissing her skin.
Yet Sheridan was not about to let herself be overcome by fantasy. She continued to run and pushed aside the memory of Iva and Sinta. Of what she had done to survive. She ignored the fact that someone she'd called an ally was still alive, if that cannon hadn't been his, and that no longer did those withered connections matter anymore.
If Sheridan was going to make it out of this alive, for just one final push she'd have to try and pretend that she distrusted the world the same way that she always had believed she did. No more trying to be a better person. No more trying to come up with excuses for her stubbornness. When she survived, she could search in her soul for the person she longed to be. Right now, it was simply easier being the Sheridan that she had always been.
The hovering cloud of death behind her continued to suffocate the flowers, shrivelling the rosy red petals, the beautiful daises, everything into nothing but a tidal wave of rot and decay. Even the ground seemed to crack in response to its touch.
The Arena was being killed before her very eyes and Sheridan did her best to continue to stagger through, ignoring the pain, and watched as from the corner of her eye she saw three hulking figures move swiftly through the trees.
Her heart pounded in her ears, blood running cold, as the three bears were not too far from where she was, lagging behind a couple of trees to her right. They did not seem to focus on her at all as she continued to sprint towards wherever there would be safety. The starlit sky had once seemed so beautiful but even the stars had gone out.
They only had the glow of the moon to guide them forwards. To where Sheridan would either kill and win, or die and be forgotten.
She watched as the smallest bear stumbled and fell. The fireflies quickly overpowered the small bear and whatever happened to it, Sheridan didn't have time to see as she herself tripped, a root snagging its way round her ankle. She cried and cursed aloud as the mud connected with her chin and with the startling motion came another wave of horrific memories.
The faces were instantaneous as they circled her mind. Teak, Altia, Bryce, Sinta and Celestin. She saw and willed them away as she struggled to stand up, dragging her leg as the black fireflies neared her, one breaking from the flock to land on her skin.
It was immediate.
The skin twisted into a dark, horrific shade of blue and black. The veins bulged and seemed to rot underneath the horrific slab of dead meat. She cried out with terror and forced herself upwards, dragging her useless leg behind her, further and further forwards as much as she could.
Pain ravaged her body and Sheridan's bank of faces disappeared to be replaced by only one.
Saraya.
She was angelic in appearance and Sheridan smiled as her body collided with someone else, their arms wrapping round her chest as the two faced each other.
"Sheridan?"
She looked at Celestin and was forced back into the nightmare of the Arena. Her old ally stared at her, then looked at her leg, and his eyes blew wide in horror.
"Celestin!"
He looked at her, then at the impending cloud of death behind her, and shook his head.
"I'm sorry."
With those two words, everything Sheridan had been through fell to darkness and she saw Saraya's face one final time, smiling at her, peaceful in her glow.
Celestin pushed Sheridan over and watched as the fireflies overpowered her body, killing her instantly. Her cannon forced Celestin to pick up his pace as he continued through the trees and saw a golden light in the distance.
With Sheridan dead behind him, he broke through the treeline and found himself back where it had all started. The Cornucopia not too far, with supplies still lingering around in random piles. The fireflies seemed to stop once they reached the trees and with their arrival, two more faces appeared, stumbling through the forest to arrive at the Cornucopia.
Neviya and Carys.
From different positions, they looked at each other and Celestin swallowed the lump in his throat.
The final three.
I'm almost there.
5th: Destan Moreau, District Four Male.
4th: Sheridan Sannah, District Eleven Female.
And we have our final three tributes!
Slightly shorter chapter but to be honest, with not many tributes left and things finally being wrapped up, the final chapters were never going to be that long.
Been a hella crazy road getting here – 72 POVs before the Games even started and god knows how many more times some of these tributes have been mentioned in the Arena. I haven't actually made my mind up who is winning this yet. In fact, this final three has changed so much over the course of the Games that it only really settled yesterday as I planned this chapter. Two days ago, it was different. The way my placings change is so funny – one of these final three died 12th I think in my original list. And the other two weren't even in the original finale either. This story has written itself tbh, so much has changed.
Questions!
Who do you want to win?
Who do you think will win?
Dayum son. Let's see what happens! I'm as excited as you are to see who I pick to win lmao.
Oh btw please submit to Stoneheart if you haven't already. Plsssss.