Chapter VIII, Arena: Arcane
- Six Feet Under -
The Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games
Somewhere across the frozen winterscape, ribbons of rotted flesh sizzled on the snow, a trail akin to breadcrumbs that wove through the forest. There was no blood or sinew. Just putrid, yellowed clumps of skin and the unearthly moan of the beast in agony as it trudged through the blizzard, refusing to give up.
Holding up half of its face with a water-swelled hand — slowly peeling away, bloodless, right cheekbone and jaw exposed — it felt no pain.
But it could still smell every inch of the arena. From the snow, to the frozen dirt underneath, to the countless bodies slowly decaying across it.
There was a singular smell stronger than the others, though.
The fiery-haired girl that had escaped too many times on pure luck alone.
The beast had no real thoughts besides killing her. Every memory was scalped, broken and fragmented, frazzled pieces that it clung to. It broke free but for what? To have that girl rooted in their brain, festering and mutating, causing the beast to hobble through blankets of snow relentlessly.
It was their sole driving force. The only thing that kept them moving.
What would happen after? The beast didn't know. All it could think about, in the darkest depths on its brain, was the girl.
As the blizzard continued to batter against its body, the beast stopped, upturning their twisted nose and taking a huge whiff of something sickly, bitterly sweet.
She was nearby. A lamb to the slaughter, already primed for devastation.
The blizzard couldn't mask her. The fear was palpable and delicious. The beast smiled — a lopsided, half-rotten smile full of razored teeth with human flesh wedged between — as it zoned in on her and walked to meet her one final time.
Isla knew that she had left them.
Out of the corner of her eye, Isla saw as Amryn seemingly melted into the blizzard and completely disappeared. She had expected her to return, however, until time ticked over agonisingly slow and it became apparent that she wasn't going to.
"She isn't coming back…" Isla whispered.
"Wait— who? Amryn?" Ares stood up, alert, casting a shadow across the barren cave. "We should go after her."
Isla didn't move. Something kept her rooted on the floor, huddled by the fire. A sense of dread? A sense of self-preservation? It twisted and coiled in her stomach relentlessly, niggling away until she, too, stood up to stop Ares from trudging out into the snow to find someone who didn't want to be found.
"Ares… don't," Isla mumbled, watching as Ares came to a halt and turned back to face her, "She doesn't want to come back."
Ares blinked, "How do you know that?"
Isla thought she knew Amryn well enough to understand her. The arena was a cruel mistress, however, and what Isla thought she knew was only what she had wanted to see all along.
"She… she killed Cal…"
Ares' face dropped, "What?"
Isla's breath came out shaky and broken, "He told me… I thought something looked odd, that there seemed to be another… another mark on his body… but I didn't know what it meant or why and I didn't want to know."
"Isla…"
"He told me," Isla looked up, clenching her jaw to stop the onslaught of tears that welled in her eyes, "He told me that she killed him. I don't know why. I don't think I ever will. But it seems… it seems she can't live with the guilt of that."
Ares held her hands close to her chest, cradling them, "I'm so sorry… I don't know what to say."
"What is there to say?" Isla shook her head, "I didn't know how to ask her, so, I didn't."
Somewhere at the back of her mind, Isla realised how foolish it was to hold Amryn so close whilst knowing what she did. She so desperately wanted to believe that Cal was lying — until he led her to the cave that saved them from the blistering cold. She wanted to believe that her own mind was betraying her, pulling apart at the seams.
She wanted to believe everything over Amryn killing someone who couldn't hurt a fly. Over Amryn betraying their alliance so early, so unnecessarily early, whilst risking their lives to save someone from outside of it.
Ares stepped a little closer towards the fire, away from the cave entrance that howled with the wind, "I'm so sorry…"
"You don't have to keep apologising," Isla slowly sat back down.
Ares lingered for a little while before she joined her, huddled together, letting the warmth from the fire seep into their bones.
Nobody said anything for there was nothing left to say. The numbers were breaking down so fast, and a small, dark part of Isla realised that without Amryn, what hope did she or Ares have?
Niobe was feeling antsy.
Not only had two wolves howled almost back-to-back, but the blizzard wasn't letting up with even an inch. It made the glass shake as she struggled to tear her gaze away from the white storm outside.
What if the blizzard is permanent? What if we don't have enough supplies to outlast it? There were too many open-ended scenarios that Niobe couldn't plan for, even if she wanted to. She twirled her thumbs, nervously biting on her bottom lip, trying to seem calm for Rafe's sake.
"You're making me a nervous wreck with you keep standing there," Rafe mumbled from behind her.
"Sorry…" Niobe turned around, "Just waiting for it to pass."
"I know…" Rafe was sympathetic, something Niobe was still adjusting to, "Not much we can do about it though, you know? When it lets up, we'll know. And then—"
"—And then we move," Niobe nodded, "Agreed."
"No, not move," Rafe answered back, "We're better off here. We're safer here. I don't know why I thought heading out into the forest was even remotely a good idea. Here… we're dry and safe and protected."
Niobe inhaled sharply, breathing as steadily as possible, "You're right."
"—Shit. I mean, we can, if you want?" Rafe stared down at the floor, like a child waiting to be scolded. He seemed so caught-up in making sure that he and her were okay, that she thought it was almost amusing to see him so actively trying not to stamp on her toes.
"I'm just… feeling anxious," Niobe admitted, "I was here before, and… and I didn't do so well… obviously."
Rafe laughed dryly, "Same. I think I got to the final ten until, well, stab."
Niobe hated that she remembered every gory detail of her own death. She almost wished that they didn't regain their memories so she could just live her life peacefully, blissfully unaware of the dark cloud hovering overhead.
"Sit down?" Rafe asked, holding the gauze to his forehead, "Please?"
Niobe pried herself from her scouting position, sliding down onto the floor next to him. She eyed up the gash on his forehead, trying not to coddle him.
"It's going to get infected if you don't air it," Niobe mumbled.
"I am. See?" Rafe pulled the gauze away, "Ah, air. I feel better already."
Niobe cracked a smile, "We should clean it again."
"We should not," Rafe tightened his jaw, "It stings. I don't like it."
"I don't think you're supposed to—"
"—I'd rather drink it—"
"—I don't think you're supposed to do that, either," Niobe laughed nervously.
Rafe laughed also, light and breezy, chasing away the dread that hung around them like a bad smell. His eyes, however, found Niobe's throat where the bruising continued to darken more and more violently.
"Please stop looking," Niobe nervously pulled the collar of her shirt to cover it up, "It's no big deal. It's not like an open wound that could get infected."
"Sorry— I'm dumb," Rafe shook his head.
"You're not…" Niobe whispered, "I just don't think I can wear it as well as you can."
Before she knew it, Rafe was shoving the bottle of rubbing alcohol into her hand alongside some fresh gauze. She looked at him, seeing the sad smile on his face that meant well but constantly got him into sticky situations.
"I'll let you hurt me some more? To make it up to you?"
Niobe gently accepted the offer, "I don't want to hurt you. We just need to make sure you're okay. I… I'd rather not do this alone."
There was a moment of silence. A true understanding between the pair that made both feel infinitely more at ease. No longer did Niobe feel antsy — instead, she felt like she could face the world, as long as Rafe stuck by her.
"Just don't shriek this time, okay?"
Sanjay just needed to be very, very quiet.
He kept his body completely still, back pressed against the door of the bedroom. He even steadied his breathing to the point that it clogged up his throat, holding onto it for too long in order to not draw any attention whatsoever.
It was just his luck to be stuck in a house during the blizzard, with tributes barricaded downstairs. It was also just his luck that meant they never bothered to check upstairs, eventually finding him.
Eventually, his luck would run out.
A shriek from downstairs pierced the deaf silence that Sanjay had grown accustomed to, making him tense. It happened periodically, but it never made it any easier — and a small part of Sanjay almost believed it was what he deserved.
He still couldn't shake the image of Ludwin, no matter how hard he tried. It was ingrained in his mind, permanently scarred, something he'd have to take to his grave once more.
Silence eventually came again and Sanjay breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Outside, the storm raged on.
You'll have to make it on your own, Sanjay tried to bolster himself up. If you don't, Ludwin's death would've been in vain.
A swirl of sickness coiled in his gut. I can't let that happen.
But he had nothing of use — a singular backpack with the bare essentials, a superpower that he didn't know how to use or how useful it was offensively, and a heart that didn't feel quite so in it.
He rested his head against the door ever-so-quietly.
Am I even made for this? Sanjay knew the answer. He trained because it was the expected thing to do. He trained because his parents wanted him to. He did it because, academically, it gave him more opportunities for the future.
He never expected to be chosen. Not once, not twice. He wasn't a fighter — he was just trying to do his best in order to be the best version of himself possible.
Tears welled in his eyes but he blinked them away. He couldn't be dogged down like that. Not now.
He listened carefully to the mumblings from downstairs. He knew it was two tributes, fairly comfortable together so either close allies or district partners. The warmth in their voices made Sanjay miss Ludwin's clarity all the more.
He'd know what to do. He'd know exactly what I should do… Sanjay knew he was trapped. He knew that there was no way he was going to fight his way out, one versus two.
Truthfully, though, he knew he didn't want to, either. He recalled how Geneva implied that he was weak for being soft-hearted, for being too careful with his words and actions, for caring too much about others and not prioritising himself.
Sanjay couldn't change who he was. He could only prosper with what was given on him; clear-headedness and a desire to come to peaceful resolutions.
He smiled as best as he could, though there was a dimming in his eyes. A light that couldn't quite shine as bright as it used to. It didn't deter him, though — he would push on no matter what.
I think I know what to do.
Odell's determination knew no bounds.
Like every other tribute, he had resorted to hiding away in a house, waiting for the storm to pass over. He was exhausted and bruised and beaten, skin littered in welts and cuts and dried blood. Most prominently, though, was the blackness of his veins that made his hands darken.
He didn't know how much longer he could go on without breaking down.
The power — whatever it was — made him feel so weak and exhausted, a mental and physical toll that was hard to ignore in the final days.
He sat heavily into the chair, rolling up his pants to reveal the jagged cut in his leg. The wound was slightly infected and, as he pressed his fingers down near it, yellowed blood bubbled.
Odell breathed through gritted teeth. I don't even have anything to clean it up with.
It almost felt like retribution — a price to pay for the heinous crimes he did. For Roman whom he strangled. For Ludwin who, somehow, was struck down.
He struggled to simply move on, however. It was an easy concept, in theory, to place his actions on survival and avoid any shame for it. But it weighed down on him harder than he realised, a burden heavy on his shoulders and heart, a crushing guilt that couldn't be shaken away.
Do I even deserve to continue? Odell almost laughed dryly as he slid his pant leg back down. Not that it would stop me.
He knew that his self-preservation was almost instinctive. He acted before he thought. He attacked before he got hurt. He chose survival over death, every single time.
Odell closed his eyes for some respite from the pain. He remembered the trees and his home and every good inkling in his life that he took for granted.
He just wanted to see it all again. To say goodbye one final time, if nothing else, a chance he felt was ripped from him.
I will get to do it again, Odell promised himself. I can't just give up.
I won't give up.
I will not just let myself down like this.
Odell's hands glowed white as the blizzard around the arena strengthened. There was no break or easing of the snow as it hammered against the forest and village relentlessly. Odell wasn't even aware that he caused the blizzard. He barely understood what his powers did, only the price that he bore.
When the time would come, Odell wouldn't hesitate. He'd swallow the guilt like he had done so much before and claw his way to freedom.
Lazarus refused to look away.
In the darkness under the bridge, Lazarus' eyes raked over the boy he once knew, sitting beside him like an abandoned doll. His breathing was dirtied and broken, as if he had rocks stuck in his throat. His eyes stared out in front of him, void of life and light. He radiated no warmth, only coldness…
But he was Vendelin Elsing — the boy that Lazarus was cosmically entwined to.
"Hey," Lazarus mumbled, pulling his coat tight over his body to try and stay warm, "Do you think we should move soon?"
Vendelin didn't respond. Didn't even turn or acknowledge what Lazarus had said.
"Oh, yeah. You're dead, sorta," Lazarus chuckled lightly, ignoring the lump in his throat. The side of his face burned, however, as just a few inches away at the very edge of the cover, Alanis was huddled together, watching. "You don't have to keep staring at me. I'm fine."
"I didn't say anything," Alanis answered quietly, puffs of cold air wafting up into the darkness.
"You didn't have to," Lazarus couldn't ignore the sadness that stuck at the back of his throat. "It's not like I meant for this to happen."
"I never said you did…"
The blizzard continued as the temperatures plummeted further. Lazarus could feel his fingers going numb as he jammed them into his pockets, shivering, pushing his body up against Vendelin instinctively.
"We need to go soon," Alanis broke the cold silence, "We're not going to survive if we stay out here."
She wants to leave us again already, Lazarus thought bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut. No, no. I don't mean it. She's still here because she cares.
So why can't I just forgive her already and not lose someone else?
Lazarus nudged his arm against Vendelin, choosing to ignore how stiff he was, "Do you think we should go soon or freeze to death? Oh, wait. You can't answer me—"
"—Lazarus—"
"It's a joke, Alanis," Lazarus' voice fell, "I can't make jokes any more? Vendelin wouldn't want me to not be myself, would you, Ven?"
Vendelin moaned in response, gritty and deep. It didn't even sound like him. It sounded like a machine just whirling around in there, keeping him ticking over. If Lazarus stared long enough, he could see the open wounds beginning to rot, exposed to cold air that made them blacken like frostbite.
"I miss him already…" Lazarus whispered.
Alanis didn't answer, Lazarus' voice lost to the winds around them. Beyond Alanis, there was nothing but a wall of white, breaking apart with each arctic gale.
They'd never make it to the village now. There was no way any of them would survive outside of the bridge that stopped the blizzard from breathing down their necks. Lazarus looked at Vendelin once more, unable to truly see the full scope of his face in the dark. You didn't deserve this. You don't deserve to freeze, either.
"Vendelin wants to come with us."
"Lazarus… I don't think that's a good idea," Alanis warned.
Lazarus swallowed the lump in his throat, "We're not leaving him."
A puff of cold air escaped Alanis' lips after what felt like an eternity of silence, "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah," Alanis mumbled, "If that's what you want… we can take Vendelin with us."
Even amongst the sadness, Lazarus felt his heart swell just a smidgen. He turned to face Vendelin with a smile, even if it was a ghost of its former self, "We'll protect you this time, okay? I won't let you down again, Ven. I promise you."
Deep down, he knew Vendelin was dead. He knew that Vendelin was now nothing but a reanimated doll, bonded to its unlawful maker. But it was hard to see it when he still looked the same, smelled the same, and acted the same… mostly.
It was hard to let him go when he was still by his side.
"I promise…" Lazarus whispered again, still smiling, "I promise."
Cosette marched on through the snow with heavy feet.
Her eyes twitched and squeezed as flurries of snow battered against her. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, trying to preserve some warmth, body tense with every shiver and chatter of her teeth.
She didn't even know where she was going, simply walking ahead with purpose and conviction, trying to ease away the darkness that curled somewhere at the back of her mind, clawing forward.
You'll never be good enough for Limos!
You're going to die as a sinner because you don't believe enough!
You are unworthy!
A rotten apple amongst the orchard!
Your Mother was right about you… you deserve to burn!
"Stop…" Cosette whispered, bluish lips barely moving
Her head jerked and rattled as the thoughts attacked her, legs barely able to keep her steady as she fell to her knees in the snow. Her mouth arched open to scream but no sound came out. Her fingers dug into the frozen dirt below until she could feel, somewhere at the back of her mind, the pain of her nails being snapped.
You'll never ascend to the level you desire. Limos banishes heretics like you!
All around Cosette, the snow shifted and spiralled. As it fell, it deflected away, repelled by the strange aura that permeated from her body.
You'll never be good enough! You deserve to rot in the ground!
"Stop!" Cosette screeched as blood began to pour from her eyes. Dark red streaked down her blistering pale cheeks, sizzling as it hit the snow.
The sound of her voice beckoned through the frozen forest, causing branches to snap and fall, the ground to quake, water to ripple underneath a layer of ice.
Cosette could feel herself slipping away. She could no longer feel her emotions, but she understood them all the same, despite the blackness that coiled around her so tight, she felt like she couldn't breathe. Every pump of her lungs was full of excruciating pain that she couldn't place, couldn't feel, barely deterred her despite the fact that they were slowing down and weakening.
Steadily, Cosette pulled herself up, blood pouring freely from her blackened eyes. The snow continued to deflect off of her body and she no longer felt so terribly cold. She walked, feeling the snow melt away at her feet, lost in a trance.
You want to please Her so bad, don't you?
Yes… yes, it's all I want.
Then you must kill them all. Leave nobody standing. Spill their blood in Her name. Sacrifice them to Her.
Somewhere along her arm, under her coat, her skin began to peel away. Rotted, charcoaled pieces of decayed flesh that could no longer contain the human it held. It splintered and cracked up Cosette's body like she was made of glass, slowly fracturing and falling apart.
How much longer could she go until her power killed her?
Cosette vaguely realised she was killing herself slowly. The power was too tremendous, too dangerous, too volatile. It was only a matter of time, Cosette vaguely thought in the smallest crook of her mind, before she would die to her own gift.
She just had to kill them all before she killed herself.
For Limos.
Rafe didn't have many regrets in life — but atonement was never his forte, anyway.
Niobe, however, deserved as much. She was everything that Rafe wasn't: kind, considerate, helpful, humble, earnest. She was everything that Rafe knew he should be but struggled to comprehend on a deeper level.
"Nobody has died yet…" Niobe mumbled, sat right next to her, "Everyone must be safe at the moment."
Rafe nodded, "Good for them, bad for us."
"Yep," Niobe answered quietly, "Though it doesn't feel good to think about it either."
I hope they all die for us, Rafe thought callously, though Niobe's influence on him was already leaving its mark. Painless, of course. Nobody deserves to suffer. Except maybe Cosette for throwing me into a tree. Rafe stopped his thoughts again. Wait, no. I take that back too.
Rafe blinked, stars peppering his vision. He just felt exhausted. The gash on his head made him feel dizzy but it was the aching in his bones that hurt the most. A deep thrum that pricked along his arms and chest.
"I need to be healed up by the time we have to fight. I can't have you just protecting me."
Niobe laughed lightly, "We're allies. It's what we do for each other."
Rafe smiled, warmth filling his chest, "I know. I would do the same for you, too. Well, I already did, but you know what I mean. The sentiment is still there."
"Hopefully we won't have to fight much," Niobe replied, "I don't fancy our chances against Cosette again."
Don't think it, Rafe. Don't think it— Rafe paused, taking a deep breath. Maybe just a little bit.
"I don't even know who is alive any more. We haven't seen anyone at all."
It was a blessing, truly — Rafe knew he was bullheaded, rushing into things that he didn't scope out properly prior. He would act first, think later. Something Mama berated him on constantly. This time, however, it would be more than just cuts and bruises. It would quite literally be the last chance he had… one too many already.
Niobe rested her head against the wall, "Let's not think about it just yet."
Rafe closed his eyes, allowing himself some rest. The howling of the wind kept him distracted, teetering somewhere in a fog of semi-sleep. He could hear his blood in his ears, thudding away, breath shallow and harsh as the pain in his back continued to needle against him.
Then, there was an audible creak — something from above.
Rafe's eyes shot open, "Did you hear that?"
Niobe was already on her feet, "I did…"
Adrenaline spiked in Rafe's body as he steadily pulled himself to his feet, legs locked from being sat down for so long, "Somebody is in the house. Shit."
They had no weapons between them. Nothing but their fists and whatever they could salvage. Niobe's mind got there first, however, as she scrambled for a chair.
"What are you going to do? Give them a rest, put their feet up?" Rafe hissed quietly, "Snap a leg off."
"They'll hear that—"
A door from upstairs opened, an eerie creak that sent a nervous chill up Rafe's spine. There was one, two, three footsteps as a shadow loomed at the top of the stairs.
"Niobe!" Rafe hissed again, "Snap a leg!"
Niobe lowered the chair at an angle, slamming the heel of her boot into the leg. The sound was explosive, making the person at the top of the stairs pause, shadow hunched over in the muted whiteness of the house.
"We have a weapon!" Rafe shouted, trying to bide Niobe some time, "You better just leave!"
There was a moment of silence before a boot hit the top step. "I don't want any trouble."
Rafe couldn't pinpoint the voice. He looked at Niobe with wide eyes as she booted the chair again, splintering the leg clean off. It hit the floor with a clatter as she scrambled to pick it up, raising it defensively as the boy's face came into view, blurred.
"You're Rafe and Niobe, right?"
Rafe clenched his fingers to stop himself from trembling, "You're that guy… from One. Sanjay."
"I'm honestly not looking for trouble," Sanjay stepped down a bit further, hands raised, "I was already here when you guys came in and I just… didn't want to disturb you."
Niobe took a step forward, "We don't want any trouble, either. But you're outnumbered here."
"I know," Sanjay smiled shakily, "I was hoping we could come to an arrangement of some sorts. I stay upstairs, you stay downstairs, and when the storm passes, I'll leave. No trouble whatsoever."
It sounded too good to be true — and when it did, it usually was.
But Sanjay didn't seem threatening. Without a weapon, hands raised, exposing himself so easily instead of sneaking up on them. It was a passive move that Rafe couldn't tell if it was genuine or not.
He glanced at Niobe, "What do you think?"
Niobe didn't answer, the weapon still raised, "I don't know…"
"Nobody deserves to freeze to death. Not you, not I. Once it passes, I'll be gone. I promise you."
Rafe still couldn't tell. His upbringing and history had muddied his views on anybody's honesty. Nobody was truly a good person at heart, and everybody was capable of atrocities, especially when their life was at stake.
"Go back upstairs," Niobe whispered.
Sanjay nervously edged back up, "Can I take your word on it that this is a truce?"
Rafe trusted Niobe's judgement. He was in no state to fight or argue, and maybe he was instinctively biased to not just trust anybody.
Niobe nodded, "Yes, you do."
Sanjay smiled, placing his hands together, "Thank you."
Sanjay crept back upstairs, the door shutting. Rafe stared at Niobe, a little more incredulous than he meant, as she began to inch herself towards the stairs.
"What are you doing?"
Niobe bit her bottom lip, "Just being safe."
She disappeared upstairs quietly. There were a few thuds and bangs against the door before Niobe returned.
"I locked him in," Niobe answered nervously.
"You don't have to do this!"
Rafe laughed a little more heartily than he meant to, also, but he just didn't hide his emotions all that well any more.
Niobe smiled sheepishly, "It just gives us more time on what we're going to do. We can't just hold him prisoner forever."
"Yeah," Rafe nodded. I mean, we could. There's no rulebook here. He shook his head. Rafe, stop. "Guess we've gotta speed our plans up a little now. Don't want to make the nice man wait too long."
Amryn just needed everything to stop.
She trembled as she clawed at her head, pressing hard with her fingers to try and stop the unadulterated guilt from bombarding her so much. The faces of those she killed flickered through her mind. Tay, Cal, Oscar. Three people much kinder than Amryn, much more deserving of life than Amryn.
At least, that's what the voices told her as she slammed her palm against the side of her head.
I did what I had to do… I did it to survive…
Whilst I killed Tay as she tried to cling to me for survival. Whilst I killed Cal as he pleaded for me to save me. Whilst I killed Oscar who only wanted to protect me.
She couldn't face the truth that she was selfish, her desire for self-preservation much greater than her empathy for others. A trait she so wished wasn't true but kept teetering on the edge of.
If I stayed any longer, Ares and Isla would've died because of me, too.
Because I just can't seem to stop hurting those around me.
Amryn fell down onto the floor of the kitchen, back against the counters, having found an empty house amidst the thick of the storm.
She curled her fingers into a fist and back again, as if it allowed her to grasp onto reality, reminding her that her thoughts were all in her head. She was just feeling guilty. A simple emotion, one Amryn had felt her entire life and learned to deal with.
So why does it hurt so much more now?
Her breaths came out shaky as she was on the verge of tears, pricking at her eyes. She held her other hand to her chest, slowly hitting it over and over, harder and harder until the pain resounded in her body. The tears slid down her face silently, her ears deafened by the winter winds outside.
Why did I do it? Survival? Villainy? Amryn didn't know any more.
All she knew was the voice that berated her, the emotions that confused her, and the blood on her hands that corrupted her.
A voice so powerful and dark that, at times, it stole her rationale and temporarily numbed her from her actions; to the point where she'd see herself killing Oscar, gutting him through the back, but not understand why or how or what.
It was beating her again.
Somewhere at the back of her mind, Amryn remembered the first time. She got lost down a dark road, lost control somehow, and her ally paid the price. His screams still haunted her, even if the memories as a whole were broken.
History was repeating itself in a way that Amryn couldn't deny made her uneasy.
What do I do? Amryn's breathing lowered to dry heaving, body still trembling as she sobbed silently. What have I become?
The dark voice made her eyes twitch. You're a monster.
No… I'm a good person.
But are you?
Amryn clenched her eyes shut, squeezing her fists until they ached. I am a good person. I just want to live. I just want to go home and live. I don't want to hurt anybody. I don't want to kill anybody.
Blood began to dribble from her nose.
I'm a good person.
It thickened to rivulets, staining her already sodden, blood-dried shirt.
I am a good person…
Static filled her head, burning away the sounds around her until they were muted.
I am a good person!
Her eyes blurred over permanently, turning crimson red. Her ragged breaths fell short as she crumpled over to the side, the unusually gelatinous blood continuing to pool around her. It coiled and curled on its own, embracing Amryn as she slept, slowly seeping back into her through her nose and ears.
But the damage was done. There was no turning back.
Violence had won.
Alanis just knew that it was all downhill from here on out.
There was only one way in which she saw that her and Lazarus, together, somehow survived until nearer the end. A way in which it didn't involve their dead, recently reanimated ally who, for the most part, just made Alanis uncomfortable.
"I promise, Vendelin. I promise. I'm so sorry for this— for what I did to you, I— I let you down—"
It looked like him but it wasn't. Not any more. Alanis almost felt bad for how she dismissed her emotions to the point that she had moved on. She had no choice to, though. She had to keep moving if she had any hope in trying to live.
"We… need to go… soon," Alanis chattered, feeling the cold seep into her bones.
"We will," Lazarus answered quietly.
"Now… Lazarus…" Alanis continued, eyes fluttering shut, "I'm too… cold."
Lazarus didn't answer her but she could see, even in the dark, how he pushed closer into Vendelin. She swallowed the lump in her throat. It seemed Lazarus was determined to fall further and further into the pit of despair, and Alanis knew that she had to do something to stop it.
That foolish, stupid, reckless way in which she could end it.
The way Lazarus would possibly never forgive her for, even if it meant that he had a greater shot at survival.
"Please…" Alanis said again, "I'm… so cold."
Lazarus stirred, "Okay."
Alanis sighed shakily, "Thank you."
She pulled herself up onto shaky legs, trembling as exhaustion had rooted in. Her fingers were numb, clasping loosely at her coat to try and keep warm. Lazarus moved and, like a hapless dog, Vendelin was by his side, moaning unnaturally.
Unnaturally, Alanis let the word sink in. I guess we all are at this point.
She shook her head, "R—Ready?"
"Lead the way… you know how to get there," Lazarus answered coolly.
Alanis truly hated what had happened between them. She understood his anger. She accepted that, as a whole, he just needed someone to blame. It didn't make the pain hurt any less, however. In fact, every cool response only chipped away at Alanis' hope for reconciliation.
Their time together could be so short that she couldn't bear the idea of it ending so sour.
Alanis took a deep breath that filled her lungs with ice as she trudged out into the snow, arms wrapped around her tight. She found the embankment and scaled it quickly and firmly, hearing Vendelin's soft moans behind her to let her know that Lazarus was still following.
Not that he would abandon me, Alanis comforted herself. He'd never just leave me.
"Are you okay, Vendelin—?"
Alanis swallowed, "Lazarus… are you… behind me?"
"Yeah," Lazarus answered, "We are. Vendelin is just struggling to walk in the snow."
Alanis tucked her head down to avoid the snow and kept moving, trying not to dwell on it too much. She was concerned at Lazarus' apparent refusal to believe that Vendelin was not truly dead. She was even more concerned at what Vendelin was capable of, glued to Lazarus' side like a creepy puppet.
I have to save Lazarus, somehow, Alanis briefly knew the answer at the back of her mind, numbed by the cold.
Vendelin has to go.
Ares couldn't ignore her own guilt, no matter how much she tried to.
It was always there, creeping in the darkest parts of her heart, lingering like the roots of a weed ready to overgrow. Whenever she even felt a semblance of happiness or contentment, it struck her down, reminding her that she was to blame for everything that had gone wrong thus far.
For Eustolia's death. For Tay's death. For Cal's death. For Amryn's abandonment. For the beast that chose to pursue, a reflection of her own inner demons, determined to snuff her out.
It was all her fault. Every last morsel of tragedy.
"What are we going to do now?" Ares asked Isla quietly, the blaze of the fire now beginning to dwindle into cinders.
"Amryn has the kindling," Isla mumbled, "So… I don't know."
Ares cradled herself, guilt filling every cavity in her body, "Oh."
"Yeah, oh."
"Maybe… maybe I could go and fetch some?"
Isla's face was stoic and hard to read, even in the light. "I don't think you'll find much out there any more."
"It shouldn't be too hard to find some branches," Ares stood up, eager to be proactive, eager to ease her burdened conscience.
"Ares, stop—"
"—I'll be back really quickly, I promise—"
"Stop," Isla raised her voice slightly, a decibel that seemed to make the cave quake. Ares froze, gut tense, "There's no point. The trees are freezing over. The ice… it'll be upon us soon. There's just no point."
"Did they tell you that?"
Isla's lack of an answer was all Ares needed to know.
"What's happening?" Ares dared to ask, winding her fingers together.
Isla shook her head, "I don't know. They just said that the arena is freezing over, killing everything it touches, and that we won't be able to outrun it. It's too late."
"No…" Ares whispered, "No, it's not. Not if we leave right now and just try—"
"—What's the point?" Isla stopped her, defeated. "What chance do either of us truly have?"
Ares' heart thumped in her chest, making her feel physically sick. Isla was so beaten and exhausted and broken. And it's all my fault. I did this to her… because I couldn't just die alone.
"We have… we have every chance as everyone else," Ares whispered, on the verge of tears, "It would… it would be unkind to let their deaths be in vain because we gave up."
"There's nothing wrong in admitting defeat, Ares."
Ares wanted to give up so many times in her life. Every time she fell down, beaten, struggling to get back up — she did it because Limos gave her the strength to continue. Limos empowered her, showing her kindness and light and warmth that Ares only ever dreamed of receiving from a family that wanted her.
She would always live her life for others, even if she couldn't live it for herself.
She stared down at Isla as the flames eventually dimmed to nothing more than an orange flicker. Tears silently streamed Ares' face, though she tried her best to smile through the pain that tightened around her. I will make sure that you live your life, Isla. I promise I will make up my sins to you.
Praise Limos.
Ares moved around the fire and crouched down until she was almost face-to-face with Isla.
"We can do this," Ares smiled, blushed cheeks wet with tears, "We have to. For Cal."
w w w. sixfeetunderhg. weebly. c o m.
The Fallen:
None.
I have returned!
This chapter was just a nice catch-up with everyone left, just to place plots and arcs and all that fun stuff. With only four chapters left and nine tributes still to die, this is most definitely our last ever 'safe' chapter. From here on out, they're gonna be dropping!
Thank you everyone for your patience and understanding. It means a lot to me that you care enough to wait a little longer. Turns out, if you update every five days, you burn out quicker. Who knew?
~Corey.