A/N
Oh gosh, these Sundays come around really quick, don't they? I can't believe we are here, just one chapter away from the finale! But before that, of course, we have the final two duels to get through. Who will walk to victory, and who to death?
Scout Summers, District Twelve Male
Scout's throat burned as the remnants of his stomach acid rose, filling his mouth with a putrid taste which he promptly hurled onto the polished wooden floor. He watched with disgust as the thin liquid seeped into the wooden fibres, forming a dark damp patch in the corner of the room.
He pushed himself back from his knees, sitting back down and leaning his back heavily against the pale blue wallpapered walls. As his eyes fluttered shut, the memories of this room –this very replica of the Justice Building where he had said goodbye to his family –attacked him from all angles.
He could hear Ebon's cries as she was torn away from him by the rough hands of a Peacekeeper. Similar hands had likely dragged his brother Shale to the noose eleven years ago. The same hands would carry Scout's body from the arena.
Scout wondered whether his body would be returned to Twelve. Shale had been buried just outside their shack in the Seam; they couldn't afford a funeral or proper burial. In fact, most people in Twelve were buried below a few shallow layers of dusty earth –just walking down to the mines every day Scout likely would have walked over an unthinkable number of graves.
Would his family bury him beside his brother? Would Ebon sit beside their graves, weeping as the only surviving Summers child?
Scout felt for the cherry blossom bud he had collected from the grove a few days prior. He had kept it, thinking of his brother's grave. Since Shale's death, if Scout came across items he thought his brother would have liked, he would take them and place them on his grave. Shale would have loved the blossoming pink petals; Twelve was a desolate landscape of grey –just one of those pink petals would be like gold within the Seam.
The sound of a canon firing startled Scout. His entire body flinched with fear; his hand skirting to the side and unexpectedly dunking into the damp patch on the wooden floor.
Scout gagged.
"Scout Summers, District Twelve," an automated voice filled the room. "Please proceed in sixty seconds."
Scout's body froze. His limbs, weighing the same as the building itself, were unable to move as Scout stared in horror at the door.
You can do this, despite what the world thinks about Twelve.
Ebon's written words of encouragement circled Scout's mind as he forced himself to his feet, using the wall as a crutch to stabilise his stance. He wondered what the viewers at home were thinking as they watched him in their homes –despite not having much to their names, every household had been given a streaming device to watch the Games and Peacekeepers had regularly inspected homes to ensure that the horrors were being witnessed each year. A tribute from Twelve hadn't reached the final eight in a fair few years –were they rooting for Scout now? Or did they know the truth that never again would a tribute from the coal district leave the arena alive?
Eudora and Tula had made it abundantly clear that the Capitol would never allow Scout to walk freely from the Games. So what was the point in trying to fight against the impossible?
Scout stood before the door as the countdown continued.
The ending may be inevitable; but he could still change the route there.
3…2…1.
Scout swallowed the rising bile at the back of his throat as his hand shakily rested on the doorknob, turning it slowly with dread.
The door opened.
With a trembling step, Scout walked out onto the landing, his palms clammy as his hand gripped onto his hammer.
But it was empty.
A sense of both relief and further dread filled Scout at once. He had been afforded additional time, but that only delayed the inevitable.
He tried to compose himself as he made his way down the grand staircase, careful not to catch his boots on the cascading train of white roses that lined the stairs. There was nowhere to go other than down the stairs and back into the maze of the manor.
It was as if he had come full-circle. The grandeur of the staircase resembled the majesty of the golden rose cornucopia; and the endless winding corridors mapped the maze of hedges where Scout had experienced a brush with death, both on the receiving end and the giving.
There were few places to hide. Hiding had been Scout's defence for almost the entirety of the Games –surely the Gamemakers would not allow him to continue that streak.
His thoughts seemed to ring true as Scout tried each door he passed down the corridor; every one of them firmly locked.
In a panic, he flung himself back against one of the doors, clutching onto his chest with the hand that wasn't holding his hammer.
Through his clothes he could feel his heart thumping, echoing beneath his ribs and sending pulsations down his limbs.
A single tear fell from the corner of his left eye.
Scout had heard two canons since he had entered his room; feeling relieved to have escaped the presence of Listra Wray. He had no idea who the canons had belonged to, but knowing the rules of the game that meant that two tributes had been successful, and only two more could join them.
If only Eudora could send him a list now; the one he had found in the bottom of the box sent by his mentor was now void of use. He already knew who the final eight tributes were; he had seen them in the flesh. Yet he had never wished to know who was still alive as much as he wished to know now. Not that it would make much difference; all seven of his opponents he wouldn't like to face. If he had to choose, perhaps he'd go for the skinny boy from Four, but even then Scout wouldn't fancy his chances of survival.
The pessimism inside Scout was consuming him. He fought for the slither of hope that was buried somewhere deep in his mind, beneath the feelings of defeat, victimisation and bitterness.
He found it in the thought of Ebon.
His little sister was the motivation Scout needed to push his body away from the door and continue to place one foot in front of the other.
He wouldn't appear weak in front of the cameras; not if Ebon would be watching. Scout would want his sister to see him fighting to live; that alone may provide her some comfort after his death.
As Scout continued to walk down the corridor, he spotted a faint light cast across the carpet and along the rose-lined walls. His body tensing, Scout crept towards it, his hand shaking as he held onto his hammer.
It was an open door.
A place to hide, perhaps? Or a trap?
Scout hoped it was the former as he poked his head into the room.
The first thing Scout noticed was the scattered furniture that was spread around the entrance. The second thing was the body on the floor.
A sudden fear gripped Scout as he stared at the body, before he realised that the tribute would have been killed during one of the first two duels, and therefore not by whoever was out to kill him now. That being said, if Scout had stumbled across this room so easily then so could his opponent.
Scout decided he wouldn't stay in the room, but his curiosity led him to inspect the scene for clues on who his opponent could be through the process of elimination.
The body belonged to the boy from Four. His body was almost symbolic of a skeleton; pale skin barely clinging to his bones. Dark circles formed under his closed eyes and his lips were slightly parted as though he had been speaking as his final breath had emptied from his lungs.
There were three perfect punctures in his jacket, close to his chest.
Almost at once Scout knew who had claimed the boy's life: the girl from Four.
Scout could distinctly remember seeing the Career wielding a three-pronged spear-like weapon –two in fact. One golden, and the other more standard.
Pairing District partners against each other was a cruel move, Scout considered as he looked sympathetically at the corpse, though he suspected they weren't the best of friends to begin with.
Bad news for the dead boy was good news for Scout; the probability of being paired against a Career was halved. But there were still others he feared almost equally; one individual even more so.
As Scout turned to leave the room, he spotted something beside the boy's body. Frowning, Scout bent down beside the boy and noticed two matches, which had seemingly fallen from his pockets. Feeling a little guilty for looting the dead, but not guilty enough to stop himself, Scout swiped up the matches and shoved them in his pocket.
If the Gamemakers were playing for entertainment, which they almost certainly were, Scout had a strong feeling he knew who was stalking the manor for him.
He wondered if Listra Wray was afraid of fire.
Listra Wray, District Six Female
As Listra paced the corridors of the manor, a scowl was painted on her taught face.
When had she become the villain of the story?
Listra couldn't remember a defining moment when she turned from protagonist to antagonist; there were far too many to choose from. She knew it was long before she had driven Atarah's knife into the boy from Twelve, torturing him slowly as they played a game they would have played as children. It was likely before she had seen the crushed skull of her ally and felt nothing in response.
Was it when she had taken the life of the Career boy, or when she had plunged the machete into Zino, repeating his own torturous words in his ear?
Perhaps it was before the Games had even begun. Nearly beating her district partner to death (had she not been stopped sooner) was surely the sign of an evil person?
Nah, Zino deserved that. And his death.
And there she was, rationalising her actions. At the heart of every villain's story stood their own rationale; Listra was no different.
Yet, despite the blood on her hands, Listra didn't want to be the villain. Ora's family had already branded Listra as such, and she had fought both the world and herself every day to prove that she wasn't the person they deemed her to be. Listra wanted to be good, yet she found herself trapped in a script she couldn't escape.
It was also a pain in the arse trying to be the good guy when literally everyone around Listra wanted to kill her.
Listra sighed to herself as she ran her machete along the wall, slicing off the heads of the white roses that lined it. The flowers landed silently behind her, like a trail of breadcrumbs. Listra didn't care if her opponent could use the flowers to track her movements; they'd run into each other sooner or later.
The corridors were silent as Listra strolled down them. Interestingly, each door she pushed against was locked, narrowing down the places for her opponent to hide. If her opponent wished to hide, that was.
If the Gamemakers were deliberately selecting the pairs then Listra supposed that Scout would be wandering these corridors too –she had recalled his name from seeing his face in the sky the other night and had also persuaded him to remind her of it during their earlier interaction. If not the shy boy from Twelve then perhaps the big guy from Seven would be a good challenge, or one of the Careers. Listra fancied wiping the elegant look from the District Four girl's face.
There she was again, her mind darting to violence and bitter feelings.
Had the Games made her this way, or had they simply allowed the real Listra to express herself?
A fumbling sound caught Listra's attention.
She span on her heels, glancing down the corridor she had just walked down, just in time to catch a dark figure making a run quite literally for their life.
The broad shoulders and dark ponytail confirmed Listra's prediction. As did the number Twelve on their back.
Listra took off, chasing after Scout like a predator running towards its prey. Her athletic frame and years of training with her father and brothers had put her in good form; allowing her to close the gap between herself and Scout in a matter of seconds.
She could hear the panting breaths from the boy as she drew nearer and for a moment she felt almost guilty for her pursuit of his death, though that guilt was quickly replaced by her desire to live.
You are not the villain, Listra, she told herself, you are just surviving, same as everyone else.
Listra reached to her belt and pulled out one of Atarah's knives. Aiming towards Scout, she flicked her wrist as she had watched Atarah do several times, and the knife left her fingers, soaring through the air.
The blade missed its target, but Scout was startled nonetheless. He stumbled to the side, crashing into a stone sculpture of a heavily endowed female. For a brief moment as he turned his head, his eyes caught Listra's and she could see the fear in his pupils as they widened at the sight of her.
Listra offered the boy her best forced smile, which was poor by most standards.
Scout fumbled to find his footing, before taking off once more. Though before he sped away, he pushed the sculpture, sending it crashing to the floor.
Having started sprinting towards Scout before the sculpture had been tipped over, Listra gasped as she skidded to a halt, stopping barely inches before the stone body crashed at her feet.
Relieved not to have lost a toe, Listra stepped over the fallen sculpture, frowning down at the incredibly unrealistic sized breasts. Neither hers nor Ryann's were as large as the stone ones beneath her, though perhaps this was normal or at least desired in the Capitol. Listra couldn't see the appeal herself; surely they would simply get in the way and slow you down? Although she had to admit that perhaps she would have been less opposed to them if she had been presented with them in a closed-curtain type of scenario, and if they weren't made from stone.
Shaking away the distraction, Listra focused her attention back on Scout, who had charged towards a set of double doors at the end of the corridor. As Listra chased after him, the doors swung open and the boy slipped between them, disappearing from sight.
It was interesting how the other doors had been locked, but those had not. It was as though the Gamemakers were deliberately controlling their moves, pulling on their strings like puppets, Listra thought.
It pissed Listra off, but she could do little other than kill the boy and survive until the next thing came along to try to end her life.
As Listra approached the double doors she paused, listening closely. Through the thick structure of the doors she could make out just the faintest sound of heavy breaths, indicating that Scout hadn't retreated too far into the room.
She nudged one of the doors open slowly, pushing it with the tip of her boot. Holding up her machete, Listra took a small step through the doorway, her muscles tensed and ready to react.
As expected, Scout came for her from the side, swinging his hammer towards her. Listra met his weapon with her own, bringing her blade upwards to block the hammer from smashing into her skull like it had to Atarah's.
The collision of their weapons was a brutal force that sent vibrations down Listra's hands, her wrists and her arms. Her grip slackening under the brunt force of the collision, Listra watched as her weapon fell from her hands, the metal blade screeching as it slid down the door. Scout had also felt the impact, though he seemed more prepared –perhaps he had started his mining career already and was used to tools smacking against hard surfaces. His jaw looked tense as he clung onto his hammer.
Thinking quickly before Scout had the chance to make another swing, Listra reached for the second knife in her belt –she had been unable to locate Atarah's third one in the woods so this was her final one.
With a swift uppercut movement, Listra plunged the knife into Scout's hand. He yelped, dropping the hammer, which narrowly missed Listra's feet. The second time her toes had only just been spared.
Listra pulled back her wrist, ready to—
She felt the air empty from her lungs as Scout lunged forwards, crashing his solid body into her slender frame. Listra's mouth opened as she fell backwards, her head slamming hard against the solid floor beneath her.
The room was spinning. As Listra blinked, she could see sparkles above her. It was pretty.
A low sound of a slow melody filled Listra's ears, as though music was being played.
Confused, Listra tried to refocus herself as she lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. As she came around, she realised that the sparkles were in fact a large crystal chandelier that graced the centre of the curved ceiling. She could still hear the sound of music, a sort of string quartet with a steady rhythm. She thought she must have been concussed, but as she glanced to the side, she realised that the room the two of them had entered was in fact a ballroom.
How theatrical.
Listra rolled over, trying to get back to her feet. Beside her, Scout was clutching hold of his hand, where blood was trickling out from the knife wound. He gasped as he saw Listra move and dove towards her.
Listra pulled her knees up as Scout flung himself towards her, digging them sharply into his ribs. He choked as the impact winded him, giving Listra the opening to send a punch soaring towards his face.
The feeling of her bare knuckles against Scout's cheekbone sent a rush of adrenalin through Listra's veins.
The feeling of bare knuckles against her own cheekbones doubled that rush.
"Oh, you wanna dance?" she spat, a small amount of blood splattering on the ballroom floor beside her. "We're in the right place for it."
She dug her elbow into Scout's neck and then rolled out from beneath him. Quickly getting to her feet, Listra drove her heavy boot into the side of Scout's head, sending him toppling to the side.
Listra walked closer to Scout, raising her leg and stomping down on him, catching his shoulder and hearing a small crunch. Scout yelled in pain once again.
It was a brutal way to kill someone, beating them to death. But Listra was most at ease using her own body as a weapon. Blades were unpredictable; they could be turned against you with just the right move, but it was difficult to have your own fists used against you.
Listra pummelled the boy, who had now lifted his arms to cover his head. Her fists and feet collided with all parts of his body, her motions blurring as she lost herself in the fight as she had experienced more than once before.
Meanwhile, the waltzing music continued to play.
Listra!
The sound of Ora's voice caught Listra off-guard. She froze, looking around the room desperately. But it was just in her head; Ora was dead. She had died from an overdose and Listra hadn't stopped her.
Maybe that was when Listra had become the villain; when she had failed to protect her best friend from herself.
A hand clasped itself around Listra's ankle. She felt herself yet again tumbling towards the floor.
Landing on her knees, Listra gasped, clawing back her breaths. Sweat dripped down her face, leaking into her eyes. They stung as she rubbed them with the back of her hands, looking up to see where Scout had escaped to. He had reached the door and had picked up both of their weapons.
Listra was a badass, so her brothers told her. But maybe she was just bad.
In the stories, the heroes always won. In reality, it was the villains who ruled the world.
Where was Listra now –in a story, or in the real world? Reality was starkly in front of her; what was more real than seeing death? Yet she knew with a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach that she was living someone else's story. Her actions weren't her own, she was simply an actor on a stage, and her grand finale had come.
Before her stood the protagonist, battered and bruised, but standing strong. She, the antagonist, knelt before the mercy of her inescapable ending.
I guess I was the villain all along, she thought as she watched the machete leave his hand.
Listra's eyes rose, following the blade as it rose higher into the air. With a feeling of confusion, she realised as she heard the snap above her what the boy from Twelve had done.
Listra considered trying to run, but she couldn't outrun gravity; not when the large crystal chandelier was hurtling towards her at full speed and her body was weakened.
She closed her eyes, thinking of Ryann as her final thought as the chandelier smashed around her, its broken pieces piercing her body like a voodoo doll.
Barric Forsyth, District Nine Male
tw: mentions of suicidal thoughts
Barric didn't even flinch as the third canon fired.
He had lost track of how long he had been sat alone in the plush decorated room, his knees drawn to his chest and his head leant against the wall as he ignored the chairs around him. He twirled one of his knives around in his hand, lightly drawing it along his bare skin; enough pressure to feel its presence but not enough to draw blood.
Barric had come close to ending his life on several occasions over the past year. An impulsive thought as a harvester drove by –what if I jump in front of it? Clutching hold of a broken shard of glass in his bloody hand after sending his fist through a mirror –what if I plunge this into my heart? Those thoughts had come little and often, yet every time he had pushed them away and carried on living. The one thing that kept his heart beating beneath his chest was that tiny pinprick of hope that he could find redemption before he joined Miller, Teff, Rye and Farro in Hell.
Redemption, it seemed, had found Barric. Sweet redemption in the form of sweet Hesmina. Barric had sworn to himself that he would save her, yet it seemed as though his promise was fracturing.
Three canons had fired since his door had shut –three possibilities of Hesmina's heart having stopped beating.
The fear of the unknown was worse than anything Barric had struggled with before. At least when he awoke at night, hearing the screams and the sound of his friends choking on their own blood, he knew the outcome. They died; he survived. But now, trapped in these four walls that were both familiar and yet also so foreign, Barric was terrified.
Barric slammed his head against the wall behind him, though he was too numb to feel the pain.
He wished he had never left Hesmina in the woods after Cambric had died. If he had known that they would be separated so soon inside the manor then he would have let that bastard Dalton escape with Cambric's blood on his hands. What made it even more unbearable was that Barric hadn't even been the one to kill the treacherous boy from Ten; it had been Piken, and he hadn't even wanted to. He'd killed Dalton to save Barric.
Why am I always saved?
It was a question that forever remained in Barric's mind. A question he knew he would never find the answer to.
"Barric Forsyth, District Nine."
Barric lifted his head.
"Please proceed in sixty seconds."
"Finally," Barric muttered to himself as he got to his feet and walked across the room to the door.
As the seconds counted down and Barric shook the tension from his muscles, he committed himself to trying hard to survive. Not for himself, of course, but for Hesmina. If she had survived, he needed to ensure that he was there to keep it that way. He didn't particularly fancy his chances against one of the Careers, but he was no stranger to a knife fight and if it came down to it, Barric had no problems with fighting dirty.
3…2…1
The door clicked as the lock was released. Reaching for the doorknob, Barric turned it and pushed open the door.
Unbothered by the empty landing he found himself on, Barric jogged down the staircase, treading lightly despite his sturdy boots. At the bottom of the stairs he continued straight, passing through the corridor as silently as a shadow –he knew how to move undetected from his previous life of crime.
The sweet stench of roses burned his nostrils as he explored. The endless veil of white roses lining the corridor walls was almost suffocating; feeling as though the entire building was shrinking, closing in on him. Barric couldn't help but draw his body in closer, making himself smaller as he slipped through the manor, a knife held in each hand; one raised in front of his jaw and the other down by his waist.
The corridor broke into a corner. Holding his breath, Barric approached with caution, slowly peering around the wall, his eyes focusing between the overlapping white petals that lined the wall.
Then, he saw her.
Beauty radiated from Hesmina as Barric's cold eyes fell on her. He traced her gentle curves as she stood still, wielding her axe in one hand as the other tucked a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ears. It was perhaps the sexiest thing Barric had ever seen in his life and he felt a rush of heat pass through his body before his veins suddenly ran cold as realisation hit.
Hesmina was his target. And he was hers.
"Barric?" Hesmina gasped as Barric stumbled out from behind the wall, unable to contain the raw emotion that was leaking from his pores.
"Hes…" Barric croaked as he felt his knees buckling beneath him, falling to the floor as Hesmina rushed over towards him, her red hair rippling out behind her like a cloak.
The familiar scent of autumn leaves and sweet red berries filled Barric as Hesmina enveloped him in an embrace. Her cheek was damp as she pressed the side of her face against his.
"This was not how I wanted things to go," she whispered, clinging onto Barric with a desperate affection. "What do we do, Barric?"
As she pulled away to look into his eyes, Hesmina gasped as she saw the knife that Barric was holding against his throat.
Barric's hand was steady as he pressed the blade against the soft, vulnerable skin of his neck.
"Barric, no," Hesmina's forest green eyes filled with tears as she sat before him. In the dark pupils of her eyes Barric could see his own reflection. He looked like a shadow of someone who may have existed at some point in time, but who was now entirely lost.
"Hes, I can't let you die," he insisted, pushing the knife in harder. He gulped.
"If you die, then I die," Hesmina said firmly.
Barric shook his head. "No, you don't need me. I—"
"No, Barric," Hesmina interrupted softly. "The rules, remember? If one of us objects or tries to kill ourselves then we both die."
Fuck. Barric had forgotten about that rule.
Barric lowered his hand from his neck. Without hesitation he held out the handle of the knife towards Hesmina.
"Then you kill me," he said plainly, not a flicker of doubt in his voice.
Hesmina stared at the knife. She then looked back up at Barric.
"I…," she gasped for breath. "I can't do that."
"You have to," Barric pushed, taking Hesmina's hand and wrapping her fingers around the handle of the knife. "Please."
Hesmina's hands trembled as Barric held his own around them.
"It's not up for negotiation," Barric said firmly before Hesmina could open her mouth to protest. "I die, you live. There ain't another option."
Hesmina's eyes fell back to the knife.
"C…can we talk first?"
Though Barric would have preferred a quick death to spare both of them the agony, he would have given everything in the entire world to Hesmina if she asked. So if she wanted to talk, then they would talk.
Barric nodded. "Of course."
Slowly, Barric removed his hands from Hesmina's. She looked nervously at the blade before placing it cautiously down on the floor beside her, as if it were a bomb.
"What d'ya wanna talk about?" Barric asked awkwardly.
What did two people talk about in these situations?
But it seemed as though Hesmina wasn't ready for words as she flung herself towards Barric, both of them toppling over swiftly.
Hesmina landed gently on top of Barric. He could feel her heart beating as she pressed herself against him, tracing her fingertip delicately along his jawline. As Hesmina brought her lips down to meet Barric's, he felt a rush of electricity crackle in his veins, a slight moan escaping his mouth.
His hands found Hesmina's waist, sliding beneath her jacket and resting against the warmth of her skin. Her hips wiggled a little as she deepened the kiss, her tongue playing with Barric's.
Hesmina tasted like happiness; that was the only way he could describe it. Barric's life had never been touched with such a feeling until he had met Hesmina, and he felt as though he could drown himself in her. He wanted her to consume him, fill the darkened crevices of his mind with her light. In that moment Barric knew that if she asked, he would carve out his own heart and hand it to her without hesitation. He was hers entirely and undoubtedly.
For the first time in his existence, Barric felt at peace. He almost craved death so that he could preserve that feeling and never have to feel anything else ever again.
No more hesitation; no more doubt. The endless cycle of torture was nearly at its conclusion.
Barric was ready.
Hesmina Caspum, District Seven Female
As Barric's body shifted under Hesmina, bringing them both upwards so that Hesmina was sat in his lap, Hesmina allowed her lips to linger on Barric's for one additional moment before the kiss broke off.
Barric's eyes were still closed as Hesmina fluttered her eyelids open, quickly averting her gaze as she noticed through her peripheral vision the knife resting beside her leg.
A hollow feeling of dread clawed inside Hesmina. The thought of taking any life was difficult for her to process, but the thought of Barric's blood staining her hands was unbearable unlike any other pain she could have imagined. She wanted to banish the thought; to tie it down with unbreakable chains, lock it away behind unbendable bars and dump it in the depths of the ocean within her mind, never to resurface again. She knew, of course, that she could not hide from reality forever, though she would savour as many moments of peace as she could before reality came knocking.
"So…" she spoke, breaking the almost silence that had otherwise been filled with heavy breathing and the sound of locked lips. "Dalton."
Barric tensed at the mention of their dead ally's name.
Sliding off Barric's lap, Hesmina sat a few feet in front of him, her legs crossed neatly as she pulled at a strand of her auburn hair, twirling it around her finger.
"Piken killed him, didn't he?" she asked, looking up as Barric chewed on his bottom lip.
He nodded.
"I thought so," Hesmina said softly.
In truth, she had known the moment she had locked eyes with Piken after their dance with death outside the manor. There had been a reflective glaze over his eyes and a vacant expression on his usual cheerful face that told Hesmina everything she needed to know. Despite only knowing Piken for perhaps around two weeks, Hesmina felt that she understood her District partner as she would understand a brother. Not that she had any siblings. Or any living siblings, she corrected herself.
"He was protectin' me," Barric told her truthfully. "I was ready to let Dalton go but then he went for me. If Pike hadn't reacted…"
Hesmina was disappointed, but not surprised with Dalton's actions. She had hoped that he wasn't the selfish boy he had shown himself to be and that, like Cambric, he had grown to appreciate the friendship that had been found in the most unexpected of places. Yet Hesmina also didn't consider Dalton selfish, not entirely. He wanted to live; Hesmina couldn't criticize that. She had simply hoped that he had gone about it in a different way. But alas, Hesmina could not alter the past, as it seemed she could not alter the future.
She could almost feel a burning heat radiating from the knife beside her leg, scorching through her trousers and peeling her skin.
"I hope Pike is ok," Hesmina wondered out loud, desperate to continue a conversation. "I wonder who he went up against."
Barric shrugged. "Whoever it was, I bet he gave 'em a good fight. He'll be waitin' for you, I'm sure."
Hesmina hoped Barric was right, though she wasn't sure whether she wanted to see Piken again. Seeing him alive would mean that she had killed Barric and that just was not an outcome she could live with.
"Did you see that golden trident thingy Risa had?" Hesmina babbled on. "It looked incredible. Definitely a sponsor gift. Maybe she killed the District Twelve girl and got the reward?"
Barric nodded, though didn't offer any words in response.
"She has beautiful dark hair, don't you think?" Hesmina said, thinking about the sun-kissed Career girl. "And her skin looks flawless –I bet that's from the sun in Four. I reckon my pale skin would just frazzle in the sun like—"
"Hes."
A gentle hand touched her thigh.
"Yes?" she avoided looking at Barric.
"You're stallin'," he said softly, rubbing his thumb affectionately across her leg.
"Stalling?" Hesmina repeated, her voice almost a whisper. "I'm not…"
Hesmina felt Barric's rough hand cup her chin, lifting her head gently to look into his pale eyes. As she looked at his face; his imperfections a picture of complete perfection to her; a tear broke from her eye, trickling down her cheek.
"I don't want to," she whispered. "I…I can't."
Barric let out a small breath, picking up the knife and placing it in Hesmina's palms.
"I know you don't want to," he said calmly. "But it will be ok, I promise."
Frustration –an emotion Hesmina had little experience with –bubbled inside of her. The culmination of her frustration at Royal's death, Cambric's death, Dalton's death and now Barric's inevitable death had reached breaking point. She had reached breaking point.
"You're a liar!" she screamed, hurling the knife with great force at the wall beside her. The blade bounced off the rose wall, flinging back towards her like a boomerang. A searing pain burned at the base of her neck where it met her collarbone.
"Hes!" Barric exclaimed, throwing himself towards her.
Hesmina sat in a stake of shock as Barric, in a panic, tended to her wound.
After a few moments, Barric pulled away.
"You're ok," he said, breathing a sigh of relief. "It's just a scratch."
Hesmina said nothing.
Barric pinched the bridge of his nose, stressed. "You need to be more careful, Hes. That could've killed you."
She shrugged.
"Hes, I'm serious."
"So am I," she retorted, before bursting into tears.
Sobs began to leave Hesmina's lips uncontrollably, her eyes drowning behind a waterfall of tears. Barric immediately shuffled beside her, drawing her close to his chest. She could feel his heart beating quickly as her tears soaked into his clothes.
"I don't want to lose you," Hesmina sobbed as Barric stroked her hair.
"You won't lose me," Barric replied sweetly, planting a kiss on her head. "I'll always be with you –just in your heart. If you remember me, that is."
"I could never forget you," insisted Hesmina, her words muffled against his shirt.
"Then you'd better win this thing and make a shrine in my honour," Barric laughed, though there was a hint of sadness to his gruff voice.
"It would be the biggest shrine," whispered Hesmina.
Sniffing, Hesmina pulled herself up from Barric's comforting embrace. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, feeling her skin dampen instantly.
"Tributes," a deep voice startled Hesmina. "Please proceed within two minutes or you shall be deemed to be objecting and therefore be eliminated."
Hesmina's heart rate tripled. She began to struggle for air.
"Hes, Hes, look at me," Barric's voice cut through the chaos. "It's ok, you can do this."
He held out his other knife.
Hesmina refused to take it.
"You don't deserve this," she shook her head.
"No," Barric disagreed. "I do. I've done horrible things and I should've died a long time ago."
"That's not true," Hesmina's eyes filled once again with tears.
"It doesn't matter," insisted Barric. "I have nowt to live for –you have everythin'."
"I won't have you…"
"You don't need me," Barric's eyes were focused on Hesmina. "Please, I want this."
He pushed the handle of the knife into Hesmina's hand. She gasped as she felt the weight of it lying in her palm.
"I'm finally at peace, Hes," said Barric. The clear look in his eye showed that he was telling the truth. "You helped me to accept my past, to become a better person. Now all I want is for you to live."
"B-but," Hesmina's lower lip trembled.
"It's ok," Barric closed his hands over Hesmina's, bringing the knife to his chest. "I won't feel any pain, I promise. I'm not scared."
"I am."
Barric shuffled closer, Hesmina's heart shuddering as the knife pressed harder against him.
She closed her eyes as Barric kissed her for the final time.
"I love you, Hesmina," Barric whispered against her lips.
Hesmina kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she felt the knife slide between Barric's ribs.
"I love you, Barric," she said, allowing her eyes to slowly creep open to see his face alive once more.
A small smile formed on Barric's lips as he looked at Hesmina.
Hesmina held onto Barric as the canon fired and the smile faded from his soft lips.
She held onto him as she screamed into the silence. She held onto him as the voice of the Head Gamemaker congratulated her on her success and directed her to the courtyard.
She held onto him as she pulled the knife from his body and held the tip of the blade to her own chest.
For us, Barric.
Hesmina stopped.
She had been here before, but with a different boy dead in her arms: Cambric.
This is not what Barric would have wanted.
She removed the knife from her chest, instead sliding it into her belt. Looking down at Barric, whose body was still cradled in her arms, Hesmina placed a gentle kiss on his frozen lips.
Whispering a final goodbye, Hesmina lay Barric's body on the ground, placing his arms neatly over his chest and straightening his jacket.
Shakily getting to her feet, Hesmina walked carefully around him.
"Hesmina Caspum, please proceed to the courtyard immediately."
A shining light glimmered at the end of the corridor.
Placing one trembling foot in front of the other, Hesmina moved down the corridor, picking up her axe from the floor as she passed it.
To death or to victory, Hesmina made her way towards the light at the end of her darkness.
A/N
Okay, that is it. I am officially retiring because my emotions cannot handle this shit any longer! That was obviously not true at all; I would never not finish this story, but that being said, this chapter has exhausted every emotion within me.
Two more tributes down, and we have our final four: Piken, Risa, Scout and Hesmina. What do you think about these four? Are they deserving of their place in the finale?
I would also love to know your thoughts on these final two duels, as well as predictions for the FINALE! I have no other words for this chapter (I am far too exhausted), so I shall proceed to the chart.
THE CHART
Tributes Alive: 4
Kill Count
Elena: II
Luca: I
Listra: II
Sapphire: I
Tseng: I
Herbie: I
Senna: I
Kai: I
Risa: II
Scout: II
Dalton: I
Piken: II
Hesmina: I
Arena: II
Listra Wray, 18, District Six Female. Submitted by contemporarydancer2
Placed: 6th
Manner of death: Impaled by a chandelier knocked down by Scout Summers
Wow, Listra was such fire. As her brothers rightfully said, she was badass. I adored the way she was so brutal, yet still possessed softer parts to her, shown with her relationship with her girlfriend Ryann, her gentle teasing with her brothers, and her thoughts towards Ora. Listra brought a lot to the early part of the story as well as within the arena; I particularly enjoyed her hatred towards Zino and having her beating him in their apartment was one of my favourite pregames scenes. Going through the arena, Listra seemed to become tougher and tougher. She quickly dirtied her hands with Zino and Silven's blood, and seemed fairly chilled about Atarah's death. To some she seemed as almost a villain as we reached the manor. In her final POV I really wanted to show a different side to Listra; to show her questioning herself, and whether she was the villain she believed herself to be. In the end, she assumed that she was a villain as she saw escape, but should she have survived, I think that she would have accepted herself and discovered that she wasn't a villain at all. Do you think she was a villain? A big thank you to Tia for submitting such a bomb-ass character, I loved Listra so much and hey spoiler alert: she was one of my early considerations for Victor...
Barric Forsyth, 18, District Nine Male. Submitted by Dreadfulsorrow
Placed: 5th [note to those who know: #BARRICFORFIFTH HAPPENED!]
Manner of death: stabbed by Hesmina Caspum
Here is the moment where I confess my undying love for Barric. You've got to love a lost soul to fix, don't you? Oh my heart aches. I'd had this death planned for a while and every week got closer and I wished the day would never come. As much as I adored Barric, he went into the Games with no intention of coming out and so that in itself made it very difficult for him to become Victor; even if he somehow kept miraculously surviving, he would never have let himself be the last man standing. His guilt and search for redemption was such a fun story arc to follow, and I like to see his end as bittersweet. He found love in Hesmina and found some form of peace, although of course I had to taint that by having Hesmina be the one to kill him. That being said, perhaps she was the best person to do that, although where that leaves her now... Barric brought so much to this story for me, not just with his romance, but also with his dry wit and loveable rogue nature. I really wish that there was a reality where Barric and Hesmina could have lived happily ever after, with their neighbouring couple Cambric and Dalton, and uncle Piken swinging by with Trent to take the kids out to climb trees (someone write this as a one shot, please?). Thank you Dreadfulsorrow for sending me a tribute I loved with all my heart. Rest easy, Barric, you will be missed.
As always, a huge thank you to everyone for continuing the support! As for MoS updates, please do make a start on your tributes as I will be accepting submissions very soon! Any questions, shoot them my way!
A big huge EEEEK as next chapter will be THE FINALE! Next Sunday is Halloween and it would be so iconic to have the finale released then. However, I do have visitors coming this week, so I will do my best to try to get some writing done! I'll leave a note on my profile if the chapter is going to be delayed!
Any predictions for the finale?
Until then!
~Firefly