. . .
PART III: MORIOR INVICTUS
I Die Unvanquished
_ . _ . _
Catch them and kill them
Your only hope is evil
I will not die, I will keep quiet
I will hold you high above
.
You're on your own
Wait till dawn, and then go.
Chapter 41: Flawed Benevolence
Bloodbath, Day 1
Sharp light cracked through the tunnel above her, and Venatrix's eyes narrowed instinctively into slits.
Daylight washed over her, forceful and jarring as she rose from the earth. A cool breeze swirled almost gently around her ears and teased at her ponytail— far warmer than she expected, though with it came the crispness of altitude, the sharp scent of green things.
Venatrix allowed her eyes to slide open as she adjusted to the light.
Her plate clicked into place, and from deep within the arena, the countdown began, a vibrating drum-beat that resonated beneath the soles of her feet.
Bum. Bum. Bum.
Immediate surroundings first.
The landscape blurred in front of her eyes — green, a greyish green; wide open air — as Venatrix swiveled her head to find herself right between the two people she came here for: Paprika and Starling of Eleven.
They noticed her too. Beneath a pattern of bloodred paint, Paprika's cheeks already sparkled with tears. Fear flickered clearly over the vivid blue lines drawn across Starling's face despite the distance between them.
But Venatrix had no time to spare for their terror.
Bum. Bum. Bum.
Instead, her eyes greedily took in the land surrounding them, focusing beyond the circle of tributes. Her first instinct had been right— they'd risen onto the peak of a mountainous hill overlooking a huge valley, granting Venatrix a bird's-eye view of the land in front of her.
A strong, defensible position indeed.
More semi-flattened peaks rose in the distance, across the valley, and the green steadily resolved itself into shrubs and trees — conifers, mostly. Atop their summit, a mixture of grass and stone and dirt, though outside the Cornucopia's immediate vicinity, jagged land sloped dangerously into a wide expanse of… water?
Bum. Bum. Bum.
Fuck, that is water. A river, to be exact, dark and churning. It sliced a path between the stone as if carved out by an almighty hand— fjord. A fjord. The ground itself seemed to disappear completely a few meters behind the tribute furthest across the ring— the boy from Eight.
Beneath Venatrix's plate, however, the downhill slope practically invited her towards the Cornucopia's mouth, gravity itself offering to aid her sprint.
Those on the other side wouldn't be so lucky.
Buh-bum. Buh-bum. Buh-bum.
Venatrix's heart spiked within her ribs— halfway to zero, the invisible drum picked up pace, two beats for every second. She dragged her eyes away from the landscape; she'd have time for it later. Now, the Cornucopia; now, the tributes.
Now, her sword.
That one; mine. It's mine—
Buh-bum. Buh-bum. Buh-bum.
Next to it, a beautiful curved bow; no doubt who that was for. Weapons, animal-skin packs, sturdy-looking leather breastplates; much more suitable than the one Venatrix wore now. She even caught sight of a rusted bronze helmet, two bone-white horns jutting from its head.
Her eyes refocused on the longsword. She wouldn't be the only one looking at it with this sort of hunger; she couldn't see her slippery ally from One, but she caught Percy a good six pedestals down similarly eyeing the bow.
Buh-bum. Buh-bum. Buh-bum.
Again, Venatrix let her gaze drift around the ring of tributes; Mariposa's blonde head poked out from a few down the left, Patience and Idris side-by-side across the field. Right next to Ochre of Seven, Zavian stood grinning, already poised to run to the center. Fool, dammit.
Eleven, Five, One, Ten, Three… Venatrix made note of the closest tributes to her left; to her right. Eleven, Thirteen, Six, Three, Eight, Two—
Buh-buh-bum— oh fuck, ten seconds — buh-buh-bum—buh-buh-bum.
'Makers, Venatrix's heart felt ready to spring from her chest; almost as ready as her feet.
Wait. Wait for it. Don't jump ahead—
A rustle of movement in the corner of her eye, and Venatrix's head snapped to find Starling frantically fiddling with the pouch at his hip. His token. That's… he's— what's he doing? He managed to extract it— whatever it was; too far away for Venatrix to see.
Only a few seconds left on the clock, but Venatrix realized what he was doing as soon as he drew his arm back, aimed towards… her.
Her stomach plummeted.
Cold fear froze her in place. The token arced through the air, mimicking the now-vindictive curve of Starling's grin, and she was helpless. Helpless. No time to react, no means to retaliate. Nothing to do but watch as it touched the ground in front of her, and—
Nothing.
Two black dots glinted from the face of the six-sided die that sat — innocent, useless — at the base of her pedestal.
—Three. Two—
Holy shit.
A look of sheer horror shot across the Eleven boy's face, and Venatrix found herself launching forwards from the plate before she could fully process what should've happened. Her feet skimmed over the grass faster than she thought possible, and in the second the countdown finished, an elated laugh tore through her teeth, drowned out by the impossibly loud starting horn.
Movement erupted from within the tributes, and Venatrix didn't bother slowing as she reached the Cornucopia first. Holy shit, she thought again; her hand closed immediately around the hilt of the sword — her sword — and the weight felt like a fucking miracle.
The 'Makers were on her side. In here, that was about the same thing as god.
Venatrix hefted the blade as she ran, hopping around the scattered bags and weapons to the closest person along her trajectory; the girl from Seven. She'd noted her name in some corner of her mind, but it didn't matter now, not with Venatrix's sword plunging straight into her chest. Why she'd made the dash for the horn, Venatrix would never know, but she'd long-since let go of unnecessary thought. Only action spoke here— the resistance from the meat of Seven's body; the guttural noise that spilled from her lips as Venatrix ripped her sword free; the heavy scent of blood now tainting the air. Warm droplets sprinkled her face, but mercy wasn't even an afterthought as her own blood sang hot in her veins, breath harsh in her ears, reminding her that she was so very alive.
Seven's body crumpled to the dirt, and her sharp eyes scanned for another victim, another obstacle to eliminate— Twelve girl not two meters away, crouched down to snag a leather satchel.
Instinctively, Venatrix sprang to her feet, but before her sword could strike home, two thin blades sprouted from within the girl's gut. Twelve's pupils dilated in agony as they twisted, tearing free in one fluid movement that nearly bisected her. A whimper escaped the girl's lips as she collapsed.
Venatrix tore her gaze from the body, from the thick stream of blood and viscera spilling from the wound, to confront the killer.
Mariposa stared back, resolute. A line of red trailed from the center of her forehead down her nose, over her lips, her chin. Darker red dripped from her swords, joining the growing pool in the dirt. It wouldn't take long for Twelve to bleed out from a wound that severe, at least.
The ever-growing screams seemed muted around her under Mariposa's gaze. "Vee, your plate–how—?"
"Later," Venatrix snapped. "Watch!"
In tandem they raised their swords as someone — Eight boy, blue markings down his face, pack thrown over his shoulder — barreled towards them, but neither the sight of the two Careers nor the arrow that abruptly pierced his shoulder hindered his movement. Venatrix let her sword dig into his side as he flew past; Mariposa the same, judging by Tooth's grunt of effort. Gaze focused beyond them, he pushed on until there was no more ground to hold him.
Venatrix's eyes widened; he seemed to hover midair before disappearing fully over the abrupt cliffside. "Bye, then," Mariposa quipped, and Venatrix snorted in amusement.
An odd rummaging sound reached Venatrix's ears over the horror-filled cacophony, and her head snapped towards the source— somehow, Zavian had managed to make it to the mouth of the Cornucopia relatively unscathed. As she watched, plucked a prized warhammer from the cache, a wide grin plastered across his features.
It was enough for Venatrix to start in his direction.
Just as she stepped forwards, a blur of movement nearly knocked into her. Venatrix raised her sword in reflexive defense; the blade sliced a deep gash along the intruder's arm, sending them stumbling to the ground.
Venatrix paid them no mind; her eyes flicked back toward Zavian, warhammer raised as he charged an approaching Idris.
Further along her line of sight, Percy's arm drew back, firing arrow after arrow into the writhing masses. Cries of pain accompanied his shots; Venatrix glanced over her shoulder in time to see Caitlin of Eight take an arrow through the eye as she attempted to drag Venatrix's previous victim — Zarim, she realized — to his feet. The Six boy didn't get far before a flash of long red hair pinned him to the ground, shoving a spear into his shoulder as he screamed.
Venatrix didn't stick around to watch the Four girl on her warpath. Nearby, the two from Five grappled over a large leather pack, and Venatrix elbowed Mariposa, jerking her chin in their direction. Valkan's advantage over his smaller district partner was almost pitiful, though as soon as he noticed the two approaching Careers, he ripped the prize from the girl's grip, shoving her into the path of an unexpecting Grethel.
The Three girl reacted quickly. Blood sprayed from Five's throat at the flash of her knives, and Valkan bolted, well over the ridge by the time Venatrix and Mariposa caught up to their ally.
Not a heartbeat later, Percy came skidding over to join them, bow at the ready. "Not as different as I thought," he noted breathlessly, scanning the bloodied field. At the mouth of the horn, Zavian and Idris still exchanged blows, hammer for trident for hammer. Either the Thirteen boy possessed some untapped skill with the weapon, or Idris was dragging it out for the hell of it; judging by his adrenaline-fueled laughter, Venatrix suspected the latter. On the far side, Shannon made a sprint towards Ochre as the Seven boy attempted to join his allies from Ten in their escape with a long axe in hand.
"For you, maybe," Venatrix huffed, deeming interference unnecessary. "No one's even bothering to attack me."
Percy raised a brow. "Do you want them to?"
Almost. But Venatrix didn't dare tempt fate by saying it out loud. Starling of Eleven had already done so enough.
"Don't go asking for it," Grethel echoed her thoughts. "You— fuck, Shannon—" She tore off after her district partner; evidently, the Seven boy's allies had decided to rejoin the fight. Mariposa followed hot on her tail, katanas flashing.
Venatrix stayed with Percy, sword gripped tightly in her fist. She bounced on the balls of her feet as she searched for the rest of the pack, for… "Have you seen the Elevens?"
"Yep."
Following his gaze, she caught sight of Starling's back, attempting a hasty retreat with a satchel in one hand, district partner in the other. Percy drew his bow.
"Percy, they're mine—!"
The arrow flew loose, burying itself into Starling's knee. "Just helping," he clipped, methodically loading another arrow into his bow. Venatrix grunted in thanks, the sound drowned out by the Eleven girl's scream as she fell to her partner's side.
"Come on!"
Over the din, Venatrix registered a high-pitched shout — the Thirteen girl, Veylani — directed towards the Twelve boy and the Nines. They darted past a few meters in front of her, making a break for the ring of pedestals with a decent array of supplies in tow. Hot in pursuit, Viper sprinted after them, glee twisting his features into something ghastly. Panic stretched across the faces of the Nine and Twelve boys when they caught sight of him; enough for them to lag behind.
Venatrix saw the split-second decision form on Twelve's face before he lashed out at his ally.
Viper's sword caught Nine when he stumbled, tearing mercilessly through his back. The poor boy's scream marked the price of his former allies' escape; with the killer distracted by his prey, they made it over the edge to safety— temporary as it may be.
They weren't the only ones; Ochre and friends managed to break from Shannon's assault before the girls joined him. Percy aimed his bow, but Venatrix held up a hand. Even with her partner's expert aim, their allies remained too close in his line of sight for comfort.
A cry of pain pulled her attention back to the horn; she whipped her head in time to catch Idris stumble, clutching at his shoulder. Zavian's warhammer reared back—
"Hey!"
At Venatrix's shout, the Thirteen boy paused, glancing over. It gave Idris enough time to shimmy out of harm's way — why the fuck didn't you strike? Fucking Fours — as Venatrix's feet pounded across the dirt, sword raised to swing. Zavian pivoted, swaying as the weight of his weapon worked against him. No arrows flew in from behind, but she knew Percy stood ready and waiting in case she couldn't handle this.
…Ha.
With a fluid lunge, her sword struck before Zavian could even lift the hammer in defense. Blood seeped instantly through the fabric at his shoulder, but it didn't detract from the look in his eyes, the one that said he realized he'd long-since been abandoned by his so-called friends.
The mad, desperate grin across his cheeks told her he didn't care.
"I was hoping it would be you," Zavian said, hefting his hammer again, but Venatrix didn't respond. The imbalance in his stance told her exactly where the strike would land, and she dodged before it even came close. She didn't bother raising her sword to parry; instead, she lunged again, catching him in the side. Still off-kilter from his previous attack, Zavian took the full hit, a gasp of pain spilling from his mouth as a river of blood poured from the wound.
But he had no spare hand to quench it; the warhammer demanded both.
Venatrix grimaced in pity as he stumbled back, and likewise, she retreated into a fighting stance, only half-mocking. "Should've picked something easier, Thirteen."
"Nah, I'm good." Somehow, the kid was still grinning. Twisted by pain, sure, but bared-teeth all the same. A grunt of effort slipped through as he raised the hammer for another strike.
Venatrix's sword leapt forwards; quicker, more vicious. It sunk deep into the leather at his abdomen, drawing a choked wheeze from his lungs. As Zavian gasped for breath, the sound morphed into a sick kind of laughter; the warhammer fell from his grasp with a muted thud.
He lurched towards her, his hand shooting out to steady himself on Venatrix's shoulder, and she nearly faltered under the extra weight. Zavian barely spared a glance for the steel embedded in his stomach; he staggered forwards, deliberately burying it to the hilt. From beneath the criss-crosses of blue paint, his eyes watered with pain, glinting with a stupid sort of dying bravery. "Good luck with your game," he rasped; the words were hoarse, barely audible, but Venatrix couldn't miss them if she tried.
"It's been an honor," she said, and she found she meant it. Her own hand came to his shoulder, squeezing, and in a swift motion, she wrenched her sword free from his gut. A spray of dark red arced from the wound, leaving Zavian teetering on unsteady legs.
He didn't have time to fall before an identical sword sprang suddenly from his chest.
"That's two for me." The Thirteen boy slid unceremoniously from the blade to reveal Viper's bloodstained sneer. Zavian landed in a heap at their feet, now curled instinctively around his numerous wounds.
Except he wasn't quite dead; blood still bubbled from the Thirteen boy's lips in a desperate attempt to catch air. It wouldn't be long for him though— by the expression on his face, he seemed past the point of pain. For a heartbeat, Venatrix almost wanted to say something to him; she wasn't sure if he'd even hear her, eyes locked on her boots. They hadn't been friends, no, but in any other place, they could've been.
She never got the chance.
Viper's foot nudged him sharply in the shoulder, drawing out a bloody cough. "No place for a sewer rat here," he scoffed, triumphant.
A bitter anger seared in Venatrix's gut; without thinking, she lashed out with her sword, nicking the One boy in the arm. Viper hissed in pain, his own weapon raised defensively, but Venatrix's glare halted him. "Have some respect," she snapped.
Viper's lips twisted in a snarl, proud and bloodthirsty. "Why should I respect someone I just killed?"
"We," Venatrix corrected. "He didn't choose to be here."
Before he could respond, Percy's voice sounded above the now-quiet battlefield. "Venatrix!"
Her head whipped towards him, and then in the direction of his bow— a pair of tributes, hobbling slowly across the grass. The larger one leaned heavily on his partner, the thin shaft of an arrow poking from the joint in his leg. It must have taken them the entire time to get this far; they were moving slowly, almost to the edge of the ridge. Almost to safety.
Venatrix lifted her sword.
She didn't run; didn't need to. They caught sight of her by the time she'd closed half the distance between them, and by then, it was too late.
Only one of them seemed to realize that.
"Go, run!"
Frantically, Starling shoved the smaller girl forwards, hard enough for both of them to stumble. In an instant, Paprika scrambled to her feet, only to turn right back around, trying and failing to yank her partner back to his unsteady feet. Scared to stay, but terrified to leave him, terrified to be alone— it was written clear across her face. Wordless cries spilled from her lips, though as Venatrix neared, they morphed into her partner's name. "Starl—"
"Just leave me Pippa, go!"
"No! You have to come! You have to—" A shriek cut off Paprika's words as she locked eyes with Venatrix; realized just how close the Career was. "Starling!"
"Go!"
Terror got the better of the girl; she turned tail, feet skidding across loose stone, but Venatrix was faster. Her free hand shot out — instinctive, thoughtless — to grab Paprika by the shirt collar; she screamed again, the shrill sound cut-short by the sudden sword through her back. The blade sank halfway before Venatrix extracted it just as quickly, letting the girl's body slip through her fingers. Her gaze turned slowly to her partner, still halfway between sitting and kneeling.
Starling froze, sinking back onto his elbows. He didn't move, even when Venatrix stalked over, leveling her sword at his chin.
He'd nearly bested her, before the Bloodbath even started. Would've blown her to bloody bits had it not been for the benevolent gods in their control room. He'd pay the price for that.
They both knew it.
Kill me, Starling's expression seemed to dare her. Kill me in cold blood, and live with it.
Don't be afraid to tear him apart.
But it wasn't fear that slowed her blade.
Wind picked up the hairs at her face that had fallen from their tie. The array of options unfolded before her.
Kill him now, swiftly, and forfeit one of her strongest playing cards in the game; the only one she could control.
Kill him slowly, as her father had demanded; as the Capitol was no doubt expecting. Venatrix imagined them, salivating on the edge of their seats for another drop of blood, waiting for her actions to mark the end of the Bloodbath or to drag it out further.
Or, as sickening as it sounded, she could keep him around for later, when things got dull. They'd like that, wouldn't they?
Venatrix's sword pressed against Starling's throat, gentle enough not to break skin.
(She could let him go.)
(He wouldn't get very far, not on that leg. And how the hell would she explain that?)
Vengeance, that's what they'd called this— hers or her father's, it made no difference. Not with Starling looking up at her like that, both resilience and resignation trapped in his dark gaze, along with the very cold knowledge that he was about to die.
Venatrix knew what was going to happen. She'd seen it before, hadn't she?
All in her head.
A bead of blood rolled down the length of her sword, dripping into the hollow of his throat. Starling didn't flinch, his voice strong despite a small tremor. "What are you waiting for?" His chin lifted, ever-so-slightly; ever-so-defiantly. "Just make it quick."
Maybe it was her mistake to look him in the eye and let him be more than an obstacle, but Venatrix couldn't bring herself to regret it. She nodded, never breaking his gaze.
And in one clean stroke, she cleaved his head from his shoulders.
It rolled into her peripheral, but Venatrix didn't do him the disservice of ogling; instead, she stepped away from his body, bracing the entirety of her weight against her sword — the blood of four already soaked into the steel — and allowed her eyes to slip closed. For a heartbeat, she let the cold mountain air caress her cheeks, sharp but welcome.
The scrape of her sword against bone still rang in her ears, sword against stone. Quick as it had been, the strike seemed to take everything out of her.
She felt as empty now as she did watching her sister burn, bled dry of her exhaustion-inducing rage. Funny how in all the excitement, all the bloodlust, it was only now that thoughts of Bellara flashed through her mind.
In truth, her sister was so far from here.
(As were her killers.)
A heavy boom rang suddenly through the arena, earth-shaking enough to nearly knock Venatrix from her balanced perch. With a firm exhale, Venatrix straightened her shoulders. She swept one sleeve across the blood-soaked blade of her sword before tucking it into the holster at her belt; another cannon shout followed her ascent to the Cornucopia.
And another. Another… Ten in total.
The stench of blood shadowed her on the wind — carried on her skin, within the folds of her clothes — as Venatrix hiked back up the ridge. It heightened to something near-unbearable at the site of the massacre, shot through with the rest of the unpleasantness of death; involuntarily, Venatrix's nose wrinkled in disgust.
"—only got two." Percy's voice rose above the others as she came within earshot; he'd knelt down next to Caitlin's body, gaze trained on his allies as he weasled the arrow from the girl's lifeless skull. The pair of blue stripes trailing from forehead to jaw wrinkled as he narrowed his eyes. "Her, and… Six girl, I think? But I injured a decent amount."
"Only two?" Patience huffed incredulously. "Idris and Shannon didn't get any."
The eyes of the pack turned to Venatrix as she spoke up. "Not Percy's fault."
"Ah, look who it is," Viper sneered. "The honorable Venatrix Pyke, returned from her quest of slaughtering babies."
"Oh, shut up," Mariposa snapped. "As if you wouldn't do the same."
"Probably."
Ignoring the One boy's taunts, Venatrix turned her hard stare towards Idris, where he'd begun to tend to his wound with Patience's help. "You had the chance," she said harshly. "You could've easily killed Zavian, but instead you chose to mess around and get yourself hurt."
Idris quailed from her gaze, wincing in pain. "I wasn't trying to."
Sure. She'd given him an opening, and he hadn't taken it. With the way Patience returned her glare, however, Venatrix figured it better not to dredge up more problems within the pack than they already had. Instead, she jerked her chin towards Viper. "Why don't you go double-check the bodies?" He looked about to protest, but she continued. "You might get an extra kill if someone is faking." With a new eagerness, the One boy stood to follow her orders.
Patience turned to her. "And how many kills did you get, Pyke?"
Elevens, Seven, Zavian… "Four."
"Four?!"
"Excuse you, the Thirteen rat was a team effort," Viper huffed, driving his sword once again into Zavian's corpse, and Venatrix's jaw tightened. They both knew his 'help' had been entirely unnecessary. He stalked past the fallen Seven girl, Eight girl, Six boy, stabbing as he went. "Besides, those last two barely counted."
Venatrix exchanged a quiet glance with Percy as he appeared from the mouth of the Cornucopia with an armful of firewood. "They counted for District Eleven," he said neutrally.
Near the horn, someone had moved the barrels and packs of supplies to reveal a circle of rocks that Venatrix hadn't noticed previously. Percy crouched there now, bow slung over his shoulder as he arranged the logs into a campfire.
Venatrix sank down next to him. Without a word they sat amidst the evidence of the massacre, the one she'd partaken in with such fervor. Now, however, she tore her eyes from it, watching her partner strike steel against flint to spark the kindling as she willed her mind to think of anything but the look on Starling's face before she swung her sword. A silent Mariposa settled down at her other side, passing around a skin of water and a rag to clean the rest of the blood from their weapons.
As she did, a strange whistling sound caught her attention, borne on the wind. Frowning, Venatrix's gaze drifted upwards to catch sight of the telltale white parachute of a sponsorship gift. Three more quickly followed, their flute-like tones forming an odd but not entirely unpleasant chorus.
Venatrix perked up as the first one landed squarely in her lap— a small, rolled-up scroll of paper. A thin cord held the paper in place, and slowly, tentatively, she untied it, unfurling the note.
The jagged lines of her father's handwriting glared up at her from the parchment.
'You call that a show?'
Your weakness is clear now
I see your kind eyes
_ . _ . _
You're on your own
Wait till dawn,
And then go.
Broken Bones by CHVRCHES
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