Author's Note
I do not own the Hunger Games.
Hyperion kept an even closer watch on Four now she was carrying a pointy weapon.
Azrayk had broken off the other spider pincer and kept glaring at Four, jabbing it in the Career's direction every now and then.
"I'm not going to kill you Nine. I've no wish to be alone with that maniac on the loose," Four grumbled.
"You would say that," snapped Azrayk. "I don't understand why you're still alive Four, so count yourself lucky."
That was a lie.
They all knew the reason.
Four was still alive because Azrayk didn't have the guts to kill her.
Hyperion doubted she would have hesitated if the roles were reversed, but of course he would be allied with the tributes that would prefer him to do their dirty work.
Luciente wouldn't have hesitated.
Hyperion wondered what they'd have been like if they had been born to different parents, or not as siblings, or in another District.
He couldn't imagine Luciente hesitating even then.
"Yeah, because this is so lucky."
"You don't have this through your eye."
Azrayk talked all tough, but she didn't have the heart to do it.
And Four knew it.
"Pretty she we've already established you're not gonna stab me Nine."
"You wanna bet?"
"Bring it on!"
The two paused to glower at each other. Azrayk raised his pincer, and Four lifted hers in response, holding like a short, narrow spear.
A piercing, bloodcurdling scream cut through the trees.
The two tributes spun round.
The trees were so thick they couldn't see what was through them, dissolving into shadows after about six feet.
Four dived into them, plunging through the lashing branches and bushes. Azrayk gave a yell and leapt after her. "Get back here!"
"That's Nike!"
Azrayk took a swing at her with the spider pincer, but it was too short to quite reach, cutting through the air an inch away from Four's skin. Hyperion darted between the trees, quickly overtaking Azrayk.
Up ahead he could see – feel? – the trees thinning, lessening slightly, and called out to Azrayk to warn him.
He ignored him – or maybe couldn't hear him – and charged onwards, crashing through the now rapidly thinning trees after Four.
The screaming came to a abrupt end.
The silence they left behind felt heavy, deafening.
Hyperion gripped his spear a little tighter.
Make sure that one dies.
The trees opened into a small clearing filled almost entirely by a red brick cabin. On the ground four feet from the door, only about the same distance from the tree line, a bloodied, dark haired shape towered over… something on the ground. It was red, pink, and black, and he was slamming his fists down into it again and again and again.
It took Hyperion a long moment to realise it was a person.
"Try again to fucking run!" roared the boy, landing another blow.
Four let out an ear piercing screech and launched herself from the trees, hurling herself at the boy with the pincer gripped tight in one hand. He raised his head right as she approached and managed to jerk to the side, striking a blow to her head as her momentum carried her straight past him. She crashed to the ground, but soon rolled to her feet again in time to avoid a nearly well placed kick from him. He took a step towards her as she dropped back on her left foot, raising the pincer in front of her.
"Look who's back."
The tribute on the ground – the girl from One, Hyperion assumed – didn't move, blood pooling around her. She couldn't be dead though, there would have been a canon. Unconscious, maybe, dying, probably.
Luciente would have known.
Azrayk, surprisingly, threw himself from the trees after Four, making some attempt to come up behind the boy. He was at the wrong angle though, the sun was behind him, and the boy spun on one heel to cut a bloody slash across his face with the knife in his hand. Azrayk stumbled back, blood streaming into his eyes, and tripped over the girl from One, crashing to the ground.
The boy from Twelve laughed. "Look at that Four; you brought me a new one!"
Hyperion began to make his way through the trees around the clearing. Never hunt with the sun behind you.
"Looks like I don't need you anymore One!" Twelve stomped on something on the ground, flipping it into his hand. A spear, with a polished black tip, much like the one Hyperion was holding. He must have got it from the bloodbath, or as a sponsor gift before it was revealed he was batshit insane. Azrayk scrabbled backwards in the grass, scrambling back to his feet. Twelve raised the spear high above his head, looming over the girl from One.
Four let out a screech and leapt at him.
He drew the spear back and drove it into her shoulder.
Her shrill scream cut through the air.
"You don't give up! Know your place District Four!"
Four gasped for air, choking, and fell to her knees. Azrayk launched himself at him. Twelve wrenched the spear from Four and slammed it into his head, sending him flying into the brick cabin. He hit the wall with a crack and slid to the ground, leaving a smear of blood behind on the stone.
Make sure that one dies.
Hyperion raised his spear and stepped from the trees, charging at the boy.
He noticed him in the moment before the strike and moved so the blade bit into the muscle of his arm rather than his chest. He yelled and swung round with his own spear, attempting an easily dodged strike. "You don't strike me as the big hero type Ten!"
Make sure that one dies.
Hyperion kept going, swinging the spear like a club to defend any attempts Twelve made on him. The grass was slick with blood, and they slipped and slid on it, Twelve striking out desperately with the spear. It cut a deep gash in Hyperion's leg and he roared, swinging the spear hard at the other boy.
It slammed into his chest, and Twelve grunted, stumbling backwards on the slippery grass, struggling to catch his balance. Hyperion leapt on him like a coyote on deer, driving a fist into his face and throwing him to the ground, falling on top of him in a rain of punches and roars. Twelve grabbed at his shoulders and kicked him in the stomach, swinging out with a knife and cutting a deep gash in his shoulder. The two of them rolled on the bloody grass, kicking and punching, wrestling for control of the knives they were both carrying. Twelve got a good blow in to his temple before Hyperion managed to grab his arm, pinning it to the ground. He drove his fist into the other boy's face again and again. Blood frothed from his mouth and nose. Twelve drove his knee into his ribs. Hyperion grunted, winded, and pinned his arm across Twelve's neck, reaching for the knife. Twelve gasped for air, clawing at his face with his free hand. His nails raked down Hyperion's cheek. Hyperion wrapped his fingers around the blade of the knife, yanking it front his grip. Twelve gave one last final, desperate strike at his face, and Hyperion drove the knife through his neck.
Blood sprayed from the gaping wound, splattering across his face.
Twelve clawed at his neck, gasping, rasping, his mouth opening and closing as though he hadn't quite realised what had happened. Hyperion rolled off him, collapsing on the blood soaked grass.
A canon rang out.
All for her.
