Chapter 57: Colt Dias
A/N: District Ten are back at it again, and Mare is still looking for the heir to her badass throne. Colt might not be the strongest at first glance, but Mare knows a potential Victor when she sees one, and he's got the wits to take the crown home...
P.S. Yep, I narrowed down the total number of surviving Victors just to spice things up. I feel that with 24 surviving Victors it'll be kind of predictable at the end so I guess I wanted to make it a whole lot more interesting, especially since I'll do a Bloodbath-style chapter after the 73rd Games to show the chaos of the Rebellion and death scenes of the remaining Victors. Remember, no one is safe just because they're the only Victor left from their District, I can have Victorless Districts and I can kill off any of the seven known survivors too, and yet, no one can be counted out yet. Anything can and will happen, all it takes is for me to write it out and boom, it'll happen.
P.S.S. On a way more cheerful note, go check out Fox carved in Ice's the tactics of winning! It's another story about the Victors and I'm sure you'll like it :)
Katniss scrunched up her nose as she stared at the boy in the photo. "The boy who got killed by the mutts, huh?"
Peeta nodded, a grim look on his face. "Yeah, it looked absolutely horrific on the replays."
Katniss shuddered. "That must've been horrible. But he wasn't so bad in his Games, wasn't he?"
"Oh, his tally of three kills was pretty good," Peeta agreed. "Mare taught him well."
"She definitely did, just a shame both of them were Reaped for the Quell," Katniss murmured.
Just then, the door flung open and Haymitch burst in, a solemn, grim look on his mess of a face. His hair was messier than usual, something Katniss didn't think she would ever say. There were stains on his shirt, dark, murky stains and behind him, Katniss could see a shattered bottle of beer on the ground, the thick, frothy liquid oozing from within and spilling all across the once immaculately clean rug of the train. Katniss frowned. "What happened now?"
Haymitch scowled, furrowing her eyebrows at the tone of her voice. "It was Annie. She got the facts wrong. Only twenty, not twenty-four, survived."
Colt Dias
District 10
Aged 16
3 Kills
COLT DIAS'S LIFE: THE CHESS VERSION
PAWN:
The Andreas Knockeart Meat Processing Factory (or the AKF, as the locals abbreviated it to) was, by all means, a horrid place to work. The foul smells of meat were so horrifically putrid that an outsider would pass out just from inhaling the stench that bellowed across the factory, enveloping it in a thick fog of odour. Over a thousand workers from across the District came here to work every single day, coming in their huge trucks every morning at the break of dawn, dressed in chequered shirts that were typical in the town of Monterrey, located in the very edge of the District, close to the borders of Panem itself. Beyond Monterrey, well, no one was sure what lay beyond there. From tales of mutts and barbarian tribes to stories of enchanted gold mines and fountains of youth, speculation as to what lay beyond the town was rife, but the security was tight, so no one could ever stand a chance of going into 'the great beyond'. The only way to leave the town was via trucks or via the Monterrey-Austin train line, which ran once a week to bring supplies to the town. Normal citizens were not permitted onto the train except on Reaping Day, when all the families with eligible children and all those who wished to attend would climb on the train, sometimes even clinging onto the roof or to the windows, as the train sped on to Austin for the Reapings. The remainder of the District would remain at Monterrey and would be herded together and cramped into a pen at the Jules Lowwing Square, a square that was only about half the size of the Reaping Square in Austin and had been named after the Capitolite commander who had subdued the town's uprisings during the Dark Days. There, they would be forced to watch the Games, yet they would be spared from the firsthand agony of having to see a child being Reaped right in front of your eyes, instead, that child would be Reaped in a screen before them, slightly numbing the feeling of loss and pity. After that, it was back to work at their ranches and their factories. In Colt's case, after returning home from the Reaping, a fresh, relieved look on his tan, sunburnt face as he donned his hat, one that was fairly typical of a District Ten child, he would head straight for the AKF to work. He was just one speck of dust amongst the hordes of workers, all with their own tales and their backgrounds and their personalities, but rendered as meaningless as Colt was. They were just pawns in the Capitol's plan, just a mere, easily disposable asset built to serve the Capitol's wicked purposes. Colt hated them for making him a pawn. Every day, he would ride that truck with his parents and return home on that same truck, to the village of Monclova, about a three-hour ride each way, and he would board that truck with the grouchiest of faces, a dark scowl seemingly permanently plastered on his youthful face as he adjusted his belt, feeling enraged that he was nothing more than a pawn, one who did all his tasks every single day in a mundane, repetitive routine. He wanted bigger things, longed to acclaim some fame for himself, wished he could reach for the stars and make the name 'Colt Dias' well-known across the District. Well, he certainly did that, and more.
He was first introduced to the idea of 'chess' when he was eight years old. At that time, he was working at a small ranch not too far away from his home in Monclova. He would take a ten-minute long walk there, where he helped to clean the chicken coops for a relatively kind man named Jesse Buller, who was among the wealthier citizens of Monclova. Jesse was a tall man in his mid-thirties with a scraggly beard and short, red hair. He looked a fair bit odd, especially with his peculiarly big nose, and if Colt had been a tad dumber, he would've laughed at his face. But he didn't and thank goodness for that. He would've been fired on the spot. Jesse tried his best not to overwork Colt and gave him a fair pay, even if it wasn't much. He certainly earned a lot more working for Jesse than some other boys who worked at larger ranches and did the same jobs as him. It was at this ranch that he witnessed the game of chess being played out in front of his eager, inquisitive young eyes for the very first time. It had been a game of chess between two employees, Billie and Heifer, brother and sister aged fourteen and twelve respectively. Many other people, including Jesse's wife Sow, were watching too with fascinated eyes brimming with amazement, craning their necks to get a good view of the game over the crowd that had formed around the pair of siblings. Colt had just finished his lunch, a bowl of steamed chicken that had been provided by Jesse's younger brother Drake, who was the cook at the ranch. He glanced over upon hearing some whistling and clapping in the distance, looking up from where he had been sitting, a lonely little corner on the ground, near the chicken coop, and saw the crowd that had gathered. There must have been at least ten people there, or half of the ranch's employees, and they were all cheering the siblings on, or just making noise to disturb the other sibling's train of thought. Intrigued by this sight, Colt walked over, curiosity rushing through his head. He watched the gameplay, fascinated by the siblings' tactics. Colt had always been tipped to become a smart person in the future by his parents, who were very kind compared to some other parents in his town, one of whom had even tried to stab her own daughter, only for the daughter to escape and flee to the nearest village. Colt hadn't heard from her since. Colt watched, closely observing the movements of the chess pieces, watching how each sibling pondered and thought over their next move carefully. Little did those two know, their game was going to change Colt's life forever.
BISHOP:
In just a few years, Colt became the undisputed chess grandmaster of District Ten. Sow managed to get him his own chessboard and he would practice against locals such as Billie and Heifer, who, at the time, were regarded as the town's best. Initially, Colt suffered a slew of defeats, after all, he was just a young kid with zero prior experience. There was no way he could handle the advanced tactics of Billie and Heifer. Furthermore, there wasn't a library in his village, so he couldn't exactly do research on chess tactics. He struggled with the game and Heifer's constant chiding and mocking certainly didn't help. "You're never gonna beat us," Heifer taunted, slamming her queen against his king, before pushing Colt off of his seat, a malicious, cocky smirk spread widely across her proud face. Colt yelped as he struggled to his feet, his nostrils flaring up, but he held back, knowing that he couldn't possibly fight against Heifer, who was twice his size and much more muscular. Heifer kicked him back to the ground and this time, Colt didn't even bother attempting to get up. He lay sprawled on the ground, the pain of Heifer's boot slamming into his chest thundering on like an unwanted beat, burning through his chest like an unwanted inferno blazing with no foreseeable end. He glared at Heifer, although he doubted he looked at all intimidating. He was groaning in pain, after all. Heifer cackled. "Now beat it, skimpy pants." With that, she dragged Colt to his feet and pushed him away. Colt didn't even look back at her. He ran back home, dragging his ten-year-old legs, already weary from a long day at work, back to his tiny house at the corner of the street, a tear sliding down his cheek as he tried in vain to choke back tears of agony, the pain still throbbing continuously in his chest, but now accompanied by a new, more fiery, emotional pain that stabbed through his heart, possessing the horrific ability to inflict more pain than a Career's knife.
But he never gave up.
You see, unlike his dearest sister Heifer, Billie was more sympathetic towards Colt and actually saw his potential in chess, something no one other than his parents and Sow seemed to be able to do. Even Jesse admitted that it was hopeless for someone like Colt to become a good chess player, citing his lack of tactical knowledge as the primary reason, although Colt could argue that no one ever bothered to teach him any tactics in the first place. Billie, though, wanted to give this little kid from humble backgrounds a shot in the game. Every day, after work, he would come over to Colt's house to play some chess with him, in the process teaching him the dos and don'ts of chess. Colt was initially rather sceptical of Billie, after all, he was Heifer's brother, but Billie seemed to be a genuinely nice person and over time, he won Colt's trust. Billie even dug up an old book about chess that had once belonged to his great-grandfather, a man who had played chess professionally in the Capitol, winning several tournaments and raking up enough cash in the process to ensure his family would be among the better-off citizens in Monclova, at least until his son gambled away much of the family's wealth. Nonetheless, Colt took the book with wide, eager eyes and he spent countless hours of his free time poring through it, relishing in the opportunity to learn from the Capitolite elite, whom he did hate, but was nevertheless willing to soak up knowledge from. It didn't take long before Colt showcased his true potential and started winning game after game against Billie and Heifer, with the whole town eventually rendering him unbeatable. He was invited to Austin one day to compete in a chess tournament against a coup,e of other citizens who were recognised as great players and some Peacekeepers too, a chance Colt didn't even have to think twice about before accepting. It would be a tough challenge for him and he could well end up returning home with his tail between his legs, his head stooped low in shame, the entire town suddenly furious with him for letting them down.
But he didn't disappoint.
Instead, he donned an iron suit of confidence, steeling his brain against the remarks about his age, shunning the snickering and smirking of the Peacekeepers, who were bigger and beefier than the ones who were stationed in Monclova, and did everything in their power to taunt him before the start of the tournament. Colt, however, didn't let them bring him down. He sat at the table, keeping a low, firm, glare of utmost focus, and promptly stuffed his ears with cotton to drown out the overwhelmingly rampant noises that could distract him, muting them to no more than mere whispers. And with that, it was game on.
Two days later, he came back to Monclova a hero, being hoisted on the shoulders of the people who had once belittled and looked down upon him. They hailed him a hero for winning the tournament with ease. In a small, mundane village like Monclova, the people had finally found a cause to rejoice, a reason to feel proud, a beacon of hope for the future. As Colt shared the prize money of one thousand dollars amongst the village folk, everybody relished in the feeling of finally having a hero in the form of Colt.
Well, except for one person: Heifer, who threw her hat to the ground, her face green with sickening envy. But no one gave a damn about her anymore, not when Colt was around. He was the new star of the show, the new 'bishop' who brought life to their faces for once as he once again bossed a tournament the following year. Colt was no longer just a mere pawn in the plan. He had attained success and nothing could take that success away from him.
Except for that stupid escort dressed up in an orange, flowery dress and a silly yellow wig. She just had to pull his name out of the Reaping bowl. The crowd stood in a silent shock as Colt froze on the spot, a cloud passing over his dark eyes. Move it, idiot, his mind scolded him, barking at his legs to move towards the stage. Colt would have thought that getting onto that stage would be easy, but no. It took everything within him just to drag his feet cross the crowd, trying his best to ignore the tens of thousands of stares that almost seemed to bore straight into his soul. His hands jittered a little, but he clenched his fist, trying to get a hold of his nerves, which were running amock within him, screaming and screeching in sheer pandemonium. One step at a time, you'll get there. Deep inside, there was still a quickly fading light of hope that maybe, just maybe, some suicidal kid or crazed fanatic would raise his hand and volunteer for him, but as he stood beside the escort, he knew it was pointless to hope. No one ever volunteered here in District Ten, mostly because unlike the Careers, the children here weren't stupid enough to throw their lives away for the sake of 'honour' and 'glory'. Colt gritted his teeth, momentarily locking eyes with Mare, the strong, badass Victor woman who had racked up a terrifying thirteen kills en route to victory. Mare gave him a curt nod, before she broke eye contact to glare at the escort, her glare sending off an aura of fear that even Colt could feel. It sent shivers up his spine, but of course, he wasn't willing to let his fright show, not in front of the cameras at least. The escort's smile waned, Mare's presence no doubt making her more than frightful and she quickly proceeded with the Reapings. Colt shook his District partner's clammy, sweaty, trembling hands, and then it was off to the Justice Building for the goodbyes. But one thing remained firm in his mind: he wasn't ready to die just yet.
ROOK:
Colt stood his ground, a glare of concentration swelling up in his eyes as he stood tall on his pedestal, which was on a small mound overlooking the Cornucopia clearing, with all the supplies being placed in knee-deep holes in the ground. The Cornucopia itself was smaller than usual, and had a large dent on its roof, a rare sight in the Games and one that would never again be seen. Away from the Cornucopia was a barren desert, with skulls of deceased wild beasts of yesteryear scattered amongst the hard, crack-filled ground. Beyond the desert were numerous abandoned towns, each comprising of numerous unusual-looking mud huts that seemed completely alien to Colt. He had never seen these kinds of huts anywhere, and despite the numerous local legends that were constantly passed around the town as to what lay beyond the town of Monterrey, he had never even heard of anything even remotely similar to these mud huts. They were made of hardened mud, it seemed, with holes for doors and windows. They were shaped like cuboids, with at most a layer of wood attached to the threshold. For a minute, Colt found himself gazing with a rather lost yet intrigued look at these mud huts, encapsulated in his own wild fantastical theories as to what could have possibly inspired them. Mare's warning flooded back into his head, surging into his mind like one, large tidal wave. "You're gonna be distracted, but you have to focus! The Bloodbath is a very important part of the Games, you cannot, I repeat, cannot afford to let your concentration slip for even a fraction of a moment!" Colt was well aware that more than 'a fraction of a moment' had passed, so he shook his head, forcing himself to snap back to attention. He leaned forward, locking eyes with a silver, glossy backpack located in one of the holes, alongside some bread rolls, a sheet of plastic, some rope, a bottle of gasoline and a knife. Perfect. He couldn't take all of those supplies, obviously, since he had to hurry, but the backpack and the knife would be nice. Straight in, straight out, just like a rook, he reminded himself. Those had been the very words Mare herself had told him. She had been watching some of his tournaments closely and knew of his intelligence, seeking to put it to good use in the arena. She knew exactly how best to communicate a message to him, in his own words, so he could well understand it. Just like a rook. A straight, forward run, without any swerving or curving or diverting or anything of that sort, simple enough, right? Colt cracked his knuckles. The gong rang and it was game on.
Colt leapt off his pedestal, hitting the ground hard. The distance from the top of the pedestal to the foot of the mound was not to be underestimated. The impact as he landed on the ground stunned him for a split second, momentarily catching him off guard. Keep running! Mare's voice practically screamed inside his head. He could almost picture his mentor shaking him desperately, barking at him to keep running. He did, cursing under his breath as he sighted the boy from Five making a surprisingly fast dash for that same backpack. Those few moments that he had spent recovering from the shock of his land were going to be costly, that was for sure, but at least the boy from Five was small and Colt wagered he could perhaps take him down in a fight. Colt burst forward, running as fast as he could, letting his feet fly across the ground as he sprinted towards the hole with the backpack. Having long legs allowed him to catch up with the boy from Five and as the pair neared the hole, Colt sprang into the air and landed inside the hole. Pain shot up his leg from the awkward landing but he didn't care. His fingers closed around the hilt of the knife, the blade glinting a bright hue of sunlight into his eye as the boy from Five jumped in, yelping in fright as he saw the knife in Colt's hands. Colt didn't think twice about it. Just kill them, but make it quick, Mare had urged him. He knew he had to, it was the only way that he could go home. He scrambled to his feet, towering over the boy from Five, and thrust the knife into his chest. The boy gasped, his eyes widening as tears welled up in his eyes, only to freeze and remain stuck in his eyes. He reached out a trembling hand weakly, still letting out a slowly diminishing choked gasp, trying to reach out to Colt, trying to do something, anything. But Colt knew he was surely on his deathbed. Blood sputtered out of the wound as Colt pulled the knife out, prompting one last cry of agony from the tiny, thirteen-year-old boy, and Colt winced as the boy's body jerked before he fell to the ground, his bright, amber eyes, once so full of life and energy, rolling into the back of his head as the blood stained the brown dirt beneath the corpse, turning it into a sickly shade of bright crimson. Colt backed away, a sudden, sickening feeling entering his gut as he gazed at the now bloodied knife, crimson liquid dripping uncontrollably from the blade. Something about killing the poor little lad made him feel horrified with himself. Disgust, sheer, green disgust, was sloshed all over his face as he grimaced, struggling to grip a firm hold of his emotions. The kill replayed over and over again in his mind like a broken record that simply would not stop replaying that stupid scene. He shuddered and all of a sudden, Mare's voice flooded right back into his head once more. It will hurt, it will hurt so badly you will want to die, but you can't let it stop you. Brush it off and keep running! The boy from One, that handsome, blonde giant of a boy, who apparently had a history of being raped by an abusive father, spotted him frozen in the hole and licked his lips in anticipation. Fuck, Colt thought. He had to get out of there fast. Grabbing the backpack and the bread rolls, he jumped out of the hole and made a wild dash for the desert and what lay beyond, never once stopping to look back as he let the wind rush through his body, feeling the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he ran and ran, faster and faster until he was almost flying and he could feel his feet ready to take off into the sky as he entered the village of mud huts. A lone arrow sliced through the air and lodged itself into one of the huts near him but he didn't let that deter him. With the same concentration that he had during his chess tournaments, he focused on making his way forward through the dirt roads that were surprisingly straight and orderly, unlike the streets in Monclova. Colt Dias was not going to die in that arena.
After a while, Colt's legs slowly began to tire out, his muscles feeling the searing burn of that long run. They begged and cried for him to take a break and at that moment, Colt's mind replayed the boy from Five's death scene and how he had never had the chance to even beg or cry or wail before Colt had so ruthlessly stabbed him. Stop it, he scolded himself. Don't think about it. Mare would have told him to keep focused, but it was ever so hard considering the fact that the boy had been so helpless and all that blood and gore splattering onto the ground like a red fountain hadn't helped at all. His mind was transfixed on that one horrifying memory as the guilt slowly towered over him like a rook, threatening to swallow him up forever. He bit his lip. I said stop it, he scolded himself once again, almost saying that line out loud. He shook his head, regained his posture and trudged on. In the distance was a particularly tall mud building, about four storeys high, no doubt the tallest building around as it dominated the landscape. Perhaps it was some sort of watchtower or a battlement of sorts. Whatever the case, Colt found the urge to enter it, hoping that no other tributes would chance upon this same building. It was dark and the air inside was rather humid. There was a mud staircase that led up the floors, all the way to the top, where Colt found a wooden chest with platings of gold, covered in a platter of dust and cobwebs. A skull sat beside it, as if warning Colt against going near the chest. Colt wasn't stupid. His insides were ringing loud alarm bells, signalling loud and clear that this chest would spell nothing but trouble. The skull grinned at him, its grin cold and eerily empty. Maybe it had once belonged to a foolhardy adventurer who had died after opening this chest. Colt wasn't sure he wanted to find out if that was the case.
KNIGHT:
Colt stayed in that large building for the next two days, quietly laying low and keeping a low profile as in the villages beyond, the tributes began to slaughter one another in cold blood, splashing blood across the dusty ground as the wind carried the silent whispers of the souls of the fallen tributes across the arena. Sometimes, you could even make out just what they were saying, whispering in your ear like a nagging voice in the wind, haunting you, tormenting you, making sure you were always on your feet without any possible rest at all. Such was the guilt of taking away the life of another tribute. It was so great that the girl from Six even threw herself off a building just to end the voices that screamed like banshees inside her head. Colt himself wasn't immune to this emotional torture. Every night, in his dreams, the boy from Five, whose name Colt had just remembered was Aurinko, would materialise right in front of his eyes, his chest ripped apart by that same wound that Colt himself had inflicted upon him, crying and screaming for justice. Justice that would never be served, because Colt had no intention of dying, but it was hard not to feel bad for the poor boy. They're just tributes, you can't feel bad for them. You have to be that knight and win by killing them all. There's no other option, Mare had implored. Colt found this piece of advice the hardest to follow. 'Win by killing them all'. As if it could ever be that easy. But that had been Mare's strategy, hadn't it? Thirteen kills to seal the victory. She was a brutal, violent Victor but a Victor nonetheless. And she had warned him that staying in one location for too long would only get you in some serious trouble. So as the bright, golden sun rose in the horizon on the morning of the fourth day, prompting a burst of black birds that took flight and flew across this shining landscape, Colt packed up his stuff and ventured out into the unknown. The streets were quiet, empty, desolate, save for a single tumbleweed that tumbled across the dusty pathways, before eventually being blown into the door of a house and remaining there for the foreseeable future. Colt marched off, keeping his knife at bay and glancing in all directions, wary that at any given moment, a tribute could jump right out of a house and stab him to death. Thankfully, as he quietly yet swiftly made his way forward, that didn't happen.
Instead, the boy from Twelve began shooting at him with his bow and arrows.
The first arrow was hilariously off-target, but it was still a dangerous shot. Colt was tiptoeing through a particularly narrow street, passing by a doorway that had a faded, old painting of a beast that Colt couldn't quite recognise drawn over the threshold. Little did he know, that same beast would eventually be the cause of his death, but that's a story for later. All of a sudden, an arrow soared through the air like a rapid, slim angel of death, and lodged itself about a couple of metres away from Colt. Colt blinked, his heart nearly skipping a beat from shock. He looked up and that's when he saw him. Mickey, the sixteen-year-old boy from Twelve, was at the window of the house with the beast painting, a bow in his hands, a frightened expression on his horrifyingly thin face, one that was pale as a ghost. Move in for the kill, Mare's voice ordered in his head. Colt knew just how hopeless Mickey was at archery. He had seen him in training, using the bow, and he looked absolutely dismal at it. His shots were never even near the targets and even the trainer, who was a fairly cheerful optimistic man himself, admitted that he was simply hopeless at archery, an act that had sent Mickey into a fit of tears. Colt hadn't seen Mickey since the Bloodbath, when he had escaped with bloodied fingers and a sprained ankle, and he didn't know how he had gotten the archery equipment. No matter, he was going to be killed anyway. Like a knight, Colt ran into the house, dodging yet another misfired arrow, and made a sharp turn to his left as he bolted for the staircase. Mickey quickly appeared at the staircase's landing, shaking as he held his bow and arrow, his fingers, of which he was missing three, struggling to keep a good hold of his bow as he fumbled about with it. Colt narrowed his eyes. Just do it! Mare's voice commanded. Colt leapt forward, but not before Mickey screamed and fired one, final arrow, a misfire from close range, yes, but it still hit his left arm. Colt screamed in agony, a blazing, furious, incredible shower of pain erupting through his arm as the arrow lodged itself into his flesh, blood spewing out in one, messy burst of bright red life-giving liquid. He crashed into Mickey, sending both boys tumbling down the staircase. The pain across his body was immense, like a smouldering hot furnace that was incinerating him, sending sparks of red hot embers of pure pain shooting across his body. But he knew he had to press on. Like a knight, he had to fight on. Mickey was feeling the pain too, his groans and cries proved just as much. This was Colt's chance to gain the upper hand. As both boys tumbled onto the foot of the staircase, smattered with blood and dirt, Colt grabbed an arrow from Mickey's quiver and brought it down into his heart. Mickey let out one, final choked gasp, his face contorting into a pained, devastated expression as the life was drained out of his pale face, before the cannon boomed and his fate was sealed. Colt pushed the corpse off of him, blinking back a tear as the magnitude of what he had just done washed all over him in one, sickening realisation. He knew it was necessary. He knew it was imminent. Then why did he feel so disgusted by his own actions? It had just been a quick stab, no torture, no taunting, nothing, and yet the grief of murder, the guilt and shame that came along with taking away an innocent life, it seemed almost greater than the fear of death. A whirlwind of thoughts spiralled through Colt's head, refusing to let him be in peace as he climbed up the staircase, discovering a parachute that had been sent to Mickey, containing a bottle of water which was already half-empty. Colt snatched it and quickly left the building. The hovercraft was coming.
QUEEN:
As the tribute count was narrowed down thanks to those good old Careers, who hunted down half of the remaining tributes before splitting up, the Gamemakers announced a feast on the tenth day of the Games. Colt was obviously planning on ignoring the announcement. He had all the supplies he needed, and didn't need any sponsors either at the moment, so there was no need for another kill to attract wealthy Capitolites. Besides, why would he risk his life in basically a more dangerous repeat of the Bloodbath just for potentially some mouldy bread? There was no cover near the Cornucopia, after all, you had to run through the desert before arriving there. It would be a suicide mission to attend the Feast, a suicide mission that Colt was nowhere near dumb enough to undergo. Until of course, those bloody Gamemakers had to provide the twist. Claudius Templesmith, that annoying announcer, his voice boomed across the arena and failing to contain his excitement, he eagerly announced that any tribute who wasn't at the Cornucopia in thirty minutes would be blown to smithereens. Claudius didn't even try to hide his exuberant squeal at the end of his announcement, something that annoyed Colt to no end. But grabbing his knife, one thing was made clear to Colt: he was going to have to fight.
There it was, the Cornucopia, surrounded by a small desert, sand blowing in all directions as the wind howled, its howl unnervingly resembling that of a wounded tribute, more specifically those of Aurinko and Mickey, the two tributes he had killed. He could hear them hissing and howling at him through the wind, he could picture their souls right there in the sky, glaring down at him, praying for one of the Careers to strike him down. Focus! Mare's voice adjured. Colt snapped back to attention. It was too far away to see the supplies that were laid on a table in the Cornucopia, but he could make out what appeared to be tiny bags and some other bundles that Colt couldn't quite see. But the thirty-minute timer on the roof of the Cornucopia was slowly running out and only three minutes were left on the clock. This had to be it, his moment, the time when he ran in, avoiding other tributes and the holes, moving and swerving to dodge the threats like a queen, grab a supply, any supply, really, but preferably an unremarkable one so no one else would chase after him, and run back out, repeating that same process. Easier said than done, but Colt didn't really have any other options so he went along with it. Five other tributes, four of whom were Careers, were no doubt waiting for him, lurking nearby, waiting for the opportune moment to run in and kill him or any of the other tributes. Colt wasn't going to wait for them to make the run first. He took a deep breath, calming down his raging nerves, and sprinted for the Cornucopia clearing. In that moment, he felt like he could fly, his legs thundering across the desert ground like the marching of a thousand elephants, his eyes fixated on one prize: a supply from that table. But as he neared it, something strange occurred to him. Amongst the multiple bundles and bags were three oxygen masks. Oxygen masks? His running slowed down a little as he tried to process this. Why would the Gamemakers put oxygen masks there? There didn't seem to be any sort of purpose for it, after all, the arena was, as usual, more than full of oxygen. It was the very reason he was still breathing and alive at that particular moment. But then something clicked into his head. At that particular moment, he was safe as there was an abundance of oxygen. But he could never say for certain what the future held. Those cunning, sly Gamemakers, especially that veteran Head Gamemaker Ruby Ashgrove, who had been the chief of presiding over the deaths of children since Marie's Games and had been part of this child-killing team since the 45th Games, were known to pull out devious plans to torment the tributes, to spring up to trouble just for the sake of mere entertainment. They were well within their powers to drop the levels of oxygen in the arena to speed up the deaths and cause some Feast drama. And that just made Colt's life that much more complicated. Cursing underneath his breath, Colt sped up as much as he could, catching a glimpse of the five other tributes running towards him, and charged into the Cornucopia clearing, where the ground was still a sickening shade of crimson, the blood stains having remained there as a haunting reminder of what the tributes had done. It took everything in Colt not to burst into a fit of sobs as he ran by that hole where he had killed Aurinko, but if he slowed down now, death would be waiting at his doorstep. He finally reached the table and snatched one oxygen mask for himself, nothing more, nothing less, then whirled around to run back out, but his legs were tiring, exhaustion breathing down his neck, his muscles drenched in a fiery pain that growled at him to stop running and just collapse. With one, final burst of energy, Colt let out a guttural scream, releasing all the pain and frustration with him in one, deafening roar of determination, and he ran off, swerving like a queen to avoid the oncoming boy from Four, who didn't seem to realise the significance of the oxygen mask that Colt was holding and seemed to be ultimately focused on the girl from Two not too far away from him. No matter, both of them would be dead soon, Colt figured. As he slowed to a halt upon reaching the village, panting and wheezing as the last sacs of energy were burned up within him, he donned the oxygen mask and took a deep breath before the whole world becoming as black as the hearts of those who had sent him into this crazed arena in the first place.
KING:
Just two days, later, Colt and the girl from Two were the only ones left. Apparently, one of the oxygen masks had been broken during a scramble between the boy from One and the boy from Four and the girl from Two had managed to escape with the final one, leaving her and Colt to be the sole survivals of the drop in oxygen levels that occurred in the following hours. Once Claudius had announced that the arena event was over, Colt instantly took out his mask and took a deep breath of fresh air. Mare may have given him a ton of advice going into the arena, but she had said nothing about how to beat a strong, trained Career in the finale. She herself didn't quite know how and just wished Colt all the best. Those would be her final words to him before he was whisked off to the launch tubes. As Colt trudged through the villages, he could almost hear his heart pounding against his chest like the beating of those loud drums that were played during the Tribute Parade. He didn't know what to do when he inevitably met the girl from Two. For all his intelligence and wits, his mind drew a huge blank when it came to finale tactics, especially considering the fact that his left arm was still very much injured. Sponsors barely seemed to care about him, after all, he was by far the underdog in this battle against a tough, trained Career. Colt was decently fed and not in danger of starvation but this girl was in the pink of health, having received bucketloads of sponsor gifts. Plus, she had that deadly khopesh with her, a weapon she had mastered from a young age, turning her into a prolific killing machine. How on earth was he supposed to beat her? These thoughts ran through Colt's head, swarming through his mind, enveloping him in a dizzy whirlpool of anxiety.
The pair met at the square of one of the villages. A small sense of relief flushed upon Colt when he realised that the girl, whose name he remembered to be Frigg Welch, the younger sister of Katoptris Welch from the Fifty-Fifth Games, was limping on one foot and had a loose bandage around one of her eyes. The bandage was soaked with blood, blood that gave Colt a sense of hope in this fight. She was badly hurt, he had a chance after all! Focus, he told himself. You are a king now, make the next few moves count. Frigg snarled at him, a dark, malevolent look in her cold, grey eyes, or, eye, for that matter. Colt cracked his knuckles and smirked. All he needed to do was wait for Frigg to make the first move and then he would strike. He would be ready for her. Any moment now. "Come on!" Colt shouted, trying to hide the slight quiver in his voice. "Are you scared or what?"
Frigg hissed at him, baring her broken teeth at him. A harsh glint flickered in her eye as she took an intimidating step forward, brandishing her khopesh. "I'm not scared of you, animal boy."
Keep calm, don't listen to their taunts, Mare had urged him. Colt maintained his smirk, although it wavered a little at her remark. He gripped his knife tightly, longing to end this stalemate. "Well then, come at me!" he barked, tapping his foot impatiently.
Frigg let out a savage roar, the humanity ceasing to show in her wild state. She gnashed her teeth and charged at him like a bull in a china shop, letting out loud grunts and wild ululations. She was weary, frustrated, far from the pink of health as Colt had expected her to be in. Colt couldn't even tell if she was a beast or a human anymore. But he stood firmly on his ground, waiting in anticipation as she edged closer and closer towards him. Then his move came. He ducked as she lashed out her khopesh, dodging the blow, and he thrust out his knife, the blade slashing into her exposed side. Frigg cried out in pain as blood sputtered out of the wound but Colt didn't stop there. He swung out his knife again and hit her in the shoulder, but not before Frigg plunged her khopesh into his thigh, striking both flesh and bone. The pain was like never before, an indescribable, fiery ball of affliction in his thigh that made him scream the loudest he had ever screamed in his life. He sank to his knees but found enough energy within him to flick his knife into the air and straight into Frigg's head. The pain was overwhelming enough such that he could only see her body fall to the ground before suddenly, the whole world became a hauntingly endless black.
But he had time to utter one word: "Checkmate."
Katniss and Peeta held a minute of silence for Colt. "You know, he did use drugs and alcohol, but he always seemed to have that concentrated, focused look on his face," Katniss remarked. "That's incredible."
Peeta nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Rest in peace, Colt. You went from a pawn to a king in style."
There was nothing much to say, so the pair swiftly moved on with Peeta flipping the page to reveal the next Victor. Standing in the photo before them was a confident-looking boy with raven black hair that was styled in beach waves and a splash of freckles across his tanned, sunburnt face. He was fairly tall, standing just a little taller than the escort beside him and had fiery, amber eyes that seemed to burn with anticipation. There was a small scar on his left arm, a dark red spot that was the remnant of a burn that had been inflicted some time ago. He donned a navy blue jacket, as was the typical attire of a District Four Victor at their Victory Tour, but the collars of his jacket were flaming red, a queer touch that hinted at his dark personality hiding behind that smug smile. "Poseidon Nakamura."
VICTORS
District 1-Sapphire Huntington(4), Onyx Hibonite(9), Franc Montgomery(14), Crystal Montgomery(21), Sterling Jones(25), Luxe Carmichael(36), Geneva Cooper(37), Cartier Cooper(44), Valkyrie Montgomery(54)
District 2-Ragnar Sveinsson(5), Reyna Boudicca(6), Draco Hadley(10), Scipio MacAllister(17), Freya Carson(22), Hercules Nichols(28), Julia Dawson(39), Brutus Gunn(42), Lyme Sveinsson(45), Evan Fortis(55)
District 3-Nikola Johnson(13), Gadget Schroeder(24), Beetee Latier(40), Wiress Jansen(47)
District 4-Marina Bluebell(1), Mags Flanagan(11), Jolien Fisher(31), Timmy Fisher(32), Iris Fisher(33), Rafael Fisher(34), Coral Thiller(41)
District 5-Shocker Crimson(8), Switch Kim(19), Flash Morrison(27), Porter Tripp(38), Marie Meredith(52)
District 6-Ford Hamilton(20), Kimi Bentley(51)
District 7-Hassan Greenwood(2), Jill Wilson(15), Olive Sanchez(26), Birch Davison(35), Blight Gavin(53)
District 8-Woof Casino(16), Calico Pepper(48), Cecelia Rheys(56)
District 9-Gwendolyn Whitfield(18), Laurel Flamsteel(29), Miller Thompson(49)
District 10-Ringo Alvarez(7), John Gatwick(23), Mare Trybull(43), Colt Dias(57)
District 11-Orchid Bloom(12), Seeder Crue(30), Chaff Mitchell(46)
District 12-Axel Millar(3), Haymitch Abernathy(50)
Victors that are underlined are deceased.
A/N: And there we go! Colt makes it out alive and District Ten have yet another Victor! Hope you enjoyed this and pls leave a review if you did, and as I said in my A/N at the top, I've got some very special plans for Chapters 74 and 75 hehe. Chapter 74 will be titled 'The Bloodbath' or something like that because the majority of the Victors will die there and Chapter 75, it's a secret mwahaha. Chapter 76 will be Katniss and Peeta's arrival in the Capitol (or at least that's what you think will happen) and from then on, I have some more special chapters coming right up! That's all for now and see you next time! Cheers :)