Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Death Chapter 21: Tribute Trials, a hunger games fanfic

Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a new chapter of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Death. Yes, let the trumpets sound, cause here we all are for Chapter #21: Tribute Trials and Tribulations, otherwise known as the Liberty bloodbath for this universe's very first Hunger Games! *cheers* Last chapter had the final four tribute povs of Pre-Games from Pierce, Cassiopeia, Sylvan, and Vesuvia, Cain started us off, and Friedrich finished the chapter to this... bloodbath. Like with Slaughter's bloodbath, this will be the same exact way. I have a 'countdown' section to start us off to generate suspense and hype and potential last minute looks at some tributes, and then six povs. After that, eulogies, cast list and alliances, and the kill leaderboard. Like other hype and intense moments of my SYOTs, when the povs start, I recommend you guys listen to Wicked Games from the TV show Westworld's Season III soundtrack as my recommended song. I hope you guys enjoy the Bloodbath, and this has been a long time coming. Clutch your pearls, pray for your favorites, and enjoy!

"Beautiful souls are shaped by ugly experiences," ~ Matshona Dhliwayo

There is a moment of silence, collectively passed between all twenty-four souls locked in a dome together, as their plates rise from the underground and lock into place, several of the tributes jumping in fright, in place however, at the loud sound that reverberates around the dome. Some tributes look up as far as their necks allow them to, seeing the way the sky seems to slope upwards forever and ever and ever, reaching a zenith point.

They know it is a dome, but is the air open? Is there a roof?

They do not have a whole lot of time to decide that, as Head Gamemaker Cain Passionia's voice booms on, "Let the 1st Annual Hunger Games Begin!"

Catalus Drachma wipes a bit of sweat off of his forehead, trying to maintain his breathing, as well as his balance. Adriane wishes him goodbye, and there seems to be a genuine sort of concern in her voice, one he doesn't buy, but it is still nice to hear someone have something nice to say after all of the negativity that has surrounded him. The prep team lets the black eye stand this time, the shiner rippling around his eye, his skin free of any bronzer, and for the first time in a long time it is Catalus that the audience is seeing. Not the Catalus that Adriane wants to them to see, or the one with false bravado dripping off of his voice as he leaps forward to volunteer.

He looks around, trying to acclimate himself to the surroundings. Their plates are all equally distanced from one another, he having seen Kileigh Katsaras go into a room next to him, she being the tribute on his left, with Sylvan Adello on his right, though he does not dare turn to look at them. He closes his eyes again, breathing in and out of his nose. "Breathe, Catalus," he tells himself.

"Just breathe…" If this had been any other day, he'd be on that golf course with Harmony, knocking away golf balls into holes with an Iron 9… perhaps he can still do that, if he gets out of the arena alive, of course.

Magnus Winterthorn, the moment his plate rises into position, stances himself to run. His body is poised into that of a cougar about to leap off into the savannah, knees locked together, muscles tense, arms tight. His eyes focus in immediately on a bow, glimmering gold in the sunlight, with a fully stocked quiver resting against the side of an open ovation. From what Merida tells him, before he is bid away into the tube and potential certain doom, it is a cornucopia, a glimmering structure that has rays of sunshine fall down onto the grass.

The grass is a more sickly green color than he expects, gusts of wind blowing it about in the breeze. There is a wind blowing back in Two, on that special day, that day he decides to take matters into his own hand, and he leaps for his freedom, the words, "I volunteer!" leeching off of his lips.

Time will tell if he made a poor decision, but Magnus knows that a Winterthorn never makes poor decisions; his decisions are always resolute and sound.

As is his aim.

"Shoot straight, soldier," he instructs himself.

Twenty seconds have already passed on the clock, and Vesuvia Vocanova can admit that she now is starting to feel the nerves settle into her skin, more so than when she's underground, with Cole waving goodbye at her. Nothing feels natural in her head, plans and strategies that do not come together, and instead she's looking at a washed-up board of markers drawing lines like a play in a football game, Vesuvia swiveling her head back and forth repeatedly.

Her eyes draw focus onto the golden ovation in the center of the ring, the center of all of this chaos, where there are crates and bags and other sorts of goodies spilling everywhere, but it is a fair cry to the amount of supplies decorating the inside of the horn, which rises into the bright blue of the sky. Her mouth waters at the very items of destruction.

It is the same time of glee she feels in her veins, following the sharp points of knives and blades to their zenith, to when the Peacekeepers are dragging her away from the corpse she's just created lying on the ground, their eyes gouged out of their head, and she's laughing, laughing uncontrollably.

"It worked!" she's screaming, at the top of her lungs. "My genius worked!"

It is that line that gets her declared criminally insane, yet not insane enough to not become a participant in the Hunger Games.

Orion Maythorpe is finding that he is having a hard time focusing. Not that he wants to be, while he takes survey of the arena around him, from the high sloping walls on the side, to the dead, sickly grass surrounding his plate, or Pierce Alversway's worried face to his left. Kai'sa Shadow is on his right, Orion taking a quick glance at her face before looking back at the dead grass, cause there's some strange sort of devilry in her eyes that he has never seen before.

Last night had been something short of magical, that is for certain, the memory that is occupying all this space in his head. Ramses's fingers digging into his back as Orion grunts in fervor, matching him step for step with the creak of the bed. He does not return back to District 4's floor in case Diana is still up, wanting to taunt him about who knows what, but all Orion can do is tilt his head back and laugh at the fact that Ramses, done in an extremely compromising state of undress before they've even kissed, says, "I love you, Maythorpe…"

What would his father say now? Orion can only shrug his shoulders and laugh, and laugh he will, for if he wins, it is on his own terms.

Kileigh Katsaras longs for home, longing for it the more and more she feels Catalus Drachma's eyes on her, appraising her body up and down until she's naked to the elements, exposed for the whole world to see. In fact, as she's certain, the thing is being televised, and while there are no cameras visible to her yet, Kileigh can imagine where a few of them would be elsewhere, not that she's going to go looking, of course.

Home does not feel like home when she and her parents return from beyond the fence line, a bitterness washing over her teeth when she sees the charred remains of her house, a place her family has to build back together. However, she cannot think of home now, not when she's been around weapons, around violence, the very thing that makes her sick to her stomach.

She has yet to tie her hair back, and seeing the clock run down, her heartbeat picking up speed at the very thought that soon, oh so soon, she might see someone bleed out for the first time in her life, that very thought only makes her yoke the hair-tie even tighter.

A good dancer knows how to keep their balance. That is what her instructors have always told her, Porscha Watanabe trying to focus on that as she breathes in and breathes out. Her legs are trembling, and her arms as well now that she thinks about it, as the seconds roll down on the clock sitting above the horn, this gilded prison of goodies and inviting secrets. It spells danger out to her, rippling in the grass.

She does not want to be the first tribute in history, let alone in the first Games either, to die from falling off of her plate. Something about pressure and being blown up sky-high, as that is what Ayanna tells her while she and Pierce head to the hovercraft in the elevator. She also is not willing to call anyone's bluff, as from what she has seen over the last few days, bluffs get called all the time.

There had been a certain strength that Porscha felt the moment the frozen leg of lamb smashed into that guy's head in the marketplace, perhaps the same strength and foolishness that man felt to approach her without a game plan in his hand.

If only she knew how to draw on that sort of strength again.

The arena is beautiful, and Nevaeh Davoli feels disgust rising in her throat, white bile daring to appear over the edge and taint the already poisoned grass even more, at the thought. It is manmade, and it is from the Capitol… it should not be beautiful, but it is. The cornucopia glistens in the sun, and while Nevaeh wipes at her forehead with sweat cascading down her face, she doesn't feel hot.

The cornucopia and the surrounding vicinity feels raised, like it is on a hill, with the sides sloping down. Nevaeh sees Sylvan, next to Catalus Drachma and Jasper Overheart flanking his sides, just round the cornucopia, where far past him, she sees trees. It is a familiar sight, one that makes her chest flutter with warm, but the trees almost seem… dead, which makes that warm feeling fluctuate into hypothermia.

Behind her, if she is to strain herself, there seems to be a glittering path to a beach, with water lapping at the shore, the ground a dark black, glistening in the sun likewise. Center, behind the cornucopia, looks to be a village, the houses made of wood and the structures not that tall, sparsely populated spaces of trees. Next to that, in a trifecta, looks to be a section of the arena entirely covered with rocks, and just rocks.

Nevaeh nods at Sylvan, not sure if he can see her, but it doesn't matter, she'll reach him, and they'll decide their next move from there… if she doesn't die in the sprint over.

Poem Cavalli is crouched, almost laying down in the fetal position on her plate. No one comes to speak to her in the room, she sitting there all by herself, all on her lonesome while Niklaus might be in the same situation. She has no idea, frankly, why she kisses him last night, feeling the tartness of apple cider and the scent of smoke and sex on his tongue as they glide against the sheets and up against the wall.

His comfort is needed, and it is needed now, for the reality of where she is crashes into her like it is on a freight train, bowling into her and nearly making her fall back. A scream rips from her lips, which gets Dill Waylon and Zachary Edison to look over at her with a frown, before they return their attention back to the winding down clock. It has been completely silent up until now, up until her scream.

She stays in the position, closing her eyes, even while the countdown continues.

This is not how she'll die, and this is not how her legacy will go out; she refuses to let that happen.

He isn't mad at Camilla anymore, Gemini Lennox feeling rather resigned while standing on his plate, counting the heartbeats that span in between each tick of the countdown clock. He is standing right in front of what looks like to be a beach made entirely of obsidian, from the way the ground glimmers in the sunlight, it beautiful for sure, but the poetic and artist in him shuts down while he looks ahead.

This isn't the time to dwell on the good in life, but to tie his wounds tighter, find the hanging piece of rope, tie the noose around his neck, and be prepared to run. A sword had been too heavy for him, as Gemini's eyes search over the weapons lying in the ground, sticking out of the dead grass, that muted yellow and washed out olive color… until his eyes find it…

A knife, the bone handle speaking his name… and he could lodge it into a particular girl from Ten's chest if he felt adventurous enough. Reckless, it's whatever.

"What do I have to lose?" Gemini laughs to himself, aloud. "My life?"

Calen Kinegrove does not like this one bit, the feeling sitting at the base of his skull and sliding down his spine while he ambles back and forth on his plate. Gemini next to him is getting nervous and skittish, moving in place, swaying from side to side, but Calen does not dare tear his eyes away from the counting down clock, there being next to nothing left before he'll make a run for it.

What if no one else makes a run for it? What does he do? Where does he go?

As his search, passing over the wooden village that is erected directly behind the raised horn, his eyes catch onto Portia Beninblade, she looking at him, before her gaze flits to the left. Nokomis is to his left for sure, he knows that for he having spotted her out immediately just to keep tabs on her when his plate rose from the underground, Roxanne telling him once again, with a hand on his shoulder, to outlast them…

He doesn't like the blonde witch, and Calen Kinegrove likes everyone, unable to stay mad at anyone… his stomach churns with nausea, he keeping his face steady.

No one is going to hurt his district partner, even if they aren't allies, she is still home, and he would not be able to live with himself. Time to make his mother eat some crow, with a sprinkle of shit on top.

Two seconds until doom incarnate swamps the world, and all Cassiopeia Grey can think about is why the avox had been in her room last night, with warm milk clenched in his hand to give her. It is not as if she had a pen and paper on hand to ask him why, but it sits in her skull, the desire to have an answer sitting on her tongue, against her consciousness.

Cassiopeia hasn't taken her eyes off of the horn, not even to see who is by her side, flanking her, cause it could mean life or death depending on whoever she's been matched with, but like she tells Amalie for what feels like forever ago, any sort of mountain or foe that gets in her way she will simply knock their teeth in.

She will not lose lying down.

Ramses Boskov has found himself meditating on his pedestal, he sitting down with his legs crossed, and he knows for sure that Camilla and Niklaus are looking at him strangely, for he has also taken off his shoes. It is something he does when he is nervous, trying to calm the fear that threatens to rise up from his intestines and into his lungs.

He makes sure to take his fair share of Orion Maythorpe oxygen, smiling as he kisses him, cries out with his fingers trying to grab at any piece of skin he can find, and then eternal bliss… he has found his knight in shining armor, someone who thinks he's beautiful… it is a sentiment that cannot be repaid.

The boy from Twelve opens his eyes, seeing that the countdown is near it's end, he getting to his feet. It's battle time, and like any good king, any good monarch, they eliminate whoever is deemed a threat to their kingdom.

All the tributes, tense and waiting to run, or in some instances, cower and hide, stand still on their plates, and beyond the scream that rises out of Poem Cavalli's throat, there is nothing but silence. The countdown reaches zero.

Only Diana Kratovska leaps off of her plate, running at full speed towards the cornucopia, the moment the gong goes out, and the silence continues. The other tributes remain on their pedestals, unmoving, the faint, dying echo, of a gong dissipating into the air.

The 1st Hunger Games have begun.

Nokomis Yanaba: District 10 Female P.O.V (16)

The gong sounds, the countdown has ended, Nokomis Yanaba is standing there still on her pedestal, body poised to run, and nothing happens. Well, not necessarily nothing as out of the corner of her eye, she sees Diana Kratovska in a blur of blonde hair and thin limbs rush off of her own plate, making a beeline for the ovation in the center of the raised plain. Nokomis feels the urge and desire in her body to move, yet she does not go forward, she stuck in place, almost like she's in a canoe going downstream, wedged between two rocks.

Her feet are lead, and as she looks around, it seems that the other tributes have the same sort of dilemma going on in their heads. Clearly Diana is a leader and not a follower, but Nokomis's train of thought has already been derailed the moment Roxanne leaves the room to say words of wisdom for Calen.

"What about me?" Nokomis grumbles to herself. "Where are my words of wisdom when I need them? You called me a hopeless piece of trash and laughed about my dead dad, so fuck you and your heels. How about you shove them someplace where your manicured hands can't reach them?"

She does not have time to dwell on that right now, however, for Diana reaches the cornucopia in next to no time at all, slinging a quiver of arrows across her shoulder, picking onto the bow. The girl from Four rights herself for a moment, blinking, looking back at the other tributes. From what Nokomis can surmise, not a single person has moved besides her, not even Magnus or Catalus. It is like the adage her parents tell her, while weaving and knitting, Nokomis resting her head in her father's lap, on one of his good days.

If there is a group of kids – well, people, it doesn't matter their ages – who are about to take a high dive off of a cliff into the water below, no one will move until that one brave person takes their personal leap of faith into the water. Only then will all the others follow suit, sheep led to the slaughter, for down below, in those murky waters, is the open jaw of a leviathan ready to swallow them whole.

Diana sputters a laugh into the air, harsh and barking with her head titled back. "Fine! Make it easy for me!" she yells out, at the eleven or so she can see, though Diana has started to pace around the completely oval shaped horn. Nokomis realizes, with a quick start, that a tree has started to sprout out of the top of the horn, it being massive. Branches and limbs spill out into the sky, the sun shining through the emerald green of the leaves onto the dead grass, while Diana continues to shout. "Just stand perfectly still," she says. "It'll be like target practice!"

She takes a step forward, levels her bow down, notching back at an arrow, Nokomis following the line of trajectory suit with wide eyes for it is perched directly at Diana's own district partner, Orion. He realizes a split second too late what is happening when she takes her shot, Orion diving out of the way at the last minute, not quick enough however when the arrow slices across his thigh.

Orion yelps in pain, Nokomis gasping as a steady stream of scarlet spills out of the wound in his thigh, it not very deep, but enough to cause bleeding, he falling to the non-injured knee in the grass. Diana continues laughing, before she draws another arrow, yet still, despite the warning, Nokomis is hesitant to move.

There's another second of disquiet, where Diana has lined up her next shot for Jasper Overheart's chest, he frozen in place, looking at Orion's wound, as Ramses is racing his way across the plain over to him. A coughing voice fills the void, making everyone stop, cutting Diana off mid-cackle.

It is the vice president that Nokomis hears, as he clears his throat, her blood turning to ice. "Tributes, ladies and gentlemen," there's an icy edge to Cain Passionia's voice, one that makes all the hair on her arms stand up, "I clearly instructed you, when the gong was to ring out, that meant the Games have begun. That means you fight for your life. That means you, fucking MOVE! FIGHT BEFORE I BLOW ALL OF YOU FUCKING SKY HIGH!"

The man roars over the loudspeaker, the sound seeming to come from the oak tree that has sprouted up, and Diana fires her next shot. The next thing Nokomis sees is the ground as someone runs into her, knocking her to the dead grass, and the plain explodes into action. Jasper moves out of the way from the released arrow, it sinking into one of the trees that covers the far-left side of the arena.

Nokomis's ears are ringing with the sound of heavy footfall on the grass before she struggles to her feet. Diana has an arrow out of the quiver, holding it on the defense from the look of a purely murderous Vesuvia who is pushing Jasper behind her, she having gone to wrench the fired arrow out of the tree. Orion is scooting back in the grass, trying to clot the bleeding from his leg, it having been Ramses who knocks into Nokomis.

She could stay like this, she could stay with her face buried into the dirt if she wanted to, but that is not who she is. She is not a coward who hides, for her father didn't hide; he took up the mantle for the family and went to battle, went to fight his common enemy, went to face the enemy that their last name has spoken about for generations, passing it down from one family member to the next. Nokomis grits her teeth together, struggling to her feet.

Kai'sa Shadow has a knife in her hands, wrenched out of the ground, hissing, and baring her teeth at Ramses, who has gotten a bit too close to her side of the cornucopia. Nokomis catches a glimpse of Portia, just for a split second, she not even sure why she let the girl into their little alliance, for she had been just happy with Camilla, but there is strength in numbers after all. The girl's blonde hair vanishes into the cornucopia, knocking Pierce to the side. Nokomis turns her hands into fists, exhales heavily through her nose, and dashes into the fray.

The sound of battle drowns out her heartbeat and fills her ears as she weaves in and out, underneath the tree branches that have made her vision a bit harder to find. She can do this, she can do this, she can do this. Her father didn't raise a weakling. Nokomis searches for a bow, but it seems the only one nearby is the one in Diana's hands, who has now moved onto rummaging through a backpack, neither District 3 tribute anywhere close to her. Someone, though she's not sure who it is, is taking off into the village, disappearing behind the bark and birch, when a tribute trips over her extended leg.

Nokomis croaks a bubble of surprise, the wide brown eyes staring back at her being from Zachary Edison, the short and young kid from District 5. There is fear in his eyes, stretched to their peak, though his gaze is not looking at just her, but beyond her. Nokomis looks back, following his gaze, before it is landing on a gilded hilt of a blade sticking up out of the grass. She's kneeled, and he is lying on his back, she reaching out for the blade, before Zachary is tramping her hand.

She bites back a scream, trying to wrench it back before all of her fingers break under his boot, she catching his ankle with her free hand, the one not getting crushed. He falls with a faint cry, landing on top of the hilt, it hitting him directly in the stomach. Zachary coughs, clutching at the spot, as Nokomis shakily gets to her feet.

Yanaba. Yanaba, directly translated, means to face the enemy. Is this little twelve-year-old she is looking down at her enemy? He did make the run for the blade before she did, technically, as it is his line of sight that draws her to it. There's a thrown knife in front of her, dinging against the side of the cornucopia, but that is not what Nokomis is focused on, as she digs the blade out of the grass.

Zachry looks at her with a whimper, before Nokomis positions herself over the kid from Five, who has lifted his hands up into the air.

"Please…" he whimpers, and he's crying, tears streaming straight down his cheeks and into the dead grass. "Please don't…"

Nokomis feels it all, she feels and hears it all. The sound of Ramses's anguish while he punches Magnus Winterthorn in the face, for the boy from Two is approaching Orion with a spear, or the sound of Poem Cavalli's wailing cry rising higher and higher into the sky… she feels the feet stampede against the earth, the sounds of blades colliding with another.

The enemy is here, and Nokomis will fight them until she is the only one to remain.

"It's my destiny," she whispers, not loud enough for Zachary to hear, but loud enough for her to acknowledge it herself, and Nokomis then plunges the short sword into the kid's chest.

There's a gasp, the crack of bone, a spurt of blood, and she may be screaming, but she's not too sure.

The first kill, and an enemy is down.

Twenty-two to go.

Dill Waylon: District 11 Male P.O.V (16)

The amount of screaming and yelling he is hearing is starting to hurt his head, Dill clutching it while weaving in and out under the tree branches from the oak that spawned off the top of the cornucopia. He is not trying to get skewered by the projectiles that are flying this way and that way, wherever he looks there's a new tribute daring to come down upon him, until Dill is turning and running. He needs a weapon, he knows this, for there's plenty of them just strewn about and out of the ground. There's a spear that he runs by, trying to grab this bag hanging off of one of the tree branches, but Cecelia is there first and takes it from him.

Dill cusses to himself, diving out of the way as Diana is in his line of fire, firing at lord knows what, and he's not going to check. His breathing is erratic, the sun bearing down on him, the dead grass starting to run red with the spilt blood of his enemies. Dill pauses for a second, stupid in all this chaos, biting down on his lip. "Enemies?" he frowns to himself. "That was fast, in letting the energy of the arena consume me…"

Another duck as a knife goes sailing over his forehead, Dill flattening himself to the ground, but then a pair of boots march up to him, he looking up to see Cassiopeia. She has a rather gnarly gash on her forehead, spanning down from ear to the corner of her jaw, freshly bleeding, she looking down at him.

"That was meant for you to take, you doofus!" she yells at him, before going to race off for something else, a bag also on her shoulder. Dill is grabbing at her ankle, nearly making her trip, but the two of them are hidden by the massive oak tree, hidden in the back of the cornucopia, for them to not be seen. There's a loud thump as someone jumps onto the cornucopia and then seemingly runs off of it, it sounding like Jasper from the way the person hits the ground.

"Who- who hit you?" he's gasping out, struggling to his feet, going over to pick up the knife. It hadn't even crossed his mind, the very thought that he might have to attack someone… attack someone and draw blood and if someone loses enough of the water in them they… Dill gulps the word. They die. And honestly, someone might die if he finds out who hit his district partner. They're not allies, no, but she's home; no one damages home.

"Ramses," the girl says, shaking a leaf out of her hair, it sticking to her face and smearing some of the blood against her cheek, Dill's blood boiling some at the sight. He has never considered himself to be a violent person, even towards the gentlemen callers that dare to diminish his masculinity just because he prefers to be underneath them in the moment of passion, or the women who want to pinch his cheek and adopt him cause of the exotic look of his skin… but this is different, the blade in his hand feeling a lot heavier now. "He seeing Orion injured has done something to his psyche, I swear," Cassiopeia shakes her head, and then with a cheeky grin, "And that means you know they totally had sex."

Dill gags at hearing this little thirteen-year-old girl say that aloud, but he figures that he has done far worse and much more notorious things now at fifteen and sixteen, so he shouldn't judge. There's more sounds of battle, but it is drowning out in the feeling of anger that builds at his fingertips and soaks down to his elbows, as if he's already bathed them in blood. "Cassie-" he chokes, before she is closing his hand around the blade.

"I just don't want to see you die without a weapon, Dill," she tells him, before nodding. "If you want to find me, be my guest, but I am leaving now, and I am leaving that way," Cassiopeia points behind him, Dill swiveling his head to follow her line of sight. The scorched earth, the ground that is dark with a few sparse trees, those that he sees in the picture books of District 10, with scattered rocks and hills… "It looks to be the most dangerous place in the arena, which means whoever lives here won't be going there, guaranteed," Cassiopeia pats him on the shoulder, giving a coy smile. "Good luck, Dillie."

She's off, leaving Dill to stand there underneath the oak tree, with blade in his hand, sweat pooling down his forehead. He looks at the knife, frowning. His training score states that he isn't good like the others, and while it makes him stronger than… a drug addict, a little child, and a girl who just had her world shattered last night, what does it make him look like compared to the blonde titans from Four or the inseparable duo from Three?

"What are you going to do when the world comes for you?" Dill recalls his father telling him, while they're cutting out the seeds for the pumpkins that'll decorate their front porch. His father looks at him pointedly, the question sticking to Dill's skin like syrup.

"What do you mean?"

There's an anxious huff, the wiping of more coagulated sweat off of the brow, and then, gruffly, "When the Peacekeepers come to take away your loved ones, the man you choose to marry, and your kids, with a gun to your forehead, are you going to let him just steal away what you've earned in the night?"

"No… no, sir," Dill remembers saying, but his voice is thick and stuffy, like he has a cold plugging up every pore. "No." There is no confidence in his voice, but it is there in his eyes, shining and glistening.

"You fight back, and you kill that son of a bitch," his father instructs him, with a pat on the shoulder, as he digs the knife further into the innards of the pumpkin, the guts spilling out onto the newspapers covering their kitchen floor, Dill's stomach churning likewise at the sight of twisted intestines. "And then you'll keep on fighting, until you return to the dirt like me, your mother, like your brothers and sisters…"

Dill lifts his head up with grim resolve, looking around the back of the oak tree and the cornucopia. There is still more fighting happening, as he sees Nevaeh completely sideswipe and terribly done spear jab by Gemini, the girl from Seven stealing the spear from him and whacking the side of his head with it, bringing the boy down for the count. He goes to run forward – Dill, that is – with his knife, perhaps to plunge it into Nevaeh's back, but Camilla gets there first, she having been digging through an overturned crate, the two girls tumbling into the dead grass while Gemini whines in pain, crawling back, back, and away.

The boy from Eleven's eyes light up on the overturned crate that Camilla had been digging her hands through, its contents now spilling out everywhere. Why not just take the crate? If there are other tributes fighting, Dill cannot see them, as he takes off towards the crate. He drops to his knees in front of it, eyes swimming at the beautiful items laid out for him.

There's a thing of rope that he settles to the side, a canteen for water that is empty as he gives it a good shake, among some food and dried up paper, though he isn't sure what that would be used for. He looks back to see that Nevaeh has a cut down her cheek from Camilla, who did it with her own fingernails, but the girl from Nine has retreated into the cornucopia for something, and the girl from Seven has all but vanished off the plain.

Dill digs into the chest, turning back around, until he feels a presence by his side, seeing an arm reach out by his side. The next thing he knows, an estranged cry is ripping from his throat as something wraps around his neck, tugging him back, back, back, and he is losing his balance, falling into the dead grass.

He looks up, through the blurriness that is starting to overwhelm his sight, as he starts to choke with the rope he set aside burning into his throat. The snarling face of Vesuvia greets him, her face cold and emotionless with a ferocious fire in her eyes. He tries calling out for Cassiopeia, but Dill knows it is futile, she's vanished into the scorched earth, leaving him here to die…

"She left me…" he thinks to himself, while trying to struggle out of Vesuvia's manacle like grip. The knife he dropped is by his right hand, he trying to reach out for it, but Vesuvia gets there first, stabbing him in the hand with it.

Agony flares at the corners of his vision, hot white and with the intensity of a supernova as he tries to scream, the noise getting blocked by the rope wrapped around his throat.

Vesuvia tightens her hold one last time, Dill's fingers turn into claws as he tries to get away, and there's a resounding crack as the girl twists. Dill feels his head go askew at a dangerous angle, and all he sees for the last bits of his life is black.

Sylvan Adello: District 7 Male P.O.V (14)

Kileigh has found Zachary's body, the girl collapsing to her knees in a terrible scream, she curling in on herself, her entire self without supplies or a bag or anything. Sylvan watches Nokomis plunge the blade into Zachary's chest with an estranged gasp escaping from his throat, that he silences immediately with a hand over his mouth as he's scurrying into the cornucopia. Nevaeh is out there, doing something, but he's raced inside at the first opportunity he's afforded.

Run, keep on running, hide, keep on hiding… it's his strategy, for besides this one wolf that threatened the camp out there in the forests of Seven, Sylvan has never seen blood stream out of someone the way it does out of Orion's thigh when the arrow slices across the top of it, or has Zachary lays there dying, Nokomis's face turned into a sneer as she removes the blade out of his chest. His hands go to his side, where he has a gladius sheathed into the waistband, but he has yet to remove it, cowering behind a stack of boxes.

He knows there are at least two tributes in here with him, by the way their voices muddle together, they sounding like Portia Beninblade and Catalus Drachma, though he is confused as to why the two of them are not fighting with each other as he is under the impression they'd technically be enemies. Sylvan lifts his head out of hiding, to see that he is in the smack middle of the cornucopia. Catalus is searching through items at the front, Portia all the way in the back. The cornucopia is spacious, Sylvan afraid to even utter a sigh of relief when he sees that both of them have their backs turned if there is an echo.

He slowly rises to his feet, hand still on the knife he has strapped to his side, takes one step, and trips unceremoniously onto a sleeping bag, knocking into another crate. Sylvan winces as the boxes make a crash, Portia and Catalus both turning towards the noise. His eyes line up with the golden boy from One's, and Catalus is holding onto a spear, the point wicked sharp and deadly. Sylvan swallows, before waving.

"Um… hi…" he tries to swallow the fear that is threatening to appear out of his throat like hot bile, burning his esophagus, until it is replaced by absolute terror given that Catalus steps forward. Sylvan doesn't even try to get a glimpse of the expression on his face until he's racing forward, grabbing whatever he can out of the crate that spilled out in front of him.

A flicker of confusion passes over his face as he's gripping the round surface of a pumpkin in his hands, the crate actually holding food, before he throws it straight at Catalus. Catalus dodges out of the way, but it is a needed distraction as Portia collides into the boy from One, giving Sylvan ample time to escape. Bigger targets, he surmises, but he is not about to express any sort of favor if he can manage it. He rushes out of the cornucopia with his life on the line, not even having what he went in there for, as Nevaeh tells him before they depart off of the hovercraft, close enough to speak, that she wants an axe.

He'd find her an axe, Javier's voice dangerous in his head as Sylvan rushes back into sunlight. "You find her an axe, and she is going to send it straight into your spine the moment you aren't looking, Sylvan; I am still betting on you, kiddo."

Sylvan doesn't look where he's going before he is tripping headlong over Kileigh, who has her head pressed into Zachary's, the blood starting to dry on the dead grass. Sylvan lets out a cry of fright as he looks into the cold, unmoving stare of the boy from Five, who keeps on staring straight ahead, before looking at Kileigh fearfully. She's a pacifist… she- that's when someone isn't violent. She… she shouldn't be a threat.

The blade by his side feels heavy as he unsheathes it, holding it out dangerously, but his arm is shaking, vibrating as if someone had strummed a guitar right against the bone. However, as Kileigh lifts her head, tears streaming down her face, Sylvan realizes that she doesn't even notice him, for her stare is dead ahead at Pierce Alversway, who is currently rummaging through a backpack on the outskirts of the cornucopia plain, down near the slope of the village.

"Hey!" she shouts out at him, getting to her feet, and Sylvan crawls back some at the look of pure anger etched into her features. "He beats you at a game, so you murder him?!" Kileigh's voice is incredulous, filled with fury, before she takes off in a run, Pierce barely having any time to react until the girl from Five has collided into him.

Sylvan is out of words to say, looking back into the cornucopia to see that Catalus has Portia pinned against the hollow inner wall, something compelling the boy to keep on looking until Portia knees him straight in the crotch, downing Catalus to one knee with a howl. She goes to raise her blade into his skull when Diana, who has found herself in the middle of the plain, has an arrow drawn and ready. It is a moment out of time as the two girls run at each other, in close range now where Diana's next fired arrow misses.

He continues to sit there even as the two girls battle, before a hand is clamping down on his shoulder, making him scream in fright. A blush settles on his cheeks when he is hauled to his feet by Nevaeh, she looking at him in concern. "Who did you think I was?" she asks, with a frown. "The boogeyman?" Sylvan goes to open his mouth with an answer, as he's just had two close calls and nearly died, but his district partner is shaking her head. "Never mind that," she says, handing him the hilt of a weapon, his eyes going wide. Nevaeh is armed to the teeth. "Here."

She hands him the hilt of an axe, she having her own out and at the ready. Sylvan swears he hadn't seen any in the cornucopia, but Nevaeh is dragging him back by the shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vesuvia, who is bent over something, twist her hands and she's standing up immediately after.

"She… Vesuvia just…" Sylvan finds the words spilling out of his mouth before he can help it, the way the confession of the dead kid and the Nightlock falls out in front of all the adults' laps, he sinking to his knees against the rough surface of the cave. He looks at the body of Dill Waylon in shock, his neck bruised and lined with this red, sulfurous ring.

"Yeah, she's a killer. Everyone here is a killer," Nevaeh grimaces to herself, as the two of them start to run, she handing him some of their supplies. He strings a backpack over his shoulders, holding onto the gladius still by his side, and the new axe in his hands. "We may become killers if we're not fortunate to outlast them…" she says.

"And if we're in the final two, one of us will have to kill the other," Sylvan thinks in his head, but he does not say that aloud as he looks back at the carnage. Portia is trying to hold a sword in her hands against someone that he cannot see, and he cannot find Diana any longer on the field. Catalus is out in the open, someone running into the cornucopia, but it no longer matters to Sylvan, he believes.

He doesn't even remember what it felt like, standing over the dead wolf that threatened to kill his entire party, Sylvan having heard the howls ripple through the night sky, blowing the leaves of dead trees back and forth, where the leaves themselves where a charcoal black that dissipated into ash when he smothered them in his hand. The wolf had appeared through the brush, its eyes gleaming a ferocious yellow, the beast locking sighs with Sylvan, and with his nine-year-old niece all bundled up in her sleeping back.

Sylvan does not dare yell or scream when the wolf lets out another howl, he racing to his feet, holding onto the blade his father manages to make for him before leaving, and he's stabbing, stabbing, stabbing into the creature, yelling all the while. The softness of the wolf's fur becomes heavy as it is drenched in scarlet, it splashing higher and higher onto Sylvan's arms, where he is sure he is crying, but it doesn't matter… he's killed something, and he's saved his family.

Time will tell if he can save himself from the horrors of the arena, he and Nevaeh running into what looks familiar, in the direction of the forest, leaving the sounds of the cornucopia behind them.

He tightens his grip around the hilt of his axe as he runs; every tribute here is a wolf, even the one sprinting right beside him.

Niklaus Peverell: District 8 Male P.O.V (18)

She's still there, somehow, somehow, and while Niklaus isn't going to argue with fate or the heavens above, he feels like arguing with something given how Poem has just been standing there on her pedestal, now off of it and hiding behind a tree, but still cowering all the same. He is pretty sure she's speaking to herself, but Niklaus hasn't been able to coax her away from any of it for the longest time, frustration starting to build in his veins.

He thought he made it perfectly clear last night, after they've washed the taste of each other off, the scents still lingering on his lips and on the inside of his cheeks, perfume and rosemary and oil glistening down in glossy streams, a trio of droplets cascading down his back while Poem bites on his palm, he asking her to bite even harder before he feels scarlet. Rudy never bit; he took entire gaping pieces away every time he'd make Niklaus get to his knees.

He'd cry through it, let it end, but with Poem, he didn't want it to end. It only ends when the two of them are lying in bed together, it nearing four in the morning, where they should've been sleeping instead of making the bed rock back and forth, but it is there, in her bed, with the sheets bunched up around their shoulders, hiding their unsavory parts from the camera he is certain is in the room, he lays down the law.

"Tomorrow, Poem, we don't know what we're going to be running into," he instructs her, as patiently and politely as he can, "But I am going to need you to listen to me," Niklaus's voice is warm, kind, sweet, all the adjectives that Poem praises him with as he feels her tongue against his own, they exploring every crevice of her mouth as she knocks her sketchbook to the side, turning off the light. Niklaus likes the darkness, almost as much as he likes Poem flush against him, his own cheeks burning at the thought. "If we're going to get out of this alive, I need you to listen to everything I say."

"Of course, Niklaus," Poem says, her voice eager, her eyes bright, her skin glowing, but he isn't sure if it is just because they slept together that she's going along with this. He is still uncertain why after all the explaining he and Damien do, it is Richmond Anvil of all people who manages to get through, but he isn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He'd rather not kiss him either – Rudy has ruined the very experience of men, if it is something Niklaus were to ever consider dabbling in – but the sentiment is there… Poem's chances of not dying might not go up.

Well, he's not so sure about that now.

"Poem, we need to go!" Niklaus barks at her, looking back occasionally at the cornucopia. There are two tributes already dead, they looking like guys from their point, before the hill starts to slope down, but he can't be sure. "We can't just stay here, it isn't safe!"

"I want to stay here," she cries out, squeezing her eyes shut, wrapping herself around the tree as desperately as she can. "I want to stay here where it's safe!"

"I can guarantee you that this might be the most literally unsafe place in the entire arena, Poem," Niklaus doesn't want to argue, but the frustration is rising further upstream, boiling his blood. He simply can't leave her here, he knows that he can't do that, for she'd surely be killed by one of Diana's arrows, or Magnus's bravado, or Vesuvia's ferocity, but he is not going to give up. If he has to drag her kicking and screaming, by the hair even, he will.

"Niklaus…" Poem whines, looking at him with fright evident in her eyes, making him sigh.

"Fine…" he looks back at the cornucopia, swallowing. This is crazy, completely crazy, but he's never known himself to make sound decisions, the injection marks on his arms pulsating for effort as if they agree with him. Niklaus looks down at the scarred flesh, done over each other in patches of rubbed raw red, puffy pink… he's already shot up more times than he can count… what is one tickle with a blade going to hurt? "Stay here and stay out of sight," Niklaus tells her, his voice shaking. "I'm going to get us a bag and a few weapons, so we aren't just lame ducks…"

He doesn't wait to hear if Poem agrees with him or not, but something tells Niklaus that he isn't dealing with the most stupid person in the world, where even basic instinct will push her to survive, Niklaus rushing up the hill some, diving forward behind the massive oak tree, pressing himself flush against the trunk. His chest rises and falls, heaving breaths until he takes a glimpse around it.

Orion and Magnus are squaring each other off, Magnus holding onto a spear, while Orion has a sword, Niklaus watching for a second as the two guys swing at each other, but that's it, until Niklaus is making a mad dash for a bag that is a few feet away from them. There seems to be a golden blade sticking out of the ground as well. He has one shot at this, and if he's lucky, neither one of them will-

"Fuck it," Niklaus hisses to himself, taking off again, hands encircling around the straps of the bag, skidding to a stop, and nearly falling over as Magnus jabs with the spear, but he's angled down, going right into Orion's wound on his leg. The sound the boy from Four makes is ghastly, Niklaus's blood chilling to the core, he falling back, more copper sliding into the grass. Niklaus barely lets out a peep as he throws the backpack over his shoulders, trying to not stare at the red. "Do not stare at the red…" his voice is cold, striking, harsh, as he yanks the blade out of the ground, a dirk of some kind.

He gets to his feet before he hears Magnus's voice strike right through his own flesh. "Well, did you think I wasn't going to notice you running away?" Niklaus freezes on the spot, jolting in place until he turns around. Perhaps Magnus wants to finish Orion off in another way – Niklaus tries to not think about the horrible sex joke he just made in his own head – for now the boy from Two is squarely focused on him, and only him.

"Well, I mean…" he laughs, but he backs up all the same, Magnus shifting his grip on the spear.

The boy from Two scans over the supplies in his hand. "That all just for you or for…" the boy's eyes darken with anger, Niklaus swallowing in fear. "Or for that partner of yours who thought this was going to be some sort of fashion show bullshit?" Magnus makes another advance, Niklaus backing up in equal measure. "Why don't I skewer you here, so I can let Diana get her later?"

He's thrusting forward with the spear, Niklaus dodging out of the way just in time before the sharp point slices in the air, missing him completely. Magnus snarls, thrusting the spear forward one more time, before Niklaus slashes downward with the blade in his hand. It slices into one of Magnus's fingers, the right one holding further down the spear. There's the splash of scarlet, another snarl from Magnus, and Niklaus kicking the boy from Two in the chest.

Niklaus turns on his heels and runs, not looking behind him to see if Magnus recovered, as he makes his way up the hill back to Poem, who has done as he asked, curled into a ball behind the tree he left her at. Some of Magnus's blood splatters onto his face, she getting to her feet with a gasp rising from her throat.

"Blood…" Poem whispers… "Is-"

"It's from Magnus," Niklaus grits his teeth together, before setting the backpack down to open it. "Bastard wanted to get some tallies next to his name," he doesn't bother taking the time to search through it extensively, seeing that there's another knife wedged down in the far right of the backpack, wrapped up in a protective guard as he pulls the weapon out. "Take this; I've got one too," Niklaus tells her, handing the weapon to Poem, who looks like she has no idea what to do with it, fumbling it around.

He rights himself, slinging the bag over his shoulder, blade in hand, speckled with the blood of Magnus Winterthorn, that very thought sending rivets of excitement through his body. There is still fighting happening, for Niklaus can hear it, and he knows Poem can too by the face her face loses some of its color. These tributes might fight until there's no one left.

"Let's go," he tells her, and the two of them take off into the arena, down the left side of it, the far left, where Niklaus's boots crunch against the obsidian beach, a calm, quiet lapping of waves at the shore, the District 8 alliance getting swallowed out of sight.

They've survived the bloodbath, but it does not mean they're entirely out of danger.

Diana Kratovska: District 4 Female P.O.V (17)

This is where she feels alive, and Diana Kratovska truly does feel alive. She's not sure if she is actively laughing aloud, or if there's some part of her brain hidden away constantly being triggered and pressed upon for this noise to constantly stream out of her lips. She seriously cannot contain her joy, and on any other day it'd bother her, for a Kratovska is generally serious, and while they have their fun, this is a different kind of fun to begin with. She dodges another terribly thrown spear by Jasper Overheart, but he's a bit too far away from her for Diana to feel confident in her arrow finding its target: his heart.

She's already fired at him once, but his reflexes are a bit too sharp, she not accounting for that as she lines up the shot; the entire world had been watching her, since she's the only one to run forward. Diana laughs again at her genius as she climbs on top of the cornucopia, ambling her way up from branch to branch, groaning in exertion until she's at the very top of the horn. There are a few more tributes around, such as Portia and her girl alliance, as Diana is certain she hasn't seen her leave. Jasper and Vesuvia are talking in hushed voices on the edge of the scorched land, but again, too far for her to feel confident in finding them.

Diana hasn't seen Orion, and with the luck of it all, he would've already died from his wounds. She sees Magnus rising up from the ground, the boy from Eight running away from him at top speed with his district partner towards the obsidian beach, she rolling her eyes again. Of course the weakest tributes in the entire arena seem to survive and outlive a few others… no, she's not bitter, but it means she needs to have another conversation with Magnus, who she can hear groaning from beneath her, his found spear in his hand.

It had been hard to convince him to let her have the bow, if there had not been multiple of them, but it is as if Cain Passionia and the Gamemaker team blesses her with fortune and luck, for she happens to rise in the perfect position, the bow already there leaning up against the cornucopia. It also is like pulling teeth in getting Catalus and Magnus to stay behind at their pedestals or starting points. She has no idea what they're walking into, but if they let her go first, she can get the ball rolling.

As far as she is aware, they've all gotten the same comment from their escorts, and it seems to have only come from One, Two, Four, and maybe a few others, but she isn't sure of that. Orion is not making eye contact with her on the elevator down to the hovercraft, she able to see the hickies purpling his neck up and down, smirking, while Wyvern lectures, lectures, and God, the old sot never shuts up.

"Be entertaining," Wyvern tells them, his voice echoing around the chamber. "That is my only command. I am sure the other escorts are telling their tributes the same thing. The Capitol, and this administration wants entertainment. Your punishment, our cinema..." A shudder slides down Diana's back at the words; she still did not ask for this, but she'll play along by the rules, as that is what a Kratovska does. Wean on the line just so, without tipping over, enough to be noticed, but not enough to be labeled a problem.

"Not enough to be a problem, Di?" a voice taunts her as she's sitting atop the cornucopia, trying to line up her perfect shot as she sees the girl from Six, Porscha, throw Kileigh off of Pierce, the girl from Five having gone mad and shaking the kid back and forth. Kileigh manages to push Porscha off, for Kai'sa is calling after her ally, there's a blur of bodies, and both the girl from Five and boy from Six vanish into the arena. "Your family was problematic enough that they're all dead, and they've left you here to die alone, and cold…"

"Oh shut up!" Diana growls to herself, before lining up her shot at Kai'sa Shadow's back. She saw the girl for a moment before the chaos truly took hold – all by her hand, of course, which she'll champion till the end of time – with a knife in hand, and she can see where the extremely high score took hold, for the girl's strikes against her own partner – "Wonder who she takes after?" Diana giggles to herself – are delicate yet fierce, a snarl of teeth and bright hair before Ramses knocks her into the cornucopia and escapes with a bleeding Orion following him.

"If you want entertainment, just show Orion and Ramses getting it on; I'm sure every single person here in the Capitol would like to see it," Diana jokes with Wyvern before the elevator reaches its destination, Orion howling in protest, he almost throttling her, but she shoots him a glance.

He's not her ally anymore, not her district partner frankly if he is going to double-cross her for some coal dust hatchling who is disfigured, as they've all seen the bent fingers that Ramses actually has, and the hollow spaces where those fingers are no more. It is because of that reason, that she no longer has use of Orion, that her first shot is at him. All bets are off, the gloves are off too, and she's grinning while seeing the scarlet of his spill out.

Portia made her bleed. Diana grits her teeth in anger. She very well couldn't let some Capitol supporting fanatic – how stupid could one be? – just get a hand on Catalus, her prized possession, someone she'll show off and milk the richness right out of his tanned skin and get away with it. Her arrow is a warning shot, but instead Portia had taken it as a sign of aggression and charged her. She loses the girl in a tumble where, just because of pure body mass, Diana is dropped into the dead grass head first, but Portia doesn't have a weapon on her, and one of her allies is dragging the girl from Two back…

The girl made her bleed. Diana will make her bleed; she will make so many people bleed. If only they could've been allies, for she is gorgeous enough, pretty enough, and curvaceous enough for Diana to take refuge in those hips, but there truly isn't time in the arena for romance… something Orion seems to have forgotten.

Diana is about to get down from the cornucopia when she feels a presence behind her. She whirls around, reaching for an arrow out of her quiver, only for someone's strong arm to collide into her chest. A bit of glee rises in her throat as she sees Jasper staring back at her, but his smack is enough to almost send her careening over the edge of the cornucopia onto the ground. At a certain angle, it could mean a broken bone or neck or…

"Go ahead, take another shot," Jasper winks at her, and then, with a coy smile, "Have a nice fall," he tells her, before giving her another shove. Diana lets out a faint cry of surprise, but she's got her fingers working at the bowstring. She fires, it slicing through his cheek. Jasper lets out a weak cry, flying back away from her and onto the surface of the cornucopia while his skin leaks out copper.

Why is this so fun for her?

Diana doesn't get to think on the thought until she's hanging off of one of the tree's branches, the entrance to the cornucopia close by, she peering into it to see no one. Has everyone truly deserted? No… they can't all be gone…

She looks back, listening out to see if Jasper has jumped off, but there only seems to be the sound of whimpered pain. Diana sees Catalus out just a bit, looking through a crate, a tomahawk strapped to his side, and he has a sword in his hand, but there's no blood on it. She goes to take a step forward when she sees Cecelia dart out behind her from the cornucopia. It catches her by surprise, yelping in pure shock, clinging to the metal surface, until she sees the speed Cecelia is running at, like she is a steam engine going full truck ahead… there's a knife in her hand, and Catalus's neck is…

Diana doesn't hesitate, releasing an arrow in the girl's direction.

Cecelia does not even have the time to cry before it pierces the back of her neck, scarlet spewing everywhere, she tumbling down to the ground without a sound, the knife falling out of her hand. She lands behind Catalus, just mere inches away from him, the noise startling him. He spins around, the silver blade of his sword doing its job in killing air particles, until he looks down at the corpse beneath him. A croak of surprise bubbles in his throat, perhaps that of mourning. Catalus looks up, seeing that it is an arrow lodged in her brain stem, and then at Diana…

She can only smirk back at him. She just saved his life, and he is going to look at her in horror; a twisted sense of priorities, she suspects.

Diana realizes why she loves this so much. She doesn't shoot and practice her archery and see fish get skewered by the dozen on her homemade arrows because it's fun.

She shoots to kill, and there's nothing finer than seeing someone die, to have that kind of power in her own hands.

Portia Beninblade: District 2 Female P.O.V (18)

There's dead kids everywhere, and while Portia takes no pleasure in seeing that they're dead, there's no part of her that is fostering love for any of the souls who have recently departed. There seems to be no one truly left at the cornucopia plain, the only people she sees truly in her line of vision being the trio of Catalus, Magnus, and Diana, they talking to themselves in the far corner of the plain, near the traversed rocky land, one of the far sides of the arena, farther than the fishing village that she wants to run down.

Portia hisses in pain while rummaging through one of the crates in the far back of the cornucopia. It is where she had been when Sylvan, that always frightened looking kid from Seven chucked a pumpkin at Catalus, which had been funny, but it is an opportune moment for Portia to rush in and show why she's earned a seven in front of the Gamemakers, though she still believes they should've scored her higher. She's loyal, the most loyal subject in the history of Panem, and they are treating her well enough to send her to her death.

One of Diana's arrows found her thumb, cutting through it cleanly, and while there is a minor scrape on her knee which does hurt every time she moves, it is not Portia's clear concern. She looks back behind her, as she isn't shoved in the complete far end of the cornucopia, grimacing while her injured thumb rests against the side of a crate. "See anything useful?" she whispers, bracing for the inevitable reverberation that is sure to haunt her while she speaks.

Nokomis's eyes glow in the dark, the end bits of her hair flecked with crimson – Portia saw it, and only has to commend the girl on how clean the kill had been, for it had been immaculately done, and without hesitation. A sister in arms, for sure, a sister she will gladly have on the battlefield with her. – and it moves in a spinning circle as she shakes her head in dissent.

"Nothing really," she says, dismissively, setting one of the crates down. Camilla is rummaging through a box to their right, a club in her hands, it looking more soft than hard, but Portia doesn't want to antagonize the girl about her weapon choice yet given she's the highest scorer. Portia knows the girl scored well, scored damn well, better than her, but they're letting her lead for she has the most grit.

Camilla goes to say something but there's a loud thump as someone jumps or slides off the cornucopia, landing in the grass right behind them. The three girls freeze, Portia's hand going immediately for the long, curved blade that she finds curving in the grass. After fighting with Catalus, and needing to dodge Diana's arrows – there is never a greater feeling in her life than knocking a criminal to the dirt, she detests criminals, people who cannot live honestly and without the need to cause trouble, as she body slams the girl from Four into the ground – gives her the perfect distraction to rush back into the cornucopia. She throws a tarp over her hair to let it camouflage against the smooth, hollow metal.

Portia cranes her head to listen to the hushed voices that are speaking, a sharp whine echoing through the cornucopia that has all three girls duck behind a respective crate, for it seems whoever is talking – there's two of them, Portia can tell – have pressed themselves flush against the surface.

"Where… where did you get that?" comes a girl's voice, it unmistakably belonging to that of Vesuvia Vocanova. Portia's blood turns to ice, she taking a brave step forward, hand going for the blade sheathed at her side. If… what were to happen if she is to stab straight through the metal? Would it pierce into the girl's skin, her heart?

"Who else uses arrows in the arena, Vesuvia?" follows the bitter and scathing reply of Jasper Overheart, who Portia had heard above her head just a few moments before, another failed attack against the Queen Bee, she suspects.

"I'm going to kill her," there is fury in Vesuvia's voice, a fury that Portia has never heard or felt before, frightening enough that Camilla and Nokomis unconsciously move closer to their other ally, weapons on hand. "I'm going to kill her, and there's-"

Jasper cuts her off, Portia seeing a shadow move, and the tributes begin walking away, though she isn't sure where their destination will be. As far away from them as possible, truthfully. "We have other things to worry about; let's fight another day…"

If there's more between them, she doesn't hear it, and then the two are gone, leaving the girls in the cornucopia, a few weapons between them, but nothing substantial. "Let's go," Portia whispers, putting her blade back in its sheath, making a few steps closer and closer to the entrance of the cornucopia, a ray of light marking the way, highlighting a path.

"Go where?" Camilla asks, though her voice isn't combative, just curious, and high pitched. Portia looks back at her allies, a sharp moment of clarity hitting her in the forehead… someone just asked for her opinion and believes in her to give the right answer.

"Suck on that, Mom and Dad," she tells herself in glee, and then, as she peers around the right side of the cornucopia to see it clear from any tributes, back to her allies, "Have we been paying tabs on where everyone's been going?"

"Does it even matter?" is Nokomis's response, Portia's nostrils flaring. One is loyal, the other insubordinate…

She sets her jaw firm, bracing herself to run. "No, I suppose it doesn't matter, but we shouldn't waste time. I don't want Diana or her bitch boys to get any ideas," she says, sneering, before getting another look at the left side, where she had last seen the deadly trio. They're all rummaging through a crate of what looks like medical supplies, Portia taking a bit of glee into her veins, seeing that there's a gnarly cut down Magnus's hand, leaking free. "Coast is clear," Portia whispers. "Let's go into the forest… it's the closest straight shot."

She lets Camilla and Nokomis go first, seeing their dark run together offsetting her light. Portia takes out her blade on the defense, and truly, it is rather hysterical that the two girls ran without even another moment's thought, because they could become, as Diana declares hotly, target practice… let them become target practice.

"If they die," she vocalizes aloud, "Then that means they were bad allies," Portia snickers to herself, and seeing that Nokomis and Camilla were about to make it to the edge, she takes off as well.

Her feet are pounding on the ground, she swiping up the last free backpack she sees on the ground, swinging it across her shoulders. Her heartbeat roars in her ears, she looking back to see if anyone is following her, her heart stampeding faster when she sees Diana right herself completely from the crouched position she's in, but the girl is too far away from her to make a difference.

Portia smiles to herself, turning back around, to get only then boxed in the face with the hilt of a sword. She gasps in pain from the strike, the metal hitting her square in the center of her head, Portia collapsing into the grass. Black dots burrow themselves into her vision, rolling over until sees Calen Kinegrove standing over her with a grim look on his face. If Nokomis and Camilla have stopped to see what is wrong, she can't tell, for he is obstructing her view.

"You…" Calen whispers, and the positivity she remembers this kid containing from the tribute parade has evaporated. He's holding onto a sword, the same sword he just swung – "Wrong end, you idiot," Portia cannot resist the jab in her own head – into her head kept in his grasp.

"Listen, kid…" Portia tries to reason, fumbling for her own knife out of reach, keeping her eyes on him, he keeping his eyes on her… "I told you, girls only alliance and I'm sorry-"

"You're going to hurt them," his voice is cold, colder than any tone her parents ever spoke at her with. "And I am not going to let you do that; Nokomis and Camilla don't deserve to die because you stabbed them in the back!" Calen growls, and he's diving forward with the sword.

Portia rolls out of the way just in time as the blade pierces through the ground, she getting to her feet, spinning around so she's behind him. She sees both of her allies frozen in the tree line, simply staring, that only fueling her anger even further. Calen tries wrenching his sword out of the ground, it buried in deep, but it is the perfect opportunity.

She stabs him in the shoulder with her blade, it being an easy spot to find, a bloodcurdling scream rising out of the boy from Ten as Portia removes the weapon. He falls back some, crying in anguish, she ending his suffering as she drives the serrated edge of her knife across his throat, like it's wrapping paper, letting him slump to the ground.

He's right, and Portia knew it the moment they locked eyes last night… and she's not going to let anyone get in the way of her plan.

A Beninblade knows to take her time, to the point where they will never suspect her.

Portia leaves Calen's corpse in the dust, the bloodbath behind her.

The Games have officially begun, and the first day begins.

24th: Zachary Edison, 12, District 5 Male. Killed by Nokomis Yanaba of District 10 via sword to the chest. Submitted by GreyShade. Ahh, Zachary, my sweet little science child. It seems to be a curse that the smart kid of my SYOTs dies first, as Deacon, and Tach, both smart kiddos, met their ends first in the Slaughterverse stories. I enjoyed writing you, but some instances were more difficult than others, and I found other niches for tributes to fill that left you exempt. I'll miss you and your semi-cheerful spirit, but wrong place, wrong time.

23rd: Dill Waylon, 16, District 11 Male. Killed by Vesuvia Vocanova of District 3 via strangulation. Submitted by A Mad Tea Party. Dill, I must admit you were one of the more difficult tributes in this cast to write, and I feel like I didn't give you a lot of space to shine in, but given your quiet personality and somewhat demure backstory, it simply got overshadowed by all the large personalities in this piece, with niches I don't think you could fill. Someone noticed your efforts, but Vesuvia is too good of a competitor to try and compete against.

22nd: Cecelia Blackstone, 13, District 1 Female. Killed by Diana Kratovska of District 4 via arrow to the head. Submitted by A Proud Bibliophile. Fiona, I must thank you for sending someone different for a D1F from the usual norm, but Cecelia was too small and too sweet for surviving in the Games, even at the beginning. She had more in her than I expected, a few good paths I could have gone down, but her death done by Diana's hands spur a lot more than her surviving past this carnal bloodshed, unfortunately.

21st: Calen Kinegrove, 15, District 10 Male. Killed by Portia Beninblade of District 2 via slit throat. Submitted by silversshade. Calen, you really were a sweetheart, and honestly one of my favorite tributes to write, but you took too long to get serious, and trying to call out Portia - time will tell if you end up being correct - cost too much, and you also ran a seemingly similar storyline along a few other tributes. Being ostracized from Girl Power unfortunately made this choice a lot easier to make, but know you proved your mother wrong even in death.

Tribute List (Boy - Girl)

District 1: Catalus Drachma [Submitted by Manny Siliezar]

District 2: Magnus Winterthorn [Submitted by Audmirable] / Portia Beninblade [Submitted by WhateverIsOpen]

District 3: Jasper Overheart [Submitted by ParanoidSylph] / Vesuvia Vocanova [Submitted by Platrium]

District 4: Orion Maythorpe [Submitted by jimster920] / Diana Kratovska [Submitted by Firedawn'd]

District 5: Kileigh Katsaras [Submitted by LiveFreeOrDie]

District 6: Pierce Alversway [Submitted by Merlin's Brown Jacket] / Porscha Watanabe [Submitted by thornehub]

District 7: Sylvan Adello [Submitted by In Writing] / Nevaeh Davoli [Submitted by dyloccupy]

District 8: Niklaus Peverell [Submitted by timesphobic] / Poem Cavalli [Submitted by LordShiro]

District 9: Gemini Lennox [Submitted by Apple1230] / Camilla Rodriguez [Submitted by Reign of Winter]

District 10: Nokomis Yanaba [Submitted by Ripple237]

District 11: Cassiopeia Grey [Submitted by ZeroIsANumber]

District 12: Ramses Boskov [Submitted by Guesttwelve] / Kai'sa Shadow [Submitted by SetFiresJust2WatchThemBurn]

...

ALLIANCE LIST

The Mini Careers: Catalus Drachma (D1M), Magnus Winterthorn (D2M), Diana Kratovska (D4F)

Girl Power: Portia Beninblade (D2F), Camilla Rodriguez (D9F), Nokomis Yanaba (D10F)

Brutal Technology: Jasper Overheart (D3M), Vesuvia Vocanova (D3F)

Respect for the Principal: Orion Maythorpe (D4M), Ramses Boskov (D12M)

The Dancing Queens: Porscha Watanabe (D6F), Kai'sa Shadow (D12F)

Woodland Family: Sylvan Adello (D7M), Nevaeh Davoli (D7F)

Wax Poetica: Niklaus Peverell (D8M), Poem Cavalli (D8F)

Loners: Kileigh Katsaras (D5F), Pierce Alversway (D6M), Gemini Lennox (D9M), Cassiopeia Grey (D11F)

...

Kill Leaderboard:

Portia Beninblade (D2F): I
Vesuvia Vocanova (D3F): I
Diana Kratovska (D4F): I
Nokomis Yanaba (D9F): I

Well, ladies and gentlemen... *trumpet sounds* It's here! The Liberty Bloodbath has commenced, and we are now headlong into the arena with those six povs + the countdown and all of that. I guess not truly a huge bloodbath with only four tributes dead, but my bloodbaths will never be super high, as six is the number I always reach, but with the 1st Games I imagine that the bloodlust wouldn't have taken everyone yet. I am very excited about this story, and this arena storyline I have is going to be the best one yet, I swear it.

Four dead, twenty left alive, scattered among the arena... which since it will be hard to picture entirely, I'll say what it is here. It is an arena that is very elaborate. The cornucopia is on a risen hill with a gigantic oak tree. It is then divided from there into five sections that encircle it. Immediately south of the cornucopia is a fishing village made entirely out of wooden structures with trees. To the southwest, a scorched earth sort of land with rocks and not a whole lot of hiding places. To the southeast, a very dense forest where all is not as it seems. To the northwest, a beach made entirely out of obsidian glass, and to the northeast, a very rocky place, almost like a canyon. There are many more secrets inside this arena, where you'll learn them all soon.

At the end of each chapter, the tribute list, alliance list as it stands, and the Kill Leaderboard will be updated accordingly, of course with eulogies, and spoilers abound. I will not be letting you guys know who heads the povs unless there is a Capitol character or two interjected along it for I have a Capitol plot that is important to the events overall. I hope you guys used my music suggestion, and always, feedback and suggestions and what you thought about the bloodbath and the story and the characters... all of it would be greatly appreciated. I love you all so much and will see you sometime before November 6th with Arena Night 1, Chapter #22: The Arena's Kiss of Death, with six tribute povs. Thank you all for your support! Have a great day! Bye!

~ Paradigm