Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new chapter of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Death, Chapter #25: Victories of the Few. This focuses on Arena Day IV, with six tribute povs for ya, and I am so excited for what I've got planned today. Last chapter, Niklaus and Poem got to see Surt, the next god to be revealed in the arena, show his hand. Jasper and Vesuvia received a sponsor gift, Diana and Magnus tried impressing each other, Ramses received training, Kileigh showed she needed training, and Porscha got wrongful undue vengeance, and there's eighteen tributes in the arena now, not nineteen. This chapter and the next both focus on Day and Night 4, and the pace is gonna keep picking up, and there's just so much I want to spoil, but I can wait. Red Silence submissions are open still, and I will keep reminding you guys till they close, so please submit. Enjoy Chapter #25: Victories of the Few!
"If you believe in yourself and have dedication and pride - and never quit, you'll be a winner. The price of victory is high but so are the rewards." ~ Bear Bryant
Nokomis Yanaba: District 10 Female P.O.V (16)
She can still hear the booms of the cannons when she closes her eyes and wraps the shawl that had been sent from the sky around her head. Nokomis still feels the vibrations travel up along her spine, resonating at the tips of her fingers where she clenches the pencils and pens that she uses to write her poetry. Her heartbeat is sluggish, to the beat of the boom, to the cannons that echo into the night. A low settling mist has settled itself over the barriers between the lands, their alliance stopping just on the border to rest for the night, with Portia taking the first guard duty. Nokomis can't sleep, as she looks up at the night sky, when the face of Kileigh Katsaras, the girl from Five, is shown.
Nokomis also cannot believe the thought that comes next in her head, but she is surprised it took three days in this hellish landscape, this concoction that makes zero sense for the girl from Five to finally die. For someone who spoke of pacifism and non-violence, she saw the dark-haired girl going from station-to-station antagonizing – primarily the Three's, Nokomis's blood chilling at how Vesuvia would hold the knife in her hand, staring up and down at the prey as if she were a predator – those who would use the weapons. Nokomis can't even remember what stations she visits during their training, she has put a mental block over the events concerning the last couple of days, and there they'll stay until she has had enough fill.
A cricket chirps, and a bird caws, causing Nokomis to sit up as that means it is time to awake. When nature is up, she needs to be up, digging her hands into the dirt. Her fingers are caked with mud and other sorts of earthliness that has soaked itself into her skin, trying to hide the red tinge of blood that rests on her elbow and near her wrist. Zachary's blood. Her kill, her singular kill she has made so far, and it is a twelve-year-old boy. She scratches at the spot occasionally sometimes, absorbing the energy it takes to try and not claw out her own hand, to see that same blooming cardinal flower drip into the dead grass.
It is because she feels nothing, inside, at watching the boy die. Not because she had wanted to wake up the morning of the Games and kill, it is nothing like that, but seeing Zachary choke on his pleas to live, even if it means Diana snipes from afar with her bloody arrows… it does nothing to stop her from plunging the sword into his chest. The blade is resting, wrapped up in her sleeping bag, against one of the trees, they having camped in a more densely spotted place where the grass does not seem as dead.
Camilla is already up, a rabbit in her hands that she starts to skin, while Portia is surveying through the supplies. Nokomis keeps her eyes on both of her allies, where Camilla's only weapon is the knife being used to skin their breakfast alive, and Portia's is stuck to her belt. Nokomis realizes, with a slight pang of curiosity, that she is the only one with a weapon that has reach, for she's certain neither of her allies know how to throw one. She doesn't either, but still.
Portia pats her hands together, dusting off some fallen leaves that have landed on her shoulder. Leaves have been falling constantly onto their camp since last night, a never-ending shower of nature that makes Portia wrinkle her nose in disgust at the sight. "Interfering with their perfect design…" the girl snips, causing Camilla to roll her eyes over their dwindling, crackling fire, the embers laughing in return, resonating in her heart.
"Their perfect design could be that they want the arena to shit on you, Porta Potty," Camilla tells her, and Nokomis almost expects blood to be drawn by the way Portia lifts her head up, but the nickname is a great insult, and she laughs along with it.
The tension is still there from the night before, but not as thick. Nokomis figures, after Portia receives a sponsor gift from the sky – it is a batch of strawberries, along with a note from Merida that they need to perform or else, for even two members of the same alliance getting kills in the beginning of the Games is apparently not entertaining enough for these fuckers – that they've stayed still too long, and they're going to move.
"I am going to take a leak," Portia says, again causing Camilla to roll her eyes.
"Please, I so needed to know that…" the girl from Nine groans into the sleeve of her tribute uniform, coughing. Nokomis locks eyes with Camilla, but neither say anything as Portia simply stomps off, taking her knives with her.
They are no longer a chatty bunch, not that Nokomis expected to be the one to do all the talking, but whatever semblance of sisterhood she felt from Camilla back in training – it is the one thing she'll never forget, how the girl from Nine reaches across the lunch table and holds her hand, the soft and smooth touch of her fingers over sore knuckles, and how she calls her work beautiful… - has all but dissipated. Nokomis is no scholar, but she knows why. She did kill someone, someone so young, but from what she could tell, as she reaches for the blade and wrenches it out of the ground, is that Zachary had been reaching for the blade as well. The little boy would've gutted her; is she just supposed to stand there and let it happen?
"Camilla," Nokomis whispers, scooting closer on the ground. The air is silent, besides that initial chirp of the cricket and cawing bird. They haven't ventured that far into the forest, she feeling the oddness of the land settle on her arms, setting the hair straight up. Something is out there, Portia sensing it too, for how they have only stuck to the outskirts looking for tributes to beat up.
The girl looks over, an unamused look on her face while she finishes skinning the rabbit, the hide almost blending it with the dead grass and the pile of leaves at their feet. "What, Nokomis?"
"I-" the girl licks her lips, the apology she wants to say halting against her teeth. She cannot get the kid's face out of her head when she falls asleep, when the girls all say good night to each other, all Nokomis can hear, all she see is the kid's face. There are tears in alternating colors on his dark skin, sometimes that of a crude violet that shines under blacklight, sometimes crystalline in their shine. It is often blood, whenever she even closes her eyes for a second. No sound, nothing but Zachary's face.
It is the guilt that Nokomis feels spiraling up her stomach, ensnaring her organs tight, wrapping around like fungi against her arms and pinning her to the Earth, but she does not show it on her face. Her father never did, even when money gets slightly tight, even when he kisses her on the forehead after he is shipped off to war, off to die. Her mother is not as stoic, but there is still a lack of quivering lips to be had in the Yanaba household, and they never went out to the market to buy tissues.
Nokomis scrapes her fingers down the bloodied hand, unable to hold eye contact from the look Camilla is giving her. It is that of despicability, that of anger, that of revile disgust… she sees Camilla look at Portia with the same glance, and while Nokomis does not necessarily trust her ally from Two, she does not feel the same malevolence that radiates out of Camilla's skin. "What, Nokomis?" her ally repeats, almost sounding bored. She holds the blade out at an awkward angle, a sunbeam resting on it and getting in Nokomis's face.
She hasn't written a poem since the morning of the launch, her fingers desperate to snag a pencil and some paper, just to jot down some thoughts. Her own head is filled with ideas, filled with words, ways to channel how she feels when she plunges the cold steel into Zachary's warm flesh, when his warm cries hit her cold ears, and how Camilla's cold demeanor turns Nokomis into a person of frost herself…
Her throat is dry, despite having just taken a sip of water. "I wanted to apologize for… for earlier," she says, her voice cracking. Camilla raises an eyebrow, while Nokomis swallows through the pain. It is not pride that is making this difficult, nor is it remorse, for there is none resting in her gut. It is not remorse or shame that floods through her veins, for it certainly does not show in Portia's own expressions as she draws the blade sharp across Calen's throat. She should feel enraged that her district partner dies, but he attacked an ally and hadn't been one of their own… it is the law of the jungle, and the law of the jungle does not discriminate. "I wasn't thinking back there, at the cornucopia…" she licks her lips again, while Camilla sets the blade in the grass, the sun now shining off of the hilt.
"You don't have to apologize," Camilla says, but Nokomis holds a hand up in the air, shaking her head.
"I see the way you look at me." There is an awkward shift, as Camilla reaches for the blade again, she starting on the meat of the rabbit itself. "The judgement. The fear…" Nokomis moves towards her ankle, circling a finger around the bone and digging downwards. Distractions, as there is no pencil to scrape her skin with. "I understand it, I get why you'd feel that way," she shakes her head, her two braids that she fastens last night before falling asleep hitting her neck. "I killed Zachary without a moment's hesitation, and it looks like it hasn't affected me."
"Well you're not wrong there…" Camilla mumbles, breaking the eye contact they've established, as Nokomis can hear Portia walking back to them, humming to herself, stuck in her own precious, dumb world.
"I see his face every time I close my eyes," Nokomis admits, this getting her ally to look up, lips parting softly, eyes twinkling in sorrow. A guilt of her own. "It is right before I plunged the weapon into his chest, right before I killed him. And it has stuck with me," another shake of her head, as Nokomis gets to her feet. "And I understand how you feel, about what I did, and I don't blame you."
Portia makes her way back to the camp, raising an eyebrow, left out of the loop, but doesn't ask anything as she bends down for her backpack.
"I-" Camilla goes to say, but Nokomis needs to have the last word. If she does not have the last word, then this is all for nothing.
"I would feel the same exact way if it were you," the girl from Ten says, bringing her hands back to the joint of her wrist with the dried blood.
She scratches, scratches, and scratches still.
She will scratch at that spot every night until she claws off the blood, and even then, she knows she will not be satisfied.
Nokomis knows that the enemy she must face is here in this arena, and she may be looking at them right now across the pile of dead leaves and skinned rabbit hides. The enemy may be herself too, deep down inside.
Catalus Drachma: District 1 Male P.O.V (17)
"I don't think we should go inside…" Catalus frowns, running a hand down his face as the trio of he, Magnus, and Diana peer inside the cave entrance.
"Nonsense. Where's your sense of adventure?" Magnus grins, pushing the kid over slightly.
Catalus holds onto his footing as best he can, gripping the sword in his hand tighter skill. "My sense of self-preservation," he mutters, but Diana is swinging her spear around, nodding her head. The heavens have fallen down if the two of them are agreeing on anything, as the two lock eyes. "Besides, what if it collapses and we're trapped in here without food or water?"
"I won't eat you guys, I promise," Magnus jokes once more, notching an arrow into the bow.
"Dude, gross," Diana shudders, backing away from the cave entrance.
It is an early start for them, after the late cannon yesterday that has Diana doing a perimeter around their cabin in the fishing village, parked a decent distance from the tower that forever looms over the entire sector of the arena. After a breakfast of two twitching quails and some sort of rodent that Catalus finds while digging into some burrows, half expecting a snake to bite him and end his life, they're on the move. Something about Diana wanting them to be prepared for everything, as she believes they're in the 'normal' section of the arena, where the other sectors all have secrets hidden inside, and since there are no secrets in their spot, something must await them that they have to find.
"It was your idea to go searching," Magnus points out, turning around to face their fearless leader, resting his arm on the side of the entrance. It is pitch black inside, no lanterns, torches, or lights hanging on the walls as Catalus peers inside. There had been a cave system in One that his family forbids him to go into, the thought of the heir to the Drachma Conglomerate dying in a random spot in the district where no one will find his body. He is supposed to be buried in a white coffin surrounded by loved ones, lilies adorning the lip of the tomb that would be sealed off in solid gold.
He has never heard of a more ridiculous delusion in his whole life.
"Yes, but maybe we should find a place that is more well lit up," Diana points out, shifting some of the straps on her backpack to reach for her water canteen. Catalus opens his mouth, as sticking it to the Queen Bee has never not been fun, but something tells him that arguing is not going to get them anywhere, and he'd rather not be skewered with her spear.
Magnus pinches his brow, turning to face them. "Guys, we've all been told by our respective escorts that we need to perform and entertain the audiences, or otherwise they'll send things after us, and try and kill us. I don't want to die, and I know for sure that you guys don't either," he points back to the cave entrance, the darkness speaking to Catalus's heart. Even though he is forbidden to go, he takes Harmony with him out of a sense of lack of self-preservation, when Catalus foolishly believes that his life while grand, could be better. "We can search through this arena all we want for more tributes, or we can go in here, potentially get spared by some cameras for a brief while. What do you say?"
Catalus locks eyes with Diana, who nods, relegating control. "Fine…" she murmurs, scratching at her face. "Just for an hour; we need to try and keep time."
The boy from Two claps his hands together excitedly, grinning, and without another word or hesitation, drops down into the cave, sliding down the shale slide. "Woohoo!" he cheers out loud, his voice echoing against the rock walls.
"Magnus!" Catalus shouts, rushing forward, knocking his head against the entrance as he rushes forward, grunting in pain as the collision knocks him off of his feet and he's also sliding down into the darkness. For a moment his heartbeat picks up, forgetting that this is his specialty, this is what he has always been known for, to rushing towards the open battle because the risk involved is too heightened to miss up on. He cries out in fright, bracing for impact, but seems to fall into Magnus's open arms down at the bottom, grunting again when the two don't go toppling over. "Dude… don't do that," he chastises him, once he's on solid ground.
He turns back to the light to see Diana's shadow elongated along the floor, the two of them having fallen deep enough into the entrance to a pillar of light, a hole in the entrance pilfering sunlight from above into their secluded spot. "Catalus? Magnus?" she cries out, and for a single, solitary second, there is concern in the girl's voice, Catalus smiling at the impossible notion that the ice queen herself would ever be concerned about him. "Are you guys okay?"
"Yeah, we're great!" Magnus shouts, Catalus turning around to shush him, but the other boy is too hopped up on adrenaline to seemingly do anything else expect raise his voice even louder than that. "Just slide on down, I promise I'll catch you!" There's a pause, as Magnus giggles. "Haven't you always wanted to get caught in the hands of a shining knight in armor, Princess?" he teases.
Diana groans to herself back at the entrance, her shadow moving as she hooks herself through the opening, sliding down the slick surface. "Boys…" she groans aloud when she finally reaches them, holding her spear out as Magnus opens his arms to embrace her. Not that she would've hurt him, but he gets the picture loud and clear, slipping aside as Diana glides into place. When she's also firmly on the ground, lowering her spear, she turns back around and peers out towards the way they came. "One problem, doofuses," she spits at them, her blonde hair glowing a more orange color in the pillar of light shining down upon them. "How are we going to get back up?"
Catalus frowns, as Diana does have a point, given the actual slippery slope. Magnus, however, does not seem near as concerned as he starts moving his hand along the sheen surface of the rock wall. "We'll find another exit; there always is one!" he says, before vanishing off into the darkness.
"Wait!" Diana calls out, though Catalus jumps in place at the fact that there is so much movement. "Don't just wander off!" she races after him into the unknown, Catalus taking a step forward to follow, before pausing.
He knows he isn't crazy, as his father makes he and his brother Khristos both see a psychologist and a psychiatrist several times in their life, for the Drachma Conglomerate leaders must be of sound mind and body to run such a prestigious institution, but there's something in the system with him. Catalus draws his sword out of the scabbard by his side, the blade glowing a sheen cascade of moonlight silver in the pillar.
"Hello?" he calls out, into the darkness, expecting Diana or Magnus to respond with a question, but instead, Catalus is met with silence, his own orchestrated silence. He can feel the pair of eyes sitting on him, from behind him, as he swivels around. The sword glints off of another object out in the distance, to the right instead of the left path his allies raced down.
Catalus frowns, tilting his head to the side. Unless there had been some sort of acidic drugs in the birds they had feasted on this morning, there is a person, a glowing person, sitting on one of the boulders underneath an upside-down throne of stalagmites.
The boy takes a step forward, angling his weapon at it, taking note of how the shape is in that of a human, with arms and legs, but it is almost see-through for how bright it is. How did… how did Diana and Magnus not notice this here?
"Who are you?" Catalus levies another question, holding onto the sword with all of his might. He is not a coward; he is not someone who will let another prisoner escape into the shadows of the night with all of his secrets hanging on their lips. There is no response, just the translucent figure staring right at him, feeling its gaze pierce through his flesh. "Are you-"
"You're asking all of the wrong questions, Catalus Drachma, of District One," the creature speaks, Catalus gasping as the voice seems to resonate from inside his own head. "But you can call me Mimir, the Norse god of wisdom and advice, where if a tribute needs my help, I shall offer it to them."
No. He shakes his head, laughing, tilting his skull back, Catalus's haughty voice bounding against the glossing stone walls. Did… did this thing just speak to him? "You- god, I must be high…" Catalus laughs, leaning on his hands and knees.
"Not high, boy," the glowing figure, Mimir, speaks again, its – his? – tone very soft and gentle, almost pedantic. "Just lucky," the 'God' shifts their legs over so they're sitting like Catalus often would, a cold chill passing through his chest. "I helped the two from District 8, Poem Cavalli and Niklaus Peverell two days ago, when they fell into my domain from a sinkhole on the obsidian beach," Mimir says. "Without me, they would've been dead…" the god's voice trails off, as if it were looking to the side, no longer at Catalus. "Two extra cannons in the sky…"
This is news to Catalus, that District 8 is still alive, which does surprise him as neither tribute seemed to be capable, but capable enough to fend off Magnus apparently, from what the guy swears, though he thinks it would've been a matter of slipping and falling and wanting to cover it up as them getting away.
"You didn't want to kill them, cause they didn't deserve it," Catalus whispers to Magnus the first night after their massive blow out. "It's okay that you feel that way, Magnus; you're not a monster."
The boy's eyes had glowed a darker blue than normal in the flickering faintness of the fire. "You don't know what was I feeling then, Catalus," and Magnus had gotten up to change spots with Diana as a lookout into the night sky.
Back in the cave system, Catalus steps forward towards Mimir, sheathing his sword. He'll play, sure. He'll play roulette with this shining figure, if it turns out to be worth the risk, worth the roll of the dice, worth the gamble… he cannot resist a good undertaking of chance. "I'll bite," he says. "I need your help, then? Your advice?" Catalus takes a look around at his surroundings, frowning. "Besides being down in this cave, I don't think we are in any danger," his eyes flicker over the glowing being. "Unless you are the danger I should be worried about."
Another chuckle, faint, and light and airy. "Not me, Catalus Drachma, I am not the danger," Mimir locks its head in place to Catalus, the chill now spreading across his ribcage and down through his ankles. "It is the companions you travel with that are the dangers, and one day they will turn on you," Catalus opens his mouth to interrupt, but the creature continues to speak. "Not yet, as there are so many of you left, but eventually, when the time is right, they'll try, for you are not like them," A pause, the words that come out next venomous. "You haven't suffered."
Catalus has never felt so cold, never felt so threatened, by the way the hair on his arms stand up on end. "What do you mean?" he asks. Betrayal. Diana and Magnus, one of them, or both of them will betray him one day. How would this Mimir know? How could it possibly see? "What would I do? How do I spot it?"
Mimir stands up, tilting its head to the side. "There is another cave that you will need to find, in this arena. It would be cheating and unruly if I told you where," The voice of the god vibrates in Catalus's skull. "Use the hammer and the drum."
Hammer and drum? What does that mean? Catalus furrows his eyebrows, frowning, taking another step. None of this makes sense. "You're not making any sense!" he cries out. "What hammer and drum? Mimir!" he pleads, as Mimir turns around, starting to fade into spheres of light.
"I have helped you enough, child," A pause, as the Norse god turns around to look at him in the eyes, and this time they are on the same wavelength. "It is up to you to decide if you wish to take this next step in your journey, Catalus Drachma."
"Mimir!" Catalus cries out again, but they go unheard.
The Norse god dissolves into spheres of light, a bright halo surrounding the part of the cave he is nestled in, as Catalus can pick up the sounds of Magnus and Diana running towards him, calling his name.
The god disappears into the shadows and the flickering lights pass warmly over his skin, and in a matter of seconds, vanishes into thin air as if he had been nothing but a figment of Catalus's imagination.
Poem Cavalli: District 8 Female P.O.V (16)
Their last few kisses have felt devoid of emotion, as Poem would call them. Not that she has become some sort of expert on kissing, quite the contrary, where it seems any time Niklaus puts his hand on her heartbeat, or over her own, fingers twirling together like ballet ribbons mating in a secret ritual, he is the one to truly initiate, to show what he is good at. Being in the arena with all these cameras on her does bug her, as well as the fact that this means voyeurs potentially are enjoying their lip lock but all that matters to Poem is that she's with someone who cares about her. At least, that's what she believes.
She is not sure exactly what to believe, given the fact that the wool had been placed over her eyes by her own hand on volunteering for this death match. Sitting in the warm, hot sand, it up her knees where she'll dip into one of the hot springs to wash off, it hits her. Her volunteering saved someone else's life, she saved someone from dying in this arena because she took the stupidest leap of faith one could take. What sort of fealty is to a crown when someone swears to die for it without knowing the cost?
"Blind loyalty…" Poem whispers to herself, causing Niklaus to look up from the work he is doing, roasting a gecko over the steam coming from a hot spring on a spit. She is anything but blind, and she does not love the Capitol in the way that people might think she does. Poem sees the footage of the firebombs, tastes the smell of smoke and sulfur trapped in her gums as she chews through another rotisserie dinner her father cooks. Well, the servants cooked, but still… she has seen the war-torn sky.
She only wanted to be in the Capitol to be seen, and now she has been. And now she will die for it. Poem rubs a hand over a scab that has appeared on her left hand, near the knuckle at her pointer finger, scratching and digging her hands into the wound, peeling it away. A droplet of blood appears on her skin, she rubbing it away again and again and again when it appears. This color brought her joy, when she used to look at it, when she saw the color red draping off of her mother's body, drowning in silks by the window while the sunlight fell through.
Now it only brings pain and misery. She looks up at her ally swearing, staring at his backside as he almost plummets into the hot spring. Niklaus teeters over with a cry, landing on his elbows just off the edge as the fried gecko tumbles out of his hand, the spit slipping away from him and into the water. Poem steps up and pulls him back, hugging him to her waist as they fall into the sand together. He is still swearing when they get to their feet, dusting each other off, stomping his foot, creating a print in the red clay.
"Dammit…" Niklaus cusses, running a hand through his hair. "Well there went our lunch…" he whispers.
"There'll be others," Poem shrugs, thinking about the bright side rather than the prospect that this is their last gecko they'll ever see, for it is their luck the damned creature will have survived and gone to tell all of its friends. She can hear its little voice, despite the fact Niklaus skewered the reptile through the back and up out its mouth, whispering over the granules of sand about the villainous D8 pair who kill their kind for sport.
"Not where we're going," her ally shakes his head, going over and reaching for his bag. They're still stocked completely from finding Mimir in the underground cavern, the knife that it granted her still strapped to her side, bouncing when she moves in its flimsy hilt. Niklaus has his own blade strapped to his side too. "And because of that, Poem, I need assurances."
Poem tilts her head to the side, frowning. Assurances. A loaded word, not one filled with joy and happiness like she expects, it settling on her skin like an itch. The scab is bleeding again, she dabbing at it with her finger, sucking on the digit when it is time to lift up her hand. "What- what do you mean, Niklaus? Moving where?"
They are of the agreed mindset that this scorched earth section of the arena is not safe, or at least the most unsafe place in the arena, besides the underground caverns, as Poem tests the soil by pressing down with her feet. Sturdy, unlike the way her body rattles at the prospect of leaving. Because of the harsh conditions, in which beads of sweat trickle down her forehead, and Poem is already thirsty again despite drinking from her canteen just a few minutes ago, they have seen no one else besides that fire giant yesterday.
If they have not run into anyone, Poem knows that it just means the tributes are elsewhere in the arena for them to run into without ever expecting it. Why would Niklaus want to leave? What is drilling into his brain to make him think that leaving would be the best option?
He steps closer to her, where their breathing collides with one another in the air, she feeling his sticky skin close to her own as he digs his hands in his pocket, pulling them out, the fabric turned upside down and angled towards the dark sand. "What do you see?" he asks her.
Poem frowns, looking at Niklaus with a bewildered stare. Is… is he having one over her? "Are- are you serious?"
"Straight-faced," Niklaus responds, lifting his head some. A look of sorrow replaces the more bold anger in his eyes from losing their lunch, a smoldered over look that Poem loves about him. She loves to bottle his sorrow into her own heart, drinking the mixture as if it were a potion, feeling it bubble in her insides.
"Empty pockets."
"Exactly. Empty," his voice is empty as well, hollow, without emotion. Poem grabs his hands, surprised that they're icy cold in the warmth that is her touch, she drawing him closer to her. Cold, stone cold, even in the midst of a blazing fire that is the Cavalli legacy, as her mother claims.
"Able to make anyone feel happy, make anyone feel warm," her mother would say, tilting a martini glass towards her daughter as she feverishly stitches through another failed design. Except, Poem Cavalli does not make failed designs; she never has.
"I…" Niklaus licks his lips, rubbing his cheeks back and forth with his hands, groaning. "I brought a token with me," he says, stepping away from Poem, turning back to his backpack, zipping it shut. "It wasn't much, but it was home," her ally looks at her, her lover, she jolting in place to see that he is crying. She knew him to be soft, to be in touch with palpable emotions of empathy and such, but she's never seen him cry. "It was a coin my mother gave me before she passed, and I kept it in my pocket…" Niklaus sniffles, wiping at his nose. "It fell out at the cornucopia when I was trying to get away from that Magnus kid from Two…"
Poem nods her head, biting on her cheek. An heirloom from home, a doomed piece of himself buried in the sand or stomped to bits underneath a tribute's boot heel. Part of her wants to be selfish, to tell Niklaus to stay, to ask that he forget about the coin from his past, which is sure to be filled with drama and sadness, sorrow that she wants to consume to feed the spindle on her soul. "Back at the cornucopia?" she swallows with fear, placing a hand on his arm as he zips his backpack shut and hoists it up onto his back.
"Yes..." Niklaus whispers, holding her hand and kissing it.
"Well, I'm going," Poem says, going for her backpack, taking her knife out of the scabbard at her waist. She goes to take another step towards the direction of the cornucopia, or what she believes to be the cornucopia, as Niklaus reaches out and grabs her by the arm.
"That was the thing I wanted to ask you..." her ally licks his lips, Poem's own parting as she flickers down to look at his face. She should kiss him, get him to stay, so she doesn't have to go. But she knows that he needs this coin to be happy, for the littlest bit of happiness that they could possibly afford in this hellhole, as the dark sands rise beneath her. Poem frowns, tilting her head to the side.
"Anything, Niklaus," she takes a step closer to him, holding her hand over his heart. "Anything."
The boy from Eight, through his long dark hair and pale skin shining in the sun, twirls his blade around, closing his eyes. He takes a deep breath, chest rising and falling with the movement, before he sighs. "We might encounter anyone on the walk there," he points with the knife, the sun glinting off the golden edge. "Or that beast we saw yesterday or..." he gets ahead of himself, biting down his lip, shaking. "I won't be able to fend off the entire alliance of Catalus, Diana, and Magnus if they're still there by myself. If there is someone else, one of the duos, I can't even do that..." he pinches his brow. "I know you volunteered without knowing what was at stake, and I don't want to go alone, but-" Niklaus pauses.
But. There is always a but involved.
Poem furrows her brow together, kissing his forehead. "What, Niklaus?"
"You have to pull your weight," he tells her, pushing her a step back so she doesn't tip them both over into the hot spring. "You're going to have to fight if it goes down to that or..." Niklaus licks his lips again, and there it is, that sorrowful look in his eyes that she simply cannot get enough of. "Or you'll die..."
Orion Maythorpe: District 4 Male P.O.V (18)
They're on the move. It came in the early hours of the morning, a glinting beacon, and a parachute from the sky with Wyvern's name scrawled on the note when Orion reaches over for it and plucks the piece of paper off of the cannister. There isn't anything inside except a single roll of rope, he holding it in his hands with a frown, handing it to Ramses when he had wandered over inside their cabin. Day Four, and they're stationary. It had been a great treat to the Capitol audience, apparently, as per the words of the aged old man who sent them rope, but it is not enough. Stationary for three whole days, and if they're not lucky, Head Gamemaker Cain Passionia will drop the house down on them, crushing them and killing them.
Orion prefers the thought of dying by eating a banana, or maybe running away from a pack of wild dogs off of a cliff, because as he's falling off the cliffside he'll faint from the shock and won't remember or know what dying feels like. He asks Ramses how he'd want to die; it is a harmless question full of violence bred into the words while they sit over their quiet fire for the night, looking at the embers rise into the night sky. Ramses isn't sure, as he looks at his lover with a frown, pondering the question.
"Can I be cheesy and say in your arms?" Ramses calls up to him with a laugh while they're hiking through the Nordic fishing village. Wyvern, though he says it is illegal, mentions that there is currently only one pair of tributes in the fishing village, and while he does not give away their location or who they are, it is enough to make Orion grip the axe he is holding onto a bit tighter. He prefers the axe versus the sword that Ramses is now holding, the sword he had taken from the bloodbath.
"Well, given what we may be walking into," Orion turns back around, clutching onto the rope coil to see Ramses digging his heels into the dirt as he tries scaling the hill, "Potentially, that might happen." He cannot help but chuckle after that, lowly, in his throat, while his lover stares at him dismissively.
"Not funny, Orion," Ramses says, holding out his hand for Orion to grab.
"Just trying to lighten the mood," Orion snarks back, hoisting him up, tugging him all the way back up to solid ground, a bit of the shale and rocks tumbling back down the hill. There is a tower in the distance that they see, it being something they had run by when Ramses is trying to staunch the blood flow pouring out of Orion's leg. Looking at the wound, it is already starting to heel, for Diana's arrow tip had not gone that deep into the skin, and Magnus's spear didn't go deeper besides driving into the open cut. He'll get back at them for it, as Alistair tells him to do before he's shipped away to the guillotine.
"Defend yourself from those who'd attack you," Alistair's voice has started to give out at this point, when there are tears streaming down his face, curly hair flat against his skull, blood smeared across his face. The two of them hold hands when they're separated, and that is when Orion rushes out to the surf. He doesn't even flinch when one of his richer neighbors walked their dogs by.
"And what if that person who is attacking me is a friend?" Orion recalls asking his now dead best friend when the blade goes snicker-snack across his neck. Who can he trust when his own parents send them up the river together, tied to the barge and throwing a lit match on top of all of the money coated around them, painting the wood green instead of brown. His parents are the ones who save him, pulling him away from the Peacekeepers when they hold rifles to Orion's forehead, threatening to shoot.
He is never punished for what he's done, but his leg starts acting up again in that moment to remind him the consequences of failure.
"When I'm gone," Alistair's smile had been paper thin, as if he never even moves his facial muscles. "You won't have any friends left."
Well, Orion is not sure exactly how true that statement is, but it is partially the truth. There are rumors that he is the one who gets Alistair killed and a whole section of rebels to be tied up to stakes out in the middle of the ocean, left to drown, or become fish food for the sharks out there. No one has remained his friend since then, and for a split second, a single, solidary foolish second he feels like Diana Kratovska can be his friend. Even as she insults him on the train, maybe so.
But he has Ramses, and… why is…
Orion is so lost in thought that he nearly misses the thrown knife that goes sailing by his ear, slicing through the wind, and getting stuck in a tree. He gasps, Ramses crying out in fright, surprised as the blade seemed to come from nowhere through the green brush. Orion grabs Ramses, the two boys running for cover and dropping to their knees.
"Are- are you okay?" he asks, panting, out of breath, looking at his lover's wide eyes. Ramses is trembling in his arms, Orion holding onto the axe tighter, until he sees his ally patting his hands in fright.
"My sword…" Ramses hisses, the two of them glancing behind the tree they take cover under to see the blade sitting there, digging into the dirt, the sun shining on it miraculously, though it is not pretty even as they look at it. "Shit…" he cusses out loud, but Orion grabs him and pulls him back.
"Do not even think about going and getting it," Orion tells him, pressing a hand hard down onto his shoulder blade. "You will get hit and we do not want that…"
His voice trails off, heart pounding in his chest, as this must be the tributes that Wyvern had been talking about, when he hears footsteps. A pair of footsteps, one heavier than the other, but only two. "Okay…" he tells himself. "Sylvan and Nevaeh, or Poem and Niklaus, or Porscha and Kai'sa… or Vesuvia and Jasper, or a combo of Magnus, Catalus, and Diana…" he goes over the list. Well, that is every damn tribute, practically, as a pair.
A girl's voice, taunting. Vesuvia. "Oh come on now, you guys. I know you went behind the tree. We're all grown-ups here, we can talk!" her voice is polite, but it is slow and calming, terrifying as malevolence shoots itself into Orion's veins.
"Well I am actually only seventeen!" Ramses jokes back, before slamming a hand over his mouth, given the fact that speaking… Orion almost facepalms if the moment did not revolve around getting the axe set out for attacking. He threads the rope quickly through his pant loop, standing up.
It is Jasper's turn to speak, though his voice is not near as jubilant as Vesuvia, and nowhere near as serious sounding, as if he weren't even speaking at all. "Man, Orion, since Ramses is seventeen and everyone knows you're fucking, that makes you a predator…"
"We only want to talk…" Vesuvia drones on, her voice hanging with a languid drop of venom barely holding onto her tongue. "Right after I cut my name into your chest…"
Orion is standing up, and so is Ramses. By the voices, Vesuvia is on their left, Jasper on their right. He locks eyes with his ally, making motions to go left and right around the tree. Attack their respective side…
He closes his eyes, Alistair's words soaking through his brain. "Fight like you have nothing to win, nothing to lose. Just fight…"
Orion grips onto his battle axe, rushing around his side of the tree, seeing Ramses leap into action as well, both of them screaming. Vesuvia is twirling a blade in her hands, and a similar looking color coil of rope around her, but Jasper is holding onto the sword. Both tributes jump at the screaming when Orion collides straight into Vesuvia, swinging the butt of the axe at her and hitting her hand.
She grunts in pain, the blade twisting some to the right, missing through his clothes and his liver as they fall to the ground. Ramses has made a beeline for his sword, swiping it up just in time as Jasper trips over his own body, plummeting onto the grass. Orion looks up briefly to see Ramses dive the blade down while Jasper rolls out of the way, getting up quickly, though the boy hisses in pain from something unseen.
Vesuvia takes the opportunity to bite Orion's hand, down onto the palm, he crying out in surprise, before boxing her straight in the nose. It doesn't seem to do the trick in bleeding it, as Vesuvia laughs and hooks her hands into claws, reaching for his face. Orion has to get off of her, so she doesn't claw his eyes out, while Ramses and Jasper deal blow for blow, neither one gaining ground, though they are getting dangerously close to the edge, much further and-
Orion doesn't finish the thought as he swings the axe at Vesuvia, she ducking under it nimbly, lashing out with her blade. He sidesteps somewhat before the weapon catches the underside of his arm, the wound in his leg protesting heavily. He grunts in pain, watching a bit of scarlet seep out of the uniform and onto the grass, staining it in a copper tint, Vesuvia laughing when she slashes again, going downwards. He gets the blade into his shoe, Orion expecting agony to flit through his foot, but she misses, getting just the lip. A croak of surprise rises from the girl's throat as Orion kicks her straight in the mouth, the handle of the blade hitting her right in the teeth.
Vesuvia yelps again in pain, this time holding a hand up to her lip as the skin comes away cherry red. Jasper looks over at his ally, eyes widening, enough distraction for Ramses to blunder over his own strike, getting the boy right across the forehead. It is not a terrible slash, but similar to Orion's, Jasper is crying out in pain while blood droops down his forehead, his own cheek seemingly bandaged. Orion swings his axe down as hard as he can towards Vesuvia's chest – Diana can kill, so can he; his parents kill, so can he – she rolling out of the way and over for her knife that has flown out of his shoe.
Orion looks over as Vesuvia crawls towards the blade, seeing that Ramses is standing back in shock seeing the blood drip down Jasper's forehead. The boy from Three pulls something out of his pocket, some sort of iron cube, pressing down on it. "Use the sponsor gift!" Vesuvia yells, as she grabs her own blade away a bit, Orion making a step towards his ally when Jasper's fingers tighten their grip on the object in his hands.
Before his very eyes, a pole seems to shoot straight through the cube, out from both ends, one of them catching Ramses in the chest, right at the ribcage. His lover yelps in agony, a sound that turns Orion's blood cold, and it is as if there is something combustible in the weapon, as Ramses flies back down the very same hill they had climbed up, and it had been a decent hike.
"RAMSES!" Orion screams, all other thoughts abandoning his mind as he watches his ally, the boy from Twelve, sail over the drop-off, yelling the whole way, while Jasper looks at the weapon in bewilderment.
He sees red in his ledger, all he sees is red, as Orion rushes towards Jasper, though he is swinging with the blunt end of the axe, just barely making it connect with the kid's neck for better grip, Vesuvia howling likewise as Jasper cries out and plops to the ground, the gigantic pole falling from his hands, shrinking back into place.
Orion tugs the rope from his pant loop, trying to ignore the blood streaming down his face, not even checking if District Three is following him, as he leaps down the shale slide.
On the way down, as he can see Ramses not moving at the bottom, sword not even in his hand, a cannon fires.
Kai'sa Shadow: District 12 Female P.O.V (16)
Murderer. Murderer. Murderer. Murder. Murder. Murder. Dead girl. Dead girl. Dead girl. Dead girl. Deadgirldeadgirldeadgirl…
The voices have not stopped, no matter how hard Kai'sa tries squeezing her eyes shut and clamping her hands down over her ears when she believes Porscha isn't looking, trying to not scream while she bites down on her tongue, for her ally, her murdering ally, requests that she find other, healthier means towards getting through a spell of mania and her echolalia has been off of the charts. It is the moment Porsha's club connects with Kileigh's skull that the voices rise higher and higher, watching the weapon unstick from the girl's head with the thick blood still attached to it like strands of moss. It is when Kai'sa tugs on her ponytail as hard as she can, trying to constrict the blood-flow to her brain.
It feels righteous, if Kileigh truly murdered Pierce the way Porscha believes the girl did, but… what if- what if she's wrong?
Murder. Murder. Murderer.
That is the confusing part to Kai'sa with the voices rebounding over and over again in her head, as she is not the one who raises the club to strike the poor girl down dead, even if she did deserve it. It is not the voices telling her that Porscha is a murderer, but her own self. Kai'sa rubs her eyes, dredged with sleep. It is only nearing around four in the afternoon, and they haven't had lunch yet, as Kileigh begging not to be killed over firing an arrow at a squirrel – "Yeah, right," Porscha bitches into their sleeping bags last night. "Just hunting a squirrel my ass," – that has left their main source of food in the mystic forest section of the arena to be seen as less appetizing as usual.
They have had birds this time around, birds that have luckily not flown away from them when Kai'sa launches one of her knives at a fleeing piece of prey. It strikes the bird well and then the echolalia rises up more, murder, murder, murder, murderer you sick piece of shit. Kai'sa whimpers, rubbing her temples, as Porscha hacks and slashes away some of the brush they're facing on their journey. She does not feel comfortable encamping near the dead body, even seeing the hovercraft pick the corpse up in its gigantic mechanical claw, a loud robotic voice demanding they stay about fifty feet away from the hovercraft. Kai'sa cannot believe her eyes at seeing it up close. Porscha smirks and turns to her ally, grinning.
"That's my dad's hard work," she says, nodding and tilting her head towards the piece of machinery as it flew away with Kileigh's dead body toting along in the claw. Kai'sa looks over at her ally with a raised eyebrow… she's taken the actual murder of someone else so much better than she's ever seen anyone in their life. She has been around her new father after he has signed off executions, and he usually is spinning round and round in his chair holding onto a whiskey, definitely not smiling. "I hate him," Porscha continues, as they watch it disappear into the arena sky as if it hadn't existed in the first place. "But he did do one thing right, design that."
"But that thing has killed so many people…" Kai'sa whispers, looking at her ally in shock, eyes wide. How- what is she even saying? Kai'sa still does not fully know if it is due to a hovercraft's fire bombs or just Peacekeepers with the whole armada behind them in guns and grenades and the like that burn down the underground facility of refugees hiding from the war, refugees with their parents off at war.
Porscha's eyes are dark as she holds onto Kai'sa's hand, the girl keeping still, not moving, or flinching, but not acknowledging her presence either. "I never said I was proud of what he did with them, Kai'sa…" Porscha whispers, letting go of her hand and walking off into the brush.
They sleep in a hollowed-out tree, near one of those golden apple trees, awakening to a sponsor gift in the sky from Kenneth that says, Do Not Touch the Gold… and attached to it is a parcel of their own apples for them to eat. Kai'sa chomps down on one as Porscha lifts their machete and slices through some trees. The forest has changed, growing thicker and thicker, a low fog settling down over her feet and legs as Kai'sa ducks under a thrown tree branch.
"Any particular destination in mind for us to go to, Kai'sa?" Porscha asks, turning around, hanging the blade low by her side.
"No, not really…" Kai'sa mutters, scratching her head. Does she want Porscha Watanabe to lead her elsewhere anymore after seeing what she is capable of, when the gray mist falls down across her shaved head and the fading tattoo of her own name in the other girl's skull. "I-"
"Kai'sa…" A low voice hisses out to her left, the girl from Twelve freezing in place, tilting her head to the side. "Kai'sa… please… save me…"
Kai'sa stops in place while Porscha continues on hacking and slashing, the girl looking to her left. The voice is coming from there, soft, barely audible, but she hears it, and it is not her head doing this, nothing manic about it, not even her echolalia. Kai'sa sheathes the knife she has drawn, heading in the direction of the voice.
"Simon…" she whispers aloud, throat trembling in terror. Not her father, not the mayor who makes her twirl with damaged wings getting clipped by jolts of electricity with each step that she takes. She doesn't hear a girl's voice, doesn't hear River, but it's… "Simon…" Kai'sa says, louder than the whisper, knocking aside a plant. Her brother, her dead brother calling out to her.
"Kai'sa?" Porscha stops ahead of her trek, turning around and locking eyes with her ally. "Kai'sa!" the girl cries out, rushing over towards her. Kai'sa doesn't hear her, she doesn't hear anything except the roar of blood in her ear, and one name over and over again in her brother's voice, soft and idyllic, as if he were painting a picture and beckoning her forward. Kai'sa. Kai'sa, please, save me. Save me. I am burning. We are all burning, without you here. "Kai'sa!" Porscha yells again as she is now in front of her ally, trying to push her back from wherever she is walking towards.
It is a pool of water, a pond or even a puddle, Kai'sa cannot see it all that well through some of the meshing tree branches. Porscha grits her teeth together, saying her name still, but it is all slurred audio in her head as Kai'sa pushes her ally aside harshly, knocking the girl on her ass into the dirt.
"Simon…" Kai'sa repeats her brother's name, a tear sliding down her cheek. "Simon, please let me save you…"
Porscha gets back to her feet, screaming this time, but Kai'sa still does not hear her as she runs towards the body of water. She jumps off of the earth that dips down towards the water, the pond a gorgeous and shining gray color when she passes through the fog. Kai'sa plummets into the water, more tears joining the first.
She sinks down deep, opening her eyes in the water, trying to keep them open. She cannot swim either, like Ramses, when she sees him fall in and watch that brave Orion rush in after him as if he could play the hero more than she ever could. Kai'sa speaks 'Simon,' only getting bubbles to rise the surface, and peering down in the water, a golden sphere of light sitting at the bottom of the pond.
Kai'sa strains herself towards it, grunting in pain as her body protests, for she's sinking. "Join us… join us, sister. Grab the light and join us here, please, save me and join us, Kai'sa Shadow…" She will join them, she has always wanted to join them despite what Valentina tells her with the ruler pressed against her spine, that she needs to stretch her limbs and let those wings spread like she is about to fly.
"I've been grounded for some time…" Kai'sa tells her through a blurry line of tears, but she stretches anyways, her body protesting in the splint, in the cast as she leaps and crash lands. She crash lands hard, and Simon's voice hits her skull with a scream.
She's drowning. Kai'sa Shadow is drowning, her eyes flying wide open as she tries moving herself upwards, her body pinned down by the pressure as she sinks, looking towards that golden sphere of light. Murderer. Murderer. Dead girl. Dead girl. You're the dead girl. You're the dead girl. You're the dead girl. Kai'sa screams inaudibly, as the sphere of light transforms from a shimmering halcyon color in the gray water to a black ball of thorns and darkening vines that spread out towards her.
Kai'sa covers her face when the thorns approach, something hard snagging onto her back and tugging her upwards out of the water with all of their might. She gasps as she breaks through the surface, Simon's voice vanishing as if she hadn't heard it in her head to begin with. The light vanishes, the thorns disappear, Kai'sa lowering her hands, hearing the groaning exertions of Porscha tugging her back onto dry land, settling her down on the ground and tugging her away from the pond.
She is crying without even realizing it, seeing that there is a similar emotion on Porscha's face, crystalline tears blending in with the fog milling around their ankles. Kai'sa is trembling as her ally holds her close, despite being soaking wet.
"Kai'sa…" Porscha gasps, rubbing the girl's arms, cradling her face gently as she presses a finger against the wet, trembling pale surface of her skin. "Kai'sa, please… please don't do that again…"
"It-" she tries getting out, through the incoherent babble that is her own mind, which has ceased to scream words at her like murderer and dead girl, but that of savior and light, where her family name has nothing to do with it. "It was my brother…" Kai'sa sobs, holding a hand up to her throat as she is drawn into a hug.
Porscha places a hand on the back of her skull, soothing her as she pets the back of her head. "I know, Kai'sa, I know."
"It was him…"
"I know…" her ally repeats.
The two of them sit there, even when a cannon booms, the two stay seated, together, arm in arm, holding each other's hand. As Porscha goes to grab their supplies, which she has dropped in order to race after the girl who decides to leap into an unknown body of water, Kai'sa grapples onto her arm.
"No… Porsche, not yet…" she pleads, tugging down on her arm, almost yanking her to the ground, settling on the crunching pile of dead leaves. Kai'sa curls up in Porscha's arms, in her lap, murmuring incoherencies of bright lights and dead siblings and smoke and ballet slippers, and above it all, over cannon fire, her feathers, twisted and snapping against her ribcage.
Is this the jolt of electricity to permanently ground her?
Sylvan Adello: District 7 Male P.O.V (14)
Circles. They have been walking in circles, Sylvan is sure, where the same golden tree with the same stake they place in the ground after getting spooked by that… creature from the golden trees. As far as he is aware, the thing only approached since he climbed into the tree and tried taking apples, at which Nevaeh looks over at him and smiles sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders. The forest has changed, the forest has changed completely since the last time they had run away from their lives from the distorting eaves around the base of the tree. Nevaeh describes it as the sky turning into a curve, as if one were to look up at the sky lying down on their back.
Sylvan pauses, taking a swig of water and wiping at his brow, which is dripping in sweat. They've been walking for what feels like an eternity, that eternity settling down into his bones. Vanishing into the wild of District Seven, in which his ally looks at him bewildered with wide eyes at the notion he has been beyond the fence line and lived, something she hopes her brother Amos would have done, that didn't feel as bad as this did, and his entire family, for the Adello line would not be wiped out by the fire bombs that choked the sky in sulfur, when they see the sun getting blotted out by the dark smoke.
"Nevaeh… I hate to admit it…" he exhales shakily, sitting down to wipe his face some more with his uniform, taking a sip of water. "We're lost, and the forest is messing with us."
She sinks her axe blade into the dead grass, Sylvan jumping for she simply just drops her blade next to him and plops down as well, slinging her knapsack off and over onto a nearby rock. "I hate to admit that you're probably right," she agrees, reaching into the bag for a cracker. He hasn't had anything since breakfast, and it is nearing around four in the afternoon, when they both look up at the arena clock.
Seeing the creature, as which another sponsor gift from Javier fell out of the sky in prompt response to, when they had made as much distance as they can between the tree, the creature, and themselves as possible, gets Sylvan a new sort of word for terror. He hears the beast – mutation, as Javier calls it, or a mutt, lingo developed by the Head Gamemaker / Vice President, to which Sylvan writes back and shows the camera that 'Head Gamemaker Cain Passionia can suck my balls' – before he sees it, turning around to face the noise, slipping luckily on a branch in pure fright. He is surprised, to be honest, that he does not shit himself, but Sylvan figures there isn't much to make him defecate like that.
Sylvan does not flinch in terror when he looks at the timber wolf stalk towards his younger sister's tent, or when a Peacekeeper envoy in a helicopter swings over their outcropping, he tightening the yoke on the slingshot in case his rock could somehow bring down Capitol machinery. He does when the beast, this human and animal hybrid with its bloodied beak and maw full of sharp teeth almost devour him.
"We'll hunt this thing down," Nevaeh tells him last night while they're curled together, seeing the face of Kileigh Katsaras shine in the sky, he closing his eyes out of respect for the girl, though he never encountered her in training like his ally did. Something about how a girl like her, since they had been the same age, could use her talents for something much more productive and fruitful. "We'll hunt that Valravn creature down and give it hell."
"And after that?" Sylvan vocalizes the question aloud, waiting for Nevaeh to tell him that she has a plan for after, but it is all improvisation apparently, according to her, as when she is reaped, she does not expect to be allied with anyone in the slightest until she meets him over ham sandwiches, and he shows her his heart.
"We'll come to that bridge when we get there," Nevaeh rolls over, as Sylvan stares directly into her back. He will never forget what Javier tells him in the elevator as his district partner goes on ahead towards the hovercraft to get the tracker injected in their skin, the device illuminating a soft pale light when Sylvan runs his finger over the scar that has formed on his forearm. He's the one being bet on, and he has no idea how that is possible, for he doesn't even feel confidence in himself. "We gotta find the thing first…"
"We gotta find the thing first…" Sylvan says aloud as he gets to his feet, grabbing his axe and giving it a swing. It would not have been his weapon of choice, but it is what Nevaeh grabs for him since it is her weapon of choice. His uncle, the one who does not fight in the war and get his legs blown up by a mortar in the swampy murk of the backwater sections of District 4 that Diana Kratovska and Orion Maythorpe clearly do not come from, teaches him how to swing an axe, and it is that weapon he buries in the wolf's head, but it is disgust that flows through his veins retracting the blade.
Nevaeh gets to her feet, grabbing her own weapon, before looking at the golden apple tree they're in front of. Sylvan looks at his ally with wide eyes, about to ask what in the hell she thinks she is doing when his district partner reaches down and grabs the stake sitting in front of the tree.
"What- what are you doing?" Sylvan gasps, tensing and looking everywhere in the sky to see where the hell hawk will spawn down from. He saw those blades, how curved, and jagged they were, which makes the wolf he stares down over the nylon sleeping bag look like a little golden retriever in his arms.
"They wouldn't keep bringing us back to this tree if it wasn't important," Nevaeh shrugs, holding onto the stake. It is the same color as the apples that all of a sudden start to whither and die, falling off of the tree and colliding with the trunk, reverberating loud thunks when they land, as if they were filled with plastic or some such material. Sylvan gasps, even as Nevaeh keeps her cool, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "And, well, this wasn't here at any of the other trees we saw before," she says, shaking her head, getting her axe ready. "I am not afraid of this Valravn, and I will watch it drown in its own blood…" she hisses.
Sylvan looks ahead, past the tree, distracted from the apples falling until he gasps in shock, seeing that a path has been made clear for them, out in the distance, surrounded on both sides by walls of ragged bark, and at the end of it, a pedestal, with a spot that looked exactly like where the stake should go, a woven throne of branches and flower petals shimmering gold in the light down on the other end.
The two of them lock eyes, Nevaeh tightening her grip on the stake. "Shall we go?" she asks him, as Sylvan swings his axe back and forth to get a test for it. This is unpredictable at its best, and he can leave, surely?
He nods without saying a word, as they take a step towards the throne, down the hallway of bark. The light seems to dim as they step forward, Sylvan glancing behind him at the decaying apples that have rotted into the soil. All fake, all of this fake… what is this place?
"Gives me the creeps…" Sylvan says, rubbing his arms, exposed with a cold chill.
"Scares me too," Nevaeh admits, turning to face him, angling the stake downwards toward the ground. "I-"
Sylvan never even hears the beating of wings, or sensing something upon them, as a shadow passes over Nevaeh's face, her facial expression dropping from courageous to terrified in a split second before she is screaming. Valravn swoops down from above, seemingly out of nowhere, screaming at them, snatching Nevaeh Davoli up in its claws.
"Nevaeh!" Sylvan screams, stumbling back, before he feels his pants go heavy. His ally is screaming at the top of her lungs, flailing her arms around wildly, screeching, trying to reach for the stake that is about to fall out of her grasp. "Nevaeh!" he yells again, as Valravn dive bombs back into the earth, colliding hard.
He falls back from the shockwave of the impact, gold light streaming towards him as Sylvan covers his eyes. Nevaeh screams again, ambling towards the stake or her axe, whichever she can reach first, but it leaves her exposed. When Sylvan lowers his hands down, he sees Valravn with its open maw dig into her neck, his ally screaming in ferocious pain, the worst noise he has ever seen as a tide of scarlet spews in the air, some of it getting on Sylvan.
He gasps, screaming likewise, holding onto his axe, and angling it at the creature, which snaps its black maw and roars at him again, while he looks down at his ally, Nevaeh weakly trying to lift her hands up to her throat to close out the gaping wound, but there is so much blood… that's all her blood, that's all her blood…
"You…" Sylvan seethes in fury, his hands trembling as he holds onto the axe. Valravn roars once more, spewing more… darkness, though Sylvan has no other word for it. "You fuck!" he screams, raising his axe blade and charging at the beast.
Valravn unfurls its wings, spanning that dark symbol of death, clawed hands holding onto the curved scimitar blades in its claws. Sylvan slashes with his axe, the blade cutting through the distortion, glinting through the gold glitter and the blackness spewing from the mutt's mouth. He overstretches his reach, stumbling over Nevaeh with a terrified gasp. His aim works as his axe slashes through the creature's wing.
A low, guttural sound that'll haunt his head forever in his nightmares rings out as Valravn stumbles back, spinning round and round as the feathers plume by the mutt's side, the blades nearly snagging onto Sylvan's skull as he falls on Nevaeh. He shrieks in terror as his face is an inch from hers, lips close to lips, with her glassy stare looking directly at him.
The stake is near her, just out of reach, Nevaeh having been so close as Valravn goes to take flight again, wings ruffling on the one good wing, black blood spilling down onto the hallway and branch wall darkening up the pathway. Sylvan throws his axe at Valravn's other wing, as the beast can only hold onto one sword, the axe colliding and diverting down on a different path… into the mutt's legs.
Valravn screams in agony again, more black blood that Sylvan keeps his eyes on, while he grabs the stake. "You killed her!" he yells, his throat burning in raw pain as he yells and yells. "You killed Nevaeh you fuck!"
Sylvan holds onto the stake as Valravn, who looked so terrifying to him just a few days ago, to what just killed his district partner, as a boom of a cannon hits his ears when he brings the stake into his grasp, is now just another frightened beast. His paramour he never had as the boy sinks to his knees with Nightlock blue hinted at his lips, that same sort of fear.
He screams, raising the stake high, charging at Valravn, who is stumbling back, resting against the throne of flowers and twigs. Sylvan plunges the stake right into the creature's heart, roaring likewise in the monster's face, black blood spilling all over his shoes and his uniform.
Sylvan raises the weapon up and down out of Valravn's chest again and again and again, snarling until the scimitars fall out of the mutt's hand and onto the ground, the severed leg and the severed wing left behind as a path of his destruction.
The boy from Seven rushes over to Nevaeh, collapsing to his knees, pressing a hand against her chest. Gone, her heartbeat is no more, no hope of life as her mouth is parted, eyes wide and staring away at nothing. In her last moment, she declared she is not afraid, and the damned beast murders her.
He couldn't save the boy from poison berries, and he could not save Nevaeh… his lower lip trembles as he leans forward and places his head against her chest. "I am so sorry…" he exhales a shaky breath, shuddering and sobbing. "I am so sorry, Nevaeh, please forgive me…"
A loud groaning noise makes him lift his head and look back in the direction of the mutt. Valravn's boy parts are gone completely, the beast no longer sitting there, but instead, in its place… Sylvan's eyes widen at the gift in front of him. A shield. A gold and white shield resting on the throne, completely blood free, for him to take.
He steps up. What is it that the Head Gamemaker says before the launch tubes jolted upwards, separating Sylvan from all he ever knew? That in the arena, one could kill gods, and one could become one in the end.
Sylvan reaches out and takes his prize, one of the victories of the few who are lucky to see such times.
18th: Nevaeh Davoli, 17, District 7 Female. Killed by the Arena, via the Valravn mutt tearing her neck open. Submitted by dyloccupy. Well, it is around this time, after I have had a few tribute deaths to other kiddos, that I let the arena take one out, and it fell to Nevaeh unfortunately. I liked her and Sylvan's dynamic a lot, and it is another District 7 pair that luckily in my stories didn't ruin themselves like past ones have, but like with most of the deaths happening around this point, other tributes were just stronger, and other alliances have further stories to tell. Nevaeh, you were strong, but you pushed too hard and Valravn punishes harshly... Sylvan is on his own for now.
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 6: Porscha Watanabe [Submitted by thornehub]
District 7: Sylvan Adello [Submitted by In Writing]
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)
Wax Poetica: Niklaus Peverell (D8M), Poem Cavalli (D8F)
Loners: Sylvan Adello (D7M), Gemini Lennox (D9M), Cassiopeia Grey (D11F)
...
Kill Leaderboard:
Magnus Winterthorn (D2M): I
Portia Beninblade (D2F): I
Vesuvia Vocanova (D3F): I
Diana Kratovska (D4F): I
Porscha Watanabe (D6F): I
Nokomis Yanaba (D9F): I
Arena/Mutts: I
Well, ladies and gentlemen, that was Chapter #25: Victories of the Few, and yes, that was one action packed chapter, perhaps one of the most this story will have, and certainly my favorite right now of the arena, though we have much farther to go. First alliance kill, which I know took some time, but don't worry, obviously in the end there'll be only one standing. First arena death, and yes, unfortunately, it was Nevaeh to a mutt, but don't expect many more of these, as I don't like them all that much in SYOTs, but like with everything I write, it is for a purpose. Nokomis and Camilla have rekindled, Catalus received a warning, Poem has received an ultimatum, Orion fought for his life, Kai'sa dove down deep, and Sylvan has now slain a god of the arena.
Next chapter, #26: Tricks From the Shallows, will have six povs, five tributes and a beginning one from Lydia for the Capitol concerning Night 4! Yes, that is right, a night in my arena, wow, I can't believe it. It is another great chapter I assure you, and I will have it out sooner than later. Red Silence submissions are still wide open, and I would love ya'lls support as usual for anything that I do. You guys are amazing, and I love you all! See you all soon with the next chapter! Bye!
~ Paradigm