Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new chapter of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Death, Chapter #27: When the Rivers Run Silent, which is focused on Day 5 of the arena. It is going to be a smaller chapter than usual, giving the last three tributes in the arena their second arena pov (everyone else alive will have had two now) and on either end, two Capitol povs from Nyria and Cain, as my Capitol storyline is well under way and each new chapter is building. Last chapter... Ramses doesn't believe in himself or anything, Cassiopeia went to a crossroad, Jasper recovered, Portia took her little alliance on a mission, and Gemini felt it necessary to kill a thirteen year-old girl. Beyond that, in the Capitol, Lydia got more than what she bargained for. This chapter, again, is going to be smaller, relatively, as well as I can do small as you know, haha. Enjoy, guys!

"A problem is a chance to get you to do your best," ~ Duke Ellington

Nyria Kirchner: Mutts Designer P.O.V

There is a general feeling of disquiet that has passed over the Gamemaker Center following Lydia's hasty retreat back to the sanctum of the Capitol inner circle from last night. Nyria can still see the smoke rising from the harbor, the explosion so powerful that it causes her to awake late in the evening, covers pulled up to her chest for modest purposes, the half-filled coffee cup on her nightstand rattling from the force of the shockwave. Lydia is okay, or at least that's the traditional response everyone gets if they ask her. Speaking of the woman, she is currently inhabiting her space, sanctuary being the Gamemaker Center for the day. Nyria looks over a few files spread out on her desk, across the litany of other white spray-painted desks with chrome nametags settled on the lips. Lydia is currently staring at the holographic display of the arena, wide-eyed… it might be her first time ever getting to see it, in fact.

The Head Peacekeeper's head is bandaged up from hitting the warehouse wall, but the blow is not as severe as she makes it seem. The damage to the docks is extensive to say the least, Emrick worrying back in his office about the expenses given how much it has cost to make this arena that is currently haunting the tributes as Nyria works. He is down there, at the docks, assessing the damage and reimbursing any business owners that had their property damaged by the blast, but without Lydia by his side.

Nyria protests the fact – truthfully, she doesn't want the other woman to be in the way around an unfamiliar space, because she can already see the Head Peacekeeper knocking over one too many specimen racks, and she doesn't need tarantula spiders walking over the floor with free reign – but her argument never even gets off of the ground… someone is targeting Lydia, and it is best she stays out of the public eye for a few days.

"Days?" Nyria protests, choking on her newly brewed cup of coffee. Lydia Wickervein trouncing upon her ground for days? That could evolve into something with teeth and fangs if she doesn't monitor it.

Emrick's stare is enough to slice through the mug and send a tide of murky brown liquid to the carpet. "I don't have any other choices, my dear."

Nyria rubs her shoulders, frowning. Emrick has never been patronizing to her before, the term of endearment passing over her body in a cold chill. She has never been one for romance, either spilling gazpacho down someone's pants while leaning over to kiss them, or worse, refusing to go back to their apartment with them. It doesn't help that it is one of her colleagues, but they've changed departments six or seven times now by their fraternization record.

Lydia rights herself away from the display, eyes shining bright. "It's all real-time data, right, Nyria?" she asks her, venturing up over one of the staircases and back towards the desk. "The tracker in their arms, right?"

"Yes," Nyria nods, absentmindedly. For some reason, she not sure what it is, the Head Peacekeeper is treating this like a time to be babysat, to sit with someone and hold them up while feeding them milk from a bottle. She doesn't have a pacifier… Lydia Wickervein sitting on the floor with a pacifier in her mouth is a mental image she will never be able to get out of her head now. She shudders, lifting her head up away from the work. "It's all done via satellite connections, from the dome," she points a finger upwards at the ceiling. "And it also helps with how many cameras we have tracking tributes…"

Lydia nods her head, humming a warm sound in her throat. The Head Peacekeeper turns away from the desk, walking back down to the side of the hologram. It has been this way all morning, a path back and forth of aimlessness. Nyria sighs to herself, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. A sleepless night, the ninth in a row, once the entire Israel administration is woken up to be briefed on the explosion… and between the Games and Cain's personal science project that he's made her the sole contributor of, she hasn't gotten a wink of sleep in weeks, truthfully.

Nyria closes the folder on her desk, it titled Weather and Climate in the Village, going to cross into the biometrics data collected from the trackers in the tributes' arms. She reaches for the second folder when a beeping noise emanates from the side of her desk, an ivory colored light flashing in equal response. The Gamemaker frowns, crouching down to see the light, which beeps again, getting Lydia to turn her head.

"Something wrong?" Lydia asks, the concern in her voice not misplaced. Everyone is always doubting her, the outsider… Nyria knows she is just as talented as every other damn warm-blooded true Capitolite in this building, and just because one siren goes off…

She laughs nervously, the water in her mouth drying up. An ivory light means an issue with the mutations system… her system. Nyria pulls the drawer on her desk back, revealing a glowing touchpad which has come alive with alert notifications. Her eyes widen at the sight, heartbeat picking up in acceleration. Fenrir on the loose.

"Umm…" Nyria's pupils widen, she stepping away from her desk, touchpad in hand. Lydia furrows her brows, stepping over to join her, placing a gentle arm on her shoulder. The Gamemaker scoffs another peal of fake laughter, squeezing her eyes shut. "Is… is Cain around?" she asks.

Lydia shakes her head in dissent, Nyria's heart sinking into her stomach. "No," the Head Peacekeeper almost sounds sad at the prospect. This arena, these games are his child, and he isn't in the building. Nyria hasn't seen him all morning. "Cain told me late last night before I went on patrol that he'd be absent all day today," a shrug of her shoulders. "He didn't say what for, but that he didn't need me to be there with him."

"Fuck…" Nyria hisses, setting the pad down.

"Nyria, you need to tell me what's wrong." Lydia's grip on her shoulder tightens. Nyria knows the feeling all too well, the disappointment leeching out of her parents' voices at the top of the stairs underneath the dimming light above their heads. A cast shadow onto her face, the little girl throwing her parents' well-wishes into a fire because she believes rules are for those who do not know how to live without a worry in the world.

Nyria can only look at the Head Peacekeeper. "Do you even have clearance for any of this stuff?"

That earns the same kind of look right back at her, Lydia raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "Um, Nyria… I'm the Head Peacekeeper for the Capitol. You wouldn't be able to breathe in this place without me finding out," the woman's shoulders deflate, her tone gentle again. "What's wrong?"

Nyria steps away from the desk, wringing her hands. She could lie. Lying has seemed to get her everywhere she's ever been, even all the way into the gilded halls of the Capitol, seeing the towering platinum buildings and greased back hair that looks like vats of oil have been spilled on their heads. What would the difference be now? This lie could have her lose her head, she suspects.

"One of the mutts is off of its usual route. The pad says, on the loose," Nyria says, flinging a hand in the direction of the device. Lydia glances down at it, frowning.

"What do you mean, Nyria?"

"Each mutation in the arena has its own set track. Cain and I designed each main section of the arena: the scorched land, the fishing village, and the decaying forest to each have its own mutation…" Nyria's hands are trembling, as she slides her left hand down her legs to smooth out the creases. "They're supposed to stick to their own loops but…"

"Nyria, just get to the point!" Lydia barks at her, causing Nyria to jump up on her heels.

"The mutt is off course."

"Which mutt, Nyria?" Lydia is quick to ask next, as the sensor keeps buzzing off. It is just before noon, as Nyria glances at the clock, checking the cameras scattered along the far wall, the siren getting the other gathered personnel - mostly Avoxes and interns who want to be useful - to scramble to their desks, monitoring their own stations.

"Fenrir," Nyria babbles quickly, off of her tongue. She squeezes her eyes shut, running a hand through her hair. She won't cause a scene, she can't cause a scene. Word will get back to Cain, from whatever corner of the Capitol he has decided to lounge in, and then that'll be that. She'll be executed on the presidential palace steps, done in by gallows or with a sword to separate her head from her neck. The blood would dry on the steps, a permanent stain of scarlet red on the backdrop of pearlescent white, a reminder to those who see it. This is what happens to those who fail.

The name seems to confuse Lydia, as the Head Peacekeeper furrows her brow together, frowning. "Fenrir? Nyria, I- I don't know what that name means."

Cain won't find out, Nyria assures herself of that. There is no need to be alarmed, it is not as if Fenrir is going to burst out through a sewer pipe into the streets of the Capitol.

She looks over at the Head Peacekeeper, swallowing heavily. "The wolf."

Vesuvia Vocanova: District 3 Female P.O.V (18)

Her teeth hurt. She's had stranger realizations before, but realizations all the same that happen at nine in the morning in a Hunger Games arena aren't as common. Vesuvia slides her tongue across the bottom row of teeth in her mouth, choking on a glob of saliva that breaks free down into her throat. She coughs, pounding a hand against her chest. The loud noise rouses Jasper from his spot on the ground, though she waves him off. The kissing last night hadn't been any different than what they've experience before, as Vesuvia maps his face with her lips and finds succulent marks on his collarbone to reattach herself to.

"I'm fine," she lies, waving him off, as Jasper then sinks back down onto the mat. He has been lying on his side for the last twelve or so minutes – she's counted, she's always counting the seconds that go by, it has become a sort of hobby – and kept his gaze fixated on something out in the distance, though she doesn't really care what it is. Sometimes she appreciates that his eyes aren't on her, but her eyes are always on him.

Back to the fact that her teeth hurt, Vesuvia presses her fingers along her jaw. The action does not elicit a response, there's no pain. Yet, her mouth is intense agony, as if someone had placed a bit for her to bite down and she forgot to take it out through the night. She never had any problems with dentistry before, as she is placed in a higher brow prison than the commoners back in District Three. She is grateful for that, as she is placed in prison for doing something more worthy of a jail cell than simply robbing some beggar blind for bread since she's starving. A Vocanova does not starve; they take and take and take and eat like fat kings on their fifteenth meal of the day, because she said so.

She has never had an issue of grinding her teeth in the past, but perhaps the new environment has her spooked.

"Has me spooked?" Vesuvia laughs to herself, in her head, full of mirth. "We've been looking at the same kind of shitty soil for the last four days… no, five!" Not many things have Vesuvia spooked, but she is lying that this issue isn't at least concerning her. Dying of some sort of hidden medical condition that shows itself at the end of the first act is not exactly what she wants to have be her end story.

She's written hundreds upon thousands of deaths for characters in her video games, whether they be simply someone dying from dysentery – boring, but it happens, and Vesuvia never said she wasn't realistic – to someone being pushed in a vat of acid. She's written her own death before, but it is hidden away on some computer probably smashed to bits in her uncle's house, where no one will find it. That is because it doesn't exist.

The girl from Three goes over and checks the alarm system. No one has run into it besides her own district partner's abrasively standout stupidity of not paying attention to where he is walking, but that is neither here or there. No rabbits were caught in the middle of the night, and her glow in the dark trick – glow in the dark paint sponsored to her by the warden of the prison she used to stay in, Vesuvia making sure she gets the Panem audience a full flipped off bird at the nearest camera when she unwraps it – didn't catch any birds like she hoped.

Perhaps nature is learning to stay away from Vesuvia Vocanova, and the world around her is starting to evolve and realize she is lethal. Hah, what a start.

"Jasper?" Vesuvia asks, finally, after seeing that the morning breakfast is going to be a disappointment with nothing on the hook, "What are you so fixated on?" Okay, it is becoming a bit annoying that he won't look at her anymore. When she approached him underneath the bridge because she had been freed from prison a day early, it had been her complete intention to bring him back to the mansion, back to the Vocanova manor, and kill him. She can be upfront about it, because now, that is no longer her current situation. Things have changed, her impulsiveness to kill has changed, and she needs to rely on his tactfulness and his body in case she wants to survive.

Vesuvia knows she is strong; she didn't score a ten out of being weak. If she wanted to be weak, she'd go and sit in Poem Cavalli's lap and ask how that has been working out for her.

"I'm looking at the trees," comes Jasper's reply about two seconds too late for her to care now. She is over it. He has a certain puppy dog look to his face, she realizes now, as her lover looks over from his spot on the ground. "How can they be all burnt up yet seem to still be alive? How would their root systems be getting water?"

Vesuvia retrieves her knife from her backpack, sheathing it at the empty covering hooked to her side. "You want to ask the Gamemakers through one of the cameras?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. She cares, somewhat, about how the arena came to be, but since the place is actively trying to kill her, she can't care that hard or otherwise it looks as if Vesuvia Vocanova is applying herself to something beyond her own survival. "Or better yet, we can find that fire giant we saw and ask him! I'm sure he wouldn't mind!"

"Vess…" Jasper groans, tilting his head back, closing his eyes. She's heard that voice once, on their first day together heading to the Capitol. The first time she beat him at chess, he leans back so far, that if she were to kick him, she'd sent him crashing into the window and out into Panem's wilderness… they might've been passing through District 4 then, but she can't remember.

That'd be quite the way to die… her next programming project has a new name. Falling From the Tracks.

"Better yet, why don't you just sit here and let the Gamemakers come pick you up for a nice chat?" Vesuvia says cheerfully, throwing her arms up in the air. She sticks her knife out, pointing it at him. She wouldn't dare stab him with it, for he could absolutely overpower her. It'd take one simple body tackle to the ground, a knock to the head, and she could be done for. Jasper wouldn't be able to kill her, however. She can feel it in the way he touches her, this sort of slowness to his movements, as if he is afraid he is hurting her. "Get your head in the game, Overheart!" she barks at him. "We almost died yesterday, to people we should've beaten handedly, and you're wanting to ask about the fucking trees."

There's a moment of silence between them, Vesuvia sitting back down on her heels, for she had started to rise on her tip toes the louder she began to bark at him. Jasper locks his jaw, as she digs a hand into her arm, nails slicing and puncturing int her skin. Jealousy… she's overdoing it.

"I just was curious…" he mumbles, before falling back onto the mat, and rolling over.

It is a bit early for them to actually be awake, as Vesuvia generally finds herself getting up somewhere closer to noon than when the other tributes had been sleeping. Perhaps it is because of the fact that since she killed Dill at the bloodbath, the audience and the Capitol is willing to let her sleep in. There would be no reason to try when she's already won the audience's approval.

"Are you so sure about that, Vess?" comes her uncle's voice, but that can't be, since he's dead, and she's a living, breathing girl who has done something with her life. She cannot be scorned out of this moment.

"Well, given I am alive, and you aren't, I'd say we're about even," she snarks back, before sheathing the knife again, turning her back on Jasper.

The glow in the dark paint didn't work, but it is true that she didn't really expect it to. It is a liability, having something that color attached to their campsite. It would take Magnus Winterthorn and Diana Kratovska using their one brain cell to realize it isn't some sort of Gamemaker prank to then come over and slaughter them both. Vesuvia hardly gets any sleep, though some of it is from Jasper's incessant snoring and snorting in his own lulled state of bliss – she might gag him if it comes to that, at this point, for she needs her own beauty sleep too – and she's kept one eye open all night, should someone actually be foolish enough to come by.

Well, in hindsight, she's the foolish one for having a damned sea green beacon go off.

Speaking of beacons, as if her mind has some sort of amazing comedic timing, there is a pinging noise above her head, well, really above Jasper's, but he's irrelevant right now.

"Another one?" Jasper groans. Always groaning. She made him groan last night too… it is a thought that makes her smirk, because he seemed to enjoy himself. "How many damned sponsor gifts are we going to get?"

"Would you rather we not be sent anything at all?" Vesuvia frowns, looking upwards and shielding her eyes. Her uncle always told Vesuvia, with a hand griping her shoulder in a way that made her believe he molested children, truthfully, to see what no one else could see. Cryptic, and it did not help her in the slightest. "Besides, it's a second gift. I imagine it isn't a 'get out of arena' card…"

The package falls from the sky as soon as it comes above the tree line, landing directly in front of both of them, equidistant from her and Jasper. Neither one of them move to get it, as the pinging noise dissipates. Still early enough in the day that it probably will not wake up any of the sleeping giants.

"Should I-" Jasper starts to say.

"I should…" Vesuvia opens her mouth, making a face.

She huffs out through her mouth and nose, going over to pick up the canister. It is rounded, like the last canister, so Vesuvia simply discards the top behind her. The inside lining of the canister is rounded up by a soft fabric, and in the middle, a small vial with a note attached to it.

Vesuvia frowns, reaching in to grab it.

It is from Cole, but she's suspected that every package is going to have to go by Cole before it is sent to them.

"Who is it from?" Jasper asks, from his perch.

"Cole, like the last one," Vesuvia says, absentmindedly, holding onto the vial. It is see through from end to end, a golden sort of liquid balancing in between the test tube that is about as long and wide as her pinkie finger, which is suffice to say, not that large. She uncorks the top, taking a sniff of its contents. It's a sweet smell, like honey. The liquid is very flowing though, which she thought would've been more viscous than anything else.

She caps it back up, looking at the card. It is specifically to her. Vesuvia raises an eyebrow. That's… that's new.

Dear Vesuvia,
You're doing a great job so far, I think. Use this to help you sleep. I know you need to get back on your feet, and you've missed out on some good winks. Don't take it tonight; use it when you're ready. And whatever you do, do not show Jasper what you have.

~ Cole

There is something else in the container, as Vesuvia fishes out a spile, she having seen them enough times to know what they're used for. A decoy… ahh, the pieces are fitting.

"What is it?" Jasper's voice snaps her back to the present. Always with the questions. "What'd we get?"

Vesuvia pockets the tube of golden liquid, before thumbing the spile and dropping it back into the canister.

"Nothing," she says.

It is nothing at all.

Camilla Rodriguez: District 9 Female P.O.V (17)

When Portia had told them that they were going on an adventure, as that is the only clue the girl is willing to divulge to them for the whole entirety of three hours from leaving their first camp to settling down at a new spot, Camilla believes it'd involve scaling the tower that they've seen a few times from behind the tree line, or better yet, sliding down the hill on top of massive tree branches. Dangerous stuff, for Portia Beninblade seems like a dangerous girl.

She didn't expect the sort of dangerousness that comes with snooping around the cornucopia, where her body is moving at the speed of slow trickling molasses, and so help her, if Nokomis knocks into another crate she might knock her partner in crime unconscious. It is a hard thing to come to terms with, that the only person she genuinely trusted in the entire world that she's been dropped into now is someone she hardly recognizes. Yes, it is the same Nokomis that she's seen from the reaping previews, and the girl she met at the Tribute Parade, but this one now has a corpse on the other end of the sword that she's holding onto. It is hard to be the moral center of something when she's surrounded herself with killers and has willingly stayed behind with them.

"Millet would want me to…" she tells herself, sliding a lock of dark hair over her ears. Millet would want her to stick with them for as long as she could stomach it, because if she isn't going to stick around, they might stick her with a sharpened blade in the back. Camilla feels naked with only holding onto the knife that Portia hands her whilst the chaos ensues in the beginning of the games, whereas her other allies have weapons with reach. Nokomis says she would have preferred the bow, but they both saw Diana and Kileigh take them without a semblance of care in the world, leaving Nokomis stuck with the weapon she has now.

Camilla has no idea why she is even debating this in her head. It should disgust her, and it does, down to the core, but she has yet to puke. She has had yet once lost her lunch, even when Portia, that stupid, stupid girl throws the half-skinned, chopped up bits of rabbit at her. She hates her, yet she's still sticking around her for reasons alone.

"If I were to leave, would Nokomis follow? I couldn't just leave her alone with Portia…"

Speaking of their fearless leader, Portia wanders off to the outside portion of the cornucopia, where the tree above the ovation that once had been sparkling with gorgeous poinsettia and petunia flowers has turned into an abomination. The field looks empty when they arrive, which is a relief to Camilla, as this entire idea is still insane despite Portia explaining her logic ten times over. Since there have been sporadic cannons throughout the day, and the arena seems too large to traverse in just one day, the trio of Catalus Drachma, Magnus Winterthorn, and Diana Kratovska – Portia's masochism is showing, as Camilla sees their leader tighten her grip around the sword so hard her skin turns purple – would have left the sanctuary of the cornucopia for the arena's wilderness.

It is her perfect plan, to get there and take whatever supplies have been left over, for there must be something that they haven't taken.

"And if we come across other tributes?" Camilla asks, late last night, when they've settled down into the dirt to see Nevaeh Davoli, Gemini Lennox, and Cassiopeia Grey's faces shine in the sky.

Portia's grin can be seen in the dark, it is that bright and fully engaged. "I hope you come prepared."

Camilla can't say she is shocked to see Gemini's picture in the sky, though she certainly does not feel any kind of elation bubbling up in her insides as she watches from the safety of her sleeping bag. He had his own issues, and he had been going into the arena alone. Though he could've asked her if he could've joined with Nokomis, Calen hadn't asked Nokomis… and the two boys didn't decide to link up with each other… she can't do anything about it now.

She's shared some vodka with him, he's spilled his heart out to her, and she threw it back in his face. It is not as if she can apologize, now.

Nokomis cussing rouses Camilla out of her thoughts, as the girl from Ten throws another lid to a wooden crate aside. "All these arrows in here, but there aren't any bows to use them with…" she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

Camilla has been working with the same box the entire time, picking one out from the far back that is stacked up as high it could go, since it looked like it'd be the perfect starting point… in such a high stakes event, where every second had her tether between life or death, no one had time to rummage through the cherry on top of the sundae.

There is a plethora of medical supplies in her crate, from bandages to splints and a lot of gauze, Camilla stuffing half of the box into her backpack. She hasn't felt the need to pick up any weapons, for the knife that she has will suffice just fine. Her score still does shock her, when she closes her eyes and pictures the bright, flashing 8 under her portrait. Of course, riding the coattails of that is Gemini's sneer, his derision palpable on her tongue when she bites into her dinner before interviews. She could wrestle, and she did beat that Peacekeeper's ass, but…

"What if you built one?" Camilla asks. It is a harmless question, but for some reason, Nokomis throws a glare her way, full of acid.

"Just because I'm from Native-" the girl starts, before she pauses mid-sentence, closing her eyes. "Unfortunately, not a skill my parents ever got around to teaching…" she trails off again, Camilla going to open her mouth, about to ask why she can't just finish a thought. That is cut off by Nokomis gasping.

She has never heard that sound come from her mouth.

Camilla turns around, frowning, for Nokomis is staring dead ahead, wide-eyed, like she's been caught by Peacekeepers stealing.

The girl damn near drops her knife as she turns face.

"Portia…" Camilla hardly hears herself speak, her voice a dying whisper that rebounds around the cornucopia like Gemini rose from the grave.

Their leader, their fearless ally… the girl couldn't be smirking harder if she tried, a smaller blade in hand, pointed at the throat of another tribute. A very familiar looking tribute. Poem Cavalli.

"Look what I found, just wandering the countryside all alone…" Portia says, one hand grappling Poem's hair, tilting the girl from Eight's head back to expose her neck. It would be easy, too easy for Portia to simply slice across her throat, and Camilla would watch the girl fall down to the floor, dead.

Poem only whimpers in response, her hands reaching for her waist, but Portia's hold around her neck is too strong, and Poem is unable to reach for her belt.

"What- what are you-" Camilla goes to ask, but Nokomis beats her to the punch.

Her ally from District 10 laughs, but it is not one filled with happiness. It is riddled with nervousness, a choking haughtiness that she's heard from her father once or twice before he dies, the kind of laugh where you don't know what the fuck to do… "Something tells me you aren't going to ask her to join the alliance, will you?"

"Who on Earth would want this dumb bitch to be-"

There's another excited voice that rides over the disgust of Portia's, this voice sounding male. "Poem! Poem, I found it! Can you believe it, I actually found it! I-" Camilla's heart sinks into her stomach at the sight of Niklaus Peverell rushing around the corner, some sort of glinting object in his hand, a blade at his waist. His face is that of pure happiness, like a child receiving their first kiss. "Why aren't you…" he comes to a dead stop at the entrance to the horn, Portia having shifted to the side some, the blade slightly digging into Poem's neck. For the girl's credit, she has not made another sound, despite the fact that Camilla is seeing red.

She wants to avert her eyes, but something keeps her compelled, keeps her tethered to the disaster happening in front of her.

"Oh!" Portia is just beside herself, Camilla can tell, probably wetting her pants in damned excitement, the sickness starting to churn in her stomach. Neither her or Nokomis have moved a muscle, and Nokomis is not even holding onto her sword with the death grip that she's seen the last few days. "Isn't this just splendid! Both District 8 losers in one place."

They came here to find the alliance of killers, the ones that make Camilla lose sleep at night, but instead they may have found someone much worse, someone much, much worse. She'd rather be staring down the eye sight of one of Diana's arrows right now.

Niklaus unhooks the gladius from his waist, and it is now that Nokomis steps forward some, grinding the sword down on the cornucopia basin. Camilla looks over at her ally, trying to whisper her name. This could be their chance, to go after Portia like they totally haven't planned, but she is not sure in the chaos if District 8 would turn on them or not.

"Let her go, Portia," he hisses.

"We prefer to call her Porty, actually," Nokomis snickers, in a completely inopportune time.

"Shut up!" Portia screams, her face bright red. She is swiveling Poem back and forth with each movement, the blade still digging into her neck, though it has not gone in much deeper, luckily, but Camilla is not sure who is benefitting from the action. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't cut her throat right now?" She eyes the boy from Eight with revulsion. "We are here to perform, and if people have to die so I don't, I can live with that."

"If you kill her…" Niklaus's voice is like molten lava, making all the hair on Camilla's arms stand up straight. She's never heard someone speak like that, not even Gemini, and he gotten angry at her in a way she never expected. "I'll make sure you never were born. I'd-"

"Cute," Portia interrupts him, and Poem cries out in pain, for the girl from Two has started digging the blade in further. "But I think Camilla would have a better chance killing me blindfolded and with one arm behind her back than you would, twiggy,"

She's going to die, Poem Cavalli is going to die, and Camilla is simply letting it happen right in front of her. Portia raises the knife, Niklaus tense and about to move, when Poem starts shouting at the top of her lungs.

"You have to keep me alive! You have to keep me alive!" she screams, over and over again. It is enough to get Camilla and Nokomis both up to the front of the cornucopia, Niklaus now just a foot and a half away from Portia, the blade angled in her direction.

"How could you possibly help-" Portia sneers.

"Portia… hear her out…" Nokomis says in a ragged breath, clutching her side. "It won't hurt to hear her out. She's… she's not explicitly begging to not be killed."

Camilla isn't sure if they are hearing the same thing, but Portia's grip slacks somewhat. Poem is still unable to go free, for there is the hand tugging on her hair making movement somewhat limited, but Niklaus is starting to hobble on both legs at the same time.

"Why?" Portia enunciates the word with the emphasis of a snare drum. "Why, Poem, should I keep you alive?"

Niklaus's eyebrows rise, as the two from District 8 look at one another, Camilla seeing the confusion on both of their faces, confusion mixed with panic, terrible panic. "Because… because…" the drug addict stumbles over his words. "The Vice President has demanded it!"

"Bullshit," Portia spews the word out in the same magmatic tone that Niklaus employs a few moments earlier. "You take me for an idiot?"

"It's true!" Poem exclaims, holding her hands out to the side. Camilla realizes, as she sheathes her blade, perhaps against her own self-interest, that the girl isn't even struggling anymore. "We got it the day after we fell in this sinkhole on the beach. We- we saw and spoke to this silver figure named Mimir who helped us, and we received a sponsor, one of those things from the sky."

"A bowl of stew from Vice President Cain Passionia, the Head Gamemaker," Niklaus licks his lips, Camilla all of a sudden hyper aware of just how loud her heartbeat is in her chest. "The Capitol is completely taken by how stupid and irrational Poem's journey has been… and that they want to see a girl who thought she was going to make it to a fashion runway show get to the Top 8. If…" he pauses, eyes searching Poem's face for answers that Camilla does not have.

"If someone is to kill me before the final eight tributes, then they die too… as does their allies," Camilla jolts in place when Niklaus's eyes land on her and Nokomis, her ally averting her eyes. "Please, don't you want to try and survive?"

They could be bullshitting all three of them, or they could be telling the truth. It is too specific, Camilla's palms starting to sweat. If they're wrong, then there's no harm in letting either of them escape. If they're right… Camilla doesn't want to die, it isn't on her bucket list.

A moment of silence passes over them, and for a few seconds, Camilla is sure none of them even breathe.

"Portia, c'mon…" Nokomis hisses lowly, sheathing her sword too. "Think about it…"

Niklaus is close to crying if the glints of light on his cheek are any indicator. "Please… please don't."

Camilla looks at Portia, trying to stay focused on how the girl is breathing, seeing her nostrils inflate and deflate with every passing second. This can go well, or it can go south, and Camilla Rodriguez has never been good at directions.

Portia locks her jaw, retracting her arm with the knife in hand away from Poem's neck, a look of murderous rage spanning across her face. This might be the first time the Beninblade princess has ever been told 'no,' and it is a sight to see. She pushes Poem into Niklaus, the two of them falling on top of each other against the horn's entrance, and onto the grass.

"Get out of here," she says, standing over to the two tributes from Eight. "And if I find out you were just having one on me, I'm going to skin you both…"

Niklaus simply tosses Poem over his shoulder, she going without a word, and the two vanish back into the fishing village, Portia standing visibly still at the entrance to the horn. Camilla notes that she, herself, is breathing again, unsure when she would've stopped.

She can feel Nokomis's presence getting closer and closer, while Portia tilts her head back, up to the ceiling, and cackles.

Camilla leans into Nokomis's space, close enough that their heads are touching. "You knew she was lying, yeah?"

"Yeah," she says, back.

"Good," Nokomis's voice is level, unemotive. The coldness she has come to expect from her ally after she plunged a sword into Zachary Edison's chest, the small frame trapped beneath the steel pinning him into the dirt.

Camilla grabs Nokomis's hand, as the girl goes back to move between the crates. "Nokomis…" her voice is low, a warning, as Portia kicks dust clouds into the air in her own little rage bubble. Poem and Niklaus can be seen vanishing into the trees now, and Poem is no longer strung over her ally's shoulder. "We have got to get rid of Portia…"

Camilla's stare bears into the girl's back. She's seen the girl from Two's vengeance and wrath up close. How long until that wrath is directed just at the two of them, and they can't talk their way out of being skewered by the sharp end of Portia's sticks and stones?

She tightens her grip on the knife in her hands, a little tighter than what has been Camilla's usual.

Time to sleep with one eye open from now on.

Magnus Winterthorn: District 4 Male P.O.V (18)

Even with all the times he has had bullets shot at him while trying to sneak past a Peacekeeper holding, or the occasional time Magnus Winterthorn has ever been rude to his mother, the stakes there have not felt very high. Sure, people are dying around him, and his mom's eyes turn to molten lava when she looks at him with one of those 'you're dead meat' stares but Magnus is sure that he is not in any real danger, which is why he goes back and back for more.

This time around, he's got Diana Kratovska helping him escape near-death, and he isn't smiling now.

The beast is behind them, snarling and screaming, occasionally howling in the air with a belabored pause, before resuming the chase. Magnus turns around to face the other direction, as the wolf leaps over a barrel. Diana screeches in fright, recoiling away from the beast's claws. A wolf, as that is what it looks like to Magnus's perspective, rears back on its hind legs, slashing downwards. Magnus notches an arrow at the beast, but it sails over the creature's head.

They had just been walking through the cave system, exploring it to its very depths that they could go, chatting about life on the outside, and what it meant to fight for the rebellion when this… this thing, came sliding, quite accurately down a hole similarly like they did, separating he and Diana from Catalus. The wolf's eyes are a luminescent blue, which glowed in the dark as it looked at them, its roar the reverb of shattered glass rattling in the beast's throat. One of the arena's gods, perhaps? The beast's maw is coated in scarlet, but there hadn't been any cannons that day, yet, and Magnus had the time shortly nearing noon when they broke for lunch.

"This was your idea!" Diana screams at him, jabbing forward with her spear, as the wolf dodges to the side of her thrust, slashing out. One of the claws snags onto her arm, she crying out in pain as a tide of scarlet spills out of the wound. Magnus's eyes widen at the sight, the hand that goes for another arrow stilling in place, barely touching the feathers. He could just let her get hurt… but… she's his ally, no matter how insufferable of a prick she can be. Diana growls back, thrusting her spear again, chinking off of the beast's hide.

There is a loud clang as the spear seems to ricochet off of the skin, as if it is made of steel. The wolf snaps at her again, and Diana skirts out of the way just in time.

"Hey, you stupid mutt!" Magnus shouts, getting the wolf to look in his direction. He fires an arrow at it, though he is starting to run quite low on arrows in his quiver now, only having about eight left. It lands in the wolf's right side of the hide, but like Diana's spear, it just harmlessly chinks off into the cave system.

They should have never come down here… Magnus is so stupid…

Diana is grabbing at his arm, tugging him along. There is a thin gap that the two of them can squeeze through, up ahead, dimly lit by a golden beam of sunlight pouring down from above. He has no idea where they are in the arena except underground, which could mean anywhere. His drill sergeant used to call him a wise-ass who's sense of adventure would get him killed, and all Magnus wants to do is do the right thing, be that leader for someone else who will also go on to do the right thing by his example.

Magnus goes through the gap first, as he'd be unable to draw his bow in the tight space. Diana, with her arm still seeping out blood at a steady rate, is walking backwards through the spot, aiming her spear at the wolf. The creature snarls at her again, rising up and back, its blue eyes glowing in the darkness that is only speared directly through by the light beam above. Magnus manages to squeeze his way through, collapsing on the other side of the passage in a heap of cloth and agony, his knees and legs hurting in protest. They've been running for at least ten minutes straight, trying to avoid the creature in an endless hall.

They lost Catalus when they were separated, but the wolf didn't pursue them, which makes Magnus's worst assumption true… the Gamemakers must be working to take out the largest threats of the arena, for he and Diana got really nice training scores and have some of the best odds, and those factors do not equal Catalus Drachma, no matter how much of his skin is dipped in bronzer.

Diana retreats into the passage, the wolf snarling again, claws lashing out to slice across her ribcage, but she is out of the creature's grasp. She collapses onto the ground, Magnus pulling her back while the wolf rises on its hind legs. He sees a dog tag underneath the beast's hide, which is a dark maroon color on the underside of the wolf's body. It comes undone as the creature tries squeezing through the gap. Diana catches it in her right hand, the side not injured, the spear hanging limply to the side.

"Well, the thing has a name," she says, a cry of desperation in her throat, one that has Magnus has heard before while hiding in bunkers with mortar shells bursting all around him, and other leaders of the platoon screaming their faces off in terror. Magnus didn't balk in the face of adversity, he rushed it head on. Eh, probably had a death wish.

Magnus starts undoing some gauze on the side hooked to his belt. "What?"

The wolf had retreated, though he could still hear its snarling from inside the cave. Nothing happened, however, as the beast howled. Magnus looks up, fingers twitching at the rock ceiling… sturdy, sturdy and safe.

Diana shoved the dog tag in Magnus's direction, her tone acidic and venomous. He is well aware of that sound, hearing it so damn often from the blonde in front of him that he swears she is starting to like him.

"Fenrir…" Magnus reads, shrugging his shoulders. "That doesn't ring a bell."

"Well maybe if the wolf would hit you in the head, you'd start recognizing things," Diana snaps at him, brushing a finger down the sliced cut across her arm. It is still bleeding, but near as bad. Magnus grabs her arm a bit more forcefully than he should have, she hissing in pain as he begins wrapping the wound, Fenrir's sounds of stalking echoing around the cave.

He swears he had seen some bright luminescent stare greeting from across the arena plain whenever he and the others would camp for the night under the sheltered house. This dark creature whose steps wound haunt the Earth, vibrations trembling underneath his outstretched arms every few seconds. But he never heard a howl; Catalus swears he did, once though.

Catalus swears he's heard and seen a lot of things, but Magnus is willing to believe none of them are true.

"How bad is it, you think?" Diana asks, a look of concern on her face. For once, it is not petulant anger, which is a relief for him, he suspects. But it is still his fault that they ended up in this caved section of the arena, cause he wanted to go spelunking. He can take the blame for that, at the very least.

"Nice work, you ingrate," Magnus tells himself, before shaking his head. "Try not to throw your spear as much," he finishes wrapping the wound, loading another arrow into his quiver. "You think Catalus is okay?" He is worried about the guy from One, his only friend in the arena, and if he is somewhere trapped in this cave system, dead, with his entrails spilling out…

"We'll find him, Maggie," Diana says, he making a face. That's a new one. "He'll-" Diana doesn't finish her sentence. "Watch out!" she screams, pushing Magnus aside as hard as she can.

He falls on his butt hard, swearing as he's sure he broke something, when an object of great mass rushes over him, blotting out the little light he swears he can see. Diana dives to the left, as Fenrir swoops out of the shadows, its bloodied jaw open and biting down on the empty space where Magnus would have been standing.

He fires another arrow, it just barely skimming the beast's hide. He's down another arrow, as Diana scrambles backwards on her hands, reaching for her spear that she flung to the side. Fenrir leaps for her, she screaming at the top of her lungs as she just barely manages to grapple onto the weapon. The beast's jaws clamp down on the spear and snap it in two, barely avoiding her hands.

Magnus releases another arrow, the wolf snarling at him, while Diana races over to her ally. He reaches for another one to reload, coming up empty. Fenrir bares its teeth at them again, Magnus stepping back in shock. This… this is not how he is supposed to go out, this is sure as hell not how Diana would want to go…

He flings the bow at the beast, but like all of the other weapons, it simply bounces off of the creature's hide. Diana is burying her face in his shoulder, the sound of whimpering coming from her. Fenrir snarls again, starting to lunge.

A pair of headlights all of a sudden flash on the beast, making it stop in its lunge. Magnus opens his eyes, barely making out a vehicle in the corner of this vast expansion of caves. "Get out of the way!" comes Catalus's voice, Magnus realizing that he is sitting on top of a Humvee of sorts. The boy from One revs the gas, Fenrir turning to look at the oncoming vehicle.

Catalus is screaming as he rams the vehicle directly into the wolf, pining the creature up against the rocks. Diana and Magnus leap out of the way, he skinning his knees as they come down onto the ground roughly again. Fenrir is snarling, hissing, spittle flying from the bloodied jaw at an obscene rate. Some of it lands on Catalus's face, but he seems unbothered by it, a look of pure rage on his face.

He unsheathes the sword strapped to his back, standing directly in front of the wolf. Fenrir roars out a weak cry, its clawed arms and feet pinned underneath the wheels. Catalus yells at the top of his lungs, thrusting the blade into the creature's mouth. He stabs it again and again, Fenrir screeching in pain, copper spilling all over Catalus's clothes and body, some of it getting in his hair, among other fluids that Magnus does not want to even think about. Catalus wrenches his sword out of the mouth one last time, tossing the blade aside. It is coated in a black substance, the metal starting to erode.

Shit.

Fenrir gives one last pitiful cry, before slumping over dead. Magnus is acutely aware of hard he is breathing, Diana pushing herself off of him.

"Holy shit," she exclaims, out of breath as well, the gauze on her arm starting to turn from snow white to profusely crimson. "Are- are you okay?"

Catalus rubs some of the blood off of his face with the parts of his sleeves not drenched in grime. "I- yeah. Are you?" he asks, and then he starts laughing, looking back at the dead creature. "I… what in the fuck did you guys do to get that thing on our tails?"

"Nothing!" Diana protests hotly. She turns to face Magnus, but she isn't glaring like he expects. "It just… was probably allured to us by our sexiness."

"Totally sure that's it," Catalus says dryly, rubbing a hand down his blood-splattered face. His sword is useless, Diana's spear lays broken in the middle of the cave, and Magnus is out of arrows; his bow is still intact however, as he swoops it up and slides it on his back.

He goes to say something, more along the lines of 'where the hell' had his ally been the whole time, when he notices something sitting on the seat of the Humvee that Catalus rode in on. The vehicle is completely screwed, the front all smashed in and covered in the wolf's blood. "What's that, Catalus?"

Catalus frowns, stepping over to grab the object. It is wrapped up nicely with a bow on top, and Magnus is a thousand percent sure it had not been there a second before. The boy from One picks it up, Magnus sharing a glance with Diana, who isn't looking at him, but holding her shattered spear in her hand.

Catalus laughs again, but it is a dry one. "What did Cain Passionia say to us when we entered the arena, guys?"

"Here you can kill gods and become one yourself…" Diana frowns, bridging her brow together. "Why?"

There is a mischievous glint in Catalus's eyes when he turns to face them. "Because I think we just reaped one of those rewards…"

Cain Passionia: Head Gamemaker P.O.V

He knows he is good at his job. Cain knows not only is he good at governing, which if Emrick were to ever take off the baby gloves, he might actually get to do more often once in a while, but he is damn good at designing arenas. It seemed like an insurmountable task at first, being in charge of designing and manufacturing a lethal place that is beautiful and terrifying at the same time, but then once he dove into the process, he realizes just how damn easy it is. It's easy, since he is beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

He is sure the prisoner shackled to the chair in front of him has a crush on him. Cain sees the way the man looks at him.

He may be good at his job, but his domain is not lying in the Gamemaker Center, nor is it in his bedroom or his office in the Presidential Mansion, which is on the ground floor and not the second floor, a travesty that he still feels the betrayal residing in his gut from four years earlier. His dominion is underground, trapped between four white walls, they caked with grime and adorned by rusty light fixtures swinging above his head that creak as Cain knocks his head into them.

He is good at scrubbing the blood stains out of the floorboards, bloodstains he creates, surely, because his hands are masterful pieces of art that no has gotten to appreciate. Well, Friedrich Calvary, Mayor Runaway Horse of District 1 knows how good those hands are, but that is neither here nor there. The man swore to secrecy, but it doesn't main Cain Passionia takes the same vows as everyone else.

Cain claps his hands together, a low sound that echoes around the prison cell. The Peacekeeper sitting in front of him lulls their head back, the man's face bruised and chipped away at like Cain's Sunday night dinners, for his wife does not know how to make a good pork roast. "I am surprised you've held out this long, chap." He loves that word. It is antiquated, and no one uses it but him, but that's no surprise; there are so many things Cain Passionia does that the world simply has not yet gotten behind. "Normally by the time I start removing fingernails, everyone's squealed."

The Peacekeeper, though Cain has no idea what his name is, since he's torn off the badge that had that information there, coughs blood onto his naked lap, which is covered up a green towel now stained like a dark rolling ocean tide from the scarlet dribble leaking off of his chin. The man's voice is hollow, ragged, screamed-out, fucked-out – Cain has his methods – but there's still room for more volume down in the man's gut. "I have told you, Vice President, sir, I don't know what you're talking about…"

"Don't lie!" Cain shouts, thumping the man in his chest. One of his pecs has been slashed to pieces, a carving etched down the ribcage and along the sternum, leaking blood, but Cain swears he'll patch it up when he feels like it. "You knew about a vigilante who planned to blow up a few of the trains heading to the Capitol with those tributes, and you didn't say anything," he crouches down, getting in the man's face. "You thought we wouldn't believe you, so you keep it a secret."

"I didn't," the man whines back. It is a miracle he hasn't cried yet.

"They could be the same person who is going around blowing up bombs in the Capitol, and you won't divulge details cause of your pride?" Cain's voice rises into a squeak. He throws his hands up in disgrace, going over to the glass of wine he has sitting on the very thin windowsill. There is just the sill jutting out of the wall, with no sunlight streaming in. They're down below the Capitol's bustling roads where light does not shine, and it never will as long as Cain has anything to say about it.

He has the man brought down here privately after scouring records. With Lydia gone with her Peacekeeper patrol, looking for this masked and caped enemy of the state, which Cain finds to be a waste of time, given he's only defacing monuments with spray paint… it is the opportune time to have the Peacekeeper in front of him brought in for questioning.

And what a gorgeous face he has, too. Stunning dark skin, with beautiful round eyes that have a puppy dog look in them, which Cain plans to beat out one crowbar hit at a time. That skin is now marred with burn marks, the hot iron poker cooling off in the bucket of water pressed up against one of the cell corners.

He's been at this for four hours now, trusting that even the imbecile Nyria Kirchner can handle her and his jobs for a little while as he handles their problem. It is a shared problem between the entire Israel administration, though Cain knows Emrick disapproves of torture for methods of collecting information.

"We cut people's tongues out for treason, and we're sending twenty-four children to their death in a glorified sport," Cain laughs in the man's face one July night as they sit out on the balcony, sipping on warm champagne that had been left out on the table by Avoxes who never got to touch another glass of alcohol for the men ever again. "And you're worried that torturing prisoners who threaten us is too much?"

Emrick never responds, sitting there, drinking on the disgusting bubbly, eyes staring ahead over the Capitol skyline.

Cain will never forget the look of terror on his son's face as the rusted knife slides over his throat, Nathaniel Coin laughing in his ear as he has one hand clamped down over Cain's mouth, muting his scream. On the bed, his wife being used by the man's men… he has a right to feel a little vicious once in a while, and he never got to exact his revenge on Nathaniel Coin like he wanted.

Sure, the man is dead, but… he didn't get to do it. Lydia Wickervein, in all of her absolute glory… the bitch doesn't deserve to make this kill in the name of the Capitol.

He takes another swig of his wine. "Disabuse yourself of the idea, Soldier, that this is a conversation between equals, cause I can assure you, it is not." Cain reaches over and grabs an item from the windowsill. "You are just a measly foot soldier who takes orders from his superiors like a good little Capitolite does," there is terror in the Peacekeeper's face, a success, as Cain has been trying to rouse some sort of emotion from the man besides incorrigible pity. He does not feel pity for the man, it is humorous watching a grown man cry.

"Like how you cried watching your son die?" Nyria asks him, once, over a lite salad lunch between two coworkers. Cain splashes his dressing and water in her face, eager to do it. How dare she!

"I didn't cry," Cain lifts his head up, throat bulking as he looks at her. She isn't trying to be rude, from her facial expressions suggest otherwise. "I don't cry, Nyria," He got up and left her with the tab.

"I hate you…" the Peacekeeper says, raggedly, arms shackled to the floor, trying to lift them up, fingers curling into a fist. Except, the man is missing his pinkie fingers. He lost them awhile ago, but the wounds have cauterized and stopped bleeding, which is a good thing.

"Good," Cain hums in agreement, running a finger over the man's right ear. He stiffens in the chair, grunting and snarling at the touch. "Sometimes I hate myself too," he says, before flicking the organ and cascading the other hand through the man's hair. "But I hate you even more, soldier. You just can't hide secrets from me and the president about national security and then expect us to be forgiving."

"But I didn't-" the man starts.

Not this shit again.

Cain brings the knife in his hand, the item he had grabbed from the windowsill, dragging it over the man's ear. He keeps on babbling, something about forgiveness and swearing he is loyal, but Cain has heard of it all before. He kisses the man on the cheek, soothing him, rubbing a hand across his bloodied chest.

He holds his arm around the man's head, keeping him in place, before slicing the knife across the man's throat like it is wrapping paper. The Peacekeeper chokes in surprise, gurgling and gasping, maybe even screaming, but Cain keeps the main upright as blood spurts everywhere. The rivers will run silent when Cain lets a traitor of the Capitol live, he protests their very existence.

He continues cutting, cutting, cutting, but the man is already dead… this is just for show. There must be a camera somewhere.

Cain lets out a loud sigh, keeping the knife stuck in the dead Peacekeeper's shoulder, kissing his warm cheek once more. The man slumps over, the knife falling into the guy's lap, on the towel, in a squelching pitter pat.

God, he is drained. He is also damn thirsty.

Cain grabs his wine glass and takes a long, satisfying sip. It burns his throat, as he flicks off blood specks from his hands.

Looks like his work is done, for now. Until the morning, he supposes, when the rivers run dry, when the blood pooling out of all of his enemies stills, and the rivers run silent.

That'll be the day, won't it?

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: Camilla Rodriguez [Submitted by Reign of Winter]

District 10: Nokomis Yanaba [Submitted by Ripple237]

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

…

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)

…

Kill Leaderboard:

Magnus Winterthorn (D2M): I
Portia Beninblade (D2F): I
Vesuvia Vocanova (D3F): I
Diana Kratovska (D4F): I
Porscha Watanabe (D6F): I
Gemini Lennox (D9M): I
Nokomis Yanaba (D10F): I
Cassiopeia Grey (D11F): I
Arena/Mutts: I

Well, so much for a shorter chapter, huh! Ladies and gentlemen, that was Chapter #27: When the Rivers Run Silent, Day 5 of the arena. I am super stoked for where we're going to be heading next, cause yes, this chapter was tense yet deathless for a reason... there is so much ahead. Vesuvia now has a secret to add to her collection, Girl Power and Wax Poetica clashed, our Mini Careers tasted a hint of threatening violence, Nyria cannot keep it together, and Cain may have lost the last marble he had left... I am very proud of this chapter, and I am starting to feel like I enjoy writing again, which has been a feeling absent from my life for months, so it is all thanks to you guys.

Next Chapter, #28: Curtain of Blood and Tears, is focused on Arena Night V, so yes, still in the same 'day' so don't think anyone is out of the shit yet. It should just be another all six tribute pov chapter, catching up with groups we haven't seen in awhile, and getting really bold with some decisions. Thorne and I are working on Red Silence intros, so thank you for being patient. The poll to still vote for who you'd like to see on the Top 8 is up to vote on, and I won't be deleting any of the answers out of spoiler territory (though I do spoil it on my profile, so, I dunno). Your support means the world to me, and I'd love to know what you thought.

And oh my god, can you believe it... Liberty has surpassed 300k words... that is insane, and now all of my SYOTS are in the same benchmark. I am 1000% certain that this'll breach 400k, which'll be a first for me, and it's all because of your support. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, seriously.

Love you all so much! Have an amazing day! Bye!

~ Paradigm