45 - Finale
Gossamer Wormwood, 17, C-District 10
She'd looked so crestfallen when he'd proposed the race.
Gossamer trudges along the path with his sabre in hand. If he's correct in his assumption, Finn and Luxor won't have left their old haunting grounds after the bombs went off. It should be easy to find them. Easier than finding a buried Calico.
Calico, he thinks. Now who would've guessed that he'd go that far for his sister? Who would've guessed he'd outwit the president and the Games staff in one swoop? As pretentious and pathetic as Darios had sounded in his interview, he was right about Calico outing himself with his private session. Gossamer had been right about one thing, though: Calico was a threat to the Capitol, and they wanted everyone to know.
Gossamer wants to preserve that threat. Gossamer wants that threat to flourish, to grow into something extraordinary. It's not often that he respects someone—and he'd truly meant it when he said he respects Calico—and he refuses to let that one apparently "human" trait of his to be taken away so soon. He grips the sabre tighter. No, after what he's found out his family may have been responsible for in him, he's going to do everything in his power to rectify it.
Raime Wormwood's brood may not be exempt from a lashing, but Gossamer is sure as hell ready to grab the whip and run.
No more comparing him to a monster. He's a damn person, and he doesn't know better. Gossamer slows to a stop, the words sinking in with more weight than he'd realised.
He doesn't know better.
If it's the last thing Gossamer does, he's going to tear his family apart for doing this to him. He's going to make sure Raime regrets favouring Velour, regrets turning Gossamer into his little attempt at a toy soldier. More than anything, he's going to make them wish they'd never wronged him in the first place.
He storms in the direction of the suburbia with renewed purpose. He's leaving this damn arena with Calico—Morganite's wishes be damned—and he's going to leave his damn mark in this godforsaken country's history. He's going to take Lola Amos's job, he's going to hide Calico away from the public, and he's going to fucking prosper.
But she'd looked so crestfallen when he'd proposed the race.
Gossamer grinds his teeth together, willing the image of Morganite's horror away from his mind. Forget that she treated him like they were old friends with their banter. Forgot for a moment they were equal. Whether or not she leaves the arena is up to her, and it's of no consequence to Gossamer. Who cares what she wants, anyway? She's a brat who doesn't know how to world works yet. She's…
She's what Gossamer wishes he could be again. She's what he wishes he could be now. She's so free.
Stop it. Stop it right now. Dwelling on what can never happen won't do him any good. He needs to focus on killing Finn so he can leave, and while he's at it he'll get revenge on that bitch that shot him in the bloodbath. Gossamer will be damned if he can't have his cake and eat it too.
His calm pace turns into angered stomps. Gossamer's just made it past the lake, about to hit the remains of Mason Street. Two more turns of a corner, and he's right there. He can end this.
One corner. He can end this, right here and now. No more breathing in aspestine. No more swelling and blisters on his palm. No more pinched nerves in his shoulder, always set off by the smallest disruptions against his wound.
Two corners. It'd take just one thrust of the sabre into his chest. Give or take a few minutes, it'd be over before he knew it. Calico and Morganite can get medical attention, and all will be well. No more pain.
The gates of the suburbia. Gossamer's heartbeat thrums loudly in his ears, his breathing becoming shallow. It's the moment he's been waiting for this whole time. It's a dream come true.
Gossamer wanders the ruins of the neighbourhood for a time, careful not to disrupt the rubble lest he alert the two boys hiding away. He wants the element of surprise—despite his training, only having one arm he can use is going to make it harder than usual. He might even get another injury. Who knows, at this point?
Something glimmers in a pile deeper in the rubble, metal and reflecting the sun's rays in his eyes. Gossamer raises his burned hand to shield his face, and he makes his way towards the metal with extra caution. As he gets closer he can recognise the item as a cooking pot, and beyond it is a small pile of food.
Jackpot, he thinks.
He tiptoes around the pile of food, spotting the sheets piled next to them. Two heads poke out from underneath them, fast asleep and looking so puffy and raw that Gossamer almost thinks they've cried themselves to sleep.
Pitiful.
He moves around them until their heads are at his feet. Gossamer reaches one foot around, his toes poking the forehead of Finn. He steps back, readies his sabre. He's not going to end this too quickly, not when he has to get his revenge. Finn stirs, naturally looks in the direction of where Gossamer's foot was.
Finn leans up on his elbows, rolling onto his stomach. He spots Gossamer, stares up at him with his jaw dropped. He's speechless, frozen in shock.
Gossamer slashes the boy across the eyes.
Finn screams and rolls around, his palms pressing against his eyes in a futile attempt to save his sight and stop the bleeding. Luxor startles awake, looking over at Finn first and letting out a shout of anguish. Luxor's gaze then moves to Gossamer, and his anguish turns to rage. Gossamer smiles down at him.
It's everything he wanted and more.
Serenaded by Finn's cries, Gossamer readies his sabre for another strike. Luxor throws Finn's sheet up at him, blinding him for a second, but Gossamer cuts it to the ground with ease. Luxor makes that split second of distraction count, though. The boy tackles him at the stomach, sending them both tumbling down the pile of rubble and to the ground. Luxor slips away from Gossamer, crashing to the pavement below.
Gossamer, ever the unlucky boy, feels his nerves light on fire as his shoulder—his injured goddamn shoulder—is the first to land against an overturned slab. His wound reopens and then spreads some, and Gossamer has to bite down his scream as every single joint and nerve in his arm burns his skin from the inside out.
Finn soon follows them, stumbling around and calling for Luxor. He crashes to the ground closer to Gossamer, and Luxor jumps back to his feet in alarm. He thinks Gossamer's going to kill Finn first. Idiot.
Luxor charges Gossamer again, and this time Gossamer fights back. It's primitive and likely to sprain his ankle, but he's not stepping away from Finn if he can help it. Gossamer sets his weight on one foot, lifts the other, and he kicks right out against Luxor's torso. The boy goes stumbling back, winded, and collapses to the ground as he tries to catch his breath.
It's the perfect moment to strike. Gossamer stumbles forward, the pain in his shoulder causing his head to sway for a moment. Luxor is prone before him, trying to back away but ultimately glued to the spot by his exhaustion. Gossamer slashes at him once he's within reach—the lower half of his shirt, along with the surface of his navel, neatly split in a horizontal line.
Gossamer slashes again as Luxor raises an arm to defend himself. Two of his fingers fly in the direction of Finn. Luxor cries out in pain, rolls to his side to shield his hand and vitals. Gossamer slashes at his face, lobs off his earlobe in the process.
He's not sure how he loses his composure so fast, but before he knows it he's just… repeatedly stabbing at Luxor with his sabre. He counts ten by the time Luxor's screams die down to whimpers. He counts twenty by the time he's still, the last of his life slipping away.
The cannon fires. Gossamer keeps stabbing.
By the time he receives a warning from a hovership overhead coming to collect Luxor's body, he counts thirty-six thrusts of the sabre.
One left, he thinks as he gasps for air. He looks over his shoulder, where Finn is struggling to get to his feet and hiccuping as he feels his surroundings. Gossamer wipes Luxor's blood off the blade, letting it glide against his pants smoothly, and turns for Finn.
Just one left. One left, and he can end this.
Morganite Gardierre, 14, C-District 6
Her lungs are on fire when she reaches the park. Gossamer had to have hidden Calico somewhere around here, she thinks. He couldn't have gone far with how little time it took for him to reunite with the group yesterday.
Morganite wipes some of the dried blood from her face as best she can. Where is he? Where is he? She turns around on the spot once, twice. Her mind is going haywire, and she can't even bring herself to be certain of where she's going when her feet move her in the direction of Odair Street. How much more time does she have? Is Gossamer about to kill Finn right now?
She cries out, but she can't tell if it's in pain or from the overwhelming sense of failure she's feeling. The skin of her fingers peels with every piece of concrete she pulls from the endless piles around her. Her nails begin to bleed with every sliver that gets caught in between them.
She doesn't want to kill. She doesn't want to kill anyone. No more death, no more suffering. Morganite repeats it like a mantra out loud, beside herself as more and more rubble is pulled aside.
There's a shout from afar—it's Finn's voice, so hard to forget after she'd heard his screams in training after the gauntlet. It's soon followed by Luxor, enraged and yelling something. They're too far for her to make out what.
Morganite spirals. Her hands shake as she starts clawing at the bigger chunks. Her breathing is uneven, her chest collapsing in on itself. Have to stop it. Have to kill him. Have to save Finn—
Gossamer's scream rings out this time. Morganite thinks she's crying. It's hard to tell with all the blood already covering her face. Her hand reaches into a small crevice, hoping to get a better grip on the chunk in front of her. She expects to hear more from the distance, probably one of the boys being injured.
She hears a deep-chested cough.
"C—" Morganite's mouth opens and closes. That wasn't all that far from her. Just a little to the left. Morganite shuffles over, closer to where she thinks Calico may be. She might make it. She might have a chance. "Cal—"
Another deep cough. It's right in front of her.
Right in front of her.
Right in front.
Morganite rolls the pieces away with abandon, ignoring the pain in her ankle as one lands on it and pins it in place. She can save him. She can save Finn. She has time.
The mask Calico's still wearing comes into view, just a foot under the rubble, and through it she can see a pair of tired eyes gazing weakly up at her. Morganite clambers for her knife. She just needs to pull off the mask and—and go for the—
For the eye. Morganite's head begins to spin again. It's harder to breathe, her vision blurring. Her hands shake to the point of almost dropping her knife.
Calico stares at her, at her knife, and understands what she's doing. He's resigned to it, even. It makes this all the more difficult for her. Morganite wails as she reaches in with her other hand and peels off his mask. Calico looks even more sickly without it on.
It's mercy, she has to remind herself again. "It's mercy," she tells herself out loud.
She reaches in with the other hand, knife hovering above Calico's face. He closes his eyes, lets out a long exhale. Morganite panics even more.
And damn it all, he smiles. He smiles like he's been granted a peace he'll never know in his life again. He smiles like he agrees with her.
Boom!
Morganite goes rigid. The hand holding the knife trembles. The tip rests a mere half inch away from his face. She's out of time. She missed her chance.
Finn's dead.
Disgust washes over her. She gawks at the knife, yanks it out of the opening and throws it away from herself. What is she doing? She has to get him out from under there before her excavation attempt crushes him to death.
Calico watches her with a dull expression. Morganite pulls at the rubble more carefully now, freeing him to his shoulders before long. "Hold on," she wheezes every so often. "Almost there."
When one of Calico's hands is free to move, he grabs her wrist and leans on her. He coughs, struggling more and more with his breathing.
"Ann—" He chokes on his own breath. Morganite stares in horror at the sheer amount of blood that comes out of his mouth with each cough. "Not ann—"
"Not what?" She grabs his hand and holds it, hoping to comfort him. He doesn't look too comforted by the gesture.
"Winner," he manages.
She stares at him for a second. It doesn't sink in immediately, his words still a jumble in her disarrayed mind. Winner. Not. "Ann". She blinks, looks back over her shoulder. There's a hovership, sure, and the cannon went off. But something feels off.
And then another cannon goes off. She flinches, her hands gripping Calico tighter, and he groans in pain.
Winners. Not. "Ann".
Winners not announced.
Morganite feels all her strength leave her. She sags forward, leaning on the rubble between her and Calico for support. The first cannon… It wasn't Finn?
Calico's hand drops from her grasp. His eyes close again, a weaker cough escaping him. Morganite stares down at him as he fades in and out of consciousness over and over. She could've done it. She could've saved Finn.
Jourisme's harsh reprimands fill her ears. Don't make a mistake. Stop being selfish. Think about others for once. You're going to regret it later. Now she knows she's crying. Morganite faces her palms upwards, where all the scratches and injuries marr her skin. She had time. She had time and she threw it away.
She really is just a brat that makes mistakes.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Lola's voice booms through the sky, "our victors of the Fourth Quarter Quell: Morganite Gardierre and Gossamer Wormwood!"
Morganite looks down at Calico again. Shouldn't… Shouldn't his name be in there? One trembling hand reaches back in, hovering in front of his mouth and nose. She can hardly feel any air coming out.
No.
No, no, no.
The hovership moves in her direction, Peacekeepers and Gamemakers exiting to guide her back on with them. Morganite points at Calico, mouth opening and closing and her voice dead in her throat. They don't leave him behind. No, they dig him up and put him on a stretcher.
Gossamer's already on the hovership, getting medical attention, when she stumbles in. He doesn't look at her once, his focus purely on Calico as he's rushed towards a proper medical bay on the machine.
"Is he alive?" he asks one of the Gamemakers, his tone demanding.
"We'll see," is all he gets in response.
Morganite's panic and anguish begins to morph. It twists and turns, dyes itself a deep red at the sight of Gossamer's tunnel vision. It turns to rage. She storms over to him, shoving away the nurse stitching up his shoulder, and she grabs his shirt collar with a snarl.
"You didn't have to kill him!" she screeches. "You only said Finn! Luxor didn't deserve to die too!"
Gossamer looks at her, his gaze just as dull as Calico's had been. "It's not about who deserves to," he reminds her.
Morganite can't stop herself. She brings one hand up and slaps him hard across the face. Her cuts open further, her nails crying out in pain. Gossamer doesn't retaliate. He just sits there, watching her, and waits.
Waits for a nearby Gamemaker to administer morphling to her, to keep her calm and under close watch while they return to the Capitol.
There we have it! The 4th Quell concluded, our victors decided! You know what this means? We can officially publish Meliora and "open" (like I haven't already wheeze) tribute submissions, and then after the first epilogue I can also open escort submissions for Meliora! Gosh, it's been like two years working on this - what a wild ride, right? It was amazing working with all these characters you guys gave me, and I'm super looking forward to what you all bring for the sequel!
I guess I'll close off this final Games chapter with another QQ, like usual!
QQ #40: What do you think is in store for our victors now that they're out of the arena?
See you in Meliora and in the first epilogue for Mortem!