A/N: Hello, all~ There should be one more chapter after this, and then a bonus epilogue with info on the tributes. I probably will not be doing the alt-POVs... Apologies for the wonky updates. I have been having issues with writer's block recently... And I know I put a sickening plot twist here, but YOU ALL KNOW YOU WANTED IT. Well, get on with reading, and please review!

Twig's coming closer. He knows I'm here, but that's just fine. If I were to surprise attack him, I may not get to see that horrified, dying gleam in his eyes as he weakly slumps over the bloodied edge of my axe.

I grip the handle of my axe harder. My hands have started trembling, though I'm not sure whether it's from fear, excitement, or a little of both.

But here he comes—the tribute who has not only stolen all my donations, but my hope for winning as well—closer and closer…

"Hey, there, districtmate."

I almost drop the axe at the sound of his voice, but manage not to.

"How's it hanging?" he continues, leaning against a tree.

"Oh, the usual," I reply. "I've just killed a child, every person I've teamed up with has died, and I've had all my supplies stolen before they even get to me. Just peachy!" I spit at him venomously.

"That's nice," Twig responds, stretching. I can tell he doesn't have any weapons on him—at least other than his brute strength.

Of course, that's probably all he needs.

So, how am I going to attack? Twig doesn't seem to be wary of anything sudden—of course, with my already-skinny body in even worse condition from the Games, I'm not much to be wary of—and I'd certainly want to strike first—should he strike first, I'm not likely to be able to strike second—so… Should I attack now?

Slowly, I experimentally start to lift the axe off the ground, only a little bit so he doesn't notice. There's been no weight change—it's still practically forged from lead—but I know I can lift it when I need to…

"So, you planning on killing me?" Twig starts, making me flinch. He seems almost psychic, until I realize everyone in the Hunger Games would plan on killing him.

"Yup." Without another word, I lurch forward and swing the axe hard as I can into his abdomen. To my surprise, he didn't dodge out of the way in time. But I've still hardly managed to injure him. Guess it's pretty hard to rip through all of that muscle.

Twig effortlessly boxes me off, and I tumble back onto a snapping floor of roots, only staying long enough to regain some blurred part of my consciousness before I bolt up again.

By the time I realize what's going on, Twig's already over me, so, having no better quick solutions, I kick him where it hurts—there's nothing against fighting dirty in the Hunger Games, and he deserves it, anyway—and regain my solid grip on the axe as he flinches back. I swing at him again, not able to lift the axe high enough to hit something vital, but managing to hack a nasty cut into his thigh.

He flinches from this, too, but still manages to grab my head.

With one little twist, he could end my life here and now…

But I won't let him.

Just as my neck starts to itch from its forced pivoting, I whorl around with it, using the limited momentum to dig my axe just above Twig's kneecap.

I must have hit something good, because he's lost balance, his right leg buckling as he tries to recover.

But now, just in this moment, his chest is low enough for my heavy axe to reach.

So I swing.

I must have angled the hit perfectly, because my blade doesn't run up against any bone. It just slices through, leaving a wonderful river of blood gushing from Twig's chest.

I would say I've probably struck his heart, but I know he doesn't have one.

The cannon booms, and I wrench my weapon back out of his torso, stepping back from the body.

"Send Satan my regards," I snarl as the hovercraft takes him away.

So, I've… really done it. I've finally killed Twig.

But before I get a moment longer to reflect on this, the nearby glint of steel forces me to refocus.

I hop back from my pose, barely managing to drag my axe with me as a large sword splinters where I just stood.

I pant, gripping my axe tightly again as the attacker comes into view.

Kyta is there, recovering her sword from the bed of roots, and Rim is close behind her.

"Don't know how you survived this long," Kyta says, assuming a fighting stance, "but now, you're dead." She whips her sword up and slashes at me, my dodging quick enough to avoid all but a few strands of my curls getting sliced.

I swing my axe up, but, slow as it is, I only manage to scuff up the edge of Kyta's pants.

"Hm, you really are pathetic, aren't you?" she sighs. "Ah, well. I don't have any problems with an easy kill." She swings her sword at me again, but I manage to lift up the handle of my axe, which blocks her strike well enough but still gets considerably notched.

This doesn't stop her long, though, for she quickly tugs her weapon back out and swings it around the other way, scoring a long cut across my collarbone that would have gotten my neck had I not flinched away from it.

Kyta suddenly pulls back though, looking like she's in pain. She falls forward, and a cannon booms.

"Thanks for that," Rim says, digging a heinous-looking sickle out of Kyta's back. "Always easier to kill someone when she's distracted."

My hands tighten around my axe's dented edge as I try to ignore the smooth curtain of blood starting to soak into my shirt.

"But, I'll still have to kill you," Rim continues, wiping some of Kyta's blood off his weapon. He waits for Kyta's hovercraft to appear and disappear before he continues. "Let's just say it's payback for that water. Really screwed up my mouth, you know."

"Kind of cocky how you assume you can take me out," I stall, trying to figure out a way to attack. "As a matter of fact, I'm the one that killed Twig."

"That weakling?" Rim chuckles. "Good for you."

"Weakling?" I echo. "He got an 11, you know!"

Rim tosses his weapon between his hands, still laughing. "Did you really think anyone could have honestly gotten a score that high? Isn't it obvious a certain Gamemaker was bribed to give him that score?"

"Wh-what?" I stare at Rim, forgetting my battle plans in the wake of this new information.

Rim's laughter gets louder, echoing throughout the mangal. "You really don't know anything about these games, do you?" he laughs. "The higher your score, the more sponsors you get. Even forking over a couple thou or more for one or two points is a good deal." His laughter fades a bit as he spins his sickle in his hands. "But you know, I'm getting off-topic. How about we get straight to the feature presentation, hm?" He repositions his grip on the sickle and slices at me before I can react, digging his weapon deep into my left shoulder.

I gasp, jerking back, though he's already stopped his attack for now. I'm sure he could've gone to my heart easily, but, now that I think about it, we're the only ones left. This is the last battle of the thirteenth Hunger Games, and the audience will want a show.

Huh. I'm in the last battle of the Hunger Games. How did that happen?

But now's not the time to consider a little think piece. Now's the time to go for broke and win this thing.

Though my vision is starting to grey out from the blood loss, I still think I'm competent enough to swing my axe around a good few times. Managing to dodge Rim's next swipe, I lift up my weapon, slashing at him unskillfully but managing to dig a score through his lower abdomen. He doesn't flinch back much, though, landing another hit on me, this time a thin and long scratch just below my ribs.

Now my vision's gone blotchy, but I can still make out enough to see Rim's position as I use my foot to kick up my weapon, aiming for where I think his heart is. I do manage to hit something, and he cries out, but as what I can see shifts, I can tell I've only dealt him a mark across the middle of his ribs.

He has hesitated, though, so I take the chance to throw all my effort into heaving the axe into his stomach.

I hit my mark—it feels like a nice, deep wound—and Rim inhales painfully, but I find myself dropping my weapon. I'm so dazed, it's hard to tell what's going on, but soon I realize I didn't only drop the axe because of fatigue.

I also dropped it because my right arm is completely gone.

Rim and I must have hit each other about the same time, because I know I had an arm when I shoved the axe into him. However it worked out, it's not that lovely for either of us.

The funny thing is, I don't feel any pain at all. Either Kalis's acupuncture-voodoo magic kept my arm numb enough, or I'm so drugged out on adrenaline and blood loss I wouldn't notice if my head got cut off.

And then a cannon fires.

I don't think it's for me, because I'm pretty sure—though not completely—that I'm still alive. So did I manage to kill Rim? My vision's so far gone, I can't tell, but he was the only other tribute left…

Then, does that mean… I've won?

Out of all twenty-four tributes, the little non-Career from District 4 takes it all? I admit, I dreamed it would happen ever since I got into this mess, but I never thought it would even be close to reality.

So here I am, the winner of the Thirteenth Hunger Games.

Any moment now, Core Brig is going to announce that I've won. His voice is going to boom through the forest, masking the faint humming of the meat-seeker locusts as a hovercraft comes to take me to freedom.

But nothing happens.

I wait more, but there's no announcer, no hovercraft.

Where are they? Has something gone wrong?

My knees sway, and I fall to the ground unhindered. What was wooziness a minute ago is now threatening to swallow me whole.

But I can't just up and die here. After all, I'm the winner of the Hunger Games…

I can't die…

But there's still nothing, nothing to save me, as my blood pours out and my other senses slowly join my vision in the grave.

I jerk up suddenly, hitting my head on something hard. What's going on? Am I still alive? I blink my eyes, and start to see faint shapes in the darkness. Reaching up to feel whatever this two-inch-high ceiling is, I suddenly recognize that I have both arms.

My ceiling, I realize, is the layer of tree roots I had sheltered under last night.

So… It was all… a dream?

I feel myself over, and sure enough, whatever injuries I had contracted in my battles against Kyta and Rim aren't there.

And that means someone did beat me to killing Twig.

But it also means I'm still alive.

I don't think I mind that exchange.

I'm about to slink out of my shelter, but I stop at the sound of nearby voices. It's hard to make out, but I can identify the voices as Kyta's and Rim's—his speech is back to its unintelligible glory—and it sounds like they're arguing, but I don't know about what.

Then there's a crash of branches, and the voices sound a whole lot closer.

"Screw it!" Kyta hisses. "If you're going to be useless, I'll just kill you right now!"

Rim replies something heatedly, but I can't make out the words.

Then I hear the sickening sound of steel penetrating flesh.

Before I can do anything, though, the few shadows I can see shift, and a loud thud right above me makes my eyelids flare before the cannon booms.

I can't be sure what's happened until a tiny shard of light lets me make out the last terrified gleam of the dead Rim's eyes just above mine.

I don't move, don't even breathe, as the hovercraft claw comes down, grinding ever so slightly, and wraps around Rim's corpse, shutting off my last glimpse of him.

Now I'm just gasping hysterically, because I'm sure Kyta will walk over and find me, not to mention that I've just had a cadaver land right on top of me—the thin barrier of roots didn't really help with the shock.

But as time passes and the light of dawn starts to creep in, Kyta has yet to come over here.

So, I guess I'm safe… for now, I muse, carefully worming out of my bed and locating my axe and water. I pick up the water bottle with my right hand, but realize I haven't regained the mobility I had in my dream; my hand is fine now, but I can't move my shoulder, and my elbow will only bend halfway.

So I switch to my left hand, open the bottle, and put it to my lips.

Then, I realize it.

This is my last bottle of water.

And, I'm sure, my last day to live.