Chapter 60: How Our Words Linger

Day 13

TW: Intense and graphic depictions of gore and torture. Note: this is a lot more intense than the previous similarly-tagged chapter, so if anyone would like a summary, please reach out.

The light sky brought no reprieve.

Venatrix hadn't moved from her position at the mouth of the tent, knees pulled in and stiff as a statue. By the looks of it, Percy hadn't either. They'd fallen into tense silence eventually, weighed down by the imminence of their future. It pressed down on the arena, muting the sounds of nature like a heavy snowfall, something the clouds above seemed to promise once more. Residual flakes of white floated in and out of her tunneled vision, but Venatrix barely registered them.

The silence only let her mind scream louder.

Rustling from inside the tent drew Venatrix back to reality. The bones in her neck seemed to creak as she turned her head to watch Mariposa lift hers, and for a second, Venatrix regretted not paying her more attention. The One girl always looked so peaceful in her sleep, gentle as the creature for which she was named.

You never appreciate things while you have them.

How slim was the chance to keep them, both of them?

None. It's none, and you've always known that. She found herself staring into Mariposa's eyes, lost until the girl cleared her throat. She nodded towards the entrance, which Venatrix currently blocked. "Oh," she croaked. "Sorry."

It took ages to uncurl her limbs. First her arm, then one leg, the other. As she did, a static numbness swept through her muscles; from the cold or the tension, she couldn't tell. Now this won't do, her brain chided. You need to be in control today. You need to kill, remember? Still, it took Percy's careful assistance to drag herself to her feet before Mariposa slipped out of the tent, the cat padding behind her.

Aren't you supposed to be leading them? Ridiculous.

Shaking her head, Venatrix shoved the voice away, into the corner of her mind where the howling resided, and shut the door. It will be fine. Percy said it will be fine.

You know what to do— loosen up your body. Get rid of your obstacles. Hold your head high, and win.

Wordlessly, Venatrix ran through her stretching routine. In her peripheral, she noticed the others join, but she paid them no mind, focusing only on the stiffness in her body and willing it to dissipate. It didn't— she didn't expect it to, but she forced herself into a rhythm anyways, sword gripped firm yet loose enough to move.

When the others stopped, she didn't, lost in the sensation of pain gliding from one limb to another.

At the gentle nudge to her shoulder, she flinched. A hiss leaked from her teeth; Mariposa's expression was apologetic. "Here," she said, and Venatrix noticed the tin of red paint in her hand, the line down her face. Percy's already sported a similar fresh blue.

Relaxing, Venatrix let the One girl apply two lines of paint down her eyes. Memories of the last time she did flooded her mind, almost a world away; unsure whether to let them in or push them away, Venatrix found herself gravitating towards the latter. Too late to regret it.

She closed her eyes, but instead of Mariposa's lips, familiar teeth tore into her skin, the shrill howls returning, reverberating.

It's out there… and so are the other four.

When she opened her eyes, Mariposa was gone, deep in hushed conversation with Percy. Venatrix frowned. She cleared her throat. Simultaneously, they looked at her, and the howling faded ever-so-slightly. She jerked her chin in the direction of the riverbank.

Before they could move, two white parcels descended on a chorus of chimes.

Her brow furrowed as they landed in Percy and Mariposa's hands respectively. Their expressions mirrored hers. So soon before a feast? Really? Percy unwrapped his — a single archery glove — and Mariposa hers — another metal tin, smaller than the paints. She popped it open, revealing a waxy substance. Petroleum jelly; she smeared it across her chapped lips, passing it to Venatrix.

Venatrix glanced at the tin, then at the note in Percy's hands— Morwenna's handwriting. "You could do this with your eyes closed, kid," he read aloud. "Don't."

She ignored his snort of amusement, glancing at the paper that came with Mariposa's gift. "Stay focused." Short, but sweet.

And… nothing else. No other parachutes fell from the sky to land in her hands, not even to deliver the briefest words of encouragement. No 'I believe in you', no 'stay strong', not even a 'we love you'.

Venatrix could very well die today. No doubt her father knew it.

Hell, maybe he expected it.

Belatedly, she realized Mariposa was still holding out the tin. She and Percy watched Venatrix with expectant expressions. "No thanks," she gritted out.

"Vee—"

"I don't need it," she lied through a clenched jaw. Such inconsequential gifts, both of them. And yet…

Not enough. The sneer echoed in her mind, along with the only words her father had deigned to send her through the entirety of the Games. "You call that a show?"

What have you done to deserve anything, hm?

"Venatrix?"

She glanced up from the tin, towards the source. Something else colored Mariposa's soft features— concern, and… caution? Venatrix swallowed, noticing that her own face had twisted into something hard enough to hurt. Exhaling slowly, she forced her expression even.

Only then did Mariposa step closer. Venatrix almost flinched when she raised a hand to her face, rubbing the wax across her lips. "Don't worry about it, alright?" She lowered her thumb. "We have bigger problems today."

"I know."

She turned on her heel, ignorant of Mariposa's light frown, Percy's pursed lips. Towards the riverbank, she headed; they'd dallied for too long. Any longer, and they'll send the wolf. She wasn't enough of a fool to think this feast was optional.

The crunch of snow from behind told her the others had decided to follow, and, irritated as she was right now, she'd need them. She wanted them. Alive, yes; by her side, always.

She didn't know what she'd do the day those notions started to contradict.

Nevertheless, she forged through the trees. Her boots brushed past dead brambles and ferns, cutting a deliberate trail through the snow. They hadn't bothered to pack up their campsite; either they'd return, or they wouldn't. Venatrix kept her eyes peeled for other tracks, be it animal or human or mutt.

She found neither.

The trees began to thin, and Venatrix felt her heart pick up speed in her chest. Instinctively, her feet slowed; her head swung side to side, taking in the shadows, the trees, the space between. Her allies at her side; that's all there was, nothing more.

Where are the others?

Where is the wolf?

…Where is the feast?

Ahead, the treeline dissipated into the familiar pebble-covered beach, and beyond it, the river. It was oddly calm today, oddly far— almost as if it had receded. Venatrix paused at a thick clump of bare brush, crouching down to observe.

"Are we at the right place?" Percy mouthed, squatting down beside her.

She didn't answer, squinting out at the expanse beyond.

"I don't like this." Mariposa, at her other side. "How do we even know when it's midday?"

Venatrix and Percy shrugged in unison, though her gaze remained locked on what lay ahead.

At this point along the river, the land stretched straight for meters, the only curve being a jagged cliffside miles back from where they came; Venatrix recognized it as the one Mariposa had almost tumbled over. She saw no sign of the boat their former allies had commandeered— no sign, in fact, of anything at all. Again, she surveyed their surroundings.

And she saw it— a flash of brown-black through the trees.

At the same time, Mariposa nudged her, a finger to her lips, but Venatrix's eyes were already tracking the movement. Whoever they were, they weren't quiet. The human-like figure stomped through the trees, a good distance away that Venatrix only caught glimpses of dark hair and pale skin through the trunks. The three Careers crouched, frozen, but the other tribute — must be a tribute — evidently didn't notice them.

Without even pausing, they crossed into the open, a stiff beeline towards the river.

With a jerk of her chin, Venatrix gestured for her allies to move perpendicular to the tribute's path— closer, but still within the trees. They followed; as stealthily as they could, the trio prowled along the treeline until Percy paused behind a thick trunk, evidently deeming the tribute within shooting range. Silently, he drew an arrow.

Venatrix studied the tribute. Eight boy, it must be; Seven's skin was too tan, his hair too short. As far as she could tell, he wasn't even carrying a weapon. Brave… and stupid. She waited for the subtle noise of her partner loading his bow, for Eight to collapse— Percy wouldn't miss.

A shout of irritation erupted suddenly from their target. "Where the fuck is my food!?"

Percy's lip twitched. Eight's tirade continued while he took aim, heedless of the potential danger, when out of nowhere, the outlier stiffened. His head snapped towards the left, up the river.

Venatrix felt it too, a low, familiar rumbling beneath her feet. Her lip curled in a scowl; Percy lowered his bow to wait out the quake, a matching expression twisting his mouth, but it was Eight's shouted curse that made her look twice.

Up the river, a thick cloud bloomed atop the fjord. Possibly — no, definitely — moving towards them.

The water grew choppy. Eight skittered out of reach, and the longer Venatrix looked, the more she recognized the spray of rock hitting water, the way the mountainsides looked almost liquid.

The arena's collapsing on itself.

"Run!" Percy shouted, and nobody dared disagree.

As one, they burst from the treeline. The Eight boy was the last thing on anyone's mind, yelp of surprise or not. Venatrix's feet kicked up gravel as she tore along the beach, a meter or so behind Mariposa— like hell was she going to be crushed by falling rock because she tripped over a bush or something stupid.

Dread forced her to look back, and she nearly did trip. Water surged; it tugged at her ankles, sudden and vicious, but Percy dragged her upright. Too breathless to thank him, Venatrix tore her eyes from the fast-encroaching cloud of mist, the Eight boy's flailing form, the dark shadow emerging atop the cresting wave. "Over here!"

Mariposa. She flitted into view, half-dangling from a sturdy-looking conifer. With a flash of relief, Venatrix's fingers locked around her ally's outstretched hand. The One girl pulled— enough to lift Venatrix from the lapping water. The roar of crashing waves filled her ears, and Venatrix clung to her designated branch as tightly as she could. Cold mist buffeted her face, but Venatrix only closed her eyes once she caught sight of Percy latched to their tree.

(Amidst the breaking wave, Venatrix thought she heard something else— a howl.)

The pine swayed. Cold water licked her boots, and then it dissipated.

Venatrix cracked her eyes open. The water level had receded once again, chopping cheerfully as if it hadn't just threatened to suck them under. Towering walls of rock still surrounded them; they hadn't yet given out, though Venatrix couldn't say the same for the land they'd traversed mere days ago. It was as if they'd been stomped flat by giants' feet— though something else entirely dominated her view.

Looming atop the water sat a lone boat. Its mast stretched tall and black against the sky, rivulets of water and greasy plant matter dripping from its frame as if it had risen from the bottom of the fjord itself.

In its shadow, the waterlogged Eight boy dragged himself to his feet, mouth agape in the presence of the hellish vessel.

"Fucking assholes!" Mariposa spat. "What kind of feast— huh?" She cut herself off when Venatrix tugged at her boot, pointing. This time, she muttered her curses under her breath. "'Makers, what is that thing?"

Still breathless from the effort of clinging to her branch, Venatrix focused on lowering herself onto the damp ground beneath. The wave had swept away the snow; stray pebbles crunched under her boots when she landed, stumbling slightly. Panting, she righted herself on the trunk as the other two climbed down.

Eight still hadn't moved, towards or away from the boat. Venatrix nudged her partner. "Percy, you—"

All at once, a chilling howl tore through the air. Venatrix sucked in a breath. I was right— I did hear it. Closer than she ever remembered. Fear froze her limbs; ahead, something crashed through the dead undergrowth, into the open—

Seven. And behind him, the wolf.

Ochre's eyes stretched wide at the sight of the Careers. He cut a sharp right, narrowly dodging both Percy's lightning arrow and the gnashing teeth at his heels. The axe flashed as he raised it in automatic defense.

But Venatrix had eyes only for one creature.

The mutt had skidded to a stop, seemingly satisfied with throwing Seven into the fray. In her mind's eye, it towered almost as tall as the black ship, fur fluffed and head thrown back in a piercing cry.

But now, in front of her, it was silent.

Venatrix didn't realize she'd drawn her sword until it hovered in her vision, pointing at the wolf. "You."

He bared his teeth, emitting a low warning growl.

In her head, the cries only increased in volume; multiplying, rattling, drowning the rest of thoughts. How strange. Venatrix gritted her teeth. She advanced, and the wolf tensed; it sank into a crouch.

"Venatrix," came Percy's low warning. "Don't—"

The wolf turned on its heel, and fled.

"Coward!"

"Venatrix!"

She took off. Get back here! Get back here you damn mutt, I'll show you what a monster is!

The muted screams in her peripheral meant nothing. Back the way it came, the wolf leapt easily over the brush, into the forest. Venatrix crashed after it, sword drawn, eyes locked on the black tail swishing and weaving through the trees. Her breath puffed harshly in her ears; it was fast, and she was exhausted.

I don't care. I don't fucking care.

Red fueled her vision, propelled her numb feet forward. Even as she ricocheted off solid trunks, Venatrix pressed on, that black blur ever in sight. The rush in her ears swallowed everything whole: Percy's voice calling after her, the screams she'd left behind.

The cannon.

He's getting away.

All at once, it was gone. Any trace of movement, any flash of fur. Inexplicably vanished. The forest stilled.

A cry of fury tore from Venatrix's throat. Gasping, head spinning, her feet slowed, and, and… Nothing. No wolf. No redemption. Another scream itched inside her lungs but there was no air to fuel it. She stumbled into a clearing, still panting.

"Venatrix!"

Percy. The noise, the howls; they started to recede.

He caught up to her easily. "Trix." How far had she run? Could be five miles or fifteen meters for all she knew. "You can't— you can't just do that!"

"I'm—sorry—"

Bow in hand, Percy yanked her into a hug. "You can't go off like that, you can't just—"

The world wasn't even kind enough to slow down.

He stiffened. Turned. Arrow nocked, draw, loose— he recoiled, and the spear struck his chest with a quiet sigh.

For once, the howling was quiet enough for her to hear it.

Venatrix blinked— and then his weight came crashing down. The sword slipped from her grasp; she barely caught him. ("Percy?") She felt his name fall from her lips, but she couldn't hear it. Surprise stretched his blue eyes wide, and—and—

("Percy, no—") His fingers curled into her cloak. Air and something else gurgled through his lips, and the weight, it was too much; he sank into her, into the ground they sank, sank, sank. Warmth began to spill from that ugly thing in his chest, how it blurred before her vision— breathe, Percy, breathe—

He tried. Venatrix tried.

The shock in his eyes curdled to pain, to last night's fear. ("No—no, don't—")

Help me. Somebody. When she looked up, another pair of eyes were already watching.

Too late, she noticed the charred remains of a campfire, its owner— the Four girl stood, still poised from her throw. Her leg dragged awkwardly, wrapped tight from a previous day's knife. Matching shock colored her face; at the hit she'd landed, at the arrow sticking out of her shoulder.

You… ("You—") Did this? ("You did this…")

Patience met her gaze. She grinned.

(And the howling returned.)

Venatrix stood. Percy's upper body slipped from her grasp, and his words— ("Trix, wait—!"), the cough that cut them off, faded into the cacophony. You hurt him. Four stepped back, oh, no you don't, no the fuck you don't—! Her feet may be numb, her body exhausted, but it surged forwards of its own will, and she had no mind to stop it.

Four must've seen the intent in her eyes. Her face slackened; she pivoted, crashing off into the trees, but that leg of yours, it won't get you far, now will it? Will it?

"Don't you dare run from me again!"

But she did— she tried, at least.

A jagged cry of effort spewed from Venatrix's lips, and she dove. The Four girl yelped — not enough not enough not enough — as Venatrix's shoulder plowed into her, arm wrapped around her waist, and they went down, down—

Boom.

—flailing the whole way, it's not her, not yet, it's—

A stray fist struck her across the cheek; Venatrix snarled, spitting dirt and hair from her mouth. The forest was a blur, all black and grey, tangles of limbs and red red red, but her weight was enough, her legs straddled the other girl, knee digging into that knife wound on Four's thigh, and her screams, her howls— they almost drowned out that cannon.

It was always meant to happen.

("You killed him!")

It was always meant to happen.

(Not like this not like this not like this)

I was supposed to kill him.

(I was supposed to kill him and hate myself for it.)

But now, I hate you.

Beneath her, the Four girl writhed, desperate — so fucking desperate — to throw her off. ("You—") She almost did; fists and then fingernails found purchase in Venatrix's face. Her own hand snapped up to grab them before Four could do much more damage than a few stinging scratches. ("You did this!") The red beneath Four's fingernails wasn't blood yet. It's paint. Just paint!

("You killed him!")

And suddenly Venatrix saw nothing else.

Agony flared from her shoulder and she wasn't in the arena anymore— this fever-pain was somewhere else entirely, a world of shifting red-and-bone, and yet somehow her eyes flew open. The pain dug deeper — color-splotches across her vision — and claws. In my bones.

She's pushing them out of place oh god get them out get out get OUT—

The ringing dissipated long enough for Venatrix to hear herself scream.

For a heartbeat, she saw it—the hand, her collar. Venatrix let her go; her head twisted. Her teeth got there first. More howls filled the air as they dug into soft flesh, iron-tang blood, less-soft bone. The killer's free hand returned to its smacking, clawing, punching, but it was no match now for the taste of red and salt.

(Venatrix bit down harder.)

—I hope it hurts I hope it fucking hurts—

(Do you hear it? Do you hear the wolf now?)

Something crunched between her teeth. She felt a noise in her throat, but it never made it past the killer's screams— they pitched to a wail as she ground bone into flesh, rearing back and back and… Tendons ripped. Snapped. Something came free, and she spat it out, something Venatrix's brain didn't register as a finger, knuckle to knuckle to nail.

The red made sense though. The red. The ache in her jaw.

Her breath came in gasps, choking on bloodstained oxygen. Beneath her, the tear-stained girl—no, killer killer killer—still thrashed; in agony, in willpower. Still screamed and bled and lived—

It wasn't enough.

(Do you hear the wolf? Do you?)

The handle at her belt. Her fingers found it, yanked the knife free. Where to cut you? Where to cut you so it fucking hurts? The killer's mouth moved; words, insults, things that didn't make it to Venatrix's ears as anything other than fucking noise, fucking sit still you piece of shit—! She jammed her elbow into the girl's bicep, cold knife pressed against her windpipe. The girl's other arm still flailed, lame and dead as it was. Warmth spattered Venatrix's face, and she let it.

All the while, Four's cold green eyes glared malice into hers, but Viper already went for the eyes, didn't he?

Breath scratched at her throat, metallic in taste.

(Do you hear it?)

Something dripped from her mouth, her bared-teeth snarl. Droplets of red bloomed across Four's lightly freckled cheeks; Four recoiled. And spat a glob of saliva into Venatrix's face.

The knife shook.

Her whole body shook, actually; her body shook, and Four suddenly jerked, twisted— nice fucking try— Venatrix dug her knee again into Four's thigh and stabbed down.

(—do you hear it now?—)

Four twisted, fast, but the knife caught her cheek. Metal scraped against teeth; the vibration rattled in Venatrix's fingers, but they held, even when the girl snapped her head with enough force to rip the knife free entirely. The side of her jaw flapped open. Ringing screams danced in Venatrix's ears; vivid blood gushed from the wound, into the dirt, into Four's mouth— the sounds turned guttural.

—DO YOU HEAR IT?—

Flailing. Thrashing. A hand grabbing for the knife— the arm she pinned came free. Take it, then and she stabbed the blade into the killer's forearm, twisted—

More howls.

DO YOU?

"Shut up!"

I fucking hear it!

I can't fucking stand it!

(But she twisted the knife, and it only got louder.)

"SHUT UP!"

Teeth bared, she lunged. They met flesh, and she buried them deep and ripped and tore but the howls still resonated in the air, on her tongue, through her victim-prey-enemy-obstacle. It thrashed, death throes of a wild beast. Hips and limbs and torso bucked uselessly; thick blood flowed from a new wound in its opposite cheek— between a semicircle of jagged white teeth, down porcelain skin, through knotted strands of orange. It soaked the black mulch that lay beneath, ever-hungry, and the killer's jaw hung open in a permanent scream, raw and gaping and useless.

Breath still rattled through its lungs. It bubbled through the lake of blood filling her airways, a horrible gurgling noise— Venatrix almost preferred the howls, I thought I said shut up—

(Oh, Trixie, you know what to do now.)

She lifted the knife. It came free from the killer's forearm with a squelch, slippery with warmth. The killer's eyes watched as the knife hovered into view, flickering but dull, any fight left in them long-since drained with its blood. Venatrix (ignored the way her hands trembled) laid the tip of the knife within its maw, at the base of the flesh-lump that still moved (ignore it) with each rattling breath, each whimper of pain (Ignore. It.)—

Hand slick and shivering, Venatrix drove the knife through.

It met resistance. Thick muscle and sinew and keening wails (ignore!), the handle slipped in her fingers, slippery with blood. Partially severed, the thing flopped to one side, and Venatrix's breath huffed in stiff gasps. She lowered her arm. Adjusted her grip. But something primal pressed her to continue.

The knife. The flesh. They slipped against each other, cutting, not cutting and not cutting and shrieking and shivering and you don't get to scream, you killed him! You killed him! You—

She lurched forward. Grabbed the flesh in her teeth. And in one clean swipe, cut the killer's tongue loose.

It fell from her mouth. Not five minutes later, a cannon sounded.

And then another.

(Is this what you wanted?)

Venatrix didn't move. Not when the wind began to chill her to the bone and not when the forest rustled with movement from behind.

Only at Mariposa's voice did she turn around.

"…Vee?"

She closed her mouth and the howls stopped.

Bones creaked beneath skin and muscle as she faced her ally. Mariposa had stopped short of the scene, round eyes tracing over Venatrix, the corpse, the things that littered the ground in between. She didn't come closer.

Slowly, unsteadily, Venatrix staggered to her feet.

She made it a few steps before it all hit. The blood in her mouth. The killer. Percy. Her knees collapsed. She barely caught herself on the nearest tree before she keeled over, vomiting blood and bile and not much else onto the leaf mulch. Her head spun. Stabbing pains coursed through her body in places she didn't remember why.

Sudden arms saved her from falling face first into the puddle of her own vomit. Mari. She blinked up at her ally through watery eyes.

"Do you…do you feel better now?"

Venatrix didn't answer. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, as if that could get rid of the fucking taste. "Where's Percy." Her voice was barely above a croak.

"Vee— Venatrix, he's…"

"Where is he?"

With shaky steps, Mariposa slowly guided her to where her partner had fallen. Her best friend, her brother in arms.

But Percy was already gone.

(At least he didn't have to scream.)

The bare patch of earth yielded nothing. No body. No weapon. Just dirt too dark to even remember his blood.

Venatrix blinked and it blurred before her. The world swayed. Choking noises reached her ears; her throat constricted around the air she tried to breathe. She tried— she gasped, tried again. Something wrapped tight around her, and Venatrix struggled. Between rasping sobs, a voice weaved through her ears, a soft cadence that calmed the struggle, took the weight from her feet, carried her down.

That cold dirt— merely inches from her clouded vision, but something soft wrapped around her, cradling her in warmth…

Venatrix closed her eyes and let it.

"We're almost done, Vee," her ally's voice cooed, sweet and comforting. A gentle hand ran through her hair. "I'm right here, okay? I'm right here. You're almost done."

("Trix, wait—!")

She caught the flash.

The blade of a knife, hovering. Her own fingers locked around a delicate wrist.

Suddenly, Mariposa's eyes were clear. Wide.

Afraid.

Are you going to kill me now? Venatrix stared up at her through a curtain of stray curls. Her grip tightened; Mariposa's brow pinched. Put me down like a sick dog?

(It would be a kindness, wouldn't it?)

With a long, rattling exhale, Venatrix let go. Her eyes lingered on the bloody handprint she'd left on Mariposa's arm. "Is it bad," she rasped, "that I almost want you to do it?"

The knife disappeared from view, and Mariposa's arms once again wrapped around her.

Once again, Venatrix let them.

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A/N: head in hands..