X: October: District Two.
A weapon does not decide whether or not to kill. A weapon is a manifestation of a decision that has already been made.
There's something quite poetic about how lightning-fast it all goes down.
If he was the type to wax poetry, anyway. Levi's never had the time for it.
Half of it's his own fault, really. He's too damn busy taking in the scenery, raking his eyes over the towering mountains that cage them in, the fresh scent of pine trees drifting in on the icy breeze. Despite the warmth of his jacket, he shivers.
It's excitement, too. Adrenaline. He's not scared—not even a bit.
There are only twenty-seven seconds left when he sees fit to search out the rest of his allies. Taurean is two pedestals to his left, Erryn three from her. On his other side, five other Two's separating them, Sander is finishing his own head-count, locking eyes with him briefly before he settles on the Cornucopia, laser-focused.
It's unnerving in its own right to not be able to see his last ally, but he can only assume that Justus is in his own spot at the other side of the Cornucopia, blocked from view. He'll be fine on his own.
They all will.
There's hardly any time left for a strategy of his own—the Cornucopia is filled with crates and nothing but swords. Fuckin' typical. Two's and their swords go hand-in-hand, at least to the Capitol. It doesn't matter that it's not his preferred weapon—Levi will make do with what he has. And what he has is someone directly to his left, smaller and slower and unaware.
Until the clock hits three seconds, anyhow. As if sensing his stare, Clemency finally turns to him. Levi smiles—even mouths an apologetic sorry.
The second the gong goes off, Clemency is screaming.
Levi has no idea why she's bothering to scream instead of run; she could have made it much further if she had focused on the important tasks at hand. Instead he takes her down within five feet of her pedestal, knees wedged hard into her back as his free-hand sifts through the lengthy grass. All the while Clemency screams and wiggles and sputters out nonsense words into the earth.
It doesn't feel like cruelty, when his hand finally finds the rock. He's doing it quicker than half the fuckers in here would, after all.
Her screaming doesn't last much longer. When he brings the rock down against the back of her skull, it briefly blocks out the cacophony of clashing blades and shouts in the meadow beyond. Her body continues to twitch haphazardly even after she's gone silent, nerves still firing despite the inevitable stillness of approaching death.
Levi raises a knee only to test it, but finally Clemency doesn't give as much of a flinch. Relieving, at least. He's done something right. Blood runs down the lengths of his fingers and lands sticky in the grooves of his palm as he re-tightens his grip on his only weapon. Good enough for this, but not for long. He needs something real.
"Levi!"
Or something at all.
He whirls in search of the voice, but before he's fully turned a flash of silver washes across his vision, the blur of a silhouette as they stab down towards him. Levi throws himself off of Clemency's corpse and into the grass, rolling sideways just in time for the blade to lodge itself in the grass next to his arm. He scrabbles away further, only catching a glimpse of the perpetrator—of course it's Zephyr trying to kill him when he's down. He always was a dick.
Levi doesn't get the chance to move again. Not because Zephyr has him pinned, or because the sword is encroaching on him, but because there's another shadow lunging forward beneath the overcast sky. A sword bursts free from Zephyr's chest as Sander drives it between his shoulder blades, forcing him down until he sags to his knees. Only then does he plant a foot against his back, tearing the sword free with an awful sounding squelch.
Blood bubbles from Zephyr's mouth before he crumples face-first into the grass, almost directly next to Clemency. It's oddly fitting.
Levi can only stare, still sitting uselessly at the side of the pedestal. "Huh," he says. "That was a close one."
Sander offers a hand down just as he reaches up, pulling him to his feet. "You don't happen to have one of these for me, do you?" he asks.
"Gotta get your own."
"Aye aye, captain." He pulls away from him, scanning the Cornucopia for blades. "Thanks for the save."
"Watch your back!" Sander shouts after him as he takes off, sounding oddly calm for someone who he knows has anxiety gripping at his stomach. At least he has that going for him.
First, Levi checks for any nearby opponents, and then turns back to Sander only once he knows it's safe, trying to be something resembling practical for once. "Why would I when you're doing it for me?" he yells back. He's almost certain Sander rolls his eyes, but it doesn't matter.
Levi dives for his weapon, fingers finding the hilt of a sword lying against the edge of a crate, and all is right in the world.
It's almost like Aurelius taught him.
Breathe. In and out. Hold it. Find something to focus on, to ground yourself.
Taurean. Levi. Erryn. Justus.
One by one, over and over again, Sander finds each of their faces in the chaos. From the very beginning to now, as the survivors begin to peel off into the surrounding woodland, he makes sure he can see each one of them.
There's hardly anyone left save for his allies and the corpses littering the ground; those that have lingered have made a grave mistake. As he watches, Taurean stabs through Phaedra's leg before she can crawl away, pinning her to the earth like a bug on a specimen board. Levi isn't far behind her, kicking a crate that has been knocked askew back upright. Just like their hopeful plan went from the start, Erryn lingers at the mouth of the Cornucopia, an unrecognizable body at her feet.
But Justus… there's no Justus, anymore.
Erryn realizes, evidently, a moment before he does. Her feet carry her around the back side of the Cornucopia, and before Sander can register much else he hears her shout ring out across the meadow. The shout could mean numerous things, but Sander knows.
Justus is gone.
In his place, someone erupts onto the scene and tears through the grass past the open mouth, making a direct line for the woods.
Erryn is still shouting, and Sander doesn't think twice about taking off.
The perpetrator—Aya, he realizes, her and her shining score of twelve, smashes through the brush with wild abandon, leaving more than a wide enough swath for Sander to follow. Right then and there, he doesn't feel the anxiety, the worry bubbling up into his stomach. Sander knows he's faster than her, no matter how quickly her narrow frame dodges between the trees, sword leaving a trail of blood in her wake.
Someone crashes through the woods behind him, but he doesn't spare a breath in turning around. One of his allies is following, at least, to see it through.
Sander-before would have been scared beyond belief, but everyone told him he could do it. His trainers, his family, his boyfriend. The Capitol ate him up. It doesn't matter what has crippled Sander in the past, what still occasionally catches up to him now, because he has this.
It comes even quicker than expected.
Sander doesn't see the impending hillside until Aya skids to a sudden halt in front of him, feet scraping for purchase against the loose scree that runs down the sharp incline. She turns at the last moment, ducking as he launches himself forward, sword at the ready. She's sharp in each movement, calculated as she dodges each of his assaults. She's doing what everyone always said people would—toying with him. Waiting for him to tire out so that she can move in, gaining the perfect opportunity to strike.
Even he can admit that it would perhaps have worked, in a different scenario, but she hasn't accounted for his allies.
Taurean doesn't slow even for a second as she bursts from the trees, going low the second she recognizes Sander going high. He swings the sword towards her head, Taurean's own arcing towards her legs. Any chance of escape is gone as Levi appears through the trees behind her—the only way out is tumbling down the hill.
Not that she gets the chance. Taurean's sword scores her across her thigh as she leans back, avoiding Sander's sword to her neck by a mere hair. She screams, pain and fury alike, as her blood is splattered over the rock beneath them.
When he next swings, she's unprepared. His sword catches her in the arm, cutting so deep into the meat of her forearm that she drops her weapon, sending it skittering down the hill. There's no use in drawing it out—Sander could sever her arm clean off, cut into her for a while, make her think twice about what she did to Justus.
He readies the sword once again; Taurean steps back and lets him. Levi gives him what looks suspiciously like a thumbs-up from beyond them.
He's always had the strength. Sander has been told as much, and though it's taken him years to recognize it, it fills him now. He's not weak. Not going to crumble in the face of adversity.
Aya's head topples clean off her shoulders, the blade passing through as cleanly as air itself. Her lifeless body hits the ground long after her head has begun its steady tumble down the hill. Taurean lets out a slow whistle at its movement, watching it all the way down the hill until it comes to a stop against a series of boulders.
"What is that, now, two?" she asks. "Nice going, champ."
Two deaths, two people from his home. Some years ago, he never thought he could do anything like this. Once again Sander takes three deep breaths, steadying himself as Taurean punches him lightly in the arm, turning back into the woods.
Only Levi lingers, though he rocks from side to side on the balls of his feet, clearly waiting impatiently to get going. "You good, dude?"
He didn't talk much to Taurean or Justus back home—hell, he didn't even know Erryn. But Levi… Levi he knew, and Levi knew him back. It was scary, to have someone know you, for them to understand what you could be like at your weakest moments.
It was a good thing, then, that Levi was his closest friend in here. He wouldn't give that information up.
And Sander is okay, he realizes. His heart-rate is steadily coming back down as the adrenaline fades, the realization that two ends have been met at his hands and his alone. "I'm good," he agrees finally. "We're good."
"Well, Justus isn't," Levi says plainly. "And, you know…"
He nods his head towards Aya's headless body. Sander has no choice but to shrug off his rather blasé attitude, as he always does, nudging him back in the direction of the Cornucopia. This here is done, but they still have work to do.
They've got through it as themselves thus far—Sander doesn't see any good reason to change that.
Levi's never believed much in miracles, but it sure does seem like one that they keep the Cornucopia.
Almost all of them were trained to such lengths to believe that they could do it. They all formed their packs—ones of friendship, ones of convenience, ones of pure strength and nothing else. Somehow it's the four of them, even down Justus, that end up holding it.
There's enough food to feed half the outer Districts, swords to arm the entirety of Two's main Academy twice over. Hours during that second day are spent burying them, tossing aside swaths of dirt to hide weapons from people who may be looking to come and retrieve them.
Besides that, the second day is almost unnervingly quiet, broken only by the occasional wolf's howl in the distance and the wind whistling through the trees. At midday there's a single cannon; two hours later, another. When midnight comes Erryn tries to put her claimant on Ulpia's, as if chasing her out of the bloodbath with a minor injury was enough to eventually kill her. For all Levi knows it was, but Erryn's arrogance is easily misplaced.
Something strikes him more about Renaya. They weren't close, but Levi had known her since they were children—she lived four houses down from him. When the cold was at its worst, his dads would make him walk with her to school, to ensure they both made it safely. There's no telling what got her—who, even.
It's easy to imagine that the same thing could get him.
That's why Levi is listening to his alliance. Why, even as he wants to run into the arena and find the others, he stays put. He's thinking of his family, too, and all the shit he's put his dads through in worrying about him. He could never be at the top of his class, could never do anything right even if his life depended on it. It was teacher's lecturing him, or trainer's that didn't really bother to know him. Being the family fuck-up was his prerogative at this point, something he couldn't escape.
There was one way. Getting out of here. Making them proud for once instead of creating another disaster. What would it be like for them to have three golden children instead of only two?
It was almost impossible to imagine. Levi only even bothers trying because it keeps him here.
In the end, day two is entirely wasted on sitting around, but it's still early. Besides, it's almost nice to get a good night's sleep—when dawn's light finally pulls his eyes open, he feels well-rested. Ready to get something done.
But nothing is quite that simple, is it?
His head is halfway in a crate when it happens.
The shelter of the Cornucopia provides welcome relief from the brutal wind blowing off the mountains; the threat of snow seems more present than ever, as if the arena was trying to prepare Sander to go back to Two in a few months.
He would only be going back as the victor of not one, but two Games. Having done the impossible.
Until then he wouldn't see his parents again. Not Beau, not Aurelius. Nothing that he knew. Sander had tossed all hopes of familiarity out the window when he had raised his hand to volunteer, one of twenty-four—almost all of it, anyway.
The clashing of blades is as familiar as it gets.
It's almost as if made of a hallucination at first, the noise distant. Until the shadow passes at the side of the Cornucopia Sander believes wholeheartedly that it's a figment of his imagination, paranoia brought on by three days in the arena. But the person who hurtles around the corner is not someone who should be there.
Mettius is unseen in his quickness, hands outstretched only for the supplies Sander had been rearranging. Before his fingers can even skim against the nearest crate Erryn is there, driving her sword into his back with a hoarse yell. When it goes no further she scrabbles for Sander's own sword, abandoned in the grass, and begins to hack away until Mettius falls—over and over again, like she's wielding an axe instead.
"Get out there!" she shouts at him, each word punctuated by another swing, the squelch of flesh and blood as she cuts into him.
Sander can still hear the screech of metal against metal, swords colliding.
He has no weapon, but he hurtles out of the Cornucopia regardless and nearly into the pair just outside, before Khalon, a top member of their class, cuts open Taurean's throat with one neat swing, blood gushing over the grass.
And Sander…
Sander should move, but he does not.
Khalon takes one look at him, at Erryn behind him, and doesn't hesitate to run. Taurean's pack is clenched tightly in his hand, slamming against his legs as he tears back through the clearing, the rest of his alliance left to ruin. Mettius is already dead, and Levi is steadily driving the third back step after step around the left side of the Cornucopia, each clash of their blades turning the tide more in his direction.
He should help, he knows. Even Sander's presence would be enough to drive Harlan away from Levi, if it didn't give him the opportunity to kill the other boy outright. Behind him Erryn lets out a curse and takes off for the pair—Harlan is dead before she even gets there as Levi's sword finally finds it's mark, but her intent was clear.
At his feet Taurean still twitches, throat cut open from end to end. Every time her mouth dares to open more blood bubbles out, fountaining down both sides of her cheeks, staining her neck.
"Hey," Sander says, voice weaker than intended. His legs aren't all the way solid when he kneels by her side, hands flexing aimlessly.
Taurean's own hands take the decision away from him, launching out with a frightening speed to clutch at his forearm, slippery with blood. Despite her encroaching death her grip is fierce, fingers clawing at his skin as she struggles to maintain a hold on him. All of this, it's unlike them. His immobility, the odd pang of grief hitting him in the chest, the object fear in Taurean's eyes as she stares up at him, each remaining breath only serving to kill her quicker.
"It's okay," he manages, as she chokes and splutters, hands growing weaker. "It's going to be okay."
For him, perhaps. For at least two of them.
But not for her.
Walking has kept his mind off of it.
Levi thinks he's the only one.
Leaving Sander to keep watch over the Cornucopia on day four means he's only going to stew about Taurean all day, left to his own devices, and judging by Erryn stomping through the forest ahead of him, she hasn't let what happened go either yet.
At least one of them has to go, if two of them plan on living, but Taurean feels different. Worse than Justus, somehow. It was a blindside someone should have seen coming, a death that never should have happened.
Erryn had kicked into Harlan's ribs for long after as if it was his fault, and then moved onto Mettius when that hadn't served her purpose well enough. The whole time Sander was registering the noises, but he hadn't moved from Taurean's side. Until Levi offered to help move her away from the Cornucopia, it didn't appear as if Sander was ever going to move again.
But it was his hands under her shoulders, Levi's around her legs as they had carried her to the very edge of the clearing.
And then… then Levi had moved Harlan and Mettius, too, because Erryn was too busy brutalizing their corpses and Sander stood over Taurean for so long that he felt bad asking, as odd as that sounded.
They didn't talk until midnight, the three of them, and it was only Sander saying he would keep first watch.
Not enough words to ensure the three of them were still operational, but it was all they were going to get.
Breakfast hadn't been any better—Erryn had announced her desires to go hunting, and general as it seemed they both knew she meant going after Khalon was her number one priority. It was a ridiculous notion on its own, with only eight of them left already. Could they really bother to go traipsing through the mountains looking for one lone person?
Apparently so. Or, at least, Levi had volunteered to go with her, and Sander hadn't put up much of a fight.
He couldn't help but wonder if Sander would even still be there when they got back—if they did at all. How long did the three of them have left together, really?
Judging by the ruckus Erryn is causing, not long. She's going to bring the wolves down on them, stepping on every branch, kicking away rocks. Levi has never considered himself a particularly quiet person, but this girl wouldn't know stealth if it bludgeoned her over the head.
"Y'know, we're never going to find anyone with you being so loud," Levi tells her finally, able to sense her scowl even as she forges ahead.
"Fuck off."
"I mean, if you want me to…"
"Be my guest," she snaps. "It's not like you'll be any better going back—neither of us will. He'll kill us both soon, the second he gets the chance."
"Sander?"
"No, the boogeyman." Erryn scoffs. "Yes, Sander. You said he cut Aya's head off like it was nothing. He could do the same to us, just as easy. Look at him."
Well, Levi would, but they're sort of aimlessly walking around in the woods, not really looking for Khalon at all. If anything, it feels more like they're taking an afternoon stroll. He gets it, as cryptic as Erryn's words are—Sander's got half a foot and fifty pounds on her, at least, and he's a fair bit bigger than Levi too. He was the type of Two everyone knew was a threat right off the bat, without even having to hear him speak. You could just see it.
But he wouldn't do that, would he? Not after crumpling to his knees at Taurean's side, after chasing down Justus' killer without hesitation.
Sander is supposed to be his friend, not his potential murderer.
"He wouldn't," Levi says, but even his own voice doesn't sound so convincing.
"You're not that naive, are you?" Erryn questions. "We all would. You, me, Sander. You know damn well you'll be the first one he goes after, too. The more obvious target has to go first, and it sure as hell isn't me. I'd sleep with one eye open tonight if I were you."
"Why are we going back if he's going to kill us?" Levi asks. Kill me, he thinks.
"Those supplies are ours, too."
"We don't need them. There's not that many of us left."
"So we don't go back," Erryn says simply. "Then he comes after us, armed to the teeth, fully supplied, and we never even see him coming."
Finally, Levi stops. The noise she's still creating is starting to get to him, anyway, and when Erryn finally backtracks to him the silence in itself is relieving. "What are you saying?"
Erryn smiles something slick, lips pulling up almost garishly. If she wasn't so unassuming, Levi would be within his rights to be more terrified of her than anything else in these woods. "We go back," she says. "There's two of us. One of him."
In Erryn's own words, he's naive—Levi's not that dense, though. He can fill in the rest without needing to hear it. It's simple math, really. Two against one, catching someone unaware… they should be able to kill him, no questions asked.
His stomach turns at the mere notion. Justus was a classmate. Taurean was a fellow trainee. But Sander… that's different. What matters more, when it comes down to it? What they've cultivated regarding a friendship, or how things will inevitably end? He knows that Sander trusts him, but he has to know, as well, that this is coming.
If Sander was going to betray them anyway, can he really be upset to have it turned back on him first?
"Dare I say I see agreement in your eyes," Erryn observes. Though the smirk has fallen from her face, she looks undeniably curious. No doubt wondering what thoughts run through his head now that the person he had previously trusted most has become the enemy, all in the space of his own head.
They're thoughts she doesn't need to know. Such things only exist to clog up missions, in the end. They stand in his way.
And Levi's getting out of here.
He nods. "What's our plan?"
Even though Sander knows it's them—their voices familiar, footsteps the same as always, he cannot calm himself upon Levi and Erryn's return.
It's no wonder, with Taurean gone. There's no one for Erryn to chat with into the night, no one for Levi to bounce off of. As unlikely as it sounds, her presence only after a few days has now left a void in its absence, a yawning hole with only blackness at the very bottom.
There was a cannon, some twenty minutes ago, but Sander isn't surprised to see them return. "Was that the two of you?" he asks, foregoing any sort of thankfulness he could offer at their return.
Levi shakes his head, unusually silent for once. Erryn drops her pack at the Cornucopia's edge with a heavy sigh, letting herself fall to the top of a crate with a soft thunk.
There's tension, now, where there wasn't before. Tension created by the realization that three of the seven of them left exist solely in this clearing, tied together by allyship that will leave at least one of them dead by the end of days.
His brain is unnerved merely by the prospect, but his heart knows what it wants.
As Levi passes by, Sander stretches a leg out, halting him before he can get too far. "Anything else happen out there?"
Levi's gaze is on the trees, watchful. Or avoiding him, but he seems much too lax for that. "I wish."
"Walked in circles?"
"Walked in circles," Levi confirms, scrubbing a hand over his forehead. Sitting here was no bout of fun, but he doesn't envy their aimless journey either, paranoid striking at the worst times when the shadows only belonged to the trees.
Whoever died out there not long ago seems far, far away. Distant from the heaviness that lingers in the air, the itch under his Sander's skin that tells him he should be doing more.
"Could've been worse," he says instead, willing himself to relax in his current perch. Levi looks down at him, finally, scuffing his foot back and forth in the grass as if he wishes he was still walking, searching, hunting. Doing anything more than standing there.
Finally, he manages a strained smile. "Sure could've."
Because, really, it could've been.
It's not Erryn that rouses him, not the wind or the owls screeching back and forth high in the treetops. It's nothing at all save for the impending trepidation that finally comes crashing down against Levi's chest in the dead of night. It brings him to his feet, sword in hand.
Ready for something.
Passing her own weapon between idle hands, Erryn shoots him a look, nodding towards Sander's sleeping form in the shadow of the Cornucopia. It'll be easy. Almost painless. Merciful, in any regard. To go without seeing it coming is the greatest blessing anyone can be afforded in this place.
Erryn is the first to move towards him, her normally heavy footfalls for once landing soft in the well-flattened grass.
But she doesn't quite get there.
Not before the wolves come.
There's no sound to herald their arrival. Not a howl, nor a broken branch. The thunderous approach of the oncoming pack is gone, as if the creatures have been born of the mist lying low in the woods. One second there's nothing, and the next the wolves are there.
It's a blur of gray and white and shades of brown as they flood into the clearing; Erryn manages only a single scream before one bowls her over. Levi dives behind two of their remaining crates as several turn their sights on him, scrabbling around the other side as they snap at his heels, hot breath wafting over his skin, and Sander…
Sander is still on the ground, struggling out of his sleeping bag, and Levi doesn't think before he dives towards him. Erryn is still alive and kicking, judging by the fury still pouring from her mouth, but he doesn't pay her any mind.
Every part of Levi is telling him to save this, and he ignores it.
He turns before he arrives at Sander's side and drives his sword into the closest wolf's chest, it's massive size nearly bringing him to the ground. He slashes away at the next as Sander finally frees himself, and there's his opening, all he needs to do is kill him—
And then Sander looks right at him.
It's not enough to stop Levi from swinging, but it changes everything.
The blade of his sword does not reach Sander's throat. Instead he throws himself back, pressing away from the sword, and Levi feels only the very tip of it connect—it cuts across his temple, slashes between his brows and over the bridge of his nose. The blood that flows into Sander's eyes eliminates the shock in mere seconds.
Without warning, Levi is on the ground.
In a very belated, almost distant sort of way, he realizes there are teeth in his leg. He's being dragged through the grass, yet another wolf yanking at him until it's incisors scrape against bone, pressing in deeper to his muscle. Another falls on his shoulder, weight pressing in from above. He's being smothered by the weight of them, pelts pressing in against his nose. Levi can't move his arms, his legs, can't breathe enough even to scream as the thick wetness of blood splashes hot against his skin.
Relief comes suddenly, too abruptly for him to make sense of it. Above him, Erryn screams once again—this time it's determination as she slashes away at the creatures on top of him until they begin to fall, toppling like dominoes into the grass until only one remains. No matter what assaults she lays on it, the wolf only holds on more firmly.
Levi tosses his sword back and digs both hands into the earth, dragging himself back until he can bring his free leg up, landing a solid kick at the wolf's throat. Erryn's boot slams into its ribs and it releases him with a snarl, muscle and sinew and skin shearing away from his calf but he still has his leg, can still stand as adrenaline brings him up to his feet, enough to launch himself forward to his sword once again.
"Move!" Erryn shouts at him—instead of grabbing him, she slams both hands into his chest, shoving him back towards the trees. The creatures are still everywhere, a writhing mass of them that can't tell their compatriots apart from the tributes they're supposed to be attacking.
There's no sign of Sander. Or, at least, Levi doesn't get one before he and Erryn make it to the tree-line and let the darkness fall upon them.
Behind them the wolves fall closer still, blood dripping from their maws.
There's no salvaging this. No winning.
Before Erryn can even instruct him to, Levi finds a path in the darkness and begins to run.
Sander wakes beneath the weight of a thousand corpses.
It surely cannot be that many, but he feels buried, lost beneath the mountainside never to emerge. Every part of him feels sticky with blood, the fur of numerous wolves clinging to him as Sander wriggles an arm upwards, searching for the sky in a world made only of darkness.
But then, he finds the sun.
One of the corpses falls away and the sky opens up above him, a sliver of light that breaks through the red film holding his eyes hostage. Each movement sends another one falling from the pile that has kept him trapped, bodies thudding to the earth one after the other until he can breathe again.
The clearing is silent, now, save for each of his desperate inhales as cool air washes over him at long last.
Even without looking, Sander knows he is alone.
He doesn't remember closing his eyes, doesn't know if he succumbed to shock or blood-loss or if, simply, his brain had just told him to rest. But he's alive, now, the blade of his sword still buried within the ribcage of a once snow-white wolf at his side, both of them thoroughly stained with blood.
A quick check proves that he has all his toes, his fingers bloody and left palm bitten into, but otherwise intact. Sander can move, even if the mere idea inspires terror within him. The pads of his fingers find the gouge between his brows, skin still slick with blood that rolls into his eyes and down his cheeks—the one wound that he knows didn't come from the creatures surrounding him.
It had only been one moment. A moment in which Sander had looked up amidst the chaos and thought, without a shred of hesitation, that Levi had been coming to save him the way he had saved him too, days ago now. Even as he had raised his sword, Sander had still clung to some delusional thought, the idea that he had a savior.
And if he hadn't thrown himself back as the sword descended, Levi would have cut him open entirely.
Levi had tried to kill him.
It could be the fear of pain that keeps him from moving but it's the realization that paralyzes him, chest quaking with each shuddering breath that he dares to release. If he was safe, tucked away in Aurelius' office, he could hold the feelings at bay.
But he's not.
Sander closes his eyes. Blood seeps from beneath his eyelids but tears are quick to mix with it—the soft pink that tinges his vision when he looks upward once again should be comforting, a sure sign that the blood is being washed away for good.
Nothing has ever comforted him less.
He pushes away from the weight still entrapping his legs, ribs protesting as he curls up on his side. Fresh pain lights up across his face as tears scorch their way across his opened flesh. If Aurelius was here, he would instruct him how to breathe, sit with him, the two of them in their same chairs as always. The anxiety would fade, as it always does, but he was used to that.
How, on the other hand, do you chase off grief with the power to keep you down in the dirt, painful sobs still ripping free from your chest?
How do you stave off agony from a loss that isn't quite a loss at all?
They're gone. He's alone. Levi tried to kill him and, when he couldn't, left the wolves to finish the job. That, somehow, feels worse a loss than death itself.
A thud behind him as Sander practically cowering into the dirt, trying to quell the sobs that are surely giving him away. Everything that the Academy trusted him to do, the reasons the trainers felt fit to send him in… those all must be gone, now. He can't even pay enough attention to his surroundings to ensure safety.
But nothing comes—no slavering jaws of a wolf, no footfalls of a tribute about to realize he's alive. Bit by bit, Sander pushes himself upward. His body holds. The twisted corpses shield him as he finally sets his sights on what had disturbed him in the first place.
A silver parachute, still fluttering gently in the wind. At its end, wrapped in paracord, a long narrow case. The culprit behind the noise.
Hand over hand, Sander claws across the corpses until he's freed through the other side, fingers digging into the bloodied earth as he crawls ever close. Even when he pulls the case into his lap, cradling it as if you would a newborn child, it still doesn't feel real. Any second now someone will arrive to take it from him, to take what's rightfully his.
Sander knows what it is before he even pops open the latch—you see cases like this every year, the desperation in people's hands as they grab them and the hope that lights in their eyes when they realize.
Sander isn't sure what he feels when the elegant, silver mace is revealed to him, something that looks made to fit in the palm of his hand.
He doesn't deserve this. Can't, possibly.
They've made a mistake.
That doesn't stop him from pulling it free, the weight a familiar comfort in his hands as he holds it to his chest. Trepidation makes him hesitate before gently unwinding the note wrapped around its handle, the wind nearly pulling it from his grasp.
REVENGE IS YOURS WITH THIS.
Sander makes himself—forces himself—to stop sobbing. It takes longer than he would have liked.
It's his, isn't it? The weapon he's been wielding for as long as the trainers trusted with him it. Sander must have earned his fair share of money early on, and whichever one of the mentors kept an eye on him waited until this very moment. It's as if they knew Sander's motivations would have died here otherwise, left to lay with him in the dirt.
This, if nothing else, is an instruction. Levi is still out there somewhere, and no matter how weak he may seem, Sander still has the opportunity to go after him.
All they needed was for him to get up.
And now, he has no choice but to.
"Stop," Levi pleads. "God, can you chill for five fucking seconds?"
"We need to keep moving."
"Have you seen my leg?"
"Have you seen my face?" Erryn fires back and yeah, unfortunately, he has. That being said, the large gouges in her cheek and across her jaw, the bit of her lip that was torn away and still remains clotted with blood, has zero effect on her walking speed.
He can walk just fine. A limp won't be the end of him, even as pain lances all the way up into his hip. After well over six hours, though, things start to get a tad more hairy.
Levi needs a fucking break.
"I'm stopping," he decides, sitting down unceremoniously on the flattest boulder he can find, stretching his leg out. Even as he reclines back, letting his eyes slip shut, he expects to hear only the sounds of Erryn getting further and further away. Her breathing is labored, though, exhausted from running half the night away. Now that the wolves have receded they have nothing left to show for it but their injuries and their exhaustion.
And somehow, even in the chaos, Sander survived. Not a single cannon fired in the night. Whatever purpose the mutts had, it wasn't to kill them.
Erryn nudges him hard in the leg—his good leg, mind you, but that doesn't stop him from scowling. "I'm taking at least ten—"
Her hand slaps over his mouth and he very nearly bites down on her fingers. She's crouched, now, using both him and the rock he's chosen as a shield as she tries to peer around it, eyes narrowed. Levi listens, like he's the most well-behaved little boy in the world, and keeps quiet even when Erryn lets go. Company, she mouths, fingers tapping at the hilt of her sword.
Another minute passes before he hears anything—voices, soft. As they grow louder he begins to hear the uneven gait of at least one person, another voice in response. Two people, at least, and coming right towards them.
At least one of them is injured, though, in a state no doubt similar to them.
Erryn stays low as she begins to shimmy around the next series of rocks. Though nothing is exchanged, the message is clear. They're walking this way, if not right towards Levi's resting spot. If Erryn moves behind them, they have no clear path of escape.
Losing sight of her unnerves him in the worst possible way. Levi feels useless sitting here, though he knows revealing himself too early will only render this whole operation pointless. It's the idea of being alone out here, laid bare for everything in these mountains to see and everyone back home, too. He shoves that flicker of doubt away as their conversation grows crystal clear, the words of two girls being passed back and forth.
Levi pops out from behind the largest of the rocks, sword in hand. "Boo," he says flatly, only able to catch sight of the object fear in Reagan's eyes before she turns tail without a second thought.
Erryn will get her; he has no doubt about that.
The other girl, whose name he can't even bring to mind, is likely more unfortunate to be dealing with him.
She's younger. More fragile. An over-her-head volunteer who likely survived this long by hiding out while the rest of her previous compatriots slaughtered each-other. Her instincts don't tell her to follow Reagan—if she had, she might have been able to escape. Instead she turns right, hooking around the nearest rocks before she begins to haul herself up the largest boulders.
Levi sheaths his sword with a sigh. "You're really going to make me follow you like this?" he shouts after her, gesturing to his leg. Evidently, she doesn't care much, struggling with a bloody leg of her own as she pulls herself higher.
It's unfair in the highest degree. She's too small to easily reach the next rocks, making each climb up more and more difficult. She's not fast enough, or at least not faster than him. There's no chance of creating distance as he follows the haphazard path she forges ahead, the callouses built up on his palms making each hand-hold painless. Soon, she begins to leave bloody, smeared handprints on the rocks. As Levi catches up he can hear her panting, trying to urge herself on under her breath.
When a cannon blasts over the mountains she gasps. Stumbles. Nearly plummets off the precarious stacks of rocks, where Erryn is suddenly waiting below. Though he glances down at her, she doesn't seem concerned in the least about following.
There's no point in giving this girl hope any longer—Levi stretches up, fingers locking around her ankle as she tries to drag herself onto the next rock. She shrieks, kicking wildly as she hangs on, refusing to be brought back down to his level.
"You're making this harder than it has to be," he informs her. Levi tugs again, fiercer this time, and her left hand comes swinging down.
Her eyes flit down to him, horrified. A name still doesn't come to mind.
Finally, he pulls her as hard as he can manage. Her grip falters and she comes crashing down to the rock he's called his home—her skull crashes into the stone, her elbow crushed uncomfortably beneath her body as she cries out.
There's nowhere for her to go. In fact, she only makes it happen quicker as she tries to rise up, her gut meeting his sword perfectly in the middle when he stabs down towards her.
Her answering gurgles are quiet. Almost soft, in fact, as she slumps back down against the rock, her breath already a mere rasp.
"Hey!" Erryn shouts from below. "Are you about done up there?"
A cannon fires before he's even pulled the sword free. "Are you done down there?" he yells back, the height dizzying as he finally dares to stare down at her in all of her gouged open, uncomfortable looking glory.
It's quite a ways down, and it's not like he can jump. No, he has no choice but to climb back down, bad leg and all.
For fuck's sake.
Arlette's lithe form is nothing more than a beacon through the trees.
To Sander's tired eyes, she hardly registers a person—she's a blur, only the shock of her orange hair visible underneath the dreary greenery.
It's something she should have hidden beneath her hood. That, or she should have stayed hidden entirely, carefully avoiding the worst of things whilst picking off the stragglers. Her sword is bloody, gait determined.
And still she falls just like the rest of them.
When Sander kills her, it feels mechanical. She startles at the mace in his hand but is swinging just as quick, refusing to let the reappearance of something so new startle her into dying. Except she does, anyway. Not as quick as the rest of them, not without cutting open his forearms and nearly evading him entirely, but when he cracks the mace into the center of her chest and sends her flying to the ground, it's over.
Nothing in him feels relieved for it, either. In fact, Sander had hardly felt any adrenaline at all as he went through the emotions. Arlette was a stepping stone. There was more out there for him to get to.
"I hope that made you feel better," a voice says behind him. Familiar, almost, but not enough.
Pain explodes in the back of his right shoulder, so much so that Sander nearly lets the mace fall to the ground. Blood fills his mouth as he bites down on his tongue to keep from screaming, whirling just in time to avoid the next arrow that flies his way. Some twenty feet away stands Khalon, the form of an elegant recurve bow pulled back and ready to fire yet again.
He didn't have that weapon when Sander last saw him, back at the Cornucopia. He's not the only one who's received a gift.
His is for revenge, though. For a purpose. Did Khalon earn his for killing Taurean?
Sander dives sideways into the trees, cracking the remains of the arrow's shaft out of the back of his shoulder as he presses himself up against cover. An arrow whizzes through the trees and impales itself on a tree ten feet beyond him. While Khalon won't be able to shoot as cleanly in the cover, he can't possibly chance running—one wrong step, and he gets an arrow in the back for his troubles.
Staying low is new for him, being small even more-so. Despite his efforts, arrows continue to fly past him as he narrowly dodges through the trees, half hunched over. He can't even right himself long enough to tell where Khalon is standing—Sander relies purely on his ears, listening for the bowstring as he releases it and following the path of the arrows back to the person releasing him.
When he finally does find him, it's not the prettiest sight.
The last arrow Khalon manages to fire at him cracks into the center of his mace and splinters, seconds before he charges forward and tackles him to the earth. Together they slide down the slope Sander had just ascended, catching on every rock and root.
It's Khalon that finally reaches an arm out to stop them, flinging one out desperately to grip at the base of a bramble bush so that they slide to a frantic halt, practically clinging on to one another.
And what a mistake it was for him.
Sander clambers over him and draws his fist back, landing a blow across Khalon's cheek that snaps his head back to the ground. Sander doesn't stop throwing punches until blood is gushing down both sides of his face, splashing heavily across the rocks below. All the while Khalon attempts to push him off, grunting as he drives a knee into Sander's gut to no avail. He hardly even feels it.
When he half-rises above Khalon's prone form there's almost no response from the other boy, clinging to the fringes of consciousness as he tries to raise his bow, swinging it out blindly in Sander's direction. Sander merely kicks it away, sending it flying into the brush, never to be found again. It's not like he has any use for it.
With the weapon gone, it gives him ample room to finally bring the mace down, the serrated spikes making contact with Khalon's head with a horrendous crack.
It's only one hit, but he stops moving. His whole body shifts in one last exhale.
But Sander doesn't stop.
He brings the mace down again, connecting with his temple. Crack. It doesn't matter if they knew each-other back home—he deserved it. Crack. They're with you, or against you. Those are the rules. Crack. Everyone is clearly against him. Crack. Not Justus, not Taurean, but it's not like they matter. Crack. Taurean was good, though. Trustworthy. Crack. Wouldn't have fucking betrayed him.
This time, there's no crack. Only an awful, wet squelch as the mace sinks into the bloody and ruined pulp of Khalon's face, broken bits of ivory white skull peeking through where he hasn't yet caved it in. Sander takes a stumbling step back, blood running all the way down the handle of his face and caking his hands in mere seconds.
He wants nothing more than to be the type of person that could walk away from this without blinking; all Sander wants to do now is sink to the forest floor and stare as long as they'll let him, until the hovercraft finally swoops in. Because if Khalon deserved it, then Sander deserves to have to remember it—every ugly, sickening detail of it.
So he stares. Until the powder blue of the sky above is blotted out by the hovercraft's sleek frame, he stares at what's left of Khalon on the ground—what he's chosen to leave there.
One more, right? That's all he has to do. Just one more.
It doesn't matter what Sander wants, anymore—he just has to do it.
Nightfall brings no more comfort than the sun.
It feels like hours since they've settled, but Levi knows they had wandered headlong into the dark, stopping only when the shadows grew so long he could hardly see Erryn in front of him.
She refuses to settle, still, nursing a few flames that flicker between them and offer little warmth. Levi curls closer into himself, trying not to shiver—it jars his leg, makes the teeth-marks in his shoulders ache and burn. If it was any lighter they wouldn't be resting at all; there's only one other person out there, after all. One more person between the two of them and identical, heavy crowns.
The anthem far above sounds dim, but Levi knows it's only his heart-working overtime, trying to pump blood through his body and keep him warm. He rolls onto his back and tries to relax into the new position as Erryn turns her face skyward, her mauled face even more grotesque in the firelight.
The first two are the ones they expected, of course, but Levi lets his eyes linger regardless. The short choppiness of Reagan's hair, how sharp each of her features look in turn. The softness in Davina's eyes, the youthful eagerness. How quickly it could be crushed in turning down the wrong path and heading towards the worst sort of people.
After her are the ones that make dread sink in his stomach—Arlette, stony-faced, her silence permeating through the flickering image, before her face is replaced by Khalon's. He wears an almost boyish smile, though the charm angle only fell on deaf ears and blind eyes in the end. He was fooling no one after what he did to Taurean.
But he's gone, now. Which leaves…
Erryn shakes her head with a quiet snort as she returns her gaze to the fire, evidently unsurprised at their last companion.
He was supposed to die. Sander would have never been on the other end of Levi's weapon if he hadn't been convinced that Sander would be dead by the end of the night. It was nowhere near a fatal blow, but it should have been enough, as the chaos fell on them from every other direction.
"Get some sleep," Erryn instructs. "You're going to need it. I don't suspect our ally will be so thrilled to see us."
Thrilled to see him, more like. Levi thrust his sword forward—he did the damage and watched the shock morph into horror on Sander's face as the blade cut into his skin. It's that look, of them all, that Levi has yet to shake. Every little thing, every motivation and possibly move… it makes him question them all.
Sander was not the type to turn traitor. He was kind-hearted and dependable—talented and trained, yes, but to be on his side meant unfailing loyalty. With the time they spent together back home, multiplied ten times over once they arrived in the Capitol, he can't imagine even the mere sight of Sander plunging a sword into his chest.
The thought alone makes his stomach roll, but it forces his way into his head nonetheless, intrusive as ever. Sander was never going to betray him, was he? Not the boy who sat voiceless by Taurean's corpse, who so valiantly charged after Justus' killer without an ounce of hesitation.
Whether by Erryn's own fear, cultivated within herself, or some act of malicious intent, she had planted a seed in his head and rained down on it until it grew into something that couldn't be ignored.
Now, it's the three of them. Levi and the boy he tried to kill, the girl who very well tried to convince him to go through with it. Sander, who no doubt has no love left to spare for him, and Erryn, who has chosen to keep Levi by her side despite any instincts telling her not to.
They lie here in the night for a reason. Until the shadows are gone, nothing is to happen.
That means it's him and Erryn, Sander by his lonesome. The way it has to be.
Levi made his decision—whether he likes it or not, it's set in stone.
He first sees them through the trees. Watching. Waiting.
And Sander doesn't even think when he sees them, has nothing rational left in his brain that will tell him to stop. All that flashes through his head is that note, the same one that's still crumpled in his pocket. REVENGE IS YOURS WITH THIS.
It is. He's there. They both are, side-by-side, but Erryn isn't going to stop him.
Not from killing Levi.
It must have been perfect for them, he thinks. They thought they were going to win in the end together—only one person left, after all. Two of them against little old Sander, weak Sander, Sander who broke down crying, hysterical on the forest floor. He still remembers the feeling of his own blood splashing hot into his eyes.
Now, though, he can see so clearly. Levi will regret that.
He can see every injury—Levi listing to one side, Erryn's jaw clenched in a stubborn refusal to show weakness. He can feel every one of his own as he steps out into the clearing, but they feel almost non-existent even as the two of them turn to face him, stances at the ready.
One of them, anyway.
Erryn steps back instead of forward, a refusal to intervene evident in her easy back-pedaling. When he brings the mace down, charging, Levi has hardly any time at all to bring the sword up between them, the two weapons clashing in the middle with a grating screech. He'll break anywhere. Sander is bigger, stronger, the more obvious threat even injured.. That's why Levi did it in the first place, is it not?
He doesn't care about Erryn, he realizes. She can live for all he cares; she wasn't the one that tried to slash his eyes out, even if she didn't help the situation any. At the end of the day, they both ran from him.
In the end it was Levi who did the damage.
Levi's a fighter—always has been, won't be for much longer. He's quick, Sander knows, but not quick enough to avoid the blows he keeps raining down time and time again. His injured leg can't be helping any. Every time he pushes him back Erryn edges closer to the tree-line, unwilling to get involved. Sander can't say he blames her, exactly.
When he gets his opportunity, there's no avoiding it. An opening appears and he jabs the mace forward, catching Levi hard in the chest; not a fatal move, but it makes him stumble, and Sander sweeps out his legs from under him quicker than he ever has before. Levi catches a hold of the mace before he goes, though, fingers entangling around the handle so that when he falls, Sander goes with him. So does the mace, too—in his surprise Levi tugs it free and sends it flying across the clearing, where it rolls nearly to Erryn's feet.
He doesn't need weapons. Never has. As Levi's hands search for purchase against his jacket he yanks one of his arms away and twists; Levi lets out a howl as something snaps in his wrist, his body going momentarily slack as the shock and pain hits him all at once.
That's all he needs in that moment.
Sander locks a hand around his throat and this is not him, never was him, but he only squeezes tighter as Levi's good arm scrabbles for purchase against his own, trying to force him off. He shoves him aside as if he's not even there, lacing his other fingers over-top his throat as well for good measure.
It's like Khalon all over again, Sander removing himself from his own body to get the job done, gruesome as it may be. It's better if he's not here at the moment.
"Sander," Levi chokes, and he tries not to hear it, squeezing his eyes shut. He's not supposed to be here, and he's not getting betrayed again. If he lets up, Levi will kill him, and this time he'll succeed. He wouldn't feel bad about it; Sander can't let himself feel that way either.
When he opens his eyes Levi's face is red, eyes practically bulging from their sockets, each vein standing out in stark contrast to the rest of his skin. He gets one last grip on Sander's hands but already he can feel it fading. Soon, he'll fall unconscious.
And then he'll die.
"She—she told me you—"
He squeezes harder yet again. Levi chokes, the rest of his words lost as Sander cuts off the last of his air. And behind him, Erryn lets out a sound that's practically a giggle.
Sander freezes. Levi's eyelids flutter, light dissipating…
Sander releases him.
For a long moment, Levi's body doesn't react. Sander shakes him, though his brain screams at him not to, shakes him until Levi gasps and splutters back to life, sucking in air despite Sander's weight on his chest. Erryn is outright laughing, now, clapping her hands together.
"God, you're a fucking coward," she says with glee. "Can't even do it, can you?"
He gets to his feet. Levi wheezes as he's finally freed, rolling sideways into the grass. Sander watches as he tries to plant an arm under himself, tries to rise, only to fall back into the grass with a shuddering moan as it buckles.
"Why'd they even let you in here if you can't finish the job?" Erryn asks. "Should've stayed in your damn therapist's office, let the big boys do the hard work."
He never thought someone could actually see red, but he comes close, worse than any amount of blood that had ever plagued him before. That's what this place has done to him. It's flipped him inside out and made him all wrong, so anxious that he can hardly stand upright, too afraid to sleep at night. He thought he had left most of that behind.
He takes a step forward. Erryn rolls his mace back behind her feet, so he picks up Levi's sword instead. "What'd you tell him?"
"Oh, nothing important."
"Erryn—"
"She said you were going to kill me," Levi says hoarsely behind him, voice nearly unrecognizable. Sander tries not to focus too hard on what appears to be patchy bruises already blossoming across his neck, shadowed further from his position on the ground. "She said—"
"Well I was right, wasn't I?" Erryn questions. "Almost, anyway."
He's so close to them both. It would be so easy to step back and kill Levi in one swift motion—he's on the ground, defenseless, unable to stand for the time being. And there's Erryn in front of him, so few feet between them. All of this was her. She fed Levi lies and he believed them, a lie that would have remained as such if he hadn't just nearly strangled him to the point of death.
His face still aches from where Levi scored him open. Levi's neck is darkening with bruises that he left there.
It would be so easy to kill him.
Perhaps that's why when he lunges forward instead, leaving the easier option behind, Erryn is so unprepared. So shocked. The blade of the sword is unforgiving, cold steel as it arcs through the air past her own weapon and right into the side of her neck, cutting through layers of sinew and muscle and bone as Sander forces it further through.
He's not quite all the way to the other side when she falls with a wet, ugly gurgle. Dead at his feet.
Sander lets go of the sword and forces his knees to straighten, the cannon that blasts overhead sounding frighteningly distant. Louder still is the rustle behind him in the grass. He finds himself wondering, helplessly, if Levi is about to plant a weapon in his back, another act of betrayal. It wouldn't be the first time they've seen such a thing happen.
Nothing comes. "Sander," Levi says again, voice so harsh and painful that he feels tears spring to his eyes.
For once, though, Sander doesn't cry. It feels like a miracle.
If only anything else felt that way.
When the whine of the hovercraft cuts through the roar in his ears he inhales, trying to blink away the wetness still gathering at his lashes. The steel-gray shape cuts through the sky, growing ever-closer, as Sander forces himself to turn around. Levi sits plainly on the ground, now, wrist cradled carefully to his chest as he looks up, squinting against the buffeting wind.
He seems to look right through Sander, dazed. Disbelieving.
"Get up," Sander demands, striding forward when Levi doesn't move. His voice is much too harsh, and he notes how Levi flinches when he reaches for him, but he continues to ignore it. Still, he grits his teeth as Sander yanks him up, refusing to let the pain splinter through his otherwise ruined façade.
A ladder unfurls from the sky, its ends brushing gently against the grass. Neither of them move.
Sander realizes, belatedly, that he's still holding onto Levi's arm.
Perhaps Levi should say something—apologize, or offer thanks. Maybe Sander should say he made the right choice. But both of them are silent as he pushes Levi in the direction of the first ladder, pausing only briefly to look back at Erryn's crumpled body in the grass.
He wishes he could say it, almost.
But Sander doesn't know if it's the truth.
THE VICTORS OF DISTRICT TWO… SANDER ELEK (18) & LEVI ALCANDRE (18).
thecentennialcelebration . tumblr . com
Thank you to Remus and Liri for Sander and Levi. ❤
This was the first Games chapter that I wrote way back towards the end of October - I don't think it's too glaringly obvious, but I apologize if it is. At least I re-read it over before posting it? Sort of?
Regardless, enjoy.
Until next time.