make me your villain | needle vs softbois vs volkra

The Volkra need not play with their meal, not when their prey is so keen to play amongst themselves.

The scent of blood is metallic and rich on the wind, a hot gush of air that carries the sound of weapons clashing and beasts shrieking. With each clap of thunder, a flash of white hot lightning piercing the dark, the Volkra gaze down to see the tributes locked in a power struggle. Man against man, so caught up in their petty grapple for survival that they are near blind to the true threat flapping their leathery wings overhead. The Volkra are not strangers to blending into chaos.

They are one in the same.

And beneath their instincts, their desperate hunger for flesh and blood, there is another command that stays their hand. It isn't that the Capitol wants to see these tributes devoured, it's that they want to see them hurting. No more makeshift peace, no more skirting around the purpose of a death games. The only thing required of these children is to be maimed on national television. And if they do this to one another in favor of being torn apart by mutts?

All the better.

  

From their vantage point, and through the guidance of their masters, the Volkra are aware of which tributes have managed to weave themselves through the mayhem mostly unscathed. Hal pulls his spear from the throat of Jericho as a cannon booms like thunder, and Marceline cowers before the towering hologram of a Gamemaker pointing down at her in shame. Lightning crackles, a looping melody plays on repeat, the melodic voice of Paris Vanburen has never sounded better with the harmony of chittering monsters.

"You ain't no diva." And this is true, not just for the girl from Eight but for all of them. If they don't want to be picked apart by terrible beasts, then they will do well to learn to throw themselves in front of the blades of their human rivals. This is what the nation wants to see, after all. No amount of annual bloodshed could ever be enough for their appetite, and the Volkra shriek in agreement as they begin to swoop down with their claws extended.

Make your choice, tributes.

Death is standing at your shoulder, either way. Be it by man or beast.

The tributes watch in terror as four Volkra fight over the remains of Jericho Caleb.

Glancing up at the stormy sky, it would seem the creatures are more than willing to gorge themselves on the fallen as they stall their next attack. Patience is a virtue, and it is also a command the Volkra cannot deny. Blood sprays into the void, red fading into black. The massacre could almost be ignored if not for the flashes of lightning that illuminate the space. No one can hide from the carnage.

The Gamemakers watch with wicked grins as blade clashes against blade, a ragtag band of tributes all turning against one another. This is the most fascinating part of the whole experience, and it is not at all lessened by the amount of time it took to get here. As expected, these kids are revealing their true colors right on schedule. There are only so many days they can go on pretending the inevitable isn't just around the corner.

It's flying in the sky. Right above you.

  

No one is going to miss out on the fun.

People are fighting for their lives, one boy has already died. If the tributes are quick enough to dodge their foes, they will learn just how slow and helpless they are as the Volkra begin to swoop downwards, their talons extended. There will always be a more terrifying monster. It doesn't matter how they play this game, how they sharpen their words and how they aim for the underbelly. Until twenty-two more souls have been snuffed out, no one person in this arena can truly think that they are safe. Civility falls apart so quickly.

The abyss howls with wind and booms with thunder, and it begs for more slaughter. Raining down from the night sky, slicing into skin like acid rain, the Volkra lunge at two tributes who have made it through the last few minutes relatively unscathed.

Volkra attacks!

Hal
LTdWCY9WjLknife
miss, 0.0

Marceline
knife
3.5