Crimson Stream [Has vs The vvitches Day 4]

You run. It seems to be the only thing you know how to do successfully any more.

Torren's in your arms, superhuman strength and adrenaline flooding your system as you half-carry, half-drag the boy from the land of your father away from the blades of the people you knew, the district partner who chastised you about who was worth saving yet who would not put her own life on the line to ensure it.

Damn Careers. Lucky enough to team up with two, unlucky enough to fight two more. And in retrospect you almost appreciate the girl from Two for being detached, cold, unwilling to do or say anything worth remembering, worth keeping towards the heart. For Cole and Torren had let their guard guard down around you, only to bleed upon foreign soil the very next day. In Ridley, you thought you'd found a kindred spirit - but instead, you'd found a girl with too much heart and not enough nerve to do what needed to be done.

It was no wonder that the Career districts were bringing home so few in recent years, if each and every one of them failed to understand what it took to win. To come home. To survive.

And yet....

Half of the blood in your veins came from the very same place that birthed Torren, that nurtured Ridley. And though neither of them knew it, there was supposed to be something there. A kinship, a connection, something that indicated your shared home.

Perhaps that's why you'd connected with Torren in your own twisted way. Perhaps that's why you let Ridley take her frustrations out on you, tear into your skin with her blade without repercussions. Two people you otherwise would have never met, whom in a different world you may have been as close as family.

And yet.

You were not Sapphire DeCaria, the girl from District One, even if your name threatened to betray otherwise. You were the girl from Seven, the lumberjack with the energy of the forest running through your veins. A fire waiting to happen you may have been, but never the kind intended to destroy, but the kind to renew, to rejuvenate.

Seven's newest scion, or the latest in a string of ever growing failures. Which would you be?

And yet.

Here you are, running from battle for the second time in as many days despite claiming the crown jewel of the Wealth, the bulk of the prize and the status of the ones to beat. And again, in your arms, is a boy who is slowly, inevitably becoming a corpse.

And then fatigue takes hold. Your grip slackens, and Torren Jaroux tumbles into the river.

Panic, mania, something takes hold, but you're stopped by a weak laugh.

"No, it's nice in here." And Ripred damn it all, even as his lifeblood leaves his body, Torren still has that same easygoing smile on his face, the devil-may-care attitude resting on his shoulders.

"Plus... we're still supposed to go skinny dipping, right?"

The same damn terrible, horrible timing when it comes to cracking jokes in the worst of moments. If he weren't already dying, you swear you might have just punched him right then and there.

But you don't. You're at a loss for words, actions dying within the neurons of your brain. But you don't have to, for Torren has more than enough for the both of you.

A finger brushes your undamaged cheek, a strangely intimate, personal act from the boy who made a living of acting aloof. "I meant what I said... earlier in the forest," he gasps, and half of you wants to shush him, make the last few moments stretch as long as possible.

But it's not about length. It's about quality. And so despite your heart urging you to protest, you follow the rational of your head instead.

"This doesn't define you... even though I came here so it would define me." And it's still so hard to believe, one fight and attempt at murder later. "I just wanted to be remembered..."

And for some reason, that is what nearly breaks you. For for the first time, you think you're seeing something raw and real within the boy from One, instead of just a carefully constructed act made to placate people.

You almost regret it took death itself to draw that from his depths.

"If you see Ridley again... I need you to tell her something for me..." Privately, you're thinking that if you never saw the girl from One again, it would be too soon. But who are you to shit on the wishes of a dying man? "Tell her... that I'll see her in the garden..."

You have no idea what that means, exactly, but you get the gist. And you dip your head in understanding - for you do not trust that any words that exit your mouth will come out unaccompanied by a sob.

Reyes takes his attention for a bit, and then a request, to the both of you. "Push me... into the river... I want to... float away."

You cannot bring yourself to look.

But who are you to deny a dying boy's last request?

---

The night fades away into the sunlight of morning. There's not many words shared between you and Reyes - he'd never been as talkative as the other two, and after Cole and Torren's fates, you're reluctant to reach out to anyone, unwilling to confirm or deny whether or not you are cursed.

For the time being, however, you see no reason to move. The river has water, albeit untrustworthy water, and after three days of moving across what seems to be half the damn arena, you're just tired.

But a day of rest isn't in the cards. No, that'd be having it too good, and you're part of an alliance that claimed the largest possible advantage in the entire Games and squandered it in the following days by losing half your strength. Some might call it genius, teaming up with two Careers and getting others to end them personally, but quite frankly you're just tired of running.

Perhaps that's why when you see a familiar shape barreling towards you through the undergrowth, you decide that enough is enough. You'll narrow your eyes and grip your axe until either you end someone or someone ends you.

For that is the only result that can come from running into Ubbe Hammerfell, after all.

"Who are you, and why shouldn't I kill you now?" For most people, you'd consider it an act. But from what you've seen of the Hammerfell clan, you're not so sure it isn't one.

A different demeanor from the last time you talked doesn't just spout out of nowhere. At least, not one like this. "That's quite a change from the training center, Ubbe," you growl. Which aspect was fake? The boy who wanted to live up to the legacy of his relatives, or the boy who's deciding that machismo and intimidation tactics are the new norm of social interaction?

"This isn't the training center anymore." At this, you snort. "This is the hunger games."

It's a struggle not to keep the mirth out of your voice, not to taunt the only one of the six Careers that you had genuinely pegged as a threat. "No shit, Captain Obvious," marks the start of your retort.

But Ripred only knows what would have finished it, for more bodies are brought to your attention. Familiar bodies. Familiar bodies that are not doing a great job at keeping their profile hidden.

You share a look with the boy from Two. A mutual consensus is reached through a simple glance alone - We'll finish this later.

And as one, you turn and unleash hellfire onto the enemy.

I wonder if you're proud of me now, Vargen, you think as you move to cut open the girl with one foot from shoulder to hipbone.

After all, I do only learn from the best.

"Captain Obvious. I like it." says the boy from Two, and you can't help but snort in response.

"You would," comes the reply, as much amused reply as thinly veiled barb.

But then you remember you're in the middle of battle, where each and every wasted second can be fatal. And though your first strike tears into the flesh and muscle of Slate from Nine's arm, there's no delusion regarding the danger of these new sets of foes.

Their ambush attack had claimed Cole, even though you and Reyes and Torren had ensured their victory was pyrrhic in nature, and they maintained the fortitude to survive what so many others the previous night had failed to, right down to handless from Five and the brooding boy from Twelve. And though you and Ubbe may have turned their own ambush tactic right around on top of them, you had no delusions that your own pact with Two and Eleven was tenuous at best, that once the fight turned deadly they would be no more reliable than anyone else until proven otherwise.

But right now, they weren't enemies. What could have effectively been a three versus one conflict had turned into an even fight on both sides. And for that, at least, you were grateful.

“Sapphire.” You'd think after spending two weeks living in the same space with him, having fought him once already and had thrown a pie at him in a fit of anger, you'd have learned to control the chill that ran down your spine every time your district partner spoke your name. But you haven't, and when you turn to face him, the smirk that crosses his face is no less unnerving than it had been in the past.

"Vargen," you respond, short, simple, steely. Your grip on your weapon tightens, and you tense. Watch. Wait.

“So, you have found yourself more shields. I am proud, Sapphire.” A mention to your new alliance, for unlike his own group Vargen would no doubt have seen the face of Torren in the sky, remembered all too fondly his role in Cole's end, known just how much worse your own luck had gone in favor of his, even as the rhetorical question you'd wondered a moment before is unknowingly answered. “Now, let us shatter them again. We will always be your ruin.”

You watch as the spear leaves his hands, scrapes Ubbe's hand in passing, before locking his gaze back to your own. "Personally, shields isn't what I'd describe Ubbe and his friend, especially since we only just met." That much is true - but you've already resigned yourself to the fact that however much you may try, you will never play the Games as strategically minded as you could. You could thank Ridley for that one. "But, I suppose you'll take any excuse you can get to avoid striking me down personally, am I right?"

Taunting the one boy who is easily the most sociopathic person in the entire arena probably isn't at the top of anyone's "How to Survive the Hunger Games" to-do list. But you're tired of being unnerved at Vargen's mere presence, tired of hearing his pretty little metaphors and righteous drivel.

But though you never expected it to come from him of all people, you understand the sentiment of reluctance when it comes to striking each other with the intent to kill. Because whatever twisted thoughts lie beneath his icy hairdo and behind his cold blue visage, he's still the boy from home.

And if home was a good enough excuse to team up with Torren, to refrain from retaliating against Ridley, then home is enough to ensure that when the first blow between the two of you falls, it will not be yours.

Either way, it's not your problem to worry about.

You turn towards Slate just as a declaration, as much fearful as fearsome, leaves her lungs. "If you're going to kill me, hahaha, do it quickly!!!" she taunts, or perhaps pleads. You can't tell. And yet again, four days into your own personal hell, the idea of severing someone's life from their body sickens you to your very core.

But who are you to deny the last request of a dying girl?

"Very well," you respond, in what you hope is an air of nonchalance. "Hold still, and I promise this won't hurt."

The least you could do is dish out the death that you wish to receive, anyways - quick and painless.

A perfect lunge and the sword prances across the girl’s chest, tearing away fabric and skin. An added souvenir of extra crimson stains is left behind on the blade, heavier than the novelty pumpkin but the weapon is a part of me now. It is only good fucking thing I am good at carrying and I hope to Ripred it is the sharp edge that will be cutting away a path for me to get out of here.

I just capture the mark I have left behind; a signature planted onto a girl and damn it sends a thrill through my limbs. I am in control, finally I can creep out of the shadow of the Seven and fend for myself. Lets make sure I can be consistent this time. Everyday an ally has fallen, it is about time I witness the death of an enemy. Enemies, I did not walk into this arena with a list of names but every scar I have left behind on the Eleven boy and now this District Five will be igniting a hatred inside of them and those that are willing to protect them. Fuck it, I am nearly halfway there, and my wounds are already healing.

Rhodes fails at following my lead and she is tragically punished by a battle of the axes. Better her than me. The mentioning of shields floats in the air, the dramatic Seven boy. Well damn they are both playing their part, Hammerfell already looks crushed. ”Come on Rhodes, you have got victor blood, at least leave a little cut behind.”

Death has been so slow over the past two days. Career boys torn to shreds, no instant decapitations or the popular blade in the eye that were overplayed on the archives in the training centre. It has been an orchestrated drag, a thriller for all those that seek joy in watching us flailing about and bleeding to death.

"Hold still, and I promise this won't hurt."

Another limb flies and the sweet sound of the cannon vibrates in my ears. I knew I liked that girl, what a great idea it was to ally with an axe wielding District Seven. At last a foe tastes a long overdue demise and the final career boy has not been seriously maimed…yet. Unlike the days before, death does not halt this battle, the rude dramatic boy still slings his weapon at the career. Damn, manners have been lost today.

”Clearly we need no army to kill you now. Although be kind and stand still, I’d like to copy Sapphire’s trick.”

Both hands grip onto the handle of my sword as I raise it to chest height. Through the grey air I claim my target, I plea to hear that cannon melody once more. These fights are becoming exhausting, if a blade does not kill me in this arena it will be fatigue. Let’s end this faster than how it started.

”Do you have anymore limbs for me to claim?”