Chapter Twenty-Two.

A/N: Please don't hate me. Explanation at the bottom. Right now, enjoy this long af chapter (hopefully!).

Oh wait, one thing, can I make a request that people… read through from the beginning. I know it's tempting to find where your tribute placed, or who won, but I think for the full effect it really helps if you read from the start. Of course I can't force you, but… do it for me :*

The Games.

Day Two, Part Two.

It was still only the second day, one day after the bloodbath, and three of the Careers had already left the pack. All the girls. Diantha dead, Romina her killer, and Riena the hypocritical leader. It was hard for Uriah to understand why she'd done it, hard for Theon to work out her motives, but leading this new pack, Alston related completely to Riena's reasoning behind her abandonment.

They'd never been the closest pack. And Riena had worked that out, she'd seen the atmosphere for what it was, predicted the future, and taken it upon herself to be the first to actually have the balls to run away before it cost her her life. Alston relished his new control however, and with Uriah by his side, he practically felt like with the right push, things might fall into place the right way.

Theon, however, didn't feel such a thing. He looked at Uriah and Alston and remembered the way they'd spent so much time during training, they'd forsaken the others. He thought back on his own time, and how he'd always been the extra on the sidelines. The one no one wanted to be around, and yet accepted because maybe they saw something pitiful in Theon's eyes that craved affection. But this time it wasn't like that.

He was the third wheel and he had to get out.

Unfortunately for him, it didn't go as smoothly as Riena's departure. When he tried to leave, Alston's intuitive nature, the fact he had pretty much anticipated such a move, left his chilled, laid-back voice, to drift through the air and startle Theon as he turned around. A fight ensued. Theon panicked and tried to escape, whilst Alston simply smiled, and side by side with a willing Uriah, who was trying to be loyal to someone he considered a friend, joined him as they advanced on Theon.

The three Career males fought. Theon's cheek was sliced open. Alston staggered backwards into Uriah, knocking the boy from Two over into the mud. Because of the size of the trenches, it was easier for Theon to hold them back one by one, rather than deal with them both together. He used that to his advantage, managed to avoid being impaled into the wall, and turned the corner and fled.

Alston raised a hand to stop Uriah. They would let him go. The Careers had completely failed this year. But that didn't mean one couldn't still win. The question was who.

As Theon ran, he decided on one thing. All his life he'd messed up everything by pushing people away, teasing them, hurting them, because he wasn't able to find the connection he so wanted and accept it. In this Arena, the one person out there that had reminded him so much of his mistakes growing up was Romina. This was his redemption path. He would find her. Apologise. Help her. Maybe not guide her to victory, inherently Theon was as selfish as everyone else pretended they weren't, but still… there had to be something for him to do.

This was how he said sorry to the world.

Somewhere far across the other side of the Arena, Cade was doing his best to keep himself calm, focused, and ready for what was around each and every corner. He took it ten seconds at a time. If he could count to ten, deal with his situation, keep himself from panicking, then another ten seconds would start and he would repeat it over and over.

As he'd left Petra he'd come across a booby trap; gunfire spitting out from hidden components in the wall if certain metal plates in the ground were stood on. The moment he turned the corner and his eyes fell on Phris, the brute from Ten who had chased him in the bloodbath, he realised maybe he could use it to his advantage.

"You wanna play?" Cade bounced on the heels of his feet. He winked. "Let's play."

Phris knew he couldn't let this boy slip through his grasp. He wouldn't be forgiving. He wouldn't allow him to survive like he had done to Gwilym. As he gave chase, he had no idea this little weasel knew exactly where he was going, and how he was thinking.

Pure conviction to survive drove the two of them onwards. Until the gunfire trap was triggered, and a hail of bullets tore into Phris' shoulder as he threw himself sideways. With blood pounding in his ears, he sprinted after Cade. The boy from Six panicked, startled, and tried to climb his way up the trench wall.

Only the Gamemakers refused to make this easy to escape. More bullets shot out from somewhere in the air above the trenches. Phris was cut off from Cade, forced to flee from the onslaught, and Cade's leg and right shoulder were torn into, left bloody and in tatters as he fell back into the trench, the floor beneath his feet gave way, and he fell, fell, fell, into whatever lay beneath the Arena.

As the day slowly dwindled to a halt, the torrential rain only worsening, Barnaby continued to follow obediently behind Arick and Zeara, transfixed onto their every whim, yet with his own demons haunting him. It was his fault Travis was dead. And if things went the way he hoped they did – hope… maybe that wasn't the right word – then Arick and Zeara would protect a weak-willed, twig of a thirteen year old boy until he had to… kill them.

Arick was taking charge. Leading the fight. This was what he had to do as a rebel, so in the Arena, he had to play the part of the tribute. It was two sides of the same coin clashing, and yet as much as he doubted himself, he had Zeara as a constant support, perseverant by his side. She had her own qualms, her own fears, her own dedication to surviving conflicting against her determination to see an end to the Capitol.

But for now, each of them kept at bay their inner worries, and together, as a pack of rabid dogs, the first mutts of the Games to be revealed, attacked them, they came to each other's aid and held them off. Zeara was left with the worst of the injuries; a gash in her thigh slowing her down, but the mutts retreated, leaving Arick and his friends to fight another day.

At the same time, Delora's own doubts about Romina's intentions continued to contaminate her ability to lead her alliance functionally and with purpose. On a scouting mission, the girl from Four crossed paths with the boy from Twelve. Gwilym, senses alert, kicked into action, partly with fear that he had found a Career, and partly out of self-preservation.

Only when Romina ran away after a brief scuffle, did Gwilym finally come across Delora. The two embraced, then pulled apart, blushing as another member was added to the alliance. Nevaeh and Andryn watched on with smiles. Romina glanced at the pair from Twelve, nervous, anxious, and above all: scared.

Finally, Diantha's face faded into the sky as Petra, Clytie and Emigdio fell asleep, tucked up into their makeshift shelter. Petra couldn't help but worry for Cade, even when Emigdio promised her he was a tough little one. On the inside, he felt guilty that he was almost glad the young boy had left. It meant he only had to worry about two people he'd already promised to protect.

Clytie had spent the day tinkering with the mines. The Gamemakers had been generous though, and with the promise of action, they had taken some of her sponsor money and supplied her with instruction on how to activate them. With a little extra work, Clytie managed to keep the lights off even with the mines still operational.

Emigdio had watched Clytie lay her trap with a furrowed brow, fear in his chest. She wasn't the same Clytie that he'd allied with. She still smiled. She still cared. But she'd already hardened. Killing Fira had opened her eyes to what had to be done, and the whole cheerful outer shell made it even harder for him to cope, watching her crack as her eyes fluttered shut and Emigdio slowly rose from his sleeping bag.

What Emigdio didn't know, however, was that Petra was also awake. She didn't follow, but when Emigdio returned, biting his lip, eyes glancing down at Clytie nervously, she knew what he had done. The mine trap was deactivated. They wouldn't be able to lure a tribute into the explosions and kill them.

It was weakness, Emigdio understood that. And yet he wasn't ready yet to forsake his morals for… this. Protecting Petra and Clytie was one thing he was ready for, but this was something else. And Petra knew that. She didn't know what to do. Who to choose. Clytie knew what had to be done, she'd lost all her mercy, and she'd killed. But physically, Emigdio was the strongest, his protective nature over Petra would oust any sense of self-preservation he might have had.

As the day came to an end, Petra was torn. Clytie or Emigdio. Who would she choose?

Day Three.

With most of the tributes still asleep, Barnaby woke up when something knocked into his shoulder. He blinked and held back a yawn as he stared down at the sponsor gift.

For me…? Confusion kept him from opening the canister straight away. Of all the tributes to sponsor, why had someone chosen him? He looked around. Arick and Zeara were still fast asleep, oblivious, innocent, and before they woke up, locked in a state of bliss he envied them of.

When he opened it, a small blade fell from the inside. It barely made a noise as it clattered to the ground. He read the note that accompanied it and froze. They know. The Capitol isn't stupid. They want a show, they want him dead, and the one to strike him down… well, can you imagine what they'd give that person? It wasn't signed. Barnaby could hear his heart beating in his ears.

He tucked the blade into his sleeve. As his eyes closed shut again, he failed to notice that Zeara's were open. She didn't know what, but he was hiding something. And she was determined to find out exactly what that was.

With the trenches a complex system of twists and turns, Delora devised a plan to split the alliance up into two pairs for a couple of hours. If danger presented itself, a quick retreat would be the best course of action, but right now, they needed a map of where they were and what might be lurking round each corner.

She failed to mention, as she split her alliance up into two teams: Andryn and Nevaeh, Gwilym staying at their base, leaving Delora with Romina, that it was really so she could suss out this girl from Four.

She didn't trust her as far as she could throw her. It was a mutual feeling. Romina was more scared than anything. Delora hated the way Andryn and Nevaeh seemed to fawn over her. Why couldn't she have that? She had their best interests at heart and yet they almost looked at her with silent contempt, no matter what she did, or what she said.

"Do you know how the others are?" Delora asked.

"Who?"

Delora's hand twitched. She could kill her. She didn't want to. Of course she didn't. But would it be easier… would it be better to halt her paranoia, cut it root and stem before Romina's presence made her go insane…?

"The Careers."

Romina had no answer for that. She didn't know, she had no idea, and no matter what Delora thought of her, she really did just want a normal alliance, a normal friendship, a normal everything until she no longer had her life.

The alliance regrouped an hour later. It would happen soon, Delora was sure of it. Everything would come crashing down.

Midday arrived and Cade found himself struggling through the dark, cavernous area underneath the trenches. The only light he had was the flashlight that he'd luckily had with him in a backpack. If he hadn't have snagged something back at the Cornucopia… well… he shivered at the thought.

The pain was killing him. Maybe even literally. As he continued to walk, he found himself being led upwards, a staircase of stone weaving left and right until it came to an open passage underneath a new tunnel system.

That was when he realised where he was. The Gamemakers had cleared out all the caved in bits of rock and earth. The light at the very end… the distant sound of rain… this was where they'd all started.

Hope blossomed in his heart. The Careers could be in the Cornucopia, but even then, he needed medicine and bandages for his injuries. Maybe he could trick them somehow. He was awfully good at distracting people for his own benefit. As he finally made it to the minefield, he was overjoyed to find that it was abandoned; the Cornucopia full to the brim with supplies and no one to protect them.

He found the medicine after rummaging through several crates. He cheered out loud, smiling, even crying. These Games were impossibly difficult. He'd lost Hale. He'd abandoned Petra. He was all alone because, maybe, he needed to rise to the challenge to make himself believe he was more than just another twelve year old.

He was Cade Grayson, and he could do anything.

Anything!

But then he heard it: barking.

17th: Cade Grayson, District Six Male.

The dogs that had attacked Arick, Zeara and Barnaby needed a place to go. And here it was. They surrounded Cade, shattering his moment of joy and self-acceptance, leaving him rooted to the ground in absolute, overwhelming terror.

He tried to run. And with his quick legs and agility, he almost made it free. His knife was out and he slashed at a mutt that made its way too close to him. Blood splattered out across his face but he didn't react, he simply gritted his teeth and continued onwards.

But fighting and fleeing surrounded by mutts was one thing; doing it in the middle of a minefield was something else entirely.

He barely had a second to react when a mutt barrelled into his side and sent him flying. He saw Hale. He saw Petra. And then he saw his parents.

And then his body connected with a mine, and darkness consumed him.

The other tributes barely reacted at the sound of a cannon. Some held their sadness at bay over the death of another tribute. Some, like Clytie, tried to smile for her alliance, and keep down how… helpful it was. Someone was dead. It was dreadful. It was the worst thing. But as long as others kept dying and they kept surviving, then they were one step closer. One step closer to the end.

She had those thoughts running through her head when she decided to set off to enact her first trap these Games. Emigdio had barely said a word. She noticed how Petra continued to stare at him, before glancing at the ground. They weren't adapting, not the right way at least. It made Clytie nervous, and quite frightened for her own sanity that she was the one taking control, but if it meant she got to protect her friends and protect herself that little bit longer then she'd continue to do so.

Finally they came to a crossroads in the trenches. Clytie gave Emigdio a thumbs-up, and before he could let her know what he'd done, before he could gather up the courage to admit his weakness, she was off, splitting from her allies at the first sight of a lonesome tribute.

Clytie barely had time to recognise who it was before the other girl gave chase. Riena Ledwell, on her search for Romina, saw a flash of red hair and Career instinct kicked in. She didn't want to hurt Clytie, of course not. But this was the Games and already they'd made her far too paranoid for her liking.

Emigdio and Petra made their way back to the mine-trap in silence. However, before they could sort out the mess that had become of it, Clytie ran straight towards them, across from the other side, with a Career chasing after her.

"CLYTIE… WAIT!" Petra shouted out, before Emigdio could voice the same warning.

Clytie dodged the mines, and when Riena turned the corner, she barely had a second to stop herself before her foot connected with one.

Clytie was well out of reach… but nothing happened. She blinked down at the mines, glanced up fearfully at the sight of Riena staring, confused at the explosives by her feet, and then the Careers' brow furrowed, and she drove onwards straight for Clytie.

That was when Emigdio's protective nature finally kicked in. The trap had failed but before Riena could kill his friend, he grabbed her by the shoulders, hissed when she pulled an arrow free and sliced open his cheek, and smashed her into the trench wall.

Riena was left breathless and tired in front of a three-person alliance. Clytie was shocked, staring at Emigdio. Petra didn't know what to do. But in the face of a threat, Emigdio had finally stepped up and moved an inch in her direction.

Riena swallowed a lump in her throat and shook her head, not willing to take the risk. As she quickly fled the scene and Cade's face appeared in the sky, she pretended not to hear the sob coming from behind her, Petra falling to her knees in shock, and onwards the Career went.

The day ended with another sponsor gift, falling into Riena's hands. This time a map of the trenches, with an 'x' somewhere not too far from where she currently was.

Romina's location.

Day Four.

Alston and Uriah were getting agitated. The two wanted something, anything. A pack of vulture mutts swarming down from the sky, tearing at their sleeves had barely been anything to fulfil either boy's need for a challenge.

Alston had enjoyed the dynamic between the Careers when they were simply sat down because there were people to watch, moods to assess, and the potential explosion waiting to happen if he pushed Uriah in the right direction.

Now that had all failed. Uriah simply wanted to prove to himself more than anyone that he had what it took to win. That's all he wanted. For people to see who he was the way he did. And so far the Arena had given them nothing.

If something didn't happen outside their alliance, it was only a matter of time before something happened within.

Theon was still trying to find Romina. He'd also been given the same map Riena had. Unbeknownst to anyone else, of course, but all paths seemed to converge onto their alliance.

All the boy from Four wanted to do was be a better person. He was a tribute, of course. And he wanted to win, which meant he'd kill. It wasn't that sort of better. Not the moral sort of better. The one where he got to kid himself that he was a hero.

No. He just wanted to do something as a way of apologising. And finding Romina seemed the only way he could do that.

With the first half of the fourth day coming to a silent, peaceful close, Theon finally saw movement up ahead. The sound of a nervous footstep splashing into a puddle formed by the rain. And then, from round the corner, he saw her.

Nevaeh interpreted Theon's heavy breathing as terrifying, vibrating splotches of black in front of her eyes. And then when she gazed down at the sword in his hand, her whole world seemed to spin around, upside down.

Delora had only sent her out quickly to find the supplies she'd dropped yesterday on her trek with Andryn. A simple mistake, and they were round a few corners… so close… scream for them, Nevaeh. SCREAM!

Theon had no way of knowing the girl he was searching for was so close. The map was forgotten. All traces of it gone from his mind as he stared down at this small, weak looking tribute.

She barely made it a step backwards before he was on her. She finally found her voice when she screamed in terror, then pain, when she lashed out and kicked the sword from his grasp.

As it clattered away, he knew what he had to do. She was in the way of him finding Romina. They all were. And he was sorry, so very sorry, but that didn't stop him from smashing her sideways into the trench wall, silencing her screams, and then doing it over and over, head first, until her skull was a pulpy mess and her cannon shattered the sky.

16th: Nevaeh Blume, District Five Female.

The colours had once been her escape from the world. But as Theon had attacked her, they'd been nothing but agonizing bursts of hot, fiery red. And then when her eyes had closed, her last breath rattling out from her longs, they vanished completely.

She was all alone.

Theon fell down by Nevaeh's dead body, and stared into the mud. He would find his feet soon. But right now… he didn't know what to do. So all he did was stay still. And for the time being, that was all he needed.

The cannon had startled the remaining four members of their alliance. Delora stopped Andryn from running out after Nevaeh just in case. She glared over at Romina, narrowing her eyes, before tears threatened to fall.

Maybe Nevaeh wasn't dead. Maybe it was just awful coincidence that a cannon had been heard at the same time Nevaeh had left to go get her backpack. And it was her fault… her fault if she was dead. She'd told her to go get the backpack.

She was the reason she was dead, and yet it was easier to blame Romina.

Because otherwise, she was the real monster.

15th: Romina Charette, District Four Female.

Gwilym looked at Delora. He then looked at Andryn. And then finally at Romina.

Before anyone could say or do a single thing, Gwilym's knife slipped into Romina's back and into her heart. Her death was quick. Her entire body froze, and with one last breath, her legs gave way and she collapsed into the mud.

Andryn screamed. Delora only stared between Gwilym and Romina's dead body. One second she was there, the next… gone.

"You would have attacked her," Gwilym said. "You would have attacked her, and she might have killed you. Or maybe you would have killed her… and then what?" He took a step in Delora's direction. She winced and moved backwards. "I had to make the decision between you and her. And I chose you."

"Nevaeh might not even be dead…" Andryn whimpered.

Gwilym and Delora only looked at her. All that needed to be said was exchanged in that look. She was dead. And now Romina was too.

Andryn realised at that moment it was too unsafe to stay. Everything had come crashing down in the blink of an eye. Delora saw her start to move away and caught on almost instantly.

She'd failed them all. Audria, Amaya, Nevaeh… she wouldn't fail Andryn. She couldn't fail Andryn. She tried to make her see. She tripped over her words, she practically reached a pitch that made it impossible to understand what she was saying.

All she'd wanted to be was a good friend and a good leader. Both. The best of two things that were needed in the Games.

Andryn sprinted forwards, away from the sound of approaching footsteps, and Delora lashed out, slapping Andryn round the face and sending her toppling sideways.

The girl from Three blinked, shocked, and screamed again, this time her tone laced with anger, as well as total fear and sorrow over what had happened. Before either could do anything, she lashed out at the nearest person to her, knife first, blade out.

She wanted to escape. She wanted… she wanted everything back… she wanted her friends…

14th: Gwilym Collier, District Twelve Male.

Andryn's knife found Gwilym's throat. Delora could do nothing but watch as her District partner choked on his own blood, bringing his hands to try to claw away at the wound, as if he could maybe save himself.

She started to cry, hot tears sliding down her cheeks, as she fell to her knees at the same time Gwilym did. Delora saw Andryn disappear. And then she watched as Gwilym's chest came to a halt.

He was dead. But she wasn't alone.

At that exact moment, from three different locations, as if nothing else could have been better planned or better executed, Delora watched as Riena Ledwell, Theon Devalera, and Phris Cantle arrived on the spot.

Theon was covered in blood. Delora didn't need telling whose it was. Phris had also been given a map for a different purpose. He hadn't been told who it was, only that if he followed it, did what he had decided to do, then he'd be one step closer to winning.

He'd resigned himself to killing without mercy. So here he was.

For a moment, no one knew what to do. Riena looked at Theon, Theon looked at Riena, and the two bowed their heads, remembering what had once been.

It was when Delora stood up, on shaky legs, holding out her sword, her cheeks flushed red and stained with tears that still fell from her eyes, did Phris start to walk forwards.

She'd failed them all, but she wouldn't fail herself. She refused to die.

13th: Phris Cantle, District Ten Male.

Theon and Riena were still frozen where they stood when Phris met Delora's blade. The two weren't Careers. They had no training. But they were two of the strongest from the outer Districts, two tributes now with nothing to lose, and so much to gain.

They had to protect their lives. And to do so, the other had to die.

However it was Gwilym by Delora's feet that caused the reaction in them both. Delora had always been close enough with him, respected him, and letting him in, accepting him, becoming his friend, and watching him kill Romina to save her and then get killed by Andryn… she used that as fuel to the fire. Fuel to survive.

Phris hadn't known Gwilym for very long. But at the sight of his body, and the fact that he'd tried too hard to detach himself, a stark opposite to Delora's decision to make a large group of friends, was what caused him to freeze, whereas Delora moved with so much more conviction.

He looked into Gwilym's dead, lifeless eyes and barely saw Delora's sword slash sideways.

His head left his shoulders, and down his body went, right by the boy from Twelve. A boy he called a friend, even without having to say it, or having the courage to believe it.

12th: Riena Ledwell, District One Female.

Theon had forgotten about Riena when he found Romina, not too far away from where Phris had just been killed. At the sight of her, his entire body seemed to shudder, as if the ground below him was crumbling apart.

It took every ounce of his being to take a deep breath and not fall to the down. She'd hated him. Or at least disliked him. And it wasn't like he'd made much effort. But this… the Careers had fallen apart, he had been all alone, and he'd thought maybe, just maybe, there was some way out of this constant self-contained confliction that ravaged his head.

But there wasn't. Not in this Arena. It was only death upon more death. And the only way out was to win. The only way to redemption was… to kill.

Twisted… but…

Delora had gone. One sight of two Careers, the dead bodies around her, and she'd fled. Riena looked at Theon and smiled sadly, eyes flitting between the way out and the way forwards.

"Look where we've come…"

Theon chuckled. He had tears in his eyes. And yet for once he didn't wipe them away. He didn't care what he looked like. "I want to blame myself, but…"

"Don't. It's no one's fault. These are the Games. We do what we have to do."

"Push you all away?"

"No one pushed anyone away, Theon," Riena said, pulling out her bow. "We're Careers. We simply act on the spot. I tried the thinking path and look where it got me."

"Riena?"

She drew an arrow free. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

She shot at him with lightning speed. Theon had anticipated it and dived sideways, out of the way, and charged towards her. He brought her onto her back in an instant. Every camera was on the two of them. Theon with his determination to redeem himself outside the Arena, apologize by living his life back in Four, helping others… doing things that old Theon never would have done.

And Riena, she just didn't want to die. A simple motivation. But maybe it was strong enough. Or might have been strong enough, if not for Theon being her opponent.

The two rolled around in the mud, crying, red-faced and angry that they had to do this. After a few more punches, a few more blows, and Riena using the wound in Theon's shoulder way back from the bloodbath to her advantage, Theon finally grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head back into the ground.

Riena cried out. Theon sobbed over an apology, found a knife, and slit her throat. It was quick. Messy, but quick.

And then he was by himself.

Day Five.

Clytie didn't understand why Emigdio had jeopardized their alliance because he couldn't handle the idea of using the mines against someone. Or she did understand, but didn't want to.

With the fifth day coming to a start, she finally confronted him. He had nothing to say. Not at first. But when Petra woke up and stood by Clytie's side, he couldn't stop himself.

"You're going to get her killed – I mean… I mean us. You're going to get us killed."

Clytie looked at Petra, then at Emigdio. "It's the Games. There's always that risk. But I'm doing what has to be done to try and protect us. To save us."

"Only one can win, Clytie," Petra whispered.

The girl from Nine wanted to cry. These were her friends, and because she had decided to step up, it was as if they judged her. Only she didn't know what Petra was thinking. She didn't see the way she looked at Emigdio, saw a protector, but saw… saw someone that wouldn't win. Someone who wouldn't help her to the final.

She was using them, she hated herself, but she was being smart. And Clytie… Clytie was the right choice. She had to be.

"We're going."

"You're what?" Clytie said, blinking at Emigdio. "Just like that?"

He tried to explain. And when it came to leaving, his we became only him as Petra made up her mind and left him on the brink of tears, running away with no one but himself. Petra hated herself. Clytie hated herself. But Emigdio had made his choice. Now it was up to him to live with it.

Another tribute that was by themselves was Delora. And for the first time, rather than turn away from the fact she was a failure, she did her best to embrace it and move on. All her allies were now gone, or in the case of Andryn, had left and probably hated her.

And she did hate herself. She hated herself more than anything. But she'd always been aware that it would come down to her or them and she'd known, all along, that she would always make the difficult decisions and put herself first. She'd been stalling. That had been it. Stalling the inevitable.

Maybe it was a good thing they were… dead. Even when she cried, hating herself even more when she knew it was a blessing that she no longer had to care about anyone but herself, she persevered and carried on. Now she had to win. Win for them, and win for her. That was her way forwards.

A few hours went by with relative peace.

Emigdio had deluded himself into thinking Petra would automatically side with him. Because he still saw his daughter in her, and his little girl would never say no. He only wanted to help her. And he knew he wanted to help his real daughter as well. He had to return to do that. Which meant Petra had to… die.

He stayed near to Clytie and Petra, however. He refused to run too far away. But when the Gamemakers triggered a bullet trap that pushed him back towards them, and pushed Clytie in his direction too, with horror in his heart, he realised what they intended to happen.

Protector versus protector. Two very different ideals for what their youngest friend needed, but two people that still cared for one another. With gunfire behind Clytie, and gunfire behind Emigdio, there was nothing else to do but…

"They want this…" Petra sounded horrified, eyes widening.

"I'm so sorry Emigdio," Clytie had been sponsored a much larger knife than anything Emigdio had on his person. "You made your choice. And because of that, they've made theirs."

Emigdio had nothing to say. Clytie charged, he charged, and two friends, two former allies, clashed together as Petra watched, shocked and stunned to the ground as weapon met weapon and they forced themselves against each other.

When it seemed Emigdio was getting the upper-hand, Clytie seemed to turn it back on him. She knew what she was doing. She was using Emigdio's inability to hurt someone he cared about against him. She had killed. She had been ready to do the dirty work.

And yet… yet she didn't want this. She didn't want to make it so easy. He was strong, but when Clytie continued to attack him, he seemed to almost weaken. He seemed ready to… give up.

"I killed Fira," Clytie whispered. "I killed Fira!" And then she shouted.

Emigdio's face grew hot. He'd bottled it down for too long. Much too long. Clytie seemed almost… she seemed to almost relish the fact that she'd turned into a tribute so quickly. Petra had made the wrong decision to choose her. He would make her see that.

He charged at her. With all his brute force, Clytie had nothing to do but let herself quickly step backwards. Emigdio was too fast. Too strong. But Clytie didn't want to kill him without him trying to save himself. That was… that was too far gone. Too far from who Clytie was at heart.

But she'd made the wrong choice. Because by infuriating Emigdio, he lashed out, and in trying to defend herself, her sponsor gift was the only thing she could use. And she was a girl from Nine, with no training, and she was terrified that she was going to die.

Her aim was completely off.

11th: Petra Peverett, District Seven Female.

Emigdio immediately froze. Clytie did the same.

She half screamed, half sobbed when she realised her knife had struck Petra in the heart. She'd tried to squirm her way out of the fray, and by doing so, got caught right between the two of them.

Her small, frail body swayed sideways and into Emigdio's arms. Clytie tried to step forwards, but one look, one growl, one scream from Emigdio and she fled, crying, tears in her eyes as the boy from Eleven cradled their ally as her cannon shook the Arena and her eyes fluttered shut.

Petra was dead. And it was all Clytie's fault.

As the tributes dealt with the fact another one had fallen, Alston and Uriah had reached the point of complete and utter boredom.

Alston wanted to find Riena. Uriah wanted to find Theon. Alston wanted this. Uriah wanted that. They couldn't agree on one direct path, which meant they were going left, right, up, down with no particular goal in mind.

It was time.

When Alston and Uriah finally settled down, Alston realised that what he'd wanted from this alliance, what he'd wanted from his friendship with Uriah, wasn't going to happen.

The cards he'd prepared for this game had been torn from his hands and shredded into tiny pieces. He had nothing but himself now.

Which meant Uriah… even if he did care about him, was a liability. And in the Games, they had to be cut off.

Only Uriah wasn't an idiot. He knew what was coming. He knew exactly what was about to happen.

10th: Alston Cornett, District One Male.

Constantly stuck on the line that came between enemy and friend, Alston and Uriah had known all along they would clash eventually. Both were arrogant. Both were competitive. Yet Alston had always believed his intelligence would help push him above Uriah; would give him that extra boost.

One thing he hadn't accounted for however, was that Uriah had learnt a thing or two. Riena, Diantha, and especially Alston, they'd all taught him to take his head from out of his own ass and look at the world with a little bit more perspective.

And he had.

Something which Alston wasn't ready for.

Before the boy from One could even attempt to kill Uriah, the boy from Two had him pinned to the ground, kicked aside his weapon, and glared down at him.

"District Two didn't believe in me, my mother, my sister… no one," Uriah then smirked. "But I'm going to win this. And it doesn't matter no one ever believed in me. Because I did. And that is enough."

Alston could barely shout for help before Uriah's chain-scythe cut into his throat and left him dead in seconds. The boy from One went still, another Career down, and Uriah gathered up the supplies and readied himself for what was to come.

His victory. It had to be that.

The day finally came to an end. As the rest of the tributes adapted to night-time with their new circumstances, Arick, Zeara and Barnaby were the only real alliance properly left intact.

Zeara was worried. Arick was worried. But no one was feeling anything that came close to Barnaby.

He felt the knife in his sleeve, the tiny blade that sometimes made shallow cuts in his skin, reminding him that if he didn't do something soon, someone would take the chance away from him. He'd been planning all along to use Arick as a protector until the finale.

But if the Gamemakers would reward him for taking out a rebel…

He waited, wide awake, as his two allies slowly fell asleep. If he did this, there would be no turning back. His mind took a turn for the worst as he considered maybe killing Zeara too. But he wasn't that. He wasn't a monster. He didn't enjoy the thought.

He just wanted to live. He wanted to go home so badly… to see his family… to go back to school, live a life that had been boring, but alright. This was the only way.

Barnaby made up his mind and gave it another hour just in case. When he slowly stood upwards, his little knees knocking together in the wind and rain, he tried to make his footsteps as light as possible as he crept towards Arick.

He thought for a moment, as the breath hitched in his throat, that he would get away with it. He wasn't sure which way he wanted it to go. But Zeara seemed to make the decision for him. Her eyes snapped open and she yelled out loud, diving for him, knocking the knife from his hand and pinning him to the ground, glaring at him as tears started to slip from his eyes.

As she shouted and shouted, Barnaby couldn't get an explanation out. For a moment, he thought this was it. This was where it came to an end. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he deserved it.

But another voice cut through the atmosphere; Arick's voice.

"Let him go."

Zeara and Barnaby were both shocked as Arick explained how he understood why Barnaby had done what he'd been prepared to do. The worst part was, in Zeara's eyes, as she struggled to control herself from lashing out at the boy that had tried to kill her friend, was that he… let him stay. He not only didn't seem to care, but he was… willing to keep Barnaby by his side.

As a parachute drifted to Arick's feet, Zeara stood by the side and didn't know what to do, or what to think.

She cared so much about Arick. All this time, her mind had been torn between dying to let him win so the Capitol could be torn down, or selfishly live so she didn't have to accept defeat and admit she was terrified.

But looking at who was maybe her best friend, a boy she practically loved, told her a different story. He embraced Barnaby, eyes shut, with Barnaby sobbing in his grasp.

This was no leader. No figurehead of the rebellion. Arick was just a teenage boy with a past too heavy on his shoulders that he didn't know what to do with. Even if she did die for him… he wouldn't fix this world.

With this realization settling into her gut, Arick finally opened the sponsor gift, and raised an eyebrow as a note fell into the palm of his hand.

His eyes gazed over the paper. Only a moment needed to pass for Zeara and Barnaby to realise something was wrong. Arick's face paled. His eyes widened. And the tremble in his entire body told Zeara everything she needed to know.

She snatched the note from his hand and read the words:

'Kindra sends her regards.'

Day Six.

The majority of the tributes were still reeling over past events. Some like Uriah were motivated to find the others, and some like Andryn had given in entirely to the flight concept. The more she ran, the more distance she put between her and the others.

The Gamemakers had a trick up their sleeve to spruce things up a bit. A drop of rain against skin had become a common occurrence in this Arena. In fact, each tribute was sure if they ever saw a sunny day again, it would feel alien.

But when the water slowly started to burn, they realised something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Acidic rain fell from the clouds and drove the tributes to run around like headless chickens. It wasn't meant to kill anyone. Merely give things a good kick up the backside towards the end of the Games.

However, there was one group the Gamemakers weren't through toying with. A wannabe rebel leader who couldn't hold together a picnic, let alone a whole revolution. The boy that had been pushed in the right direction and failed; an embarrassment. And then the other girl. The one who didn't know what to do any longer.

Arick, Zeara and Barnaby, as they ran around in circles, trying to find some way of holding off the acid rain, heard the ravenous sounds that they were all too familiar with.

The dogs, ribs poking through matted fur, snarling, teeth bared, saliva dripping to the ground, appeared round a corner. They'd been violent before, but this was something different entirely. Something far deadlier.

"We can't take them…" Zeara breathed out, terrified.

Arick assessed the situation as quickly as he could and nodded. "LET'S GO!"

The three of them retreated. The mutts were starving, however. Fast. Powerful. And with the Gamemakers pulling the strings, there was no way they would all get out of this alive. No way they could stop the pack as they ran for their meal.

Unless…

9th: Barnaby Miller, District Five Male.

Arick had been stunned by the note from last night. Yet he'd refused to give up. And mere moments before that, after Barnaby had tried to kill him, Arick had… let him be. In fact, rather than simply push him away, something he probably didn't deserve anyway, Arick had decided to allow him to stay in their alliance.

Barnaby was a monster. He wasn't a boy trying to survive no matter what. He was a monster. Arick was… Arick deserved to live.

He wouldn't let them die.

Barnaby grabbed hold of Zeara's arm. She was still angry. So, so angry. But she turned to look at him.

"Don't let him see… get out…" Barnaby's lip was trembling, his knees knocking together, as his sweaty hand struggled to keep hold of his knife. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… but this is how I'll make it up to you."

Zeara wanted to say something. But her tears betrayed her and before Arick could see what was about to happen, she nodded and continued to sprint behind her oblivious District partner.

Barnaby closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and took a deep breath.

When he opened them, he saw ten muttations from the pits of hell advancing on him. And as his heart threatened to burst from his chest, and his courage threatened to fall to pieces, Barnaby managed one last smile.

I deserve this.

Day Seven.

Arick still didn't know how to cope with what Barnaby had done for him yesterday. The Gamemakers seemed content to leave the two of them alone to their grief. He had failed. Failed everything.

He was nothing. And this time, he wouldn't fight against it.

Theon had been the most resourceful tribute during yesterday's events. The acid rain had barely made a mark on his outfit. Using supplies, his quick-thinking, and his determination to see this through to the end, he'd used the trench walls themselves and the structures that held them together to fashion some kind of shelter.

For today, he made the decision to rest, recuperate, and tomorrow he would set out and hunt. Then he would get these Games over and done with.

One tribute that refused to wait for his opportunity to find the other tributes was Uriah. He figured if he was going to wrap this up, the sooner the better.

Luckily for him, rather than endlessly searching the trenches for the remaining tributes, the Gamemakers also agreed that it was best for some more action. It would soon be time for a Victor to be decided. And since Uriah seemed the only one willing to really start things up again, they manipulated the Arena, leading him straight onto…

Andryn heard his footsteps from a mile away. She was out of her shelter as quick as lightning, tearing it apart with her arms as she bolted forwards, forsaking proper direction for a will to survive another day. Her cheer had gone. Her smile. Her everything. She'd even killed.

Right now, all she wanted was her home. Maybe there she'd find herself again. But to do that, it meant getting away from Uriah.

Only he was a Career, with the Gamemakers support, and Andryn was a girl that had killed, but hidden. A girl who wasn't what they were looking for.

8th: Andryn Vitalli, District Three Female.

He remembered what it had been like during the bloodbath to kill.

This time, when the chain wrapped round Andryn's legs and brought her down to the mud with a screech, he made no fancy talk, no apology, nothing but a quick twitch of the lips downwards, and he stood over her.

"P-Please…" Andryn tried to move but Uriah held her in place with his boot.

"PLEASE!"

All she'd wanted to do since being forced from her life was retain who she was. Laugh. Smile. Be a good friend. And everything had fallen apart. It wasn't fair.

Her next plea for mercy was cut short. He'd done it before and he was prepared to do it again. Uriah silenced her with a slash across the throat and that was that.

Andryn was dead. Uriah was determined to find someone else. And the Games lost another player.

Later that same day, Clytie had barely moved from where she'd finally collapsed after running away from Petra and Emigdio.

She'd let the rain burn her. She'd let the tears fall down her cheeks. She'd let the entire gravity of who she'd become encase her to the point where she simply… she simply wanted to…

No. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to give up. Clytie wanted to fight on, live a little longer, and make it home so she could maybe become the girl that had left the District those two weeks ago. That was what she wanted to do.

Of course being able to actually do it was another challenge entirely.

Rather than find another tribute, lure into a trap, and accept the fact that she had to kill them, Clytie was the one that ended up being seen by someone else.

For a moment she both hoped and feared that it would be Emigdio. She knew he'd never forgive her for what she'd done. In trying to make it a fair fight, she'd pushed him into a state that she'd only tried to defend herself against.

She should have just… just… died.

On the other end of the trench, Delora was thinking somewhere along the same lines. Clytie had to die. She didn't know her. She didn't know what she'd been through. Now with no allies, no friends, no nothing, she was just another tribute that had to be cut down.

Numbers, not humans. That was all it was. Victims, not people.

They all had to die.

7th: Clytie Torrence, District Nine Female.

And so Delora tried to do just that.

Clytie, finally, with her life flashing before her eyes, was spurred into action. She drove a foot out as Delora approached, way too close for her liking, and managed to trip her up.

Both girls had made alliances that they were close with. Both had been leaders. Both had tried to be friends and tributes that were willing to do what had to be done. And both had had to deal with allies that hadn't seen it from their perspective.

It was almost poetic in a way that it was these two fighting, one about to kill the other.

Clytie scrambled away, strangely calm actually, struggling to keep her feet on the ground as her pace quickened. Delora was even more determined, however. Whereas Clytie's actions were still weighing her down, Delora had dealt with insecurity and self-hatred all her life.

This was on a whole new level, but she was mentally stronger. And being mentally stronger, gave her that physical edge. An edge that was enough to bring her crashing into Clytie, tripping her up and sending her into the side of the trench wall.

Before the girl from Nine could do anything, Delora stabbed her in the chest and made it as quick as she could. Clytie's eyes slipped shut, now in peace, and as Delora heard heavy footsteps behind her, she ran away from the scene as quickly as she could.

She didn't see Emigdio reach Clytie's body. She didn't see the way his face went from total, unadulterated rage, to complete sorrow as he fell down and held her in his arms. He'd lost the two people he'd wanted to protect.

And he knew, he still knew, that if he wanted to protect the people that meant even more to him, they had to have died… but that didn't make it easier.

Nothing would ever make this easier.

Day Eight.

The eighth day of the Games was relatively peaceful.

Amongst the vast maze of trenches, Uriah, Theon and Delora were on the lookout for other tributes, and Emigdio sat with Clytie's dead body, refusing to move on just yet.

Just yet. As if the next hour he would, and then an hour passed, and he said another hour, on and on and on.

Arick, as he sat with Zeara under the downpour of rain, stared at the crumpled note in his hand. If Kindra was in fact dead, that meant his parents could be… everyone he'd come into contact with that knew of his mission could be. His… brother…

He couldn't think of a world where everyone he loved, even the people that had made him into this… toy... were dead. He wasn't sure he wanted to exist without people there to be by his side. He was a mistake. A nobody.

Arick was not a rebel. He wasn't anything.

Zeara looked at Arick, tearing up, crying, then trying to hold it together, only for it all to come crashing down.

She didn't know what to say, or do, or even think anymore. Barnaby was dead. And she knew, looking at this boy next to her, someone she cared about more than anyone in the world, except for her Father, that he was not the salvation this country was looking for.

Arick glanced down at the note. And then they met eyes, and Arick knew exactly what had to be done.

Zeara, at first, said nothing when he took out his knife. Her heart hammered in her ears, she wanted to hit it away, but she only watched with terrified curiosity as he turned to face her, smile from ear to ear, with tears in his eyes bringing out the beautiful brown shade that made Zeara's heart flutter.

She didn't see him that way. She didn't pretend he was anything else. But maybe, in another world, another time…

Only there wasn't such a thing. It was here and now. Here and now. And Arick had a knife.

He leant in, as if he was going to kiss her. She blushed when his lips moved closer for her ear, a strand of her hair tickling his cheek, but she was sure he wouldn't react to it.

"You need to kill me."

Zeara knew better than to pull away and shout. But she wanted to. She wanted to do so more than anything. However her desire to survive, the one thing that had been picking away at her ever since she'd met Arick, stopped her from doing so.

"I don't understand," she whispered back.

"Barnaby knew that if he killed me, they'd see him as less of a rebel accomplice, and more someone that simply wanted to survive. That's what they like in Victors. Someone that thinks small. Doesn't have a bigger picture in mind but the Games themselves."

"But…"

Arick shook his head, silencing her. "You've been in danger ever since you stepped in here, but it's not just you that's in trouble. Everyone you love. Or care about. Or even hate but know and don't want to die… they could by mere association with me. I realise that now. I'm not a hero. A saviour. My mere presence will bring destruction to anyone who comes into contact with me."

Zeara could hear him crying, yet she said nothing, letting him say the last thing he had to say. "I'm better off dead. And if you do it… I need you to do it. I want you to have a chance at winning. I want you to go home and have a life, and maybe one day, someone will come along that is better than me, that can rally the country, and then with you still alive… you'll get to live the life that was meant for me, but could never be mine."

She felt him slip the knife into her fingers. Zeara wanted to drop it. She wanted to let it go, fling him away, and run… run before she realised she had to do this… run before she realised… before she…

He kissed her on the cheek, pulled away, and before she could even think, the knife went into his ribs, up to the hilt, and he fell into her arms.

6th: Arick Greige, District Eight Male.

There would never have been a rebellion with Arick in control.

He'd known it. Zeara had known it. The Gamemakers had known it.

But he was now dead, Zeara had done it, and District Eight would forever be known as a place on par with Eleven that couldn't be trusted. The ramifications might live on for another decade, another fifty years, or maybe even another century.

But with his cannon in the sky, and Zeara's departure, there was one thing that everyone knew for certain, an absolute, something that couldn't ever be changed:

Arick Greige was dead.

Day Nine.

This was the final day of the Games.

With gunfire bursting out from the trench walls, spitting out from somewhere in the sky, and pitfalls in the flooring that threatened to engulf oblivious tributes entirely, the final five were pushed over the course of six hours back to the centre.

Uriah, from arrogant goofball, to a Career that refused to apologise for who he was, to someone who no longer needed to prove to the world that he was worthy. All he needed was his own self-belief. The world either cared or didn't care; it wasn't his problem.

Theon, a boy torn between refusing to be weak, refusing to accept someone's kindness, even though that was all he really craved, to a boy walking the path of redemption all the way back home, where he could make right the wrongs that had been left in his wake.

Zeara, against the world, with her little notebook, solitarily sitting on the bench, becoming best friends with a boy with the whole country weighing heavy on his shoulders, a girl that learnt to love, to care, to be a friend. A girl that learnt she could be weak and that it wasn't a bad thing.

Emigdio, a doting father, who formed an alliance with two people he knew he would protect through thick and thin. An alliance doomed to fail with his unwillingness to be a real tribute. He'd now lost the two of them. All he had left were his children, fuelling him on.

And finally Delora, a girl who constantly thought she was a nobody, who put that aside and tried to be a good friend to everyone. A girl who knew the costs of being in the Games, and had tried to find a balance between being a leader and a true companion. And now she was alone.

Uriah arrived at the Cornucopia first. He was the most willing to hunt, and in turn, the quickest to reach where he knew the Gamemakers intended him to be. It was strange being back here, but he had no time to dwell when Theon soon arrived after him.

With just the two of them next to the Cornucopia, mines still ready and waiting to be detonated, neither two wasted words, or wasted a second away from doing what had to be done.

Both were eager. Both were ready to see this to the end.

5th: Uriah Valore, District Two Male.

Theon parried Uriah's attack upwards and brought his fist out, catching him in the stomach. Doubled over, Uriah managed to twist out of reach and stop himself from being split shoulder to navel.

In retaliation, he managed to half wrap the chain round Theon's legs. He was a Career though. Much bigger. Stronger. His attempt at toppling him over didn't quite work. As the two Careers heard more movement, more tributes approaching, they paid the new arrivals no heed as they traded punches, rather than slashes with blades.

Theon almost tripped over. However he used the momentum forwards and brought his arm out, bringing Uriah down with him. Once in the mud, the two rolled around, nearly detonating a mine an inch or two from Theon's head.

Uriah wanted to win. Theon wanted to win. Both had their reasons, both had little to return to, but something to do once they got home.

When Uriah went to drive his fingers into Theon's eye sockets, the boy from Four brought his knee up into Uriah's stomach and threw him off from him.

At that second, he darted upwards and caught Uriah by the collar. One step back and Uriah would fall into a mine. Theon could feel Uriah's heartbeat, hear the fear in his ragged breathing. He didn't want to kill him. He didn't want to take another life.

But when he looked near to him, saw the ground was free of mines, he frowned and looked at Uriah, sadness in his eyes.

"No one will forget you. I promise."

He let go, Uriah fell backwards, and diving to the left, the explosion tore the boy from Two apart completely.

As the two Career boys had fought, Delora had arrived, soon followed by Emigdio who recognised her immediately as the girl who had killed Clytie. At the time, Emigdio had wanted to be the one to kill his former ally for what she'd done.

Now he only wanted her back. He wanted them both back.

Delora realised what he was about to do moments before he had the chance to do it. Her quick-thinking nature managed to keep her alive as he tried to slice her head from her shoulders. She wasn't as strong as Emigdio, and with an explosion that threatened to bring them both to the ground, she knew that if she gave him the chance, he'd easily overpower her.

So she had to be quick. And quick she was.

4th: Emigdio Santiago, District Eleven Male.

He saw his daughter. His son. His parents. His sister. His wife. And then Petra and Clytie.

He saw Fira.

He saw everyone he'd come into contact with.

And then he saw Delora, and before he could even attempt to cleave her in half, her lightning quick hands dodged the blows sent her way and brought the knife straight into his throat.

Each of the people he loved faded from view. All that was left was him. Him alone. The feeling of suffocating on his own blood, dying in the mud and pouring rain, with his killer already fleeing the scene.

He was alone.

And now he'd leave his family. They wouldn't have their father, his wife wouldn't have her husband. What kind of man was he? He could have… he could have won this. If he'd been willing to be the big bad wolf. The monster. The nightmare in the dark.

But he'd left it too late.

And now he paid the price.

The final three.

Theon, Zeara and Delora.

When Emigdio's cannon shattered the tense silence between the Career and the girl from Twelve, Zeara finally appeared, the same dogs that had hassled her the entire Games chasing from behind.

The moment she made it onto the minefield they gave up and scampered back into the Arena, never to be seen again. Their purpose was over.

Zeara had never had any contact with either of them. Theon a Career, and as far as she was aware, she had no idea what Delora might have done in this Arena. At first, she'd never even thought of her as a threat. Clearly she was.

All Delora could remember when she saw Theon was what he must have done to Nevaeh. It was obvious he'd killed her, the thing that had torn apart their alliance in a matter of minutes. The seed of doubt had been planted the moment Romina had appeared, but through Theon's actions, he'd been the water that had helped the flower to blossom.

And now, here they were.

"Ladies," Theon said.

Not with his usual swagger, or confidence, or sleazy charm. A simple statement. Almost a recognition of their talent. A sign of respect he had for them.

Zeara looked at Delora, Delora looked at Zeara, and though neither really knew anything about the other, they had one thing in common. They were outer-District girls forced into a game they'd never wanted to be a part of. A game that had killed their friends and made them do things that would, or already had changed them.

Theon had decided to be here.

The decision was easy.

Two versus one.

Now they were even.

3rd: Theon Devalera, District Four Male.

He'd known the second they'd made eye contact. And rather than feel angry at what they were doing, he felt silent admiration that they'd banded together to take him down.

Momentary pride that they thought of him as such a big threat, but that little blossom of old arrogance, the old Theon, was gone instantaneously. As much as he had no quarrel with either of them, this was the end, and he had a job to do.

He had to go home.

Zeara picked up a knife from the ground, and with limited experience through training during the Capitol, threw it at Theon. Bad aim. Or at least when he went to dodge it, that was what he'd believed. Bad aim. Nothing else behind it.

With him distracted, only two or three seconds before he gathered his senses back, Delora tried to ignore the horrible smell of charred Uriah, scattered through the grass, and dove straight for Theon, sword first.

It should have been easy. Theon was dealing with his own past, his own present, which would lead onto a new future. Delora was coping with the same thing. The two clashed, Theon almost disarmed the girl from Twelve, but Zeara was quick on the scene and cut open his side.

He bit down on his tongue and punched the girl from Eight square in the face. She staggered back, almost tripped into a mine, and instead fell into a pile of supply crates, cracking her head on the side and disappearing amongst the mass of wood.

Theon felt a pinprick of guilt, somewhere in his chest.

That was all Delora needed. Another second distraction, his eyes glanced sideways, and she slapped him across the cheek, caught him by surprise, and drove her sword up through his stomach and out through the top of his back.

Although his life faded in a second, for Theon it felt like a lifetime.

So many regrets. So many things he should have done, when he'd simply pushed, and pushed and pushed and made people hate him.

Now it was too late.

But maybe… maybe dying here, dying now, that was some kind of redemption. Some kind of apology. People would look at him, see a boy with the highest kill count, see a monster, but also… also see something behind that. Something in his eyes.

The real Theon.

The Theon he'd always wanted to be, yet never had the courage to accept.

She pulled the sword from his body, and without taking a moment to think, a moment to deal with how she felt, Delora marched straight over to the crates.

She just wanted it to be over. The quicker the better. Zeara had been… useful. But she wasn't a friend. She was what Delora's alliance had been all along, something Delora had pretended not to see. Or prolonged to accept. An asset. Someone she needed in the short run.

Zeara opened her eyes, groggy, a headache already pounding in her skull, but at exactly the right moment. She gasped out loud when she saw Delora's sword point coming straight for her face.

She scrambled sideways, toppling the crates over, and managed to dodge her fatal attack meant for her life.

Of course she should have known there wouldn't be a moment after Theon's death where she might have waited for Zeara to catch her breath. She almost felt angry. But then she remembered she would have done the same, she remembered where they were, how many were left, and what was about to happen.

Home. Home was so close, yet so very, very far away.

All she had to do was kill Delora. It sounded so simple. Yet it was maybe the hardest thing she would ever have to do. At least Arick had offered her the knife. Delora had her sword. She wouldn't go down easily.

With Delora eyeing Zeara up and down, trying to assess her next best move, Zeara held onto her knife, picked up a sword by her feet, and held on for dear life. She really had no idea what she was doing, and Delora probably had the brute force on a step above her, but through what she'd experienced, maybe she did have the advantage.

What would a Victor do…? What do I have to do to win?

Delora was a fast thinker. But Zeara could be too. Her eyes subtly flashed to Delora's position, then at a discarded piece of fruit by Zeara's own boot, and quickly, before the girl from Twelve could process what was happening, she threw it, arching it at an angle that collided with something just behind Delora.

It wasn't close enough to kill her, but when Emigdio's body was torn to shreds by the explosions, bits and pieces of him raining down from the sky, Zeara quickly charged the disorientated girl and slashed at her neck.

Delora wasn't ready to give up just yet. Not after finally accepting what had to be done, becoming the girl she hated about herself, and making it this far.

Their swords clashed, the sound of metal on metal ringing out, bitter to the ear, as Delora tried to swipe upwards and mess with Zeara's balance.

The girl from Twelve realised the ringing in her ears and the pain in her back were debilitating enough. She was technically physically stronger than Zeara, but now they were on the same level. Maybe she was even lower. That would be a problem. It was a problem.

Delora swept out her foot, catching Zeara by surprise. The girl from Eight gasped when her head connected with the mud. Delora kicked out and the tip of her toes smashed into Zeara's nose, bone shattering, and blood dousing outwards like a jet.

Zeara screamed, hot tears in her eyes, red pulsating inside her skull. But she didn't give up. Not when she thought of Travis, of Barnaby, and of Arick. Delora tried to bring her sword downwards, but Zeara grappled with Delora's legs, dodging the blow, trying to bring the girl down to her level.

Putting all her body weight into it, Delora finally fell, her sword miraculously still grasped in her hand as the two girls tried to push themselves back up into a standing position before the other.

As Zeara scrambled over Delora's legs, trying to use her as a way of gaining an advantage first, Delora viciously lashed out with her foot and hit her broken nose once more, bringing Zeara down with a pained, agonized scream.

The girl from Twelve clawed her way through the mud an inch away, then stood up. Zeara did the same in the other direction, and opposite one another, with swords out, one bloody-faced, the other with a missing ear that felt like a lifetime ago, they charged, ready to bring the Games to an end.

Ready to win, and one of them about to die.

2nd: Zeara Kadnell, District Eight Female.

Their swords met for the final time.

Zeara tried to gain the advantage. Delora did the same.

Both had a dead alliance, a dead group of friends acting as a joint motivation, and a curse that threatened to disintegrate their will to survive.

From two normal girls, one friendly, one not so friendly, to two tributes, dealing with the Games, dealing with death and pain and everything else, this was their final clash.

Their final moment.

Zeara continued to push on Delora's blade, trying the same thing, but to no avail.

Delora thought of the bodies around her. The charred bits of tributes, the blood, the gore, the bone, the everything that had become a part of the very earth.

This wasn't a fair game. This was a game of bad people willing to do bad things. Or good people who had to be bad. Or maybe good and bad had never existed. Maybe it was only people.

She spat.

One single act, something so simple, and Zeara's grip on her sword faltered, as she was blinded for a fraction of a second.

That was enough.

Delora exerted her muscles until she thought they would burst from her skin, her bones would crack, and she'd fall apart.

Zeara's sword slipped, Delora followed through with the movement, and the point of her blade went straight through Zeara's neck and out the other end.

This time Zeara spat, a bubble of blood as she tried to say something. Delora blinked away the red as she watched the girl before her very eyes fall to the ground, with her blade in her neck, dead before she could hit the mud.

Twenty-three were gone. The Games were over.

1st: Delora Verone, District Twelve Female.

No bad, no good.

She was just Delora.

Delora from District Twelve who had tried to be a friend, a tribute, and a leader for an alliance that had been doomed to fail since she'd introduced herself to Audria and Nevaeh.

Now it was her and her alone.

Not Delora the friend.

Not Delora the leader.

Not even Delora the tribute.

She was Delora the survivor.

Delora; Victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games.

If you want the results of the Victor's poll, they're on my profile. And the blog will have the updated placements sooner or later!

Anyway…

Well, that's my first proper summary I've ever done. I loved it. I hated it. I'm not sure what I feel about it, all I know is that I had to do it, and that I don't regret my decision.

I've been on this website for over four years, and started writing about three years ago. I've completed SYOTS. I've failed SYOTS. I've started collabs, and though they never worked, I made some of my closest friends through making the decision to start them up and see where they took me.

And now I'm nineteen, I'm about to start university (I know I was last year, but stuff happened and well… yeah I'm about to restart after it didn't go to plan) and I've realised that after all this time, fanfiction just isn't the same to me anymore.

It will always mean a lot, but writing wise, I'm just not there anymore. I want a career that has something to do with writing. But that means starting my own original pieces, not this. Fanfiction was a great learning curve, I've genuinely improved from the shite I used to write, but I can't do it any longer.

I think it's important to stop when you know it's the right thing to do, and not carry on doing something you know isn't what you want to be doing anymore. I'm not leaving fanfiction. I'll still be reading. I'll still be submitting (somewhat). And I'll still be reviewing.

And who knows, maybe at some point I might write something, but it will never be another solo SYOT. I can't do those any longer. My main priority is now my own writing.

So yeah, don't take this as one of those goodbye messages because I'm still here, still checking fanfiction religiously, I just won't be doing this part any longer. The SYOT writing part. Who knows if I'll consider some sort of collab arrangement, you never know, but writing by myself takes up too much time and I need to be doing other things.

I'll say a big thank you to everyone that submitted to this story, read, reviewed, followed, favourited, whatever you did, it made this story possible and got me to this point.

A massive congratulations to Cloe and another thanks for submitting Delora. I went from honestly struggling so much with her first POV, to falling in love by the second, and seeing so much potential. She was amongst maybe three or four others that could have reached this point, but I know I've made the right decision!

What you read here is the plan I had before I decided on a summary. It hasn't been tailored to suit this kind of structure. The plotlines are just condensed versions of what you would have read in full had I carried on.

So yeah…

Although I'm still here and not going anywhere, in terms of writing my own SYOTs, I want to say a massive thank you to all of you. Three years and you helped bring me to this stage! I've made such good friends and met such lovely people, and over the three years though I might have felt like stopping a lot earlier than this, it's because of you I kept on going and you've honestly helped with my writing, and just helped in general, so thank you!

(I'm honestly not disappearing so I don't know why this sounds like a goodbye.)

Yeah. So no more SYOTs from moi. Maybe a collab if the opportunity is there and I have the time and dedication. But really, writing wise, I'm pretty sure I'm done. Reading, submitting, reviewing, PM'ing, whatever-ing, I'm there! Just this is no longer what I want to be doing.

Goodbye Hideaway, and thanks to everyone who actually got this far (fuck me this was a big chapter… I'm probably just talking to myself at this point.)

Bye!

(It wouldn't be a proper send off from Jake, if I wasn't being a review whore ;D This is my last chance, so hey! This was a long chapter, and I'd really appreciate it if whoever is reading this said something, long or short (preferably with something to do with the summary ;o) It would mean the world. Thanks!)