Day 5 - A World of Hurt
“Just a little farther.” Jean promised. Mantis trailed behind her. The morning air was cool on her skin, but the tough fabric of her uniform still rubbed hard against the burns.
Mantis couldn’t take it anymore. She stopped walking, crossing her arms and waiting impatiently for Jean to acknowledge her. Jean continued on for only a second before stopping. She turned around.
Mantis’s feet were firmly planted on the forest floor. Jean regarded her for a long moment before sighing. “What’s wrong?” She asked kindly
“I want Carol.” The thirteen-year-old declared.
“Mantis…” Jean trailed off, obviously unsure of what to say.
“I want her.” Mantis insisted obstinately.
Jean knelt down in front of her. “Carol’s gone, sweetheart.” She admitted. It wasn’t news to either of them; they’d both known it was true, even before her face had been broadcast in the sky for the past two nights.
Mantis’s lip wobbled. “I know. Doesn’t stop me from wanting her.”
Jean sighed again. “I want her, too. But she would want us to go on, to keep fighting. She would want me to keep you safe.”
Mantis’s felt her lip trembling again, and then she burst into tears as she practically threw herself into Jean’s arms. Jean held her tightly, and Mantis internally chided herself. Jean, at this point, had been looking after her for longer than Carol. But that didn’t change the fact that it was Carol who had first approached her in training, Carol who had sat with her at meals so she wouldn’t be alone, and Carol who had carried her away from the bloodbath when she had frozen up at the first sign of violence. She felt guilty for comparing the two of them, but she couldn’t help it. Carol’s last moments, screaming as the shrapnel hit her and then being enveloped by flame, haunted her dreams at night.
As Mantis’s sobs quieted down, she couldn’t help but notice that Jean was tense. “What’s- hic- wrong?” She asked.
“It’s quiet.” Jean breathed in her ear, not moving a muscle. “Too quiet.”
Mantis thought about it. Jean had shared her theories, the previous day, that the fire had been partially controlled by the Gamemakers. Stark’s device had started it, to be sure, but it had blazed too bright and moved in all the wrong directions. Almost as if it was herding them somewhere… and wherever the Gamemakers wanted to lead them, that was not where Mantis wanted to be. They had spent most of the past day just walking, doing their best not to follow the direction that the fire had guided them during the night.
There were only, by her count, seven tributes left. Most of them at this point would be hardened killers. If one of them came across Mantis and Jean in this state… the burns they could work through, but the emotional scars left by Carol’s death were still raw.
She let go of Jean, straightening up as she surveyed the forest. Jean stood up next to her, a hand going to her knife. Mantis took a deep breath before nodding. “Right.” She whispered. “Let’s keep moving.”
Thor trampled over the bracken, fully intent on finding Jane’s killer. His insides felt like they were on fire, but he paid no attention to the pain. If he was going to die, he was going to go out fighting. He was going to get his revenge.
He barely even noticed as another cannon went off. He already knew whose it was. He had stumbled over Gert’s body during the night and he had known that death was coming for her soon. From the looks of it, she had been poisoned by the same thing as he and Jane. To be honest, he was surprised she had held out as long as she had.
It was sheer luck that led him to Erik’s camp. The older tribute was scrambling up, legs stuck in his sleeping bag, when Thor laid eyes on him. He bellowed in rage.
“You!” He bellowed. “It was you!”
Erik didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t know what Thor meant. “I thought you’d be dead by now.” He said instead, now fully out of his sleeping back and backing away from the enraged blonde.
Thor let out another roar, lunging forward and wrapping his hands around Erik’s throat. To his credit, Erik did put up a fight, lashing out at Thor with a sharpened knife. It cut into his flesh but he ignored it, only tightening his grip.
Erik’s face was turning purple from lack of oxygen. He dropped the knife, reaching up in a desperate attempt to pry Thor’s fingers away. After a few seconds, even that failed, and his body went limp.
It was only after the cannon sounded that Thor dropped the body. Almost immediately, he fell to his knees. His mission was accomplished. He had avenged Jane’s death.
With that thought in mind, Thor Odinson lay down to die.
Karolina Dean was having a bad day. Well, to be perfectly honest, it had been a whole series of bad days. Far from how they’d started the games- heavily armed and loaded down with supplies, with a safe camp and numerous allies to boot- she was all alone, unarmed except for her sword, and with no food or water beyond what she could scavenge. Which wasn’t much; she had spent most of her training learning to fight, not forage for food, and she didn’t trust herself not to accidentally poison herself.
Right now, all she wanted to do was find a place to lay down and sleep. She had barely gotten any rest the night before, desperately running through what she knew of the other tributes and how she might defend against them. Gert wouldn’t attack her, but Eric Lehnsherr? Thor? Either one of them could probably knock her out with one punch. Okoye knew how to handle a spear, as she’d demonstrated in training. Karolina wasn’t sure what Jean Gray could do, but she’d made it to the final seven, so she had to be good at something. It was the same with Mantis. A scrawny thirteen-year-old couldn’t have made it this far without something truly devious up her sleeve, and Karolina did not want to be the one to find out what it was.
She trudged though the forest, keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble. She was back in the main part of the woods, far from the rocks hills where they’d made their camp. The trees were thick on either side of her, but she navigated between their trunks as best she could.
She tripped on a tree root. Wiping dirt out of her mouth as she struggled back to her feet, she wondered how long she had been without water. Too long, clearly. Her head was spinning.
“You’re going to die.” Nico’s voice whispered helpfully in her mind. “You have to find water.”
“Shut up,” she grumbled, not caring at this point what the Capitol thought of her. “I’m trying.”
Nico’s voice was silent.
“Great.” She muttered to herself. “Hearing voices, now, Karolina? Talking to ghosts? Get a grip.”
She sat down at the base of a tree, closing her eyes as she tried to steady her breathing. If she could just find water, she could make it. There had to be a river in this place somewhere.
Leaves rustled to her right. She didn’t bother getting up, not caring enough to check whether it was a tribute or an animal. Either way, they were welcome to finish her off. She was just so thirsty…
“Don’t give up.” Nico whispered to her. “There’s only four of them left.”
That was true. With the two cannons she’d heard that morning, it was down to the final five tributes.
“What should I do?” She asked, hating herself for sounding so weak. Nico wasn’t here, she couldn’t be here, because Nico was dead. But her voice sounded so clear, just like Karolina remembered it, that she couldn’t suppress that spark of hope.
The rustling leaves were getting closer. They were now joined by light footsteps on the forest floor, almost too quiet for to hear.
“You know what you have to do.”
Karolina shook her head even as she forced herself to stand up. “No. No, I won’t do it.” She whimpered. “I can’t.”
She could see them now, two tributes doing their best to move unseen among the trees. Her vision was blurry now, spotted with black. She wouldn’t last much longer like this.
“Kill them.” Nico’s voice whispered. “You have to kill them.” Where once it had been kind, now it was cruel. There was a hard edge to it that didn’t sound familiar, didn’t sound like the Nico she’d known. But it was still Nico…. Karolina made up her mind.
Raising her sword with weary arms, she took a deep breath and charged.
Jean hadn’t seen it coming. She didn’t know Karolina was there until it was too late. For that, she would always hate herself.
The blonde girl charged out of the trees, hair a tangled mess, eyes sunken back into her head. She looked half-mad, the sword in her hands hefted over her head.
She brought it down, screaming with rage, as Jean’s eyes widened in fear. She grabbed Mantis’s arm, yanking her out of the way of the sword. The metal, which had been aimed at her head, still hit flesh; it sunk into Mantis’s shoulder and glanced off of her collarbone.
She screamed, blood splattering the leaves around them.
Jean saw red. Karolina was going for another swing, this time aimed at Jean herself. She pushed it away with both hands, hissing as the blade sliced her palms open, and leapt at Karolina.
Her hands pressed against Karolina’s face, leaving bloody handprints on the pale flesh. The blonde’s head slammed into a tree and she grunted in pain. The sword came up again, its point digging into Jean’s thigh, but she pressed onward. Her fingernails sunk into Karolina’s cheeks, drawing blood.
Karolina shoved back with unexpected strength. Jean stumbled away, dizzy, as she reached for her knife. Mantis was still on the ground, whimpering in pain as the two older girls fought above her.
Karolina charged again. Jean tensed herself, ready to dodge, but she needn’t have bothered. The other girl tripped over Mantis’s prone body, sending her sprawling onto the ground. Her sword fell out of her hands, and Jean kicked it away.
Karolina looked up at her with sunken, bloodshot eyes. Jean didn’t give her a chance to speak, aiming a sharp kick to her ribs. She fell backwards, and Jean kicked her again. Then one more time, just for good measure, as the blonde girl moaned in pain.
Jean reached for the sword. She fumbled with it at first, not sure how to deal with the unexpected weight. But Karolina was already down, and it didn’t take much effort to slide the sharp metal neatly between her ribs.
She coughed, and blood bubbled up between her lips. She drew a single, raspy breath, and then she was still.
A few seconds later, a cannon sounded. Jean dropped the sword and collapsed to the ground beside Mantis.
“Mantis, sweetheart, it’s okay.” She promised, brushing the hair out of the other girl’s eyes. “You’re gonna be alright now.”
Mantis shook her head, a wracked sob leaving her body. “Not… good.” She whimpered. “Hurts, Jean.”
Jean wiped her tears with the back of her hand, leaving blood smeared there in its wake. “I know it hurts. But you’re safe now, I promise.”
Mantis shook her head again, weaker this time. “Jean… please, Jean.”
Jean sobbed again. There was too much blood. She didn’t know how to fix it. “I’m trying, Mantis.” She promised again, pulling off her own jacket and pressing it to the girl’s wound. “I’ll take care of you.”
“I’m scared.” Mantis choked out. “It hurts. Please.”
Jean’s heart stopped. She wasn’t asking for Jean to help her. She was asking for… well, for something Jean didn’t think she had the strength to do. “I can’t. Please don’t make me do that.” She begged.
“Please.” Mantis said again, this time a mere whimper.
Jean took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do. She pulled out her knife, holding it with a shaky hand. “Say hi to Carol for me.” She whispered. “And tell Scott I love him.”
“I will.” Mantis promised.
Jean pressed a soft, sad kiss to the other girl’s forehead. Then she lifted the knife to Mantis’s neck and pressed down, hard.
At the beginning of the day, there had been seven tributes. One by one, their cannons had sounded, marking the end of another teen’s life. And, by Okoye’s count, that meant there were only two left.
Well. Two other than her, that is. She had never really considered this possibility. From the moment her name had been drawn, she had put all of her energy into protecting T’Challa. He was her friend, after all, and he had a family that needed him to come home. His father had died only the past year, and she wasn’t sure his mother and sister could handle another loss. So she hadn’t gone into the Games expecting that she would end up, not only outliving T’Challa, but making it to the final three without him.
The southwest quadrant of the arena had been on fire for days. She wasn’t sure what started it, but the sky in that direction was clouded with a thick black smoke. Since it had appeared, the cloud of smoke hadn’t moved, but now it seemed to be heading her way.
She cursed and began walking faster, tightening her grip on her spear. It seemed that the Gamemakers wanted to hurry up a confrontation. Well, she was well-rested and well-fed; this time, the odds were in her favor.
Only a few minutes after she noticed this, another cannon went off. It was down to the final two, then. She wondered briefly which of her fellow tributes she would have to face.
It wasn’t long after this before the fire caught up to her. Almost before she knew what was happening, it spread through the trees surrounding her, and she choked on the sudden influx of smoke. She stumbled forwards, desperately trying to get away from the flames, and within minutes she found herself within a small clearing. It couldn’t have been more than ten feet across.
On the other side, another figure stumbled out into the clearing. It took a moment to recognize her, the fiery red hair standing out less against the backdrop of, well, actual fire. Jean Grey.
Her face was smeared with soot and there were half-healed burns marring her skin. The poor girl’s clothes seemed to be covered in dried blood. Still, Okoye didn’t allow herself to spend time pitying her. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down, not now when she was so close victory.
“A battle, then?” Okoye asked her, holding her spear ready. “To the death?”
Jean eyed her warily. “I’ve faced worse than you today.” She said, pausing to cough partway through. “I think I can handle it.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Okoye agreed. “Just out of curiosity, how many have you killed?”
“Three.” Jean told her. “And it’s about to become four.”
Okoye nodded, and without another word she sprang into action. She thrust her spear forward, sidestepping as Jean parried it with a sword. “The Romanoff girl deserved to die.” She said as they danced. “Can you say the same for yours?”
Jean hesitated, only barely managing to dodge Okoye’s next attack. “No.” She admitted, her eyes reflecting the light of the fire. “Do any of us?”
Okoye had to concede her point. She was done talking after that, focusing instead on the battle before her. Jean was quickly tiring, and Okoye knew it she’d be able to finish it soon.
Suddenly, Jean lunged forwards. She dropped the sword, instead lashing out at Okoye with a small knife. Taken by surprise, Okoye didn’t block it in time. The blade sunk deep into her stomach and she gasped in pain. Jean took a step back
A better fighter would have taken advantage of that opening. But Jean was tired and weak, and she had only had a few days of training before being thrown into the arena. Okoye recovered from the wound enough to throw her spear.
Jean’s eyes widened in surprise as the spear hurtled towards her. She had no time to block it, and Okoye watched as it pierced her chest and sent her stumbling backwards. The point of the spear embedded itself in one of the trees surrounding the clearing, and Jean screamed as the wall of fire surrounding them suddenly found a new source of fuel. Okoye fell to her knees as the smell of burning flesh filled her nose, but she couldn’t look away.
She didn’t know how long it took for Jean’s screams to stop, or how long after that the cannon went off. All she knew was Jean’s eyes, wide and accusing, locked onto hers as fire consumed her body.
She’d won. But this didn’t feel like a victory at all.