The 25th Hunger Games

The Final Battle

Getting on to the pillar, I did another check for Ciruss. Again, he was nowhere to be seen. Where was he hiding? Was it possible he was still trying to avoid me?

It was probably for the best. Being in the water for so long messed up any preparations I had made to fight. My weapons weren't even drawn. My rib bandages were coming undone and likely would be far less effective since they were soaking wet. Trying to fix this, I adjusted the bandages as best I could and got out Emmit's trident. For now, I slipped my knife into the waistband of my shorts. The location was easy enough to access in most situations.

Another wave of tiredness hit me, and even waiting around felt like too much effort. How were the people of the Capitol not sick of this by now? Was this singular battle really all they were waiting for?

With no other options, I waited. I knew at some point a body would have to come floating by. What would I do when Ciruss did get here? Kill him as soon as possible, hopefully.

The fires still blazed around me, far too close for comfort. I wondered if they would come in handy at any point. Maybe Ciruss would just set me on fire. That was an interesting way to die, to say the least.

My thoughts continued to swirl, but everything came to a halt when I saw a figure standing a few pillars away. My vision of the boy was blurring through flames, so I couldn't be sure I was really seeing it. I assumed it was real when he bent down and leaped back into the waves.

Emmit's trident in my hand, I stood rigid. I aimed it at the water, unsure of what I expected to happen. I felt like I was trying to catch a fish. Remain still until it comes to the surface. And then...

There was a splash behind me. With no one to watch my back, I hadn't expected my enemy to take a different route. Unsure of how much time I had, I ducked, arms protecting my head. Hunched in a ball, I waited.

Instead of a knife flying over my head, or even at me, there was only laughter. Slowly rising to my feet, I turned and faced my enemy. He was throwing his head back, laughing at me.

Ciruss did not look how I remembered him. Even seeing him from afar at the feast, he looked better than he did now. Hair still wet, darker than before, sticking up at every angle. His eyes were hollow, like he hadn't slept in weeks. It wouldn't surprise me if he really hadn't.

Even his clothes were dirty and ripped. His hands, carrying a sword, were shaking, but maybe that was a result of his laughter. I wondered what happened to him. Emmit hadn't spoken of him like this at all. I was sure he would've mentioned it.

Maybe this was what happened when everyone you really loved was killed.

Maybe you laugh at their murdered as you plan to get your revenge. Maybe you start to act suicidal and don't take an open shot when you have one.

I guess he knew and I didn't.

Whatever might've been going through his head, it was cut off very quickly. He stopped laughing, and his gaze instantly became much sharper. I tried to match the look, but I was filled was a sudden sense of unease. It felt like nothing was in my favor. How would I ever win?

And yet I was so close, had made it so far. How could I afford not to try when one person was standing in the way of me and going home?

So I did what I had to, having Emmit's trident ready. Neither of us willing to make the first move, we were squared off.

I felt like one of the announcers, running off our statistics. I was 130 pounds, probably less than that by now. He was probably close to 175, all tight packed muscle. We were both trained, but so were many others that were dead. He clearly had more training with his weapon than I did. Tridents were still hard to use, in my opinion.