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Without hesitation, (M/N) untied the rope from his waist, shoved everything into his bag, hoisted it onto his back, and jumped straight out of the tree, landing awkwardly on his ankle. He hissed at the pain but didn't give it a second thought as he began sprinting.
Everything around him was on fire, smoke wafting through the air was making it hard to breathe. (M/N) constantly had to avoid burning branches as they broke away from trees and showered down around him, exploding into sparks as they collided with the ground. (M/N) did his best to follow the wild animals that were also fleeing from the flames. He trusted their sense of direction since their instincts were a lot better than his. Though it was a struggle to keep up with them as they greatly outmatched him in speed.
The smoke continued to get worse, causing him to start coughing as well as making the path ahead of him harder to see. The heat was already unbearable, (M/N) felt like he was in an oven. He pulled his shirt up over his nose, grateful when he realised it was soaked in sweat, which provided a thin layer of protection. He continued to run, his bag smashing against his back, his face getting cut by branches that appeared from the grey haze without warning.
There was no way this was a tribute campfire gone out of control, or any accidental occurrence for that matter. The wall of flames that came down upon him had unnatural height and uniformity. They were made by the gamemakers. Things had been too quiet recently. There were no deaths, maybe no fights at all. The audience back at the Capital would be getting bored, claiming that these games were currently very dull, which is something the games must not do.
(M/N) didn't need to guess what the gamemakers' motivations were. There was the career pack and then there were the rest of the tributes, spread out far and wide across the arena. He could tell the fire was designed to drive them together. It wasn't the most original device (M/N) had seen, but it was certainly effective.
Suddenly (M/N) heard a groaning sound coming from behind him, without stopping, he turned his head towards the source of the noise, only for his vision to be obscured by the wall of flames. He heard it again, and saw something move inside the fire, but before he could give it any further thought, his foot snagged a tree log and he harshly fell face first into the ground.
(M/N) quickly regained his senses and got up, only taking one or two seconds to let the dizziness pass, and during that brief period, he finally got a good look at the stampede of flames that were relentlessly chasing after him. He could very clearly make out what appeared to be a giant pair of eyes peering down at him.
He heard the groan again, and realised it was coming from said flames, which were rapidly closing in on the little amount of distance (M/N) had gained. He turned around and legged it.
The hell is that? I've never seen anything like it before, (M/N) thought as he ran blindly through the smoke. He summarised it as one of the gamemakers new inventions, though he very much didn't appreciate being their test subject for it.
He could imagine how funny it must have been for the audience back at the Capitol. (M/N) the boy on fire, being chased by a giant wall of living fire. Oh the irony.
(M/N)'s throat and nose felt like they were burning, his lungs being cooked from the inside. He went to readjust his shirt back over his nose but stopped when he felt a sharp pain from the contact. He decided to leave it be for the moment and figure it out later, that is, if he wasn't burned alive first.
It became harder and harder for (M/N) to breathe as he continued to run. It started out as major discomfort, but now each breath brought searing pain. He took cover under a large stone protruding from the hill just as the vomiting began. Everything he had ingested earlier came up and onto the ground in front of him.
He stayed there, hunched over, dry heaving as there was nothing else left to come out. After a few seconds it finally stopped. He leaned back against the stone, taking in shaky breaths while waiting for the lightheadedness to pass. He knew he should be moving, but if he stood up he would most likely pass out, so he decided to give himself one minute to recover. During that time he reorganised the supplies that he had carelessly shoved into his bag before.
(M/N) hadn't been in this part of the forest before, since there were no large rocks like the one he was resting on during his previous travels.
Where are the gamemakers driving me? Back towards the lake? To a new terrain filled with dangers? (M/N) didn't fully understand their intentions, but he knew whatever they were, they weren't good. He probably wouldn't be able to make it back to the pond, not with the wall of fire at least. But it would have to come to an end at some point, not because the gamemakers wouldn't be able to keep it fueled, but because they'd receive accusations of boredom from the audience.
(M/N) decided he would try to loop back around, though it would require miles of travel away from the inferno.
His plans were cut short when a fireball blasted into the rock about half a metre above his head, (M/N) leaped out from under the stone, energised by new fear. It was then that he understood the fire was just to get them moving, but now the audience would get to see some real fun.
As soon as he heard the next hiss, he dived to the ground, just in time to hear it fly over his head and into a nearby tree, sending it up in flames. He was already on his feet as soon as it passed over him, not even two seconds later, another fireball hit the ground where he previously was.
(M/N) could do nothing but desperately try to dodge every fireball sent his way, he didn't know where they were being launched from. They would come from the side, directly in his path, and from behind.
Years of watching the Hunger Games let (M/N) know that certain areas of the arena were rigged for certain attacks, so if he could just get away from this section, he would be out of reach of the launchers, wherever they were.
(M/N) didn't know how long he spent dodging and weaving incoming fireballs, but at some point the attacks began to slow down, which was good for him because he had started retching again. (M/N) was forced to stop as his body convulsed, desperately trying to rid itself of the fumes he'd been inhaling the entire time. Even in this painful state, he made sure to keep all his senses on high alert, waiting for the next hissing noise to fill his ears, but it didn't come.
(M/N) stood there, hunched over with his face scrunched up as he tried to regain control over his body, to stop retching, to be able to breathe, when his ears registered the hissing.
His muscles reacted, though not fast enough, as a fireball slammed into the ground directly next to him, but not before it grazed across his right calf. He shouted and dropped to the ground, rolling his leg back and forth which stifled most of the fire, but in his state of panic he ripped away the remaining fabric with his bare hands.
(M/N) sat there, a few metres from the blaze set off by the fireball. His calf was screaming and his hands were covered in red welts. He was shaking too hard to move, if the gamemakers wanted to finish him off, that would have been the perfect time.
(M/N) could only imagine what a good laugh they must've been having. Perhaps Keigo's amazing costumes had brought on this particular punishment for him. Though (M/N) knew he couldn't have foreseen this. He believed that Keigo really did care about him.
Maybe showing up completely naked in that chariot would have been safer for me...
The attack seemed to be over. The gamemakers didn't want him dead, not yet anyway. It was common knowledge that they could destroy everyone within seconds of the opening bell. The real fun in the Hunger Games however, was watching the tributes kill each other. Every so often they would kill off a tribute or two just to remind the players that they can. But they mostly just manipulate them into confronting each other face to face. Which meant, since (M/N) was no longer being fired at, there was at least one other tribute nearby.
He wanted to drag himself into a tree and take refuge. But the smoke was still too thick for him to see anything. (M/N) forced himself to stand before limping away from the wall of flames. It didn't seem to be following him anymore, which was a good sign.
He really hoped there wasn't a tribute lurking around the corner, or directly in front of him. He wouldn't be able to tell either way due to the smoke completely obscuring his vision. If there was, he would be as good as dead, since his hands were in too much pain for him to hold his knife in hopes of defending himself. But the pain he felt in his hands couldn't compare to that of the pain in his calf. He would say it felt like it was on fire as an exaggeration, but that analogy felt pretty accurate, since it was just on fire.
(M/N) was so tired he didn't notice he was ankle deep into a pool of water. He submerged his hands into the cool water and instantly felt relief. He remembered his mother telling him that the first treatment for a burn is cold water. But she meant minor burns, it was good for his hands, but he wasn't so sure it would do anything for his calf. He had not yet mustered the courage to check it, but he knew at the very least it was an injury in a whole different class.
(M/N) rested on his stomach at the edge of the pool for a while, making sure he kept his hands in the water. His face had felt wet this entire time, but it wasn't the same feeling as sweat. He brought the back of his hand to his upper lip and then retracted it, only to see it covered in blood.
Must've been from when I tripped over the log, doesn't seem to be any permanent damage, I should be fine.
(M/N) bathed the rest of the blood and ash from his face as he tried to recall everything he knew about burns. They were pretty common injuries in the Seam, where they cooked and heated their homes with coal. Then there were the mine accidents...
(M/N) remembered a time when a family brought an unconscious young man to his mother, begging her to help him. The doctor who was responsible for treating the miners had already written him off, telling the family to take him home to die, but they wouldn't accept that.
They had laid him down on the kitchen table, and (M/N) caught a glimpse at the wound on his thigh. Seeing the gaping, charred flesh, burned clear down to the bone had him running out of the house and into the woods, hunting the whole day. Haunted by what he had seen, and memories of his father's death.
What surprised (M/N) though, was that Eri, who was scared of her own shadow, stayed and helped. His mother had told him that healers were born, not made. But even though they tried, they were not able to save the man.
(M/N)'s leg was in desperate need of attention, but he was still too scared to look at it. What if it was as bad as the man's and he could see the bone? He then remembered his mother saying that if a burn was severe, the victim might not feel any pain because the nerves would be destroyed. Encouraged by this, (M/N) sat up and swung his leg in front of him.
He almost passed out at the sight of his calf. The flesh was bright red and covered with blisters. He quickly forced himself to take deep, slow breaths, feeling certain that there were cameras on his face. He didn't want to show weakness so as not to deter any potential sponsors. Pity didn't get people aid in the games. Admiration at their refusal did.
(M/N) cut off his trouser leg up to just above the injury and examined it more closely. The burn was about the size of his hand. None of the skin was blackened. He didn't think it would be too bad to put into the water. He slowly lowered his leg into the pool, and sighed in relief as it did help to somewhat alleviate the pain.
He knew there were herbs that would speed up the healing, if he could find them. But he couldn't remember them at the moment, so water and time were all he had to work with.
(M/N) knew he should be moving on. The smoke was slowly clearing but it was still too thick to be healthy, and if he continued on away from the fire, he'd most likely run face first into the weapons of the careers. Either way, he couldn't keep his leg out of the water, since every time he lifted it out, the pain came back so intensely he had to put it back in. His hands weren't as demanding, so they could handle small breaks from the pool.
He refilled his water bottle, after he downed the entire thing within a few minutes, and treated it. Once enough time passed, he allowed himself to slowly drink some more, as well as nibbling on a cracker, which helped to settle his stomach.
Despite the pain, he began to feel drowsy. He wanted to find a tree and get some rest, but he'd be too easy to spot. Besides, leaving the pool seemed like an impossible task. (M/N) spent a good chunk of the day sitting in the pool, not knowing what to do.
Where would I go that's any safer than here anyway?
He leaned back against the ledge, overcome by drowsiness.
If the careers want me, let them find me. He thought as he drifted off to sleep.
That, however, proved to be a bad thought, as (M/N) was later awoken from his slumber by the sound of footsteps. It only took him a split-second to understand what was going on, but before he could figure out where they were, or if they had seen him, he heard someone shouting.
"There he is!"
Shit.
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