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╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
know no mercy
volume two; murder
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝
To his left was the boy from district 10. To his right, the girl from five. Neither were threats and he takes notice of the way the female faces away from the cornucopia. She was slim and balanced on the tip of her toes, he knew she would be fast, faster than him. By the time he reached the cornucopia she would be long gone. There was nothing memorable about the boy, whether he lived past the bloodbath did not matter to Cato.
His eyes skimmed the circle of tributes searching for his allies. Naturally, he found Coral first. She was about a four tributes away from him with her eyes trained on the cornucopia. With nothing to fear from the careers she would run straight into the carnage. The warning of his mentor was ringing in his ears.
People have been comparing Coral to Elora. They are too similar for my liking. Too alike. You can't trust her.
He locates Marvel next, who is conveniently on the pedestal next to Coral. He is scanning the circle of tributes, but not looking for allies. Cato watches as his eyes linger on the boy from four. Beckett Reed. He is small, with a head full of curls and plump cheeks. Cato hates the way Marvels eyes glimmer at the prospect of young blood. He wonder if Elora is close to the boy the same way she is with Coral. He wonders how much his death will hurt her.
He can't find Clove no matter how much he looks for her. He figures she is on the other side of the cornucopia, blocked from his vision. He doesn't have to worry about her. She can take care of herself.
He doesn't bother looking for Glimmer. An involuntary shiver runs down his spine when he thinks of the way she clings to him, no matter how many times he pushes her off. She needs to stop flirting with him now that she knows about Elora. Now that Elora is watching. The idea of watching another man flirt with her on live television flushes red hot anger through his body.
The countdown edges closer to zero with every second. He pushes every other thought from his mind and focuses on his anger. As the gong echoes through the arena he leaps from his pedestal and runs for the cornucopia with agility that is surprising for a boy of his size.
Coral gets there before him.
He eyes the spear in her hands with a nervous energy. The thought leaves his mind as soon as it appears. Coral could never kill him with such ease, not when it meant killing Elora.
Once the sword was in his hand he let his years of training take control. He tries not to think of Elora and her scars and the way she trembles as he kills. The sword slices through the flesh of his first victim with zero hesitation. Rips out the heart of his second just as easily. The third puts up a fight but Cato wins in the end, he always does.
The blood is warmer than he thought it would be. It coats his sword and drips onto the earth. It is splattered across his cheekbones and stains his honey coloured hair. The screams of children echo in his skull, the sound playing over and over and over. He thinks he will hear that sound forever. He almost finds himself wishing that it made his hands shake and stomach roll but the truth is that Cato had known he would spill the blood of others since he was old enough to think. The blood is no surprise and neither is his lack of remorse. He hates thinking that he is so okay with killing to the point that he doesn't even bat an eyelash.
Elora deserves better than that.
He turns on his heel to see the bodies of children his partners had slain. Eleven in total. That leaves only twelve tributes standing between him and victory. He watches Corals hands shake as they grip her spear tightly and he knows that she has inherited the kind nature of district four. Knows that these deaths will haunt her in the same way they haunt Elora. Before he turns away he catches the glint in her eye, like something has awakened, and he is reminded of Elora once more. Brutus's voice is loud in his ears.
She slaughtered the entire career pack within minutes. It doesn't matter how much it haunts her, killing makes her come alive. If Coral is anything like Elora, it does not bode well for you.
✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯
Watching him in that arena was harder than she thought it would be. Elora missed the days when Finnick was enough for her. He could hold her in his arms and everything felt okay because he was there and he would be there till the end of their days. Now, she felt that gaping space in her heart where Cato was meant to be. The distance between them was not helping her.
She was enraptured by the screen. The games had always been traumatic for her, bringing up memories that she wished would stay buried. It was even worse watching two people she cared for experience them. Watching as their souls are stained red by the blood on their hands.
She had expected the violence from Cato. The ease to kill anything that came in his path, the lack of resistance to raise his sword against a child, she even expected the lack of remorse. She had seen it time and time again in the career tributes, especially district two. They are the favoured district for a reason, always producing skilled and enthusiastic victors. He reminds her too much of Mason.
Mason had been the district two tribute in her games. They shared the same typical district two look. Broad build with solid muscles and an inclination for a sword. They shared the same golden hair and lopsided smirk. But where Mason was cruel, Cato has a certain sense of duty to him. Mason had volunteered because he enjoyed hurting people, enjoyed the feeling of blood on his skin and hearts in his hand. Cato was there to bring pride to his family and to provide a better life for them. She could recognise the difference.
Elora had killed Mason with much more ease than she cared to admit.
She had never enjoyed the feeling of blood, warm and sticky on her skin, but there was something about the power of watching a boy who was raised to kill little girls like her crumble beneath her hands. The feeling of being stronger than someone who had been told their whole life they would win these games, that they were better and bigger than her. It didn't matter how many times he reappeared in her nightmares, how often she wished she could be clean of the blood, how much she regretted spilling it in the first place. When she was there, in that arena, she was a different person.
She hates herself for it.
Her eyes follow Cato and Coral as they move to clean their weapons and explore their bounty at the cornucopia. Coral grimaces as she wipes the blood off her hands but the look in her eyes is unmistakable.
With every fibre of her being she hopes that everyone is wrong. That Coral is not the carbon copy of Elora that she is made out to be. That these games are not a repeat of hers, that the little girl from district four is just that, instead of the wolf in sheep's clothing that Elora turned out to be.
