Victor's Crown: A Hunger Games Story

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 [𝟭𝟭]

The terrible Twos are still fighting, as it turns out. Or Bellona is, at least. Miles is standing to the side, trying to wipe blood from his hammer without getting it on his hands. The sight of him, expression distorted with revulsion rather than bloodlust, is yet another piece of a puzzle Finnick cannot put together. Just a few moments before Miles bashed in a girl's head with the same hammer he regards with such disgust now. When he spots Finnick and One coming toward him, his features reshape into something more inscrutable.

"Feel free to head down there," he says. "Just don't get in Bellona's way."

About halfway down the steps, a tribute with an arrow sticking out of her calf is stumbling and falling away from Bellona, who has abandoned her bow in favor of close-range engagement. She follows the tribute the way a predator stalks wounded prey. The Callow is crying, pleading with Bellona, tears streaming down her blotchy, quivering face.

Somewhere in the back of Finnick's mind he supposes he should be horrified, or at least sympathetic toward this poor Callow, who upon closer inspection appears to be the female tribute from Six. But Finnick has erected a seawall around his conscience and dead and dying Callows are merely waves. It's just another scene playing out on a television screen. Finnick cannot be hurt by this. He is a spectator, safe, distant, and unbothered. It's as Mags once told him: Detach the pain from the person, and they are no longer a person. You can do anything to something that is not a person, if you have the nerve.

It was so easy. Kick the tribute down the steps. Spear the tribute through the chest. Finnick is a Career; death is his birthright. If he is to win, it must also be his legacy.

"How pathetic can you get?" Alabaster remarks, rolling his eyes. "This won't even be fun to watch. I'm going to clean up the other side. Call if you need anything."

He and Ruby disappear, then it's just Finnick and Miles. Bellona and the crying...thing. Miles draws in a deep breath, and for a brief, embarrassing moment Finnick thinks he's about to mention the other girl, the one he killed for Finnick. But then he descends the steps, flipping his hammer theatrically. Of course he chose a hammer. District 2 is basically one giant quarry. He probably knows how to use a hammer like Finnick knows how to fish.

"Bellona," he calls. "I'll get the other one."

Clean up: Finnick almost dreads it more than the initial bloodbath. Not all of the tributes lying on the steps of the pyramid are dead. In fact, many times the Careers purposely render them maimed but living, just injured enough to keep them from getting too far. Though there's a lull in activity, the main event has not yet concluded. It's a show within a show, and Finnick is expected to play a major role.

"Pick up a weapon," Bellona snaps, almost impatient. "I won't strike you down without one in your hand."

The girl, choking back her whimpers, does as she is ordered, snatching up a mace from where it has fallen from a fellow tribute's nerveless hand.

"Good enough." Bellona advances, knife spinning a deadly waltz in her fingers. Before the girl can so much as swing her mace, Bellona lashes out, catching the girl's face. She cries out, stumbles backward, hand cupped to the gash blooming crimson on her cheekbone.

"Do I have to do everything?" Bellona sighs. "You've got a mace, idiot! Use it!"

It's a strangely entrancing scene playing out before him, transfixing him like a natural disaster or an explicit film smuggled into the academy. Finnick can't look away. He can never look again. Six holds the mace out in front of herself, and Finnick can see it trembling from where he stands.

Miles is poking bodies with his hammer, making sure they are well and truly dead. Though he initially came off as squeamish compared to District 2's usual stock, he seems to be faring well now. He takes the ankle of one corpse—the boy Finnick had speared—and heaves effortlessly it down the steps. Finnick supposes he shouldn't be so surprised; violence comes naturally to those born into it.