Victor's Crown: A Hunger Games Story

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 [𝟭𝟰]

Forget the mouthful of teeth, the feline's expression is so unmistakably human it has to be of Gamemaker design. Which means it's a muttation. Which means Finnick is in imminent danger of death.

Finnick doesn't waste time trying to climb down. He simply twists and leaps away from the tree, praying with all his might he won't break anything when he hits the ground. Thankfully his training has not totally abandoned him, and he manages to soften the impact with a sloppy roll. Hot on his heels is the feline mutt, yowling at a volume only a cat can manage.

"Run!" It's less a word and more an exhalation, a burst of air torn from between cracked lips. The cat goes for Alabaster first, presumably because he is closest. Finnick's spear, sheared along its side, barely slows it down as it lunges at a speed Finnick didn't previously think was naturally possible, maw gaping, paws extended, eyes alight with ravenous savagery. It manages to sink its teeth into Alabaster's shoulder before Ruby diverts it with a stab to the abdomen. The mutt cries out and the sound is so pained, so unambiguously human Ruby freezes for a moment, eyes wide with shock. Then she snaps back, face contorted in a snarl rivaling that of the mutt as she slices it again with her sword. A flume of crimson made bright by oxygenated blood arcs through the air. Its carotid neatly severed, the beast slumps to the ground, mouth stained with Alabaster's blood.

Then the whole rainforest is screaming in agony, split open by the piercing wails of more mutts descending from the trees. Six—one for each of them—wearing the grotesque grins of Gamemaker fiends.

"Finnick, look out!"

Finnick has just enough time to prop up his spear, to jam it between the ribs of the mutt leaping at him from behind. He wrenches the spear free and turns, narrowly missing Miles' eye in the process. The mutt screeches as it writhes in its death throes, drawn out and drenched in anguish. and a nauseating spike of horror shoots through Finnick when his brain registers what he's hearing:

DIE. He's never heard anything more unsettling in his entire life. All around him, the dead beast's companions take up its ear-piercing chorus, each making the same, macabre demand.

DIE.

Who needs Claudius Templesmith when you have muttations, the truest, most effective mouthpieces of Capitol intent in the whole arena? Die, the mutts command. Not only is death your duty, it is your destiny. And these mutts aren't just harbingers, they are the Capitol's mightiest soldiers, their sharpest sword, dispassionate to every whim and appeal except to those built into them. Apart from other tributes, Finnick isn't sure he can name a greater threat to his survival.

"The river!" Finnick shouts. Why, he's not sure, but water is his default. Water is his safe haven when all else fails. If nothing else, it'll keep the mutts from surrounding them on all sides.

Then he's hurtling through the jungle like an arrow shot from Bellona's bow, numb to the vegetation whipping his skin, roots catching and clawing at his feet, trying to trip him. He's vaguely aware of Bellona racing along beside him, nimble and swift as a dolphin leaping amidst the ocean's waves.

Then a new sound rattles the trees, so powerful it drowns out the battle cries of the mutts and shakes the ground beneath him: A terrific clap of thunder. Almost before the noise has faded from his ears, a torrential downpour spews from the sky, so sudden it's like the Gamemakers have opened a vault in the firmament to let all its stores flood the earth at once. Finnick is instantly soaked, rain trickling down his face and mingling with his sweat, making its way into his nostrils every time he sucks in a breath. The water streams into his eyes as well, blinding him, rendering him virtually defenseless against the monsters chasing him down.