The Arena Once More: Sequel to The Demigod Games

The Third Hour

The entire floor is actually moving, going below the huge outer and inner rings of books. And I don't know what do. Clinging on to the shelves would mean leaving the wounded and bloody Frank. And Percy and the others are trapped in the Eleventh Ring, the force fields now most likely occupying the entrance to Eleven and the exit of Ten.

The floor keeps descending, descending, descending, until it's--to my best estimate--ten feet underground. What's the point of this? Why put us underground in the darkness? I can't muster an idea.

I kneel down, and feel around for Frank. He's right in front of me. Good.

I stand back up, and realize: Anything can happen in the dark. A Capitol mutation could come hurtling out of the darkness right now. A Tribute could come up behind me and slice my head off.

Suddenly, I hear shuffling. Not animal-like, but human. A Tribute. I close my eyes, and try to dull every sense except hearing. Hearing is my best option now.

The Tribute is...to my left. Gaining. Getting closer. I turn, and do a karate kick. I make impact, and hear the person fall to the ground, back thumping the floor. He gets up, and I try to aim my fist for his face. I punch, but my fist hits somewhere better: his neck. The Tribute collapses to the floor, trying to find breath again.

I walk over to him, and put my foot on where I think his neck his. I lift my foot up, and proceed to bring my foot down, and, even though it's muffled, I hear the BOOM! of the cannon. The Tribute is dead.

Just as I bathe myself in the glory of being triumphant, I hear two more sets of feet to my right. A minute later, I hear metal grinding on concrete. These two Tributes are armed. And I have no weapons. Another setback? I can't see.

I feel the bodies getting closer, and one thing goes through my mind: No weapons, only darkness. I can do one thing, though. Run.

I start running, but twenty paces in, I trip over something. The boy I killed! I grunt, and attempt to get up, when something whistles past my ear. What else could it be but an arrow?

I sprint off again, arrows bouncing off the walls, letting me know where my pursuers are.

After a while of circling, I hear the footsteps begin to falter, then I hear nothing at all.

Except voices.

"Who knows where that girl is?" A deep, masculine voice says.

"Well, she has to be somewhere down here. But we can't keep running around the rest of the time or we'll get too tired," another voice exclaims. This voice belongs to a girl, but it's low; like a tomboy. Deep, but not boy-deep.

I get an idea. As quietly as I can, I walk around the ring. The voices are still talking when I reach them on the other side. I slowly go up to what I hope is the boy, and crouch down. I put both hands on his head, and jerk. He doesn't even have time to let out a cry when the cannon booms.

I hear the girl suddenly stand up, but I sweep my feet at hers, and she falls to the floor. I pin her down from her hands, and take her weapon. A long, sleek knife.

I step back, and throw it. BOOM!

There. Problem solved. No more predators. No more thorns in my side. Wait...thorns! I find Frank's body, and touch his back. It's still wet with blood. And if he's been like this the past only-Gamemakers-who-how-long, he has to be..."Dead," I whisper.

So why didn't I hear the cannon? Is Frank not actually dead? I bend down, and take his pulse. There's still a slow beat going. Getting slower. Slower still. And finally, BOOM! goes the cannon. Now he's dead.

I back up against the concrete wall, and slide my back down it. Frank's dead now. And I'm all alone down here in the dark. Everyone else is dead. Three because of me. Because of self-defense. We were all acting in self-defense...

I stand up. This is the Gamemakers have made out of us. Killers. Merciless, cold-blooded killers. I scream,"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED? KILLERS?!" But of course it's what they wanted. The Games are meant to be a fight to the death.

I yell again: "Okay, so you do want us to be killers. But remember the Seventy-Seventh Games? You made us so kill-happy, the last two Tributes killed themselves! No Victor! Is that what you want?"