"The fallen angel" and "the devil in disguise"
Two names Ares Aristo was known for, a boy who had more to him than originally met the eye. Charming the capital with his kind facade, it was only in the games did they realized just how far an angel ca...
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forgive me father for i have sinned....
....a week of hell for an eternity of torment
To be reaped is to be brought forth to judgment day as a sacrifice for the district's people. There, in the arena of death, only the most sacred will survive. The capital's choosing who have been shown mercy after sinning so great. A victor, allowed to live a life that longed for defeat.
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Panem had their handful of favourite victors, those who made the most entertaining games or those who caught the fancy of their eye. District 9 never had produced a victor that made the list before, the closest they'd gotten was Callum Mikaels, the Victor of the 55th Hunger Games; a needle in a haystack. The only issue was that the capital's delight had quickly morphed into horror the more they watched the man weed through the other tributes in his game, his pearly teeth stained with blood as he smiled at the cameras like a predator. He'd played the games so well that his family was killed as a preemptive measure against any rebellion that could possibly arise from his act, leaving him a shell of his former glorious self.
Alas, he too was forgotten.
But although Callum's brutality made him a fan favourite Victor, no other tribute was able to replicate him, leaving District 9 relatively barren and caste aside. It took 12 long years until fate intervened once more. By the time the 67th Hunger Games rolled around, a new unexpected favourite had emerged after decades of bloodbath—a young boy with delicate hands not yet roughened by the toil of grain cultivation and a shy smile that could melt the coldest of hearts. A young boy who knew exactly how to get on the bad sides of everyone in the games and on the good sides of everyone outside of them. They say that to know the boy is to be faced with a demon, but to watch the boy is to see only an angel.
The boy himself only did what was necessary. He never asked for the attention he'd received from tributes and capital alike. He never asked to be seen as the nation's angel. But alas, one has to make do with what they had. He spun his district's straw into a golden string of fate, watching as its length extended beyond his grasp, tumbling out of his hands until the loose strands wrapped around his throat instead to form nothing else but a golden noose.
With a target on his back and blood on his hands, guided by the divine hand of God, Ares Aristo somehow manages to survive hell week and come out on top.
