Siren Song ~ Finnick Odair x oc

10...the Bloodbath

The blinding light gives way, revealing the arena before me—a scene so disturbingly surreal that it feels as if I've stumbled into a waking nightmare.

I find myself standing atop my podium, a lone structure amid a battlefield, absorbing the harrowing sight of the tributes surrounding me. Their faces reflect a blend of fear, determination, and the raw instinct to survive.

We are positioned in a wide circle around the cornucopia, each of us precariously balancing on our platforms—gleaming and golden, yet perilously fragile, threatening to send us plummeting into the chaos below if we dare step off too soon.

I blink slowly, my eyes adjusting to the harsh light that envelops this unsettling space, sharpening the details of a world fraught with dread. I wear a cold, menacing expression; a mask of unwavering resolve as my gaze sharpens with fierce determination.

Before me lies the arena, resembling an apocalyptic city in ruins—a stark contrast to the vibrant life that once thrived here, now overshadowed by despair and desolation, its perimeter guarded by a dense, foreboding forest that seems to whisper of lurking dangers.

The cornucopia looms large, taking the form of a massive, tattered army tent, its fabric a patchwork of shadows and stains, overflowing with weapons and essential supplies, crates haphazardly stacked in a chaotic puzzle of survival.

Between the podiums and the heart of the chaos, scattered weaponry and backpacks litter the ground, partially buried in debris as if the wreckage itself were part of a haunting battleground. From my elevated position, a sense of relief washes over me; the entrance to the tent faces me, an illusory beacon challenging me to overcome the fears that bind my resolve.

Squinting against the blinding sun, I concentrate, straining to see what lies hidden within the murky fabric. My heart pounds as I catch a glimpse of a holster of throwing knives ominously positioned at the centre, clearly designed to tempt me into a risky grab—a dangerous game of temptation woven into the fabric of my survival.

It might be reckless, even foolish, yet I know I need those knives; they could be my lifeline against the chaos that is about to unfold.

As the countdown begins, I feel the tension thickening the air; the other tributes stir restlessly, their eyes darting between the alluring cornucopia and one another, caught in a treacherous dance of strategy and fear. I watch as their expressions shift, calculating their best moves, their minds racing to assess my resolve and that of every other contender in this deadly charade.

As the countdown approaches its final ten seconds, the atmosphere buzzes with palpable anticipation—an electric charge connecting us, tightening around our throats like barbed wire. The anxiety emanates from my fellow tributes, almost suffocating, a heavy fog of dread that lingers in the air as we brace for the chaos ahead.

Yet, amid this frenetic energy, I scan the arena for familiar faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of Cove or any of the careers I know to fear, aware that my survival hangs in the delicate balance of moments about to dissolve into turmoil.

5...

4...

3...

My entire body is wound tight like a coiled spring, poised to spring into action at the faintest sound—an electric tension that could snap under the weight of expectation. My eyes are fixed on the cornucopia, that brilliant emblem of both promise and threat, my determined gaze betraying the tempest of fear swirling in my stomach.

2...

1...

The buzzer blares through the arena, resonating deep within me, and in that instant, I surge forward, instinct taking over. My feet crash onto the unforgiving concrete with a resounding thud, sending lively jolts through my legs, while adrenaline surges through my veins like an uncontrollable inferno as I sprint across the seemingly endless expanse before me.