Intro I: Lust.

- Six Feet Under -
The Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games

Second Circle: Lust.

Vendelin Elsing, District Six Male.

What a beautiful day!

Clouds floated effortlessly in the sky. The sun was bright and hot — one of the warmest days District Six had seen in a very long time.

Vendelin breezed along the sidewalk, a spring in his step, a couple of bags in his hand. He smiled at the passing citizens who gave him strange looks, occasionally raising his hand to give them a short wave when they almost frowned at him.

He paid no attention. Some people just didn't understand.

Vendelin was determined to not let it get to him. He challenged their judgemental stares with his optimistic, bright eyes that couldn't be ignored. If I'm going to be the weird kid, it's on my terms!

"Lovely day, isn't it?" Vendelin shouted at Mrs Mahoon across the street, sitting on her porch with a face like thunder, stroking the cat curled in her lap.

A scowl was her only response.

"I hope it doesn't rain later and gets your little pussy wet!" Vendelin shouted again.

Her eyes widened in shock and disgust.

Oh well, Vendelin waved goodbye, none-the-wiser, scurrying along. As he turned the corner onto his street, he noticed the kids from the block were playing on the cobbles. Their tattered, worn toys crashed into each other as the kids cheered and screamed, excitement on a summery day.

Vendelin kept walking, watching in fascination. They didn't notice him, absorbed in their childish antics.

"Don't ya want to join them, Ven?"

Vendelin turned to face his neighbour, Elias. "I don't think it'd look very good, do you? You know what people are like."

"Ah, fuck them!" Elias grinned, "Life is too short to be worryin' about other people."

Vendelin laughed, passing the bags over the rickety gate. "I got you some extra bananas! Not that you need them at your age. I also made sure to separate your tins from your perishables, especially after what happened last time—"

"—that tin was fucking dented and Earnest is a liar—!"

"Language!" Vendelin laughed, looking over his shoulder, "You'll get yourself in trouble."

"Well, life—"

"Yeah yeah, life is too short to be worryin' about other people," Vendelin playfully mocked his older neighbour, walking away, "I presume you'll be around later to return that book you borrowed?"

"Tell that chicken-shit stepfather of yours that he needs to get better books in his shop!"

Vendelin just laughed again. "See you later, Elias." He glanced at the kids once more, blissfully unaware of anything around them. A small pang of jealousy pitted itself in his stomach, but Vendelin ignored it as he pushed his gate open.

Ardey's Arts and Books was a run-down, barely-functioning shop. It somehow had survived the war and was able to be built up into… something. But the peeling paint and broken sign were a strange comfort to Vendelin.

He pushed the door open, the bell above ringing.

Ardey popped his head up from behind the counter, "Welcome to Ard— oh, Ven. You're back already?"

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just thought you might, I don't know, hang out with your friends? It's why I gave you the extra money! In case you wanted to buy some sweets or something."

"Oh, oh I'm sorry," Vendelin apologised, "I used that money to buy Elias some more bananas! Besides, you know I don't have any friends to hang out with."

"That's not true—" Ardey began to reshuffle the books on his counter, "—you have that girl from down the street? You know, what's-her-name."

Vendelin just stared at his stepfather blankly. Ardey clicked his fingers a few times, as if it would miraculously conjure an answer. "Do you mean Sabine?"

"Yeah! Her! Sabrina."

"Sabine," Vendelin chuckled, "And we're not really friends. I've just sold her some books and she asks when we'll have new stock in… which reminds me, Elias has said—"

"—yeah, I know, the grumpy old codger," Ardey grumbled, "He's been saying the same thing for the past ten years. Never mind that we went through a war or anything and books weren't a priority!"

Vendelin admired Ardey. Whilst he never knew his real Father — and often dreamt up scenarios of a long-lost soldier who had to leave his family to fight for his district during his sleep-deprived nights — Ardey was a solid replacement. Not only did he make his Mom happy, but he treated Vendelin like his own.

"I'm gonna go and get changed and then I'll start my shift," Vendelin passed by, holding his satchel over his shoulder.

"Hey, wait—" Ardey stopped him at the edge of the counter, "—you know, I know it's not easy making friends. But you just have to put yourself out there sometimes!"

I do. I did. And I ended up more hurt by it. "I know."

Ardey's smile was sympathetic and understanding. Vendelin's heart sank but he desperately clawed it back up and beamed, as if nothing happened. He made haste to his bedroom, threw his satchel on his bed, and closed the door.

His bedroom was his sanctuary. The walls were cluttered with shelves of books with broken binders and brown papers, dust and webbing creating an ancient, worn feel that Vendelin found comfort in. His latest read was 'Panem's Occult'.

He could hear the kids shouting in the street and curiously went to look. Peeking through the dirty curtains, he enviously watched them play. Kids without fears or worries, from different socioeconomic backgrounds, playing without judgement.

Vendelin's childhood wasn't like that. He didn't remember playing in the streets with the other kids. He remembered trying so very hard and always being met with ridicule and bullying: so much so, he gave up at some point but he couldn't pinpoint when. He focused on his half-siblings when they were born, and as he got older, helping to run the shop.

He went to shut his window when he caught sight of a small, fuzzy spider nestled in a web.

"Oh, I'm so sorry little spider, I almost squashed you," Vendelin cooed, gently edging the arachnid onto his hand, "We'll have to find you a better place to live!"

He stared at the small spider with wide, fascinated eyes as it crawled over his hand.

He raised his hand up to one of his shelves, placing the spider in the dusty books, safe and sound. "I hope you like your new home, Thomas!"

…

Thomas? Is… that you?

Vendelin's eyes were glassy, full of tears and vision blurred — he could feel the stone on his cheek, dirt squashed into his nose and mouth. He stared at the small black fleck only a few metres away from him.

"Just fucking die already!"

The next hit didn't hurt as much. Vendelin couldn't feel it anymore. His back and sides were slick with blood. He could taste it in his mouth. The coppery tang that filled his throat. It began to dribble from his lips but he didn't have the energy to clean it up.

The axe came down on his side again. His body jerked, but the pain was gone.

Thomas?

The spider scurried into a crack in the rocks. Darkness pulled at his vision until Vendelin was met with total silence. He didn't know where Lazarus had gotten to — he hoped he wouldn't come back just yet… for his own safety.

"Vendelin!?"

Lazarus Mirzan, District Eight Male.

"He won't survive the night!"

"Yes— yes, he will! We have to have faith in Limos!"

"Wylie, please… let the doctor do her job!"

"Heavenly Limos, please save our son…"

"Tarran is in the right place."

"Doctor, will he be okay?"

"Of course, he now has a steady flow of fluids and antibiotics in his system which should fight against the infection. However, I'm concerned it took you this long to bring him to my attention."

"Limos was— no, is— protecting him!"

"Mrs Mirzan, Tarran needed a doctor, not a miracle."

Lazarus had heard the story many, many times. How he was nursed back from the dead by the local doctor who, unsurprisingly, knew that Limos would not cure their sickly son. The revelation, however, fell on deaf ears and so, Lazarus was 'reborn'.

But it only increased his parents' fanaticism.

"Heavenly Limos, thank you for the feast you have provided our lands…"

Lazarus took a peek at the clock on the wall. He watched as time went agonisingly slow, waiting and waiting for the little bird to pop out and announce his freedom.

"Praise Limos."

"Praise Limos," Lazarus mumbled, snapping his eyes open and wasting no time before shovelling the first spoonful of sweet potato into his mouth. He barely tasted it before he swallowed and shoved another spoonful in.

"Lazarus!" His Mom berated him softly, "Slow down. Be respectful to the feast."

"S'worry," Lazarus replied around the food, "I just know that Liliane will turn up early. I can feel it in my bones! Like I can predict the rain because my left nipple will hurt."

"I don't want you out late tonight," His Mom continued, ignoring him, "You've been past curfew the last two nights. You're becoming wayward."

"I'm really not—" Lazarus shoved some peas into his mouth and loudly chewed them, "I could be so much worse, Mom. I could be doing drugs and having premarital sex and yet, I'm saving myself for the right woman— or man— just for you!"

He waited for the shock to settle in. She looked up, eyes widened. "Pardon?"

"I'm not restricting my options," Lazarus laughed, "But I am joking. Partially."

"No grandchildren until you're married, please," His Dad added.

"I promise not to send Mom to an early grave," Lazarus gave a wry smile, finishing up his plate in record time. "Can I be excused?"

"Dinner time is also family time, you can—"

A knock on the door interrupted them. Lazarus jumped from his seat, rushing to the door. As he swung it open and came face-to-face with Liliane, he smirked. "Mom, it's Lili! I'm heading out!"

"Lazarus Mirzan, wait—!"

"Love you!" Lazarus grabbed his jacket from the peg and slammed the door shut.

"I'm surprised she hasn't chased after you," Liliane poked fun at him.

Lazarus knew she wouldn't. Despite being overbearing and panicky, she was attempting to loosen the reign she had Lazarus noosed in. His constant small acts of rebellion had worn her down to a surprisingly healthy median that Lazarus was going to edge further down over time.

As he threw his jacket on, he realised his crucifix was hanging freely over his shirt. He wasted no time in swinging behind to hide it.

"Don't want to wear it with pride?" Liliane teased as they walked down the dirt path in his yard.

"Why would I?" Lazarus asked, genuinely, "Limos hasn't done anything for me except almost get me killed."

"It's just a way of life for some people," Liliane answered, "Some people grow old and bitter. Some turn to drink because their lives are meaningless. And some people… rely on an imaginary woman to make their decisions less shitty."

"It's not a life I asked for."

Lazarus tried to never sit on it for too long. Being at home made him feel… claustrophobic. A home built on religion where Lazarus' life was already mapped out. He wanted to be free. He wanted to explore and live and grow as nature intended, not as religion demanded.

As they carried on walking through the embattled streets of District Eight, Lazarus realised that the war had not been kind to them. Many shops were still shut. Many places showed signs of war and rebellion.

"Do you think this district will ever be fixed?" Liliane asked, "Job opportunities are scarce. I don't know what I'm going to do when Mom kicks me out eventually."

"I'd love to fly away—" Lazarus stretched his arms out like a bird, "—just fly wherever I want to with no worries!

Liliane laughed, "I honestly think your Mom would rather you become a hermit than a free-spirit."

"I wasn't born to be caged! I was born to be free!" Lazarus began to circle Liliane, 'flying' around her as he laughed, "Nobody can stop me!"

A third voice cut through the air. "Lazarus Mirzan. Won't you ever grow up?"

Lazarus paused, recognising that husky, judgemental tone. "Dr. Vanderlin?"

The stony-faced woman who had once saved his life was standing in front of him, staring through square glasses, unimpressed. "Yes, it's me. I can see your eyesight is absolutely fine."

"Nothing wrong with my eyes," Lazarus shrugged.

"Must just be the head. Wouldn't be surprised with the drivel your parents tell you."

Lazarus winced as Dr. Vanderlin walked away. Whilst he agreed, it hurt to hear. His parents weren't malicious or evil. They were naive and trustworthy and, after the war, Limos' religion had spread to those weak-willed so they couldn't even be fully blamed. No, his parents weren't bad — just misguided with good intentions.

"Dr. Vanderlin?"

"Hmm?" The snotty lady turned back to face in.

He wanted to defend his parents so, so much. But he couldn't bring himself to sit on it. The longer he thought about that side of his life, the worst he felt about it all. So, he shrouded it in a smile that could fool anyone. "Nothing. Have a nice day!"

…

"So your name is Vendelin?" Lazarus smirked, "That sounds familiar."

Vendelin's eyes were wide as he looked up from the plant station, "Why does it?"

Something about Vendelin was alluring to Lazarus — a strange, compelling aura. Vendelin. Dr. Vanderlin.

"No reason. I just think we were meant to meet," Lazarus placed his hand on Vendelin's, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through. "I guess it could be fate."

…

"Vendelin?!"

Lazarus was running before he knew it. Vendelin's screams echoed through the tunnels. They cut through the dark stone, vibrating on the floor and ceiling.

The mine alarm rang and Lazarus just knew.

Lazarus had only left him for a short moment in search of some water. He promised he would be back. He promised not to leave Vendelin alone for too long and now, Lazarus was sweating and scared and his heart was hammering as he turned the last corner…

Vendelin was face down in a pool of blood, his back and side hacked open so that sinew and bone were visible.

Lazarus fell to his knees, traumatized. His body was shaking. Vendelin, no!

He never saw the axe coming. He barely felt it cut into his neck, lodged into his windpipe as he fell to the side. Blood filled his throat as his trembling hand reached for Vendelin's, their eyes locked as Lazarus took his last breath.

Niobe Nervanthis, District Ten Female.

As the rain hammered against her bedroom window, Niobe couldn't help but revel in the calm atmospheric mood it produced. With a thick, knitted blanket wrapped over her and a book in hand, she was at her best — alone.

She skimmed the pages with ease, having read it several times over. It was one of her favourites: about a bard travelling Panem in search of his song. She envied the apparent freedom that pre-war Panem was allowed.

If it was up to her, she'd go travelling and teaching literature to those without schooling.

It was a pipe dream — Niobe knew that — but she longed for something more than the farms of District Ten. It was her parents' dream that her and her siblings became more than cattle wranglers and hen rearers.

She flicked the page, snuggling in deeper, listening to it rain harder. Serenity.

There was a knock at her door. "Niobe? Can I come in?"

Aedan. "Sure."

She closed the book, leaning up as Aedan walked in. He was sodden, hair slick against his forehead.

"You're in bed already?"

"I was reading," Niobe shrugged, "Why? Did you need help?"

"No no, I've finished the jobs," Aedan answered, "Just wondering where you were, that's all. Mom said you haven't left your room in a while."

"Oh, I'm fine," Niobe smiled shyly, uncomfortable sharing her feelings even with her brother, "Just didn't feel like getting up today. The rain makes it easier to stay in bed."

Aedan nodded, understanding through Niobe's poor lies, "Does it have anything to do with Fiona?"

Niobe didn't answer — she glanced out of the window as the rain picked up, a storm brewing in the horizon. "I think we're gonna have a thunderstorm today. That cloud over there is so flat on top."

Aedan stayed silent for a few moments. Niobe loved her brother — they were like best friends — but sometimes, she didn't want to disclose everything. In fact, she rarely did. Saying it aloud made things much worse.

"Dinner will be ready soon," Aedan stepped back out, "Mom said to wash up first."

As she heard Aedan's footsteps go down the creaky stairs, she sighed. Fiona. A touchy subject if there ever was one. Just the thought of her made Niobe's heart race and, unfortunately, she knew it wasn't an oncoming stroke as she couldn't smell burnt toast.

She rose, headed to the bathroom and washed her hands.

I should tell her, Niobe contemplated, wringing her hands under the lukewarm water. I'll be free tomorrow.

Niobe didn't even know what to tell her — she barely understood her own feelings, let alone being able to express them coherently. Besides, Fiona might not feel the same? That scared her, too. Rejection was easier to avoid if you said nothing at all.

"Niobe, come on!"

Niobe turned the tap off and headed downstairs. The smell of boiled cabbage stew wafted through the rooms.

"Niobe," Her Mom smiled warmly, "Were you reading again?"

Niobe nodded, "Yeah, I was. Sorry, I lost track of the time."

"Was it the 'Wandering Bard' again?"

"It was," Aedan answered for her, "It's one of the only things she reads nowadays."

Niobe blushed. "I read other stuff, too…"

"I'm glad you like it," Her Dad grinned, patting her shoulder from across the table, "It's good to indulge yourself in dreams. Never let anything stop you from doing what you want. Besides— Aedan's taking over the farm!"

Aedan grimaced, "Only if we can sort out Betsy's attitude. I don't like milking her."

Niobe smiled shyly as her dinner was plated in front of her. The bustle of her family sitting down and talking amongst themselves really hit home at how, whilst Niobe loved her life and what came of it, she wanted more. The crushing reality reminded her that loyalty would always be with her family and that here — amongst the bustle — was the only place she felt she belonged.

"So, Niobe, are you going to your book club meeting tomorrow?" Her Mom asked.

Dang it. Niobe shrugged, eyes cast down at her plate. "Maybe."

"Fiona's Father mentioned it when he dropped off some more rations," Her Father added, "Fiona asked for you, apparently."

Somehow, that didn't make Niobe feel as happy as she thought. The words cut through her and made her even more tense. "Oh."

"I'll come with you," Aedan smiled, "I can bring my book on Panem's history. I'm on the chapter where they're discussing how District Ten was formed along the 'Mex-ic-o' border."

"I have a question—" Niobe desperately wanted to change subjects, "—if you could be a vegetable, what vegetable would you be?"

…

"If you could be a vegetable, what vegetable would you be?"

Niobe hated it. She chewed her bottom lip, staring at the girl on the floor as she wove together a net out of marsh plants.

The girl — with a stern, angry face and bright white hair — looked up at her. "Why are you asking me?"

Niobe glanced around the room. People were beginning to make alliances. Bonding with people they found strength and safety with. Niobe wanted that — despite her awkwardness, she surprisingly craved companionship.

"It's— I'm just— it's an ice breaker," Niobe smiled, showing a little too much tooth, "It helps you understand people."

"Right," The girl stood up. She paused, as if deciding, "What would you be?"

"A runner bean."

"Why?"

"Because I'm fast!" Niobe's heart was racing as she snorted at her own joke. When the girl didn't share her enthusiasm, Niobe tried not to be too bummed by it, "Did you think of yours?"

The girl swished her hair and turned around. "I don't care."

…

"I don't care."

Niobe's hand was clamped around her throat, blood pouring between her fingers in thick rivulets. She gasped and choked, falling down to her knees as her body slowly gave up.

"P—Please…" Niobe choked.

The girl stared down at her with narrowed eyes, her bright white hair framing her moody face. Even in searing pain, Niobe noted how her eyes held no warmth or care. Yet somehow, Niobe desperately hoped to find some.

They had shared so many meetings back in the Capitol. No alliance, no loyalty, but they weren't strangers any more.

"Why should I? I want to win."

Niobe began to crawl towards her, bloodied hand scrambling through dirt. She launched out to grab Gaia's leg. "P—P—Please…!"

Gaia kicked her hand off of her and lent down. She stared at Niobe with such venom and disdain that crushed Niobe's hope instantly.

"I told you… I don't care," Gaia moved a strand of Niobe's hair from her face, "I'll just put you out of your misery instead."

Gaia squeezed her fist, causing Niobe's blood to pour out faster and thicker. Niobe's strength seemed to evaporate and she fell face first into the ground. She gasped, lips turning blue, as blood quickly poured from the bite marks in her neck. It rose above her nostrils, back into her throat and slowly but surely, Niobe drowned in her blood.

And in her final moments, all she could think about was Gaia's wicked, awful, terribly beautiful eyes.

Elika Rosales, District Five Female.

Elika's heart was racing as she stared at the door, twiddling her thumbs. Harsh rain hammered against her back and soaked her clothes, but Elika didn't care.

I have to do this, Elika encouraged herself. It's just to say hello…

She opened the door to the small, shack of a home and crept inside. The musky warmth greeted her immediately. She glanced around the dimly lit room, unsure of where to go, when she heard muted talk coming from behind a door.

Nervous, Elika opened it, seeing the stairs leading down into the basement and hearing the voices more clearer. A particularly strong, husky voice dominated the conversation. She crept down the stairs slowly, heart continuing to race, nerves twirling in her stomach.

In the basement, a man was addressing a small huddle of people. He was tall, thin with a voice that boomed like thunder.

"We mustn't become complacent! We must always strive to do better!"

"Yeah! Yeah, you're right! Limos!" The chorus replied.

She stared at the man through the railings of the stairs, hands shaking. I shouldn't… I really shouldn't…

But I need to.

Elika watched in fascination as this man — with his demanding presence — captivated his entire audience. They ate up every single word that he threw at them, cheering and whooping with each anecdote regarding religion.

My Dad, Elika mused, smitten. He's… powerful.

Elika had never known him. It took her over a decade of constant asking to finally even know his name. She had countless questions to ask, but they always ended up the same way: "Why did you not want me?"

Elika snuck down into the room and hid herself amongst the shadows, blending in as the meeting wrapped up. The people were oblivious to her, walking past without a care in the world. The man — no, her Father — watched them all leave.

"Did you enjoy the speech?"

Elika was startled. She crept out of the shadows, hands shoved in her coat pockets. "I did… you have a way with words."

The man smiled. "You're very kind. I've never seen you before— are you new?"

This is it… It had all led to this very moment. She took a huge, deep breath, filling her lungs and then expelling it in one go. "I'm your daughter!"

And, as if her words were venom, the man's face turned into a vicious scowl. "I do not have a daughter."

"Huh—?"

"You need to leave."

"But— but I'm your daughter—" Elika's crestfallen voice broke, her heart almost ripped apart. "I'm— I'm your blood—"

"I do not have any children," the man sneered.

"Was— was I not good enough?" Her hurt was apparent. She didn't expect it to end this way: she knew they'd be tears, sadness, resentment. But she expected it to end in a hug that made her insecurities and overwhelming fears just wash away.

The man stared at her, taking in her features. Elika sniffed, wiping tears as they spilled down her cheek. "I never wanted you."

It was as if the floor beneath her opened up and swallowed her whole. Speechless and heartbroken, Elika turned on her heel, running up the stairs and out of the house into the pouring rain, slamming the doors behind her.

Was I not good enough?

Why am I not wanted?

Elika trudged through the rain, soaked, tears almost invisible as dusk turned District Five into night.

She didn't know how long she had been walking, stuck in her head and feelings, when she came across the local bar. The music and noise cut through the rain, people happy and bustling inside.

"Hey, you alright?"

Elika didn't even notice the shadow against the wall — a man with his hood up, smoking a cigarette. He was older, scrawny, a messy beard and bright, piercing eyes that sparkled in the darkness.

"I'm fine…" Elika protectively pulled her coat around her tight.

The man reached out his hand, "You want a drag?"

Elika was so hurt and confused and downtrodden, that she just wanted to act out on it. She crossed the short distance, Under the canopy of the bar, she realised that he didn't look as old as he seemed.

He pushed the butt against Elika's lips. "You just suck."

Elika pulled on the cigarette and immediately choked, spluttering as it clogged up her throat.

The man laughed, "Easy, tiger, you're supposed to exhale, not swallow it."

Elika embarrassingly wiped the tears from her eyes and laughed, almost feeling a little better. She saw glimpses of the people in the bar through the window. Loud, steamy, packed with bodies crushed together.

"I'm Netanel."

Elika gave him a shy smile, "Elika."

…

Excited gossip filled the small, dingy room packed with females. They laughed and gushed as the strong, pungent aroma of ginseng filled the air.

From behind a curtain, Elika could see Netanal at the far end, smiling his charming, expressive smile that Elika adored but felt like she didn't get to see all of the time.

"I'm nervous…" Elika panicked, pushing the curtain back.

"You'll be fine," Ruby fussed her, "This is your day."

My day… Elika stared down at the velvet red dress that seemed foreign against her skin. She could see the inked tattoos peeking out from her cleavage, her arms, every bit of skin Netanal liked her to keep exposed.

"I don't know if I can do this…" Elika wringed her hands as Ruby flattened her dress from behind, "What if this is a mistake? What if he doesn't love me?"

Ruby straightened up, "You're being ridiculous."

Am I? "I know—" Elika's heart was racing in her chest. Every fibre in her body was saying she was too young, too naive, not ready. But then she remembered Netenal's pride in her. The ever-growing, overwhelming command he had over her. "—I know I am. He loves me, right?"

"He loves us all," Ruby smiled. "No, go and become his bride."

…

The room was now empty, the guests having gone to their rooms for the night. Elika sat on the steps of the basement room, admiring the roses and candles that were put up for her. Her dress was crushed beneath her, wrinkled up, but she didn't mind.

At that moment, she was so lost in thought, she didn't care. She didn't hear Netanal open the door up the stairs and stagger down.

"My bride—!" Netanal slurred.

Elika rose, uncomfortable. "You're drunk? On our wedding night?"

"What'd you mean?" Netanal frowned, "I've already tapped that a few times!"

"Please…" Elika pleaded, "I just want to go to bed with my new husband," She moved across the room to hold his hands, a smile so hopeful, "I want to spend my night with you, but not when you're like this…"

Netanal's expression changed immediately. "You don' get to decide! I own you."

Elika flinched as he snatched his hand from hers. "Please— Netanal, I'm sorry…"

"You're lucky that I chose ya'," Netenal continued, "You were nobody until I took ya' in!"

Elika winced with every word. She began to shake and sat back down on the steps as Netanal continued his tirade of abuse. He had started off so romantically, so swooning — but it was all a ruse. With every passing day, Elika felt her personality dying inside.

She was just a member of Netanal's cult.

"You're a slut!"

"You're a disgrace!"

"You' own Daddy didn't even want you!"

"Enough!" Elika saw red.

There was a loud crack, a shout, shattered glass, a muted thud. When her anger subsided — the broken neck of the wine bottle in her hands — she saw Netandal on the floor, blood pooled around his head, a defaced crucifix of Limos standing behind her.

…

Elika's hand shakily reached up into her hair, fingers coming back dipped in red. Her head exploded in pain and she fell to her knees, stars swimming in her vision.

Antoine — her ally? — walked around to face her, sneering with a bloodied club in his hand. "You were using me!"

Her strength seemed to evaporate from her body. Tears flowed down her cheek. "I— I didn't…"

"You did!" Antoine smashed the club into her head once more. Elika fell face first, fire bursting in her head and neck.

"You were against me this whole time!"

Another whack.

"You're a treacherous harlot!"

Another whack.

Elika's lungs tightened. Her eyes watered. She could barely see Antoine through blurred vision when his scream erupted through the building. Grey, large statues attacked and ripped at Antoine's body, blood spraying everywhere as his screams cut straight through Elika's bones.

She felt arms around her. As she was turned over, weakly, she looked up to see the kind but blurred face of Wyatt Durran, her district partner.

"Elika?"

"Wyatt…"

A loud, sharp boom shook the stone walls. Elika smiled when it dawned on her. Warmth and light caught her as she drifted off underneath Limos' crucifix in Wyatt's arms, the Victor of the Nineteenth Hunger Games.

w w w. sixfeetunderhg. blogspot. c o m.

Questions!

Which was your favourite out of these four?

Introducing: Vendelin, Lazarus, Niobe and Elika.

So, a lot to quickly cover in this note!

Firstly, somehow, my intros are gonna be long. I have a lot to cover but take these with a pinch of salt. They are only a reflection of the tribute's life. Something important, a layer of personality, topped with a death scene. I didn't give anything away, I'm just laying foundations. These tributes are wild and they're brought back to life for a reason, so don't be fooled with what you see.

Secondly, each tribute's 'first' death will be shown. I wanted to do something out of the box and since this is a resurrection story, I thought: 'why not show their deaths?'

Thirdly, the title of the chapter should've given you a hint, but these intros will be taking you on a journey through six of the nine circles of Hell. We have Greed, Wrath, Treachery, Heresy and Fraud to go through!

Let me know what you thought on the tributes and the style! As always, thank you for the reviews and kind messages. Let's make an awesome story!

~Corey.