Torn: Sequel to Ruthless

Chapter 18

Octavia

The Capitol gives me three days to recover. Three days to prepare for the final battle with Ashlee. Those days have already slipped away. Today is the fourth day—the day I fight her. The day the Hunger Games end. At least Apollo is still by my side.

We wait in the Cornucopia, weapons in hand. Food and supplies are irrelevant now; the only thing that matters is survival. My sword feels like an extension of my arm, and Apollo's grip on his blade is as steady as his presence. For hours, we speak in hushed tones, our words a fragile thread keeping the tension at bay. Then I see it—a flash of movement, the faint shimmer of sunlight catching on two long braids through the debris.

"She's here," I whisper. Apollo follows my gaze, nodding silently. Together, we creep forward, but Ashlee is ready.

She spins before we can get close, a cruel smile curling her lips. In each hand, she wields a gleaming axe, their edges sharp enough to cleave through bone. Her eyes burn with a feral intensity, the same look she had every time she struck down another tribute. She's been waiting for this. For us.

"Predictable," she sneers, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Circling us like a predator sizing up its prey, she radiates confidence. "I knew you'd try something sneaky."

Apollo steps in front of me, his sword raised protectively. My heart races, but I keep my focus on Ashlee. This is it. The moment everything comes down to. Only one of us will leave this arena alive, and it won't be her. Ashlee makes the first move, hurling one of her axes at Apollo's chest. He deflects it just in time, though the impact sends him stumbling back. I dart forward, meeting her head-on. Our blades clash with a deafening clang, the force jarring my arms. She's stronger than I expected, and her strikes are relentless. When she swings her second axe at my side, I barely twist away in time.

"Not bad," she taunts, her grin widening. "But you'll have to do better than that."

I grit my teeth and hold my ground, refusing to respond. Words are a luxury I can't afford. Every ounce of focus is locked on Ashlee—her movements, her timing, the openings I need to exploit. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Apollo flanking her, looking for an angle to strike. But Ashlee keeps him at bay, her axes slicing through the air with precision.

"Come on, Octavia," she mocks, her voice dripping with venom. "You're supposed to be the brave survivor, aren't you? The Capitol's shining star?"

Her words sting, but they also ignite something within me—an anger that burns hotter than fear. I lunge, my sword flashing toward her. She dodges, but my blade grazes her arm, leaving a shallow cut. She hisses, her smirk faltering.

"That's more like it," she spits, though there's a flicker of unease in her eyes now. I've drawn blood. She's not untouchable.

Before I can press the advantage, Ashlee retreats, tossing another axe at Apollo. He deflects it, this time with ease, and closes the gap between them. Her attention shifts to him, and for a split second, I see my chance. My grip tightens on my sword as I prepare to strike. But everything unravels in an instant. Ashlee whirls around, her movement a blur, and throws her final axe—straight at Apollo.

"No!" The scream tears from my throat as the blade sinks into his chest.

Time slows. Apollo stumbles, his sword slipping from his grasp. His wide, shocked eyes meet mine, and the world collapses around me. I run to him, dropping to my knees as he crumples to the ground. Blood seeps from the wound, staining his shirt and pooling beneath him.

"Stay with me," I plead, pressing my hands against the gash. My voice shakes, tears streaming down my face. "Apollo, please, stay with me."

He struggles to speak, his voice a faint whisper. "You have to... finish this, Octavia. You have to win."

His words pierce my heart, and I nod, though everything in me screams to stay by his side. I can't lose him. Not now. Not like this. But Ashlee's footsteps echo closer, and I know I have no choice. Leaning down, I press a trembling kiss to Apollo's forehead. It's a promise—a silent vow to honor his sacrifice. Then I rise, my sword heavy in my grip, and turn to face Ashlee.

Her smirk returns, but there's no triumph in it now—only cold calculation. "Let's finish this," I say, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.

She charges, her axe raised high. Our weapons collide with a sharp clang that reverberates through the air. Each strike she delivers is brutal, her strength almost overwhelming. But I refuse to falter. I block her blows, my arms trembling under the force, and look for any opening, any weakness. 

Ashlee's attacks grow sloppier, her confidence cracking as I hold my ground. She swings wildly, overextending herself, and I take my chance. My sword cuts deep into her side, and she cries out, blood staining her clothes. She stumbles, dropping her axe, and for the first time, I see fear in her eyes. But I don't stop. I can't. With one final, desperate swing, my blade finds its mark, striking true.

Ashlee gasps, her eyes wide with shock, and collapses to the ground. Her lips move, but no sound escapes. The cannon fires. It's over.

The arena falls silent. My sword slips from my grasp as I turn back to Apollo, collapsing beside him. His face is pale, his chest still. Gently, I cradle his head, my tears falling onto his lifeless body.

"I won," I whisper, though the words feel hollow. "I did it. For you."

The hovercraft descends, its metallic arms reaching for me—the victor. But as it pulls me away, leaving behind the blood-stained ground and the boy I couldn't save, I know the Games will never truly end. A part of me will always remain here, with him.