So I Leap From The Gallows | Artemis vs The Husk [Day 3]

Artemis had a brief moment on humanity in the Arena, getting to watch an episode of ALONE with one of the girls from Three before she had to go back to “lifeguard duty” as she called it. The faceless anthem blared out before the sun rose, allowing Artemis to catch sleep before the heat crept in. Trying to sleep during the morning sunlight wasn’t complete hell this time around. The tent helped to keep her cool with the reflective material on the outside of it. By the time she woke up, it was already late into the night, the stars shining bright against black sky and sand. It was hot though, hotter than it was yesterday. Wasn’t the desert supposed to get unbearably cold at night? Did the black sand trap the heat somehow? Sweat stuck to her skin; condensation beads slowly rolled her limbs as she made her way through the windy dunes. Sand clung to her body as if she was a magnet, and Artemis can only wonder how much of her skin remained visible through her outfit and the sand. She wanted to find a source of water, if for nothing more than to take a bath. While this would have been a great exfoliation regiment, being exposed to the harsh sand for three days without any kind of moisturizer wrecked havoc on her skin.

The wind picked up as she continued her way north. Or at least she thought it was north. Artemis kept moving forward, the music and neon lights to her back. The wind whipped the remnants of the tents, casting dancing shadows that cut through the pulsing neon lights. She became u sure of what was real and what wasn’t. Who knew how many worms lived underneath the sand and in the tents. Artemis started to get lost in the sea of lights and fabric, the shadows moved as if they were coming for here. Reaching out to bury her into the sand with them. It had only been three days at that point, she was not willing to give up this early. These Games were hers to win, and she was going to prove that to the Capitol.

What came after her this time took her by surprise though. A plumage of slime and sand descended from the sky, a metallic avian mask covered the face, this creature’s body was too human though. Feathers covered their skin as it stood in front of Artemis. That voice was all too familiar to her though.

”I already have the crown. Surrender to me!”

“Portia?” Artemis asked in confusion, not realizing that Portia was striking at her until it was too late. Artemis did her best to jump out of the way, but the blade still cut through the leather straps of her uniform. Artemis wondered if she would be naked by the end of the Games. The voice was distorted but it was still her. Artemis only interacted with her at the pull up contest, showing the girl from One up with 20 one handed pull-ups, but even then, she didn’t have this malice in her voice. Had it been there all along and Portia had just put up a front? No that couldn’t have been right.

The Gamemakers mutated Portia, changed her into a puppet for their own use. Did they do this to the other tributes who didn’t make it to the Bloodbath? Did they decide that certain Districts weren’t worthy of a victor and turned them into hideous creatures? Why did some Districts only get one tribute? A flickering of luck coursed through Artemis’s veins at being deemed worthy to fight for District Two, but pity for Portia followed.

“Portia what did they do to you?” Artemis asked, that pity reflecting back in her voice. “I’m so sorry.” Artemis said before striking out with her blade. She figured that killing Portia would have been granting mercy. Artemis would never had wished this upon her worst enemy.

Artemis managed to chop off Portia's leg. One on hand, she felt guilty looking at the fallen leg, yet she knew that the creature that stood before her was not Portia, at least not mentally and spiritually. The only thing that ever belonged to Portia was the body that stood before her. She was pissed for Portia, she was no longer the career who wanted to win, but a husk, hollowed for the Gamemaker's use.

"Of course, men in power would turn one of the most powerful girls in the Games into something they can control," Artemis said mostly to herself.

"I did this, I won." the ghost of Portia retorts.

“What did you win, Portia? The right to have your soul torn apart so that your body can be used by men who never cared about us, to begin with?” Artemis asked back, the indignant concern unfiltered in the girl's voice “Also, you’re trying to tell me that sewed those feathers into your skin yourself? You’re telling me that you’ve been able to fly this entire time?” Artemis said as she jumped back from the other girl’s sword. It still nicked her neck, but that could be bandaged up.

What couldn’t be fixed was the damage that those men sitting in the Capitol did to her. Portia goes on about reclaiming her throne, but Artemis is more concerned about ensuring that the girl is still there. That the Gamemakers hadn’t violated her to the point where she was just a shell of what she used to be. Had the Gamemakers taken the anger Portia felt and twisted it into this puppet? Or was this anger Portia’s righteous fury lashing out because she could never see those who did this to her brought to justice?

“Portia, can’t you see how the Gamemakers turned you against us? You’re face painted the sky in the first Anthem. You’re legally dead!” Desperation laced through the words, hoping to reach what little remained of the other career. “Why are you still doing their bidding?! Why are you fighting for the men that did this to you? What false promises did they feed you? You can come back to us. You may not get your crown, but maybe we can get you out of here. They did it for the 80th, why not again for you?”

Artemis wasn’t sure if trying to appeal to her would reach what was left of Portia, but she had to try. She could not leave another girl to be used like this, and if violence was the way to get through to Portia, then so be it. She raised her glaive and struck down again, and she hoped that Portia would snap back to herself with the sight of her blood.