Clove was ready to attack.
Cato was ready to fight.
They knew that they would be the last two. They were the best, the pros, the elite. They were Careers.
They circled each other, smirking. Quick as lightning, Clove threw a knife directly at Cato's neck. She knew the trick to aim at the largest body of mass. But she also knew that she was good—no, perfect—enough to hit him directly in the neck.
But hit seemed Cato was fast enough to whirl away. He leaped towards her, his sword outstretched, his muscular, tall frame more powerful than her wiry one. But she was faster and clever, and ducked his shot, driving a long, slender knife into his chest. She hit his ribs though, missing the organs. She cursed loudly. You know better than that, you've been trained! She shouted internally.
He just laughed, and pushed her over. Despite her strength, he was bigger, and knocked her to the ground. She scrambled back, and he laughed again.
"We were allies once." He spat.
"Way to state the obvious," she said, her sarcastic nature taking over.
He smiled again, not a smirk, but a genuine smile. She was getting nervous now, but she hopped to her feet and chucked another knife directly at his torso. It struck, but not enough. Now he had two wounds and Clove had none, but he was smiling widely has ever.
"Come and get me, Clovey," He stared.
She was ready to howl in frustration, tilt her head back and scream. Why wasn't he afraid? She had always scared everyone, at home and in the games. She threw knife after knife, and they hit him every time, sometimes even in vital spots, but he just laughed. Then, when she was out of knifes, he leapt unexpectedly, slashing with his long sword. She screamed, leaping to the left, but he still managed to slash a wound in her chest. She howled in pain, it was something she was so unused to. Cato chuckled.
"I see that the invincible girl is broken." He smirked. Then, he leapt on top of her; he was the one howling this time. He was ready for something he had waited for the entire games. He pressed his mouth to hers hard. She screamed, punched, kicked and bit, but he didn't release her. He unzipped her black jacket, his hands trembling, but she finally managed to push him off.
She snatched a knife off his belt, —they were still close enough—stood on tiptoes, and thrust it into his throat coldly.
He gasped, shocked. She smirked. "You didn't think your little 'Clovey' could win. I proved you wrong."
He choked out his final words, the ever-present smile still on his face. "W-way to state the obvious, Clove."
He dropped to the floor, and howled, and his cannon fired. The games were over.