Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 86: Guilty Conscious.

Chapter 86: Guilty Conscious.

Apollo stood alone for a moment, staring at the empty hallway where Amari had just walked off. His fists clenched at his sides.

It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t fair.

But this tournament didn’t care about fair.

He sighed, shook the thought out of his head, and turned toward the arena.

He couldn’t carry that weight right now.

He had his own war waiting.

The crowd lit up the moment he stepped onto the platform.

Cheers. Chants. Some still screaming about what happened earlier, but it didn’t matter.

Across from him, Freya Calloway walked in, fire already flickering along her shoulders. Focused. Sharp. Ready to burn something.

The two locked eyes.

And then—the bell rang.

Freya didn’t waste a second.

She launched forward, no warm-up, no hesitation—just pure heat. Her fists glowed violet, erupting with purple fire as she swung with enough force to crack stone.

Apollo was already moving.

Each hit landed closer. The flames whipped past his ribs, across his shoulder—but every strike only sharpened him.

His instincts flared.

His steps got faster.

His smirk got wider.

Freya snarled and spun mid-air, releasing a massive explosion that lit the entire arena in a blinding storm of violet fire.

Smoke covered everything.

The audience leaned forward, squinting.

> "Did she—?"

> "That has to be it."

> "There’s no way he took that and walked away."

The smoke hung thick—until a blur shot through it.

Behind her.

Apollo appeared like a streak of gold and red, tiger nails extended, energy ripping off him like a storm in motion.

The slash came clean across Freya’s back—just enough to make her stumble.

She twisted around, shocked, eyes wide.

Apollo stood behind her now, panting, chest rising—but laughing.

Not normal laughter.

Something... different.

He wasn’t just fighting anymore.

He was enjoying this.

His aura was darker now—hungrier.

Amari’s eyes narrowed in the crowd.

Conrad leaned forward in his seat.

Freya spun to face him again, fire flickering around her fists, but even she hesitated.

Apollo tilted his head, grin sharp.

"You thought that was gonna save you?"

From the waiting room, Amari watched the flames spiral across the screen—purple light flashing through the clouds of heat as Apollo charged through it like it wasn’t even fire.

For a moment, he wasn’t seeing the fight.

He was back in the woods.

Back when they’d both been kids—frightened, cornered, and hunted.

Back when they’d been kidnapped and dragged into a nightmare by people who thought they could break them. And back when Apollo had snapped—when he stopped running and turned into something else.

Not a boy.

A beast.

That was the first time Amari had seen it.

The raw, brutal version of Apollo that didn’t think, didn’t hesitate—he just devoured everything in his way.

He blinked the memory away now, letting the image fall into the back of his mind.

And still—he smiled.

Because they’d both grown.

Even in the short time apart, even with the tension that never really settled between them... they’d grown.

He was proud.

They weren’t the same scared boys in the woods anymore.

Back in the arena, Freya Calloway wasn’t smiling anymore.

She was still fighting—hard. Still throwing flame like a cannon, her fists cracking with power, her fire coating the stage in violet inferno.

But Apollo wasn’t slowing down.

If anything, he was matching her more.

Most of his shirt had been burned away. His arms were scorched, skin marked with smoke and seared flesh. But he didn’t stumble. Didn’t wince.

He stood there—body rising with breath, eyes glowing gold, tiger claws curved and twitching at his sides.

He was thriving.

In the crowd, people shouted over each other—

> "This is way too close!"

> "I don’t know who wins this!"

> "Two of the most powerful bloodlines going head-to-head!"

Someone else—older, sitting calmly—smiled and said loud enough for those around to hear:

> "The winner’s already been chosen. The moment he stepped into the ring."

> "Now we’re just watching time catch up."

The ground shook as Freya launched another wave of flame—this one massive, destructive, a final bet on impact.

Apollo didn’t move.

He charged straight into it.

The two of them collided again—Freya screaming with fury, Apollo laughing like a wild storm—and the arena cracked. Stone shattered. Dust lifted. Heat rolled across the stands.

Even the crowd felt it.

The quake wasn’t just in the ring.

It was everywhere.

And it wasn’t clear if this was still a tournament match—

Or a warning of what these two could become.

The two of them slammed into each other one last time—the roar of impact echoing like thunder—just as the first fissures appeared beneath their feet. Stone split in jagged lines, dust and chunks flying into the air.

Amari watched from the sidelines, a slow smile spreading across his face. Conrad leaned forward, eyes bright, fists clenched in excitement.

Freya’s blue fire flared around her, whipping in waves that carved deeper cracks into the ring. Apollo met each blast head-on—his aura howling like a beast unleashed. Every strike, every block, every counterbeat shook the platform harder than the last.

Officials rushed forward, shouting, but the smoke and flames were too thick. The announcer’s voice trembled in the speakers as he tried to call for a halt:

> "S—Stand by, everyone! Stop the fight—stop the fight—"

But the ring was collapsing faster than they could respond. Beams buckled, rails snapped, and with a final shudder, the entire platform gave way.

Silence fell.

When the dust settled, the broken arena lay in ruins—giant slabs upturned, chasms where stone once was. And in the middle of the wreckage, only one figure remained upright.

Apollo stood, chest heaving, tiger-nails glowing dimly, blue scorch-marks on his skin and clothes. Across from him, Freya knelt in the rubble, head bowed, flames long since extinguished around her.

The announcer’s voice cut back in, shaky but triumphant: > "Apollo is our victor... by collapse of the ring!"

In the stands, the crowd exploded—some in cheers, some in stunned breathlessness.

Amari simply nodded, eyes locked on Apollo, as if to say, "Exactly." Conrad let out a whoop of excitement.

And on the shattered battlefield, Apollo raised a single, battered fist. He’d won.