Chapter 21
Combat
Sinta
The classroom had been transformed.
All of the wooden desks had been removed, the space emptied of everything except the blackboard and at least a hundred rubber workout mats placed around the room in rows.
“Woah.” Kenya mutters.
“Yeah. Guess I won’t be needing this.” I agree and quickly throw my notebook and pen onto the bench near the door – the only seat left in the room.
“Don’t fucking dally. Get your asses in here and choose a gods damned mat!” Trevone barks, standing near the chalkboard with an athletically lean female.
Hurrying to a mat near the front of the room, Kenya takes the one to my left as the rest of the class scramble to claim one.
Trevone waves a hand and the classroom door slams closed, denying access to late comers.
Having thought about what this class might entail I’d had the foresight to change into my workout clothes beforehand, and encouraged Kenya to do the same.
Standing in a loose grey t-shirt and a pair of tight black shorts with my sneakers on, I glanced around and notice some unlucky souls were still in their civilian clothes.
Some of them were Elites, wearing their fancy branded clothing and shoes.
I winced in sympathy for the clothes.
“For the first half of today, you will go through an apparently necessary warm-up exercise and be walked through a series of easy combat forms and moves.” Trevone begins, tossing a sneer at the female beside him – who ignores him. “Then we will move outside to the combat courtyard where you will be tested against each other in the Pit. How you perform today will determine which group you are placed with each class and what you will be taught.”
Easy enough to follow.
“Did I say you could fucking ask questions?!” Trevone suddenly bellows, his square face reddening, his eyes like lasers eviscerating the poor female a few rows to my left.
“But, I need to change—”
“No fucking questions!” He roars.
She flinches and hunches in on herself.
“If you are not prepared for this class, then perhaps you should learn to fucking think ahead!” He snarls, glaring at us all. “I will not baby your petulant asses. You come prepared or you fucking suffer.”
By the Gods. I was suddenly ridiculously glad Fade and Elijah had given me a heads-up. Extremely thankful.
Maybe I should buy them ‘thank you’ snacks?
“I’m done with you maggots. You are hers until 1:30pm.” He mutters.
Storming through the gathered students, he exits the doors at the back of the classroom.
He even pushes a few students to the ground on his way.
“Fucking bully.” Someone mutters.
No one corrects them.
Sighing softly, the lean female with dark hair and pale skin steps forward. “I am Professor Lumin. I will lead you in a few warm-up exercises and stretching techniques before we move onto forms and how to throw a punch – for those of you that have no combat experience. Hopefully this can be accomplished before the half hour is up.” She eyes our group, especially the Elites with Imelda and Grande at their centre. “There are no exceptions or special treatment in this class. Everyone fights, and everyone participates. Now, please, watch and copy.” She instructs.
She begins with a sun salutation breathing exercise.
“I think I’m ready.” Kenya giggles, bouncing in place and throwing a very uncoordinated kick to the side. “I’m like a ninja. I can totally kick butt!”
I laugh at her enthusiasm. “Don’t get too cocky.”
“I can totally do this. I am strong,” She flexes her thin arms to show off the very tiny muscles there. “And fast as hell. I’ve got this.”
“Oh boy.” I mumble, following her as she bounces towards the courtyard entrance.
“Good luck everyone.” Professor Lumin calls, but she doesn’t follow us.
Stepping out into the courtyard for the first time, I looked around while following the others to line up before Mr Trevone.
It was larger than it had appeared to be, and had a literal pit about five feet deep with sand in it.
There was an obstacle course further back in the yard, a mud pit, and a wall of weapons behind the sand pit.
There was a running track, other smaller duelling pits, and practise dummies.
It looked kind of like a medieval training ground.
“Fall in.” Trevone barks.
Everyone hustles to form a group before him.
“I’m not fucking around. We only have thirty minutes; this will be quick and sweet. I am pairing you up with partners, and you will duel in the Pit,” He points to the giant sand pit behind him. “When I call you to. You will fight until one of you falls or I call an end to the duel. No questions, and no arguments.”
The group shifts a little with nervous energy.
I find Grande just to see what her reaction is.
The Princess’s face is tight, her lips pinched, and she stands amongst her posse as they grumble and whisper.
She’s glaring at Trevone like he’s the antichrist, and she an avenging angel.
I suppose she was expecting special treatment.
Imelda doesn’t seem bothered at all, but Yelana looks ready to shed blood.
I hoped I didn’t get paired with her.
“When I point to your pairs, immediately move to stand by them.” Trevone barks and begins to make his way through the crowd, pointing as he goes.
Kenya grabs my hand, her grip tight, muttering ‘please, please, please’ under her breath.
I didn’t think praying would help her.
Nearing us, Trevone points to a beefy male, then turns and glances around.
His eyes zero in on me.
For a moment I think he’s going to choose me, but then he points to my left.
Kenya squeaks a terrified sound.
Smirking, Trevone then points to me and a lanky female a few people to my right.
She nods at me, moving to stand beside me, but Kenya has a death grip on my arm.
She is staring at her grinning opponent.
He looked like he could pick his teeth with her bones.
“Kenya.” I murmur when Trevone moves away.
“I can’t fight him!” She squeaks, looking scared. “He’s huge! He could squish my head like a grape.”
“Stay out of arms reach. Go for his kneecaps.” I tell her, rubbing her arm.
“If he gets a hold on you, go for his eyes or jab his throat.” The female I’m paired with offers quietly.
I raise a brow at her, surprised.
She shrugs. “He’s a sadistic asshole. We went to the same high school; he loved beating the crap out of people. She needs the help.”
I wince when Kenya squeaks again and tries to hide behind me.
“You have to go over there.” I tell her, but I don’t want to make her.
He’s smiling like a shark, eyes hard and flinty, and flexing – as if to intimidate her
I think it works.
“I can’t do this. I’m going to ask for another opponent.” She whispers desperately.
“Trevone will just pair you with someone worse. You know that.” My opponent points out.
Kenya whimpers a pathetic sound.
“Right, let’s get started. Princesses, in the Pit.” Trevone barks, and my attention immediately snaps to them.
He'd pitted Imelda against Grande?
“I’m Sinta.” I tell my opponent.
“Natalie.” She offers. “You can call me Nat.”
“I go by Sin.” I agree.
She nods and our attention returns to the Pit.
Kenya continues to hide behind me, my arm turning numb in her grip.
Gracefully lowering into the pit, Imelda waits as Grande summons a gust of wind in grand, showy movements and levitates down onto the sand.
The glare she throws Trevone could kill a lesser man.
“Begin.” Trevone barks.
It's a split second.
Grande raises her hands wreathed in sparkling blue magic but the dragon princess is already there and throwing one hell of a right hook.
Grande goes down hard, practically collapsing, and Imelda follows up with a spinning kick to Grande’s middle.
The blonde princess heaves, gagging, and doesn’t get up.
“No hard feelings, Grande.” Imelda tells her.
Grande doesn’t respond, too busy heaving and gasping on the ground.
Imelda leaves the Pit.
People move out of her way as she walks to rejoin Yelana. I can’t blame them.
The Princess of House Fire and Gold was fucking lethal.
Elite females jump into the pit to help Grande out of it.
Trevone claps and trumpets a laugh.
“Excellent. Excellent.” He chuckles. “Next.” He barks and points to a random pair.
Grande is fawned over by her posse as the next two grapple.
She holds her middle and glares at Imelda, who doesn’t even glance at her.
That can’t be good.
“Frosty.” Nat mumbles.
“That’s not going to end well.” Kenya agrees.
I grunt.
“Good.” Trevone barks. “Next.”
It continues like this for fifteen minutes, fight after fight going down.
Trevone rarely calls an end to a duel, someone winning within a few minutes. I think only four or so pairs actually gave one another a real fight – Yelana and the bulky male she fought being one of them.
It was almost a draw until she nailed him right in the balls with a palm strike.
It was apparently allowed, since Trevone didn’t reprimand her.
And now every fight since had been full of dirty moves and savage cursing.
We must have been down to the last quarter of the group, Kenya and I among them.
“You, tiny girl, get in the ring.” Trevone orders, pointing at Kenya.
Her opponent was already in the pit, flexing and jumping around, his friends hyping him up.
“Oh Gods.” She chokes, shaking.
“It’s okay.” I encourage. “Remember. Eyes, throat, kneecaps.” I murmur and push her forward.
“Go for the balls if you have to.” Nat orders.
Shaking, Kenya slowly makes her way to the ring’s edge and fumbles her way into it.
Trevone bellows an impatient sigh as she stands as far away from muscle-head as possible, all but hugging the wall.
“Fight.” Her opponent roars.
Muscle-head’s friends echo him, calling out taunts and screaming for him to ‘get her’.
Kenya looks like she’s about to shit herself.
“Fuck, I don’t think I can watch.” I breath, my teeth punishing my lip.
“This is going to be bad.” Nat agrees as he advances.
Kenya runs. Just takes off in a dead sprint.
Looking amused and practically panting with anticipation, muscle-head takes off after her.
“What the hell kind of Fae are you?!” Trevone roars. “Stand and fight, you coward.”
Kenya whimpers aloud and ducks muscle-head’s grabbing hands, weaving away from him.
“Fucking hell.” I gasp. “Drop and kick!” I scream at her, my heart galloping.
“Small target! Curl up.” Nat yells next to me.
Kenya listens, dropping and rolling onto her back as he comes to loom over her.
Thrusting both legs up, she manages to kick him in the stomach, and then proceeds to kick out at anything she can reach while he wheezes.
“Get up! Get away.” I tell her.
I’m too late.
He grabs one of her kicking legs and pulls, dropping to sit on her chest – trapping her arms.
I stop breathing as he sneers down at her, raising his fist.
I couldn’t stop my yell as he wailed her in her screaming face, the hit so hard I saw blood splat on the sand.
“Fucking hell.” Someone spits.
Its Yelana.
Next to her, Imelda stands with a disgusted expression. But I have no idea if it’s aimed at Kenya or the male.
Kicking, sobbing, Kenya squirms in his grip as he hits her again and again, laughing, moving from punching to slapping and back again.
I flinch with every brutal hit, my hands covering my mouth.
“On my Gods, call it off!” Nat yells, horrified. “He’s obviously won.”
Trevone shoots her a seething look. “Don’t tell me how to run my class. The beating will be good for her – make her grow a fucking back bone.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell.
It's not just us that is horrified.
The majority of the class is, watching on in horror and shock as he beats my friend, laughing all the while.
His friends are cheering, yelling suggestions, loving the brutality.
I don’t know why someone being humiliated with fists instead of magic was so different to the senses. But I now know I could not stomach watching a friend be beaten.
I think I’m going to be sick.
He gets off her chest, Kenya limp beneath him, and grabs one of her legs, dragging her to the middle of the Pit.
He smiles at his friends before grabbing one of her arms and, like it’s a twig, twists it.
We all hear the snap.
Kenya’s so out of it all she can do is give a muffled yell, her head lolling.
“Call it off, Trevone.” Imelda growls, face hard.
“You have no authority here, Princess.” He retorts. “It is my job to ensure each of you are strong, competent fighters. She needs this.”
“A beating won’t help her learn to fight, you sexist pig.” Imelda barks. “Call that bastard off, or I will.”
Trevone rolls his eyes, lazily waving to muscle-head. “That’s enough for now. She can see the healer after class.” He sighs.
Muscle-head frowns, delivering one last kick to Kenya’s ribs before sauntering away to his psycho fan club.
Nat and I scramble into the Pit.
We hover when we reach her, honestly scared to touch her.
“Gods.” I croak, taking in her swollen face. “Kenya?”
She doesn’t even stir.
“Lets get her out of here.” Nat prods.
Each of us take an end and carry her to the edge of the Pit.
“Here, let me help.” Yelana offers, kneeling.
I let her take Kenya’s shoulders, and she pulls my friend up easily.
Turning, I look at the bastard that did this to her, taking in the smug grin on his face as he boasts to his friends.
They laugh and encourage him— celebrating what wasn’t even a real victory.
I boiled with fury, feeling like my skin was on fire and too tight.
I wanted to break that fucking bastards neck.
“I want to fight him.” I demand, whirling to look at Trevone.
He gives me a condescending look, smirking. “You already have a partner, and I doubt you’d do much better than your little friend.”
“I’m fighting him.” I growl, my tone firm.
“I already paired you.” He growls back, teeth bared.
Muscle-head laughs, blowing me a kiss when I turn to him. “Better tend to your friend, baby girl.” He taunts.
If I could set him on fire with my gaze alone the pit would be echoing with his screams.
Turning, I give Nat a look.
I’m not sure what she’s thinking, but the savage look on her own face gives me a sense of grim hope.
Nodding, she takes a step back and offers me her cheek.
I don’t hesitate.
I crack my fist against her cheekbone.
The courtyard falls silent.
She grunts and falls back onto her ass, clutching the cheek.
“Fuck, you hit harder than I thought.” She mutters, wincing.
Giving her a hand back up, I try to give her an apologetic look but I’m too fucking angry. “Sorry.”
She shakes her head and waves me off, moving to climb out of the Pit. “Give him hell.”
Turning back to Trevone, I state again, “I’m fighting him.”
No one is laughing now. Everyone is quiet.
Waiting, watching.
Trevone narrows his beady eyes at me, face sour.
“Let her, Trevone.” Imelda barks, face hard.
He sneers at her.
But doesn’t speak against her.
“You want to get your ass beat so fucking bad, fine.” He spits. “Tremore, get back in the ring, and make it quick.”
Muscle-head, Tremore, grins and lopes forward. “Yes, sir.”