Chapter 18 #2
My scheming is interrupted by hearing my name from a voice that slithers around my neck like a snake.
“Challenge Savaé. That’s an order, Draven.
I want to watch the bitch bleed.” Chet’s sour voice is directed at a tall Elarian male with slate-blue hair, the waves shorn close to his head.
His skin pales as his stormy grey eyes meet mine.
Conflict is worn in the soft features of his face as he hesitantly steps my way.
“I, Draven Bane, challenge you to combat.” His voice cracks along the words.
It’s clear he doesn’t want to obey Chet.
I recognize his last name; Major Bane is known for his ability to cast storms. A Stormcaller.
Their friendship is no doubt due to the association between their parents, since Chet has no authority to be giving orders.
I raise another internal wall of golden mental shields, the world around me melting away as a lethal focus sings through my marrow.
I nod, stepping onto the mat, circling him like prey.
Observing his every muscle, listening to the sound of his steps on the mat.
I hear the pattern of his movements through the air as his heartbeat hums to me.
The speed of his pulse picks up as the sounds of his steady pattern shifts, giving away his plan to strike. I block his punch with my forearm with ease as I use his exposed side to my advantage, landing a blow in his ribs.
He stutters, catching his breath. I use his distraction to swipe my feet underneath him, knocking him to the mat with a thud. He gasps with the wind knocked out his lungs, still trying to catch his breath from my last hit.
An overconfident kick to his side allows him to grab my ankle, yanking me to the ground. With one leg already over him, I try to land, pinning him down, but he has the same idea. We roll across the mat together, struggling against one another to get the upper hand.
I hear a satisfying crunch as the air hisses from his lungs, with my punch to his ribs in the same spot as before. I use the rolling momentum to my advantage, letting him spin as I get up, pinning him on his stomach with his arm pulled tight behind his back and my knees digging into his spine.
He growls in pain as I yank his arm back tighter, hearing the slow rip of tendons as his free arm taps the mat three times, signaling my win. He stands up, taking short breaths beneath his broken ribs, cradling his injured shoulder.
“If you got into a rolling match with a Wuvon ensign, you’d be dead.
I hardly consider that a win,” Instructor Zander scolds dismissively as he walks by.
He’s right; there’s no arguing with his logic.
“The goal of your next fight should be to take them out in three hits or less,” he commands, continuing to the next mat to observe.
Chet’s voice is full of disdain as he serves up his next friend. “Victus, it’s your turn. Don’t be such a fucking disappointment like Draven.”
Well, it turns out Chet treats everyone like shit.
Here I was thinking I’m special. I smirk as my next victim strides up to me with more confidence than the last. Victus is a wall of muscle, brute strength I doubt I’ll be able to overtake if he pins me.
I will have to be very strategic with my hits.
“I, Victus Eldrin, challenge you to combat,” his deep voice grunts out.
He clenches a muscle in his jaw, shooting a side-eye in Chet’s direction.
His hesitation tells me he doesn’t like being under Chet’s thumb, either.
His last name is another famous one of the Golden Legion, this one belonging to the commanding officer of Commander Bragen.
XO Eldrin is known for his Naturalist powers on the frontline, helping prevent the Blackwood from gaining more territory at the Wuvon’s behest. This means Victus is an Elarian-Naturalist hybrid.
Which is pretty obvious from his legs, thick as tree trunks, his arms like thick branches.
His deep brown skin almost has a bark-like appearance under sage-green hair of leafy vines, matching his eyes.
We start our dance along the mat; his movements are slower than Draven’s.
He flexes his forearm, wrapped in a spiraling vine tattoo, as his fist goes for my face.
I duck, side-stepping. He stumbles with the momentum of his large build as I slam my foot down at an angle along the weak fibula bone on his lower leg, hearing it crack.
It’s not a crippling blow, like a broken tibia, but it will surely hurt like the demon fires of Emberhell.
He curses as he regains composure; he can’t hide that he is favoring his weight on one leg now, which gives me the upper hand.
He comes at me again, swinging. I dodge again, but this time, he anticipates it, hitting me in the gut.
I smile manically at the pain, letting it fuel the dark, feral part of my soul that has survived far, far greater horrors.
I avoid his grasping attempt to trap me in his arms.
As his weight falls on his injured leg, I take advantage of his pain, faltering him in an off-balance step to land a devastating uppercut, sending him reeling backwards.
I kick him in the stomach as he flies off the mat from the extra momentum, smacking his head so hard on the floor, he goes unconscious.
I’m breathing hard as I become more and more feral with each hit I land, bathing in the anger of Chet’s vicious eyes, narrowing on me.
“Why don’t you come over here and be my next plaything?” I spit in Chet’s direction. The bruising from the earlier blow to his nose blooms under his eyes, making them appear all the more hollow.
He snarls, “Blackbriar, you're up. Put that bitch in her place,” as he shoves Brock my way.
He has dark hair shorn to his scalp. Brock Blackbriar is shorter than the rest but just as muscular.
His eyes are a light turquoise, falling into a dark blue, but beautiful colors fall flat in the lack of soul behind.
He doesn’t bear a surname I recognize, meaning this male actually has something to prove to Chet if he’s putting up with him. He doesn’t wait to circle me on the mat, doesn’t bother to even formally challenge me. He just lunges straight for me.
I spin away from his hands, but his shorter center of gravity allows him to rebound quickly; I’m still huffing from the last match.
A part of me wants to release the feral, chaotic demon I know hides deep inside of me.
A dark child who will do anything to survive, even tear someone to shreds with her bare hands.
I try to keep her safe from the world now, deep in the confines of my mind, protected from any more suffering.
Yet, as my adrenaline continues to rise, I can hear her clawing to be released.
Her serrated screams begging to wreak vengeance on a world who’d forgotten her.
Who left her to fend for herself in a den of monsters.
The distraction of her screeches echoing in my mind leaves me open for him to land a kick to my cheek before I can complete my duck. The sound of bones crunching reverberates through my skull. To my opponent’s soon-to-be-lament, my head injury causes me to lose the reins on my tight control.
The beast is released.
My movements becoming feral as I lurch forward, punching him in the throat, then spinning around him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he gasps for air.
I use my body weight to bend him backwards in an unnatural way, kneeing him in the spine as he howls in pain.
He stumbles to his hands and knees, unable to get up despite two attempts.
I stand above him. “Do you yield?”
Patiently, I wait for his response, but when he attempts to stand again and fails, he reaches out for my leg closest to him.
I step out of his reach and strike him in the side several times until he falls to the mat once more.
A smug smile kisses my lips at his satisfying three taps while Chet curses in the background.
I wipe the blood from my nose as the wind leaves my lungs, a terrifying crunching sound as someone lands a sucker punch along my back ribs, right over my right kidney.
Without my muscles clenched to protect my ribs, my armor alone isn’t enough.
I snarl as I catch myself before stumbling off the mat.
If I wasn’t wearing my basilisk armor, that could have been a devastating blow, taking out one of my kidneys.
I turn to see Lorgan’s slicked-back hair and eyes of currant red narrowed on me. It’s a coward’s move, sneaking up behind me without a formal challenge. Even worse than Brock, who at least had the gall to take me head on. I hear Chet’s words over my shoulder.
“Finish her.”
Lorgan attempts another punch, but I block him with my forearms, trying to spin out his momentum so the punch doesn’t break my forearm.
I twirl, but he reaches for my bun. He rips me back by my hair, and I use the force inwards, against him, landing a backwards kick in his stomach.
I turn around as he staggers a step back, landing another blow across his face, splitting his lip.
He uses the closed space to strike the same punch I just delivered. I cackle viciously as the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
“You’ll fucking pay for marring my handsome face. I see why your parents abandoned you. You’re worthless—or will be soon,” he threatens. I don’t have time to digest his words, dodging his side kick.
I spit my blood at him. “Missed me.” Winking at him as he lunges for me again. The quick movements are taking a toll as each deep breath I take shoots fire up my right side. I try to let numbness sweep over me, but each inhale pulls me right out of it.