Chapter 12 #2
We circle each other. Fear curls low in my stomach, but I keep it pressed down. Sullivan always picked opponents who matched me in physique and strength. He didn’t just pick the biggest guy in the place and pair me off. It is clear to see that Ender wants me to suffer.
I risk a glance up to see him watching us. His hands are coiled around the bars, boots planted apart. I can’t read his expression, but I know he must be satisfied to see me so nervous. He gets a perverse kick out of watching me get my ass handed to me.
My hands are wrapped in gloves. I stuffed a pair of razors in the fabric last night in case I needed them. There is nothing in the rules about fighting dirty. When they all outpower me, I have to think strategically.
Rigel is overconfident and slow on his feet. I’ll have to use that to my advantage.
He lunges without warning. One minute, that mocking smile lingers on his lips, and the next, he’s dashing at me like a man with nothing to lose. I pivot and duck, barely keeping my balance. His fist grazes my side, and I bite back a grunt. My ribs are still sore from yesterday.
The second swipe, I manage to duck in time.
“Not fast enough,” I taunt.
“I’m going to kill you!”
“You’ll have to try harder,” I spit back. “Or move faster.”
I let my fist fly and land a blow to his chest. Blood blooms where the blade nicked him. It’s small enough for people to assume it was my nail. He stumbles back, and his eyes widen in surprise.
I take advantage of his confusion and grab his wrist, twisting hard, forcing him off balance.
“You’re stronger than you look,” he admits, between teeth gritted.
Sweat beads on my forehead, my palms slick with perspiration.
“You’re damn right I am,” I say.
I spin hard, breaking his wrist in the process. Rigel howls in pain, and I smile.
I duck his retaliating swing and drive my knee into his midsection. He doubles over.
When he recovers, he is more cautious. His smile is gone, and his strikes are less impulsive.
“You’re good,” Rigel says. The words are a low growl. “But don’t think you can win, Common.”
“Try me.”
Sweat blurs my vision, and my lungs burn. But I don’t hesitate. Every opening is a potential advantage.
I feint left and drive my fist into his sternum. More cuts line his flesh. He’s bleeding more with every swipe.
He stumbles back, and I follow, closing the distance between us. His chest heaves, moisture and blood slicking his skin. It drips down his torso in a watery pink line, darkening the fabric of his sweat-resistant shirt.
“You’re annoying,” he says. “And what the hell is in your gloves?”
“You mean this?” I hold up my middle finger.
He growls and lunges for me. I grab his arm, twist it behind him, and force him to the ground. My knee digs into his throat, holding him in place.
Three seconds are left. We each have five minutes to win. I just have to hold this position until the alarm sounds.
Rigel thrashes wildly, and I push harder, prepared to damage his larynx if he doesn’t quit it.
The timer screams. The fight is officially over.
I step back, chest heaving.
Rigel glares up at me.
“Good fight,” I say.
He ignores me and storms off.
The other circles are littered with the remnants of the ongoing fights. Everyone looks in bad shape. Even the victors.
Flint approaches me, wiping blood from his knuckles.
“You kicked ass.”
He offers me his hand to help me to my feet, but I ignore it, because I don’t need it, but also because I’d slice his skin, giving away my secret.
Rigel could snitch, but I think his pride wouldn’t allow it.
He’s a Gifted, even with blades tucked in my gloves, he should have won. They presume to be superior to us in every way that counts.
Rei stumbles past me, glaring at me like I am to blame for her loss.
“I hate this!” she yells. “Why can’t we use our powers? We have to make ourselves smaller so she has a chance to survive.”
I grit my teeth and ignore her. I won’t waste my breath on petty squabbles. I intend to make it to the end and prove that they are wrong.
Rei stomps off when she realizes I don’t plan on engaging with her.
The day drags on in a haze of rounds. Blood is spilled, and a few teeth are knocked out in the process. I win some, I lose some. I surprise and disappoint myself.
I see Flint using his long legs to evade punches, Rei moving as quickly as the wind, and Aric overextending and paying for it. I study each of their strengths and weaknesses, storing them away to pick apart later.
By late afternoon, the room is littered with bodies.
Hunger gnaws at me, and the fatigue threatens to pull me under.
Ender approaches me as the others slump against the floor, struggling to pick themselves up.
“Nice knives,” he says, eyes darting to my gloves.
He walks away without admonishing me for cheating, which is a small blessing.
I glance at Flint, who lies across the mat, nursing a sprained ankle. He meets my gaze with a lopsided smile. Perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt to have an ally. I don’t need to trust him; I will just lean on him when needed.
I nod in acknowledgment, making his mouth rise into a full-blown grin.
“See you tomorrow?” he asks.
“Not like I have a choice,” I say. “We’re stuck in this hellhole. Until one of us wins.”
As I leave the drill hall, bruised and bleeding, I understand what Ender is building.
He’s designing killers.
Not just strong or capable soldiers, but predators.
I’m too exhausted to trek to the main mess hall, even though I want to spend time with Sora. Instead, I head to the dining facility in Block A. The room is small and mellow. Only five narrow tables are there, lined in a neat formation.
Orion and Clover sit at the one closest to the door.
Aric and his team are sitting on the opposite side.
They are nice enough to let Rei sit with them even though she’s not on their squad.
Kaia took her food and disappeared to her quarters, which is a wise idea.
I would follow suit, but I don’t want anyone to think that I am afraid.
“Mercy,” Flint calls. “I got you a seat.”
The food in Block A is noticeably better.
There are real cuts of meat instead of just gristle.
The rice is cooked properly instead of clumped and chalky, and the stew is thick and fragrant rather than watery.
There are even sweets laid out on our trays: little pots of pudding and raspberry-filled biscuits dusted with sugar, a rare indulgence in a place like this.
My stomach rumbles at the thought of stuffing my face.
“Why don’t you sit with the others?” I ask Flint, eyeing Aric’s table.
“Aric is cruel, and so are his friends,” he says. “The way they treat you and the other Commons is not right.”
“You might be the second decent Gifted I’ve met.”
Knox is the first.
“What about me?”
A chair is drawn out, and Spider slides into the seat beside me. He reaches for my biscuit, and I slap his hand away.
“You’re the third worst,” I say.
“You think?” Spider asks with a raised brow.
“I know.”
“Tough crowd,” he murmurs.
“Why are you not with your friends?” I nod at where Clover and Orion sit; Knox just sat down with them. That must be the Black Star table.
I expect Ender to join them, but I doubt he enjoys socializing.
“Same reason you’re not with your peers,” Spider says. “I hate the lot of them.”
“Knox seems nice.”
“Yeah, he’s the most tolerable one, and Ender isn’t bad, but Clover and Orion are terrible.”
I was going to send him away, but I kind of pity him. It must suck not being friends with the people you spend the majority of your time with.
“You can stay,” I say. “But don’t you dare touch my plate or I’ll stab you with my fork.”
Spider smiles widely, dimples piercing his cheek.
“Got it.”
“So, what’s the High General like?” Spider asks. “I never met him.”
“You know how I said you were the third worst Gifted?” I ask. “The first place belongs to my father.”
“Damn,” he says. “Who is the second?”
“Ender.”
Spider nods, as if that is a perfectly reasonable answer.
“Isn’t he your brother-in-law?” Flint asks.
I flinch at the word brother. There is nothing familial about Ender Vale.
“No,” I say. “My sister is engaged to him, not married. As of now, we’re nothing.”
“Is Ender in love with your sister?” Spider asks, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I would pay to see him affectionate with someone.”
“He called her ‘intolerable’ this morning, so I reckon, no.”
Flint’s eyes widen. “Did he really?”
I nod.
Spider leans forward. “Is she as beautiful as you?”
My eyes narrow.
“You’re not my type.”
“No?” He arches a brow. “Handsome and clever, isn’t your type?”
“Dumb and full of shit, isn’t my type,” I correct. “And you happen to be both.”
I expect him to get angry at that comment, but he just shrugs good-naturedly.
“Your opinion of me will change eventually,” he says.
“What is everyone’s power?” I ask, Spider.
As long as he plans to stick around, I may as well squeeze him for information.
Flint answers in his stead.
“I am a Shifter,” Flint says, biting into a carrot. “I can steal faces.”
“Really?” I ask, impressed.
I blink, and he’s Spider: two-toned hair and everything.
“Wow,” Spider says. “You stole my breath away. Am I really that beautiful? Like, I am just allowed to walk around like that.”
I snort.
“Do me, next.”
Flint shifts again, and now he is me, except his clothes fit loose on his frame. It’s incredible to see. Definitely, one of the coolest powers I’ve witnessed.
“I’ll write down a list of everyone’s gifts so you can learn your opponents,” Spider says. “Great initiative, requesting that information, Mercy. I can already tell you’ll be my prized pupil.”
We eat in relative silence except for Spider’s occasional stories.
He loves gossiping. He tells us about a girl who was imprisoned for getting pregnant in Block C because she didn’t have access to contraception.
She was given 10 years, with an additional 5 for withholding the father's name, who would have been arrested alongside her.
It isn’t until we’re done eating that I pull Spider aside before he vanishes. He was just about to turn the corner to his bedroom, which is in the west wing. The opposite side of ours.
I wanted to speak to him away from Flint. I like Flint, but I just met him, and I don’t make it a habit to easily trust people, especially the Gifted. Not when they’re all plotting against me.
“I would like extra lessons,” I say. “Maybe after dinner a few times a week?”
“Aren’t you tired from training?” Spider asks.
“I want to get stronger, faster,” I respond. “I want to win.”
He smiles, revealing his perfect, white teeth.
“I knew you would be my little champion,” he says, patting my head fondly.
I refuse to sit around and watch them conspire against me.
Only one of us will be picked to join Black Star, and I intend for it to be me.