The butt of the knife cracks against my skull, immediately sending a rivulet down my face. I blink through the dense liquid, my heart racing as adrenaline powers through my veins. For a moment, there’s a brief pause, and I use it to glare at Marone.
“This one’s not so little, boy.” He doesn’t scream. His tone is entirely controlled, yet I can hear it in my mind as if he’s speaking directly in my ear. Turning back around, I eye Hammer, watching his knuckles fade to white as he bounces on his toes, waiting for the perfect moment to strike me a second time.
Like before, he lunges first, a series of uncontrolled, aggressive jabs cutting through the air toward my face. Before he can come too close, I slide back, eyes tracking the movement, catching when his right hand shoots out, a hook aimed low, straight for my liver. I twist away just in time, but it landsanyway. The force of the punch sent a shock through my ribs, leaving me breathless for a second. Unable to stop myself, a pained groan spits from my lips, but at least I’m still standing.
“What the fuck are you playing around for? Fucking kill him!” I look to see if Marone is shouting that shit at me, but no.
Pissed, Hammer growls, his anger rising at being called out. He closes the distance again, this time swinging with reckless abandon. A hard right hook lands square on my jaw, snapping my head back with a sickening crack. The crowd erupts in cheers. Marone is nothing but pleased, if his light laughter says anything. Convinced I’m down, Hammer presses forward, looking to finish this so maybe he can finally rest. But these fuckers don’t know me at all. I’m no stranger to pain.
Shaking off the punch, I feel my eyes hardening with intensity. With a roar to rival the crowds, I dive in low, catching Hammer’s legs and lifting him off the ground. The shock of the spectators inflates my ego, their gasps surging my strength as I slam his spine into the slippery ground with devastating force.
Grunting in my ear, his back lands on the mat with a sickening thud, but he’s quick despite the pain he carries in his face. Annoyed, he fights to get to his knees after me, kicking his legs up and trying to regain any semblance of control. Needing this to be over and to prove that I’m not some dog Marone can beat around, I drop back down on top of him, quickly taking my forearm and pressing it dangerously onto his jugular. The pressure I place on him is suffocating. His breath came in ragged bursts. For a moment, I think I got him, but I admire his strength as his will to live remains unbroken.
With a sudden burst of rage, Hammer bucks his hips, creating just enough space to slide one leg free. In a split second, faster than I’ve ever encountered, his hands shoot up, locking around my neck. Feeling the grip he has on my throat, my eyes widen, and the realization that I’m about to die finally sinks in.Fight or flight, my hands scramble up Hammer’s arms, trying to pry them off, but his hold tightens. “My knife won’t be wasted on you,” he mutters, eyes deranged, while his forearm now digs into my windpipe, just as I did to him.
I can feel the seconds stretching, my face turning hot, swollen, and red as I fight for even a single gasp of air. Maybe in my fading conscience, I imagine the crowd holding its breath. Perhaps I dream up a semblance of sympathy. That has to be the case, because when my eyes begin to close, I know it’s cheering I hear.
As black begins to creep around my vision, my dad pops into my mind—him holding my mom in the same position I’m in now. He laughed too. When she cried and scratched and begged him to let her go, just before she passed out. All he did was laugh.
With a primal roar and my fucked-up asshole of a dad in mind, I force myself awake. Lifting my legs, I twist the lower half of my body, driving my knee into Hammer’s ribs in a brutal strike. That’s all I needed for his grip to loosen. Even if it’s just for a moment, it’s enough for me to break free of his hold and throw a vicious elbow straight into his temple.
Hammer holds his head as pain explodes through his skull. I know what it feels like. It’s as if his body is on fire, but just like my father, before he could recover, I’m on him again, knocking him back onto the floor. Locking my legs around his waist in a clinch, I hold him in place. Grinding him with sheer force, elbow after elbow, I hammer down onto his skull with brutal precision.
It doesn’t take long for blood to pool, staining the flooring beneath them. With nothing but pure survival swimming through my veins, I roared an animalistic sound, a primal and deafening snarl.
This time, it is purely intentional when I grab the handle of the blade at his side and drive the rusted tip directly between his eyes. It took a strength I didn’t know I had to pull the bladefree. Once I had, the force that remained coursing through my muscles wouldn’t allow me to stop. One after the other, I plunge the knife into every open space I can find—chest, heart, ribs.
Throat.
Throat.
Throat.
I cut into his throat until bits of muscle and cartilage covered the floor, and when the guards came in to pull me off, I swung at them too, nicking one in the side while I drove the blade into another’s kneecap.
The guard cries out.
I think I finally found something to drown out the little boy in my head.
“It’s over!” I hear someone—Marone?—shout, laughter still in his tone. “Blade, everyone!”
This is the second time he’s called me by that name, and once again, the crowd erupts into wild applause. As Hammer lay motionless on the canvas, I took him in.
He’s much skinnier than I initially realized.
His muscles aren’t that big either.
I thought he was older, but really… I think we were the same age. We could have gone to the same school and lived in the same town. We could have been neighbors and friends.
Finally getting me to my feet, with blood on their hands and fury in their eyes, I’m made to stand tall, my chest heaving, blood dripping from my face. They force my fists to clench in victory.
“Winner!” everyone shouts.
Again, I had survived the fight, but it had cost me another piece of my soul.
Cade
The blood on my hands turned into stains. Even after I’m brought back to my cage and hosed down, the rusted crimson stays beneath my flesh, refusing to wash away. Months' worth of gore mar my mottled skin, and after tonight, another layer will be added.
