Hopefully, those high school acting classes were still pulling their weight. If not… well, guess we’d find out the hard way.
The moment the fight began, all hell predictably broke loose.
Four Superior Offensives against little old me.Four. Each wielding a fucking Skindo—a weapon designed by someone who clearly thought knives weren’t quite dangerous enough. Five blades. Five times the slicing, stabbing, and general maiming potential. In other words, an absolute nightmare in the wrong hands.
And right now, those wrong hands were aimed directly at me.
Without hesitation, Cedric lunged at me with a vicious downward slash. I twisted to meet the attack, my blade clashing with his, the impact reverberating through my arms. The force of it nearly sent me to my knees, but I gritted my teeth and pushed back, forcing his weapon to the side.
Anna moved in at the same time with a sweeping horizontal cut, aiming to catch me off balance. I managed to sidestep, my weapon intercepting hers with a jarring clang. The force sent a tremor up my arm, but there was no time to adjust—she was already twisting her Skindo, pivoting to follow up with a backhanded strike aimed for my ribs. I dropped low, dodging the deadly arc, and countered with a vicious thrust toward her exposed side. She leaped back, a thin strand of hair slicing free from the near miss.
Ron and Liam weren’t far behind. Ron’s Skindo flashed through the air, targeting my midsection with deadly precision, while Liam pressed his attack with rapid, stabbing motions. I ducked and rolled, my boots scraping against the ground as I twisted to parry their relentless strikes. Ron came at me again, his weapon cutting through the air in a high, arching swing. I blocked it at the last second, the force jarring my wrists, but it was Liam I should have been watching.
A flicker of movement in my periphery. Too late.
Pain exploded through my side as Liam’s Skindo found an opening. The blade sliced across my ribs with searing precision, white-hot and merciless. It was as if a fiery snake had wrapped itself around my torso, sinking its fangs deep into my flesh. The force of the hit sent me stumbling back, my balance tipping dangerously.
Ron seized the opening. His Skindo shot forward in a brutal thrust, and I twisted right in time, the edge skimming my arm instead of spearing through my shoulder. My vision blurred asanother wave of pain crashed through me, but I forced my body to move.
I slammed my foot into the ground and pivoted quickly, bringing my Skindo up in a wild, sweeping arc which forced Liam and Ron to retreat. Anna darted in, aiming for my thigh this time, and I managed to parry the strike, my blade sliding against hers in a desperate clash. Cedric was already behind me, his weapon whistling toward my exposed back.
Instinct roared through me. I dropped low at the last second, sensing the air shift as his Skindo cut inches above my head. Before I could rise, Liam surged forward again, his next strike coming fast—too fast. Hitting the same fucking spot he had before.How the hell…
I staggered, a sharp gasp tearing from my throat as the edges of my vision darkened. Blood—warm, slick—seeped between my fingers as I pressed a shaky hand to my side.Shit.
I pulled my hand away and looked down. The wound was deep, the edges already splitting, raw and gaping, the dark red pooling fast. My uniform clung to the injury, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to my skin.Fuck me, this is not good.
I was losing blood. A lot. And fast.
AJ glanced over, his gaze flickering briefly to my injury before shrugging dismissively. “Find a Healer if you need one,” he said, waving it off as if my wound was no more than a minor inconvenience.
What. The. Fuck.My jaw dropped at his nonchalance. I was starting to bleed out here!
I scanned the faces around me, my vision blurring with desperation as I pressed harder on the wound, warm blood pooling beneath my fingers. I wanted to ask for help, but my throat closed around the words. The others didn’t even flinch, their focus locked elsewhere—on their weapons, on anything but me. My knees buckled, a shudder running through my body.
Someone whispered nearby, followed by a cruel chuckle—harsh, slicing deeper than the wound itself. My cheeks burned, not only from the pain but from the cold, gut-punch realization they didn’t care.
They didn’t fucking care.
Not one of them. I’d been fighting alongside them for weeks, and I was still nothing more than an outsider. A nuisance. A problem to be dealt with, not a person to be counted on.
Fuck. Them.
They wouldn’t see me falter. Wouldn’t see me bleed. Wouldn’t get the satisfaction of watching me break.
Acting classes. Lawyer training. Years of poker nights spent bluffing my way through impossible hands—whatever it took, I reached for it now, forcing every ounce of strength into my expression. Untouchable. Unshakable. Sealing my face behind an impenetrable mask of ice.
My legs wobbled as I forced myself toward the door, each step agony. Pain tore through me with every movement, sharp and relentless, the kind which made my stomach churn. My breath came in short, ragged gasps as I stumbled into the hallway. The walls were closing in, the flickering lights overhead swimming before my eyes. I leaned against the wall, and gripped the cool stone with my free hand, as if it could anchor me.
I bit down hard on my lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth as I tried not to cry out. My clothes clung to me, now soaked through with blood, the sticky warmth spreading farther with every passing second. It was everywhere—on my hands, on the floor, staining everything it touched. I glanced down, and a wave of nausea hit me. The wound wasn’t just deep; it was gaping, raw. One that could kill you if you didn’t act fast.
Shit. I needed help.Now.
My chest started to heave as panic clawed its way through me. My hands shook uncontrollably, and my thoughts spun outof control. I couldn’t breathe—I was suffocating in my own fear. My vision blurred, dark spots dancing in the corners of my view as the blood loss hit me harder.
“Move,” I whispered to myself, choking on the word. My legs barely responded, my weight dragging me down as I slid along the wall. I pressed my hand harder against the wound, a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. It hurt so much—so much I thought I might pass out.
I pressed harder, searching desperately for a flicker of energy, a spark of hope. My breaths came in shuddering gasps, my body trembling as I clung to the wall. “Please,” I whispered, though there was no one left to hear me, but then?—
