Against all odds, the fairy lasted until the final bell—black eye, clawed up, but still standing. The werewolf won by decision, as he had more hits and more damage, but the fairy? He’d gotten in some solid licks, and most importantly, he’dearnedsome respect tonight.
Putting my hand into my pocket, I fingered the card I gave out when I wanted to recruit someone.
Technique? I could train him, molding his natural instinct into something lethal. But that grit? The unrelenting will to keep swinging even when your face was half-caved in? That was rare. That couldn’t be taught.
Sliding my boots along the floor, I was about to get up when Vic whispered, “Wait until you see the last fight before you go scooping up fighters. Make them think you don’t need ‘em.”
I lifted a brow at him, and his hands went up in immediate surrender. “Sometimes the first fruit isn’t always the sweetest. All I’m saying, lady boss.”
Rock music pumped out of the rickety speaker system in the old boxing gym. A large troll came out, lugging around his tree trunk arms, giving me a nod right before he got into the ring. Rabid had been in the local scene for years and made a name for himself.
If it wasn't for his anger issues, he’d have had a spot in the supe fighting league he so coveted. While the underground fights drew in the crowds for the bloodthirsty nature, the fighting league brought in the money thanks to sponsorships. If you weren’t a part of the official league, all that was left to you was the underground fight scene.
All in all, he just wasn’t a good listener, which made it a no go. The supe fighting league had so many rules of conduct that it was a little boring for those of us that enjoyed the brutality of a good fight.
What if I made something to combine both?
A young wolf came out, bouncing around as he got into the ring. He seemed newer to the scene, looking around more than payingattention to his opponent. Leaning back, I realized this fight was easy to predict from the first few seconds.
The two fighters strutted around the ring, full of swagger, showboating as they worked the crowd into a frenzy. I scanned the room, spotting a few familiar faces. A bunch of local gamblers called out numbers while a couple of our bookies wrote all of it down. There were also some human gangsters that liked to say they went to supe events to bolster their street cred.
As expected, this match didn’t last long. First round, Rabid won by knockout. The young wolf was left sprawled on the mat, face bruised and bleeding, ribs likely broken. Judging by how slow his regeneration was, he wasn’t too powerful, which meant he likely wouldn’t be healed until the morning. At least he’d have the experience under his belt for the next fight.
It wasn’t long before they cleared out the fighters and wiped up the mat to prepare for the main fight. Straightening up in my seat, I kept my eyes open. The guy I’d originally come here to watch was fighting next.
I’d been told to keep an eye on the mage, that he was something special, but when I saw the first fighter, a thick-necked, broad-shouldered, vampire that looked like a one-man wrecking crew, I started to doubt the intel I’d gotten. When I saw the strong but lean mage climb into the ring, it didn’t look like a fair match-up.
In any regulated setting, like the supe fighting league, mages had strict thresholds on their magic. No launching opponents across the ring with wind spells, no fireballs, no waterboarding them with their own saliva, no boulders slamming down on them from thin air. If they wanted to fight, they had to do it with minimal magic, relying mainly on body contact, a sharp mind, and maybe a little healing magic on the back end. That naturallymade mages the underdogs against vampires, werewolves, or the bulkier fae breeds like trolls.
You usually saw them in featherweight or lightweight classes, pitted against fairies—magic vs. illusion, wings vs. speed. This fight was different. A mage going toe-to-toe with a bulky vampire brawler? Definitely not standard.
The bell rang, and everything exploded into motion.
The mage darted forward andcrackedthe vampire across the face.
“Red shorts has a killer right hook,” Vic mumbled, leaning forward like the fight was pulling him in.
Couldn’t argue. The way the vamp’s head snapped back, you knew he wasn’t expecting that kind of heat, especially from the get go.
The vampire recovered fast, feinting with a left blow before swinging a hard right uppercut. The mage ducked just in time, but it was a close call. He had been milliseconds from kissing that jawline goodbye.
Then I noticed it… his feet. There was a subtle gap between the soles and the mat, not even a full centimeter. He was using gentle air magic, making sure to follow the rules, but just enough to float, to keep light on his feet. Smart. Very smart.
I leaned back, arms crossed, forcing myself to look unimpressed. At these lower-tier matches, you never knew who was watching, so I couldn’t let on that I was interested. Not yet. Fighters like him, quiet, clever, underestimated, I liked bringing those types into the Rossey fold and watching them rise.
The crowd erupted again as the mage ducked another hammer swing and landed a jab to the vampire’s side. That onecracked, a clean, hollow sound that made my veins race. The sound of hits, the smell of blood in the air. It was the only thing that made me feel alive.
My phone buzzed.
It was a text in the sibling group chat. Aniyah. I smiled when I saw it: a video of her dancing in the club, tossing a kiss to the camera before flipping us all off.
I felt a twinge of guilt for leaving her birthday party early, but judging from that clip, she was doing just fine.
Lifting up my phone, I took a quick video of the bloody, sweat-slicked males trading blows in the ring and sent it to the sibling group chat.
Nov:Someone still has to do the dirty work around here.
The buzz came instantly.
