As much as I love an easy fight, I would have recommended the new guy choose a different opponent this fine, spring evening. Maybe someone within his league. Challenging someone who’s been here as long as me isn’t uncommon, but it is incredibly stupid. A straight shot to humiliating yourself. Especially for someone like him who has clearly never thrown down before. But I’m not complaining too much, you can use all the practice you can get around here. Only the strongest of us survive, and I sure as hell have no intention of dying to the vermin here. And that’s including the one standing before me now in the worst stance I’ve ever seen.

I don’t recognize him. He must’ve gotten here today, choosing me as his first competitor, hoping that I would make for an easy fight. I didn’t catch his name either, not even when they were called out to start the match. And I don’t give a shit if I’m being entirely honest. People move through here quicker than I care to remember them. Makes it easier. Less names to worry about, less names to forget.

There's only a few people here I keep tabs on. Only the few who’ve lasted more than a year, really. But I wouldn’t consider the guys I know friends. Even the ones I spend every day with are more like close acquaintances. Friends don’t get you very far here. Alliances can, and I have a handful of names I’d consider trustworthy for the sole reason that having a couple extra pairs of eyes in your arsenal is never a bad thing. The rest are all background noise I do my best to tune out. It was precisely what I had been doing when this idiot challenged me.

I scan the boy head to toe. Seems like a sturdy build, but his footwork’s off and it’s clear the only training he’s had has been in his mommy’s playpen. Nothing trained about him really, even his thumbs are tucked into his fists. The disparity between the two of us just seems…cruel. But aiding the enemy never helped anyone win the battle, did it? At least that’s what they’ve drilled into us here. Kill or be killed, they say. Don’t help anyone except yourself. Truly turning us into heroes, these mutts.

The kid’s looking at me with such hunger that I could swear I see a full five course meal reflecting back at me in his eyes. As if on cue, his tongue darts over his bottom lip, a low hiss escaping his slightly bared teeth. But it doesn’t have the effect he’s hoping for, and instead of cowering in fear as I suspect he hopes I will, my face stays stone. A mask I’ve developed over the decade I’ve spent here. A mask I rarely take off.

I quickly glance around us, taking in the booming crowd caging us in like two bulls pawing the ground. If one needed any proof of what a life at the compound is like, tonight would give them a pretty clear explanation.

The crowd, loud and bloodthirsty, desperate to watch the light leave someone's eyes. The arena, which is no more than a designated battleground, uncovered and unprotected from the brutal weather wreaking havoc around us. Tree branches fall to the ground with thunderous cracks, rain pelts my face so fiercely that I can hardly see, and the wind is whipping my skin with enough ruthlessness that for a moment, I have to wonder if he is here, doing the job himself.

Bringing myself back to the boy ahead of me, I’m surprised to find that he actually noticed my distraction, his feet scrambling under him as he lunges towards me, his oafish hands outstretched, grasping for any part of me he can get his paws on.

I almost roll my eyes at the sorry attempt as I step to the side, allowing him to plummet to the ground before he has the chance to regain his footing. He hits the moonlit pavement with such force that I nearly cringe on his behalf, many in the crowd actually do.

“Oh, come on, Jared,” someone in the crowd yells, “You can do better than that!”

So, his name is Jared. Joy.

Jared grunts as he shoves his hands into the ground, propelling his body up in a sluggish motion that if we were in a real fight, I would easily take back down.

He swings his head to me, dirty blonde strands of hair dangling in front of fiery hazel eyes, and I watch as he pulls out a silver knife that had been hidden in his chest pocket. My eyes flash at the brilliant sapphire jewels tucked into the snake shaped hilt, the blue gems seeming to scream my name. Delphine, Delphine, Delphine, they call. The corners of my lips turn up at the new found incentive.

He takes another lunge to where I stand just three feet away, his knife outstretched like he really thinks he has a chance. His clammy, sausage fingers don’t even graze me before I take another side step, plucking the blade from his hand as he barges forward. At least this time he stays upright.

Outraged, he exclaims and jumps back around to face where I’m now picking at my nails with the knife, not even deigning to look at him as he plans his next attack. I can practically see steam pouring out of his ears from my peripherals. Too bad he’s too stupid to realize that’s my plan. One of the best weapons in my artillery is using a man's anger and pride against him. Most succumb to it before I get a single hit in, dooming themselves before the fight even begins. And he’s on the fast track to humiliation with the glare he’s shooting towards me.

This time, his strategy changes. He rushes forward, fists swinging wildly, and I have to hold back a smile from the windmill-like arm maneuver he's pulled out of his ass. The groans from the audience tell me they’re thinking the same. But this game is getting boring, and it’s about time for bed, so I change my tactics as well.

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As he stalks closer to me, I time the swings in his arms, and strike when he’s less than a foot in front of me. My fist flies to his throat so fast it seems like a blur. The crowd collectively recoils as my knuckles brutally make their mark, hitting him with enough power that he flies backwards and into the crowd gathered behind him.

Jared’s hands dart to his throat as all of the air abruptly escapes his lungs, a patchy choking sound sputtering out from his mouth. His eyes bulge with a mix of horror and surprise, entirely focused on my closed fist, as he gapes like a fish in the cool night air.

The boys shove Jared away, sending him staggering towards me, desperately trying to keep his balance as he continues to wheeze like an old crone. “At least go down like a man!” One of the bystanders hollers at him. “We won’t be helping your pathetic ass,” another laughs. I think that was Collin Thomas.

Allowing his knife to drop to the ground, I reach out and grab his right hand, pulling it down and back in a movement that has him pinned in front of me quicker than he can blink. His left arm flails around him as he attempts to land a blow, but I merely pull his arm tighter. Enough so that I know with a little more pressure, it’ll snap like a toothpick. The sound that escapes him is no better than a wail, his body thrashing around in protest over the shooting pains now encasing his arm.

I kick out the back of his knees, and he curses as they ram into the ground once again. Whistles and cheers from the audience rise as he falls, all of them obviously enthusiastic to watch him crumble like sand beneath me. Definitely too enthusiastic to be considered normal.

“Tap out or she’ll break it,” someone shouts at him, followed by an agitated groan from the trembling boy beneath me.

Naturally, he doesn’t let go, choosing to again throw his free hand back instead of taking the incredibly sound advice from the crowd. And I guess I’ve officially had enough, because I don’t hesitate to snatch it and copy the same hold I’m currently using on his other hand. He tries over and over and over again to buck me off, but it’s no use. He’s done. He has been since the very second he challenged me. Finally, his arms not even an inch from breaking, he at last stills beneath me.

“You done yet, kid?” I sigh, bored out of my mind. Silence is his only response. But, ever so gracious, I give him three seconds to reply before forcing his arms closer together. What? I waited.

A pained whimper escapes his mouth as another bystander, clearly just as annoyed as I am, yells to him, “Just give up already Jared, you’ve already lost.”

“She’s going to break you any second now if you don’t,” another, familiar, voice adds, his face split in a large grin, “Though, maybe you should let her, it’d make my night more interesting,” leave it to Reed to mock the new guys while they get the shit beat out of them.

The kid’s walking an incredibly fine line here, and if he was smart, he would know to tap out before he winds up in two casts. Not that he could tap out…you get the idea. But like I’ve already established, he’s not smart. And much to my annoyance, he dares mumble, “I would rather die than yield to this bitch.”

Fucking. Dumbass.

The silence that coats the crowd is nearly palpable, though if you could hear jaws dropping it would be the loudest gathering on the planet. But the unnatural stillness is quickly filled with the unmistakable sound of snapping bones.

Jared shrieks with such agony that I almost feel bad for him, but the pain he’s feeling now is nothing compared to what he’s going to experience during his time here. He was going to learn one way or another. Truthfully, he should be grateful I didn’t kill him. Every one of the others would have. The only proof you need is a glance at the accumulation of corpses that have been tossed behind the cheering crowd as if they weren’t living, breathing, feeling people mere moments before.

Wiping the boy's sweat off of my hands with the back of his shirt, I step over his wilted body still cowering on the ground. He’s gingerly holding his arms in his lap as they bend in more than a few nauseating ways, something I’m doing my best to avoid looking at.

Instead, I reach down to where I dropped his knife, and snatch it from the dampened pavement, admiring the gleaming blue eyes of the gorgeously carved viper, “Thank you,” I grin over my shoulder. At least these challenges give us the chance to win goodies like these.

I glance up at the crowd, and unsurprisingly, find Reed plastered to the edge. Reed is never far from bloodshed, always eager to watch the bones break and blood spill. Especially when the new guys choose a particularly…interesting opponent to compete with.

As I approach, Reed grins at me like a toddler on his birthday, and firmly claps me on my back as I stride past. “Fucking badass, Thorn!” He applauds. I sometimes wonder if Reed has a thing for violence.

Rolling my eyes, I switch my concentration to the boy standing at his side, Henry Carter. He and Reed are two of the only guys here I care to know. Carter’s chin length, pale blonde hair is slicked back by sweat from his recent challenge, his knuckles turning an even darker shade of purple than before.

Tossing the perfect knife in a repetitive movement that has become easier than breathing, I make brief eye contact with Carter, his ice blue eyes wide, his long blonde eyelashes nearly reaching his forehead, “Get him to the infirmary, will you?” I ask, spinning the blade between my fingers as I stride by. Just because I kicked his ass doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart. It’s not my fault he chose one of the worst possible competitors to start his stay here. I have way more to prove than these idiots. I can’t lose.

Carter nods in reply, his face nearly green as the boy behind me throws up all over himself and those unlucky enough to be in his range. Ignoring that, I push out of the crowd, tired of their games for the evening. There's always another day to break someone in two here, so excuse me if I’ve had my fill for the night. There is no doubt in my mind that tomorrow will be exactly the same as today. Perhaps even worse.