The Redhill District was lavishly decorated with clean, whitewashed stone which reflected the light from artisan lanterns placed on every corner, home, and shop. The light pooled in every crevice and alleyway, and in some places, reflected off the low clouds of the Drystorm. Here, no one worried about incoming gales in their sturdy homes, subtly lined with Fulminant energy for strength. The streets were kept immaculately clean, polished and shining with pride that was hard to fake.
Kess stuck out like a sore thumb.
Exhaustion tugged at her senses as she trudged towards the arena. She’d begun her usual pre-fight ritual of trying to clear her mind multiple times now, and yet it simply wouldn’t take. Her fears and worries spun mercilessly in her mind, a vortex threatening to drag her under. Her home, gone at her hands. Her brother, missing. And now, she’d be forced to choose: win the upcoming fight and acknowledge her Fulminancy, or stick to her deal with Mattes and remain a relatively unknown— but highly paid— Bloodcrawler.
She nervously turned an errant Stormclap pin in her hand— one from the board she’d blown to pieces the night before. This one had been wedged in the side of her heavy canvas bag and Kess found it fortunate that it wasn’t in her skull instead. Still, she kept it with her. Oliver had obviously paid a lot of money for the board, and now that he was gone, this was all she had left of him.
Kess was tempted to not fight at all, but she needed the money; she’d tied up the Silverhill family money with her brother long ago, all in an effort to remain dead. That effort seemed in vain now, but it also left her with a very practical problem— she was penniless without Mattes’s scheduled fights. Throwing this fight would give her the funds to lie low while she searched for her brother, at least.
Equally tempting, however, was winning. Kess was horrified by the idea, but had to admit that there was some wisdom behind it. Winning the fight wouldn’t make her popular, but it could potentially make her Fulminant— in an official manner of speaking, anyway. A tiny spark would cause scandal, but a blue sash might give her more freedom to move around in the city— provided she wasn’t somehow recognized first.
She just wasn’t sure she could muster up a spark without blowing the entire arena to bits.
Kess tugged her bag closer to her body, the weight of the day threatening to close in around her. The idea of leaving Hillcrest now was ludicrous. Gone were her dreams of freedom, at least while her brother was somewhere in chains. Sash or not, she wouldn’t be visiting the city guards tonight. Sighing, she skulked down a nearby alleyway to the side of a gaudily lit building.
She entered a side door, wincing as a few early revelers shoved past her small frame. A wall of sound hit her, the screaming mostly off color even in a neighborhood so wealthy. Though the door opened into a servant’s hallway, it offered an unobstructed view of the arena within, packed to the brim with people. Kess’s eyes drifted towards the arena itself, where two Fulminant fighters were already in the ring.
No powers were on display, but nearly every fighter in the building would be Fulminant. The Council encouraged rings like this specifically to seek out Fulminant powers that might belong to the Seats. High energy, emotional situations often caused an outburst of Fulminant powers, particularly if the user wasn’t particularly experienced, and the Council made sure that only highborn families were experienced. Bastards were rooted out quickly and made to disappear. It would have kept many citizens out of the rings, but the money and prestige, unfortunately, were too good to ignore.
The match below was not going well for one of the girls— a red and black sash with no hint of a stripe that would have marked her for a Downhill citizen. She had already taken several blows to the head during the time Kess watched, and it was only getting worse. A missed punch exposed the side of her head, and the red sashed girl wasted no time slamming her knuckles into the side of the other woman’s face. The blow alone would have been enough to put many on the ground, but miraculously, the woman remained standing.
Kess squinted at the arena, a look of distaste on her face. This was a typical fight, but something was wrong. Red sash began to back away slowly, though her opponent was all but through anyway. She didn’t close in for the victory, but instead looked nervously at the referee, as if expecting something.
The interference she was looking for never came, but something else did.
Covered in blood, chest heaving, the losing girl began to shake violently, and a crackling sound echoed throughout the arena. Some of the audience up front began to regret their chosen seating and fled for higher ground as twisting blue energy left the girl in a burst of light and a snarl of thunder. Though the other girl was likely Fulminant herself, she had no time to put up a proper defense, if indeed, she had been trained with her powers at all. The arc of light snapped into her body, throwing her across the arena with a sickening crack.
She didn’t move. Red branches from the strike wormed their way across the woman’s skin, and the crowd went quiet. An acrid smell filled the room. Kess unconsciously put a hand to her own stinging cheek.
“Well that was unexpected!” An announcer, his voice booming across the arena. “Looks like we have a new champ today, folks!” The crowd cheered, the violence all but forgotten, and Kess tore her eyes from the arena, making her way to the waiting area.
A single bead of sweat wormed its way down her back as she changed from her simple trousers and button up shirt into an even simpler sleeveless shirt with shorter trousers. There was no point to modesty— not with half the crowd there to simply gawk.
Kess took a deep, shuddering breath of the musty air in the simple wooden chamber where she waited. The doorway was distinctly missing a door, and Kess didn’t miss the sight of the losing girl being carried down the hallway by a group of people. An acrid smell filled the air, but there was another stench that was hard to misplace— death. Kess’s heart skipped a beat. You’ve survived against the Fulminant before, she reminded herself. You’ll do it again.
Mattes poked his head in, looking disheveled as always, but his personal hygiene had taken an unpleasant tumble down the side of the mountain tonight. The tang of his sweat filled the air before Kess, but there was also a tinge of manic excitement to his movements as he wiped sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
“Do you remember our conversation yesterday?” he asked, smiling pleasantly at another passing handler. Kess joined him as they approached the ring. She crossed her arms, rolling her ankle as she watched the arena from the shadows.
“Don’t screw up is all I recall you saying,” she replied. Mattes loomed over her, which wasn’t hard to do given her small stature.
“Don’t play games with me. If you don’t make this loss convincing, I’ll keep your sorry ass drowning in debt for so long that you’ll wish the Fulminant had killed you.”
“Like I’m going to have to fake my loss to monsters like that,” she snorted. Mattes waved his hands, dismissing her.
“Just remember what you’re getting paid for.” He stared just a little too long at the payment table, where several stacks of gold were piled high in sacks. By Kess’s estimation, even Mattes’s greedy deal paled in comparison to the winner’s pool. But of course, no one— not Mattes or Kess— expected Kess to walk away from the ring in one piece, let alone as the winner.
Fulminant magic was frowned on in Downhill rings, but the Uphill was a different story; here Fulminancy was fair game. Many nobleman waited until matches grew desperate to use it— partly because of the spectacle, and partly because the powers themselves were exhausting and hard to control— but no referee would call the match if Fulminancy came out to play. It was a gift and a curse, and a blessing that Kess very much did not have.
Kess’s match was announced, and she found her feet moving automatically towards the ring. Fighting was something she had done for years, for survival, as a way to chase away the demons that haunted her every night.
Tonight was different, somehow. There was a sense of finality to her movements, a heightened awareness in the rough scratch of her clothing or in the damp, cloying smell of the arena, crammed with people.
Match officials checked her for weapons, their touch not at all subtle against her barely clothed skin. A few of them, at least, had the presence of mind to look slightly guilty as they looked between her and her approaching opponent.
Kess followed their gazes as her opponent was announced, and nearly left the arena right then. She had been promised an inexperienced opponent, and that was no lie, but her opponent wasn’t just inexperienced, but nearly estranged from her family due to her explosive inability to control her Fulminancy.
Moreen of Rottwood was not a stable woman, and though her noble birth should have indicated plenty of training to go with her powers, her family mostly sequestered her away in the mountains after a few training sessions gone awry. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence with Uphill families with a reputation to keep. What she was doing in a Fulminant arena was anyone’s guess.
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One of the arena officials— the one who had looked sorry for her— spoke next to her shoulder. “Sorry lot, that family. Some few nobles think that fights can shock ‘em into controlling themselves, but I’ve never seen no such thing.” He clapped Kess on the shoulder. “Sorry, lass.” He looked genuinely sorry. “Best of luck to ye.”
Kess stood there for a moment, stunned. Fulminant or not, nothing could protect her from someone as out of control as Moreen of all people. Her only recourse would be to blow the entire arena— a feat she wasn’t so keen to repeat after the disaster of last night. Kess was suddenly very grateful for her empty stomach.
She divested herself of her boots and climbed immaculate steps into the ring itself, the stones freshly washed to get rid of the blood of the previous match. She cracked her neck and tried to muster up some sort of confidence. She felt at home in the ring, with its blood, blows, and the crack of her own body against another, but this was different. This was death staring her down.
Moreen held her herself high, but her instability was on plain display; she was trim and fit, but Kess didn’t miss the slight tremor of her fingers and the white-hot, blue light that crackled there. Worse, her eyes were terrified, like a small animal backed into a corner.
The bell rang, the crowd screamed, and Kess’s opponent charged. Kess blinked, feet moving automatically. She barely missed being clobbered by her opponent’s early punch. Too fast. Moreen was faster than any human had a right to be.
She met Moreen’s eyes as she blocked another punch, trying to bait her into blocking as she swung a kick at the girl’s side. There was insanity there, yes, but there was also a flare of determination. This was likely Moreen’s last chance, and to be thrown out of her Fulminant family and into the streets would mean death at the hands of her own powers. This was a woman here for survival, and Kess stood very firmly in her way.
Moreen didn’t take her bait. She took advantage of Kess’s partially dropped guard from the kick, slamming her fist into the side of Kess’s face where the Fulminant bruise was still flowering. Kess winced, tasting blood as new Fulminancy crackled its way through the old wound. She righted herself quickly, faking a punch to her opponent’s face and slamming that same punch into her gut instead. Moreen faltered for a second, and Kess capitalized on her distraction to land another blow to the side of her face.
Kess grinned, the thrill of the fight finding its way back into her bones in spite of the gravity of the situation. Moreen was well trained, but no fighter. And Kess, small though she was, had taken blows like that for years. It gave her a distinct advantage against the noblewoman.
I could win, she realized, slipping another too-fast punch from Moreen to plow another fist into her side. She followed it up with a knee to the woman’s gut. Rhythm now dictated Kess’s movements, years of muscle memory giving her fluidity and grace in spite of her opponent’s speed. The despair that usually accompanied her movements was lost, replaced by a thrill of hope, rushing through her veins and granting her strength she didn’t know she had. I could win.
Moreen was covered in her own blood now, Kess having split her nose open several moments earlier. The girl’s chest heaved, and her eyes were unsteady as she circled Kess. Mattes screamed from the side of the ring, but Kess couldn’t hear him. Her eyes locked on the bag of gold on the table, and beyond that, a flutter of movement high up in the arena— the cloaked Shadow from the night before.
Mood suddenly grave, Kess approached her opponent with a kick. She didn’t care anymore that she should lose. She’d lost for years. Running. Fleeing. Hiding. She hated who she was, but didn’t she deserve victory just once? Didn’t she deserve to put just one Fulminancer in their place? Moreen had trainers, but Kess had done all of this herself out of a desperate urge to survive. Why should Moreen win? Why didn’t Kess deserve victory, just this once?
Moreen took her kick with a weak block that took away none of the ferocity Kess threw into the blow. It was a blow forged with all of the anger she carried against herself, the Fulminant, and everything they had done to her. Time stood still as she planted her foot into Moreen, the crowd’s roar fading into a dull buzz in Kess’s ears.
Moreen flew across the arena, and Kess heard a sickening crack as her opponent hit the wall. Thunder rumbled overhead, threatening another Drystorm outside, far from the bloody arena where Kess made her stand.
Moreen didn’t stand. Her chest heaved, sucking air into lungs that Kess had just brutalized with her blow. Kess’s own breathing rasped in her ears as the crowd screamed its disapproval. Kess wiped sweat from her brow, and found the cloaked figure high above the ring. She could have sworn she saw a smile and a nod of approval.
Still, something was wrong. The announcer kept commenting, and no handlers entered the ring. Kess glanced back at Moreen, stomach twisting, cold immediately creeping its way into her fingers.
Crackling Fulminant energy emanated from the girl on the ground, sucking the light out of the air itself as Moreen clenched a single fist. Lightning arced its way up her arm, twisting like a living, breathing thing throughout the girl’s body, resting as a light blue fire in the girl’s formerly dark brown eyes. Kess wasn’t a coward, but what she saw made her take a single step backwards. She blinked away memories as they assaulted her, threatening to take away her poise.
Then, in the back of her mind, she felt a tiny prickle of power open its eye in response to Moreen’s. She panicked and pushed it down. She wouldn’t win with Fulminancy. She wouldn’t become one of them to secure her victory.
But as that power churned around Moreen, Kess was less certain of her choice. Using Fulminancy would end her career Downhill, yes, but worse than that, it would be the beginning of a series of broken promises. And yet, living was certainly tempting.
I won’t do it again, she thought, scrambling back. Not even to survive? Another, nastier voice whispered in her head.
Moreen got to her feet slowly, the crowd roaring its approval behind her. There was no more logic or steady determination in her eyes as the Fulminancy snapped around her, lifting tresses of her hair.
It was then that Kess broke a promise to herself.
She reached inside, trying to steady her breathing. Just this once, she told herself. An energy beckoned inside, calming and steadying as the Drystorm winds. She reached inside, and felt it, a writhing tendril of power behind which sat enough Fulminancy to leave nothing but ashes behind.
Something snapped in her hands— a tiny flash. The crowd swore and booed as Kess felt that well of power spilling over, overwhelming and damning. A split second later, she snapped off her connection to that yawning power.
Panicking, Kess rolled to the side as Moreen’s blue hiss of energy slammed past her face and into the side of the reinforced ring. Her dodge only barely took her out of the path, and her shoulder sliced open with a tearing pain that she found hard to ignore. Blood, warm and sticky, mingled with her sweat, stinging as it trickled down her body.
This was no longer about winning— it was about surviving. Kess dodged blow after blow, but she couldn’t escape all of them. Fulminancy slammed into her side, landing there with a crack. Her thigh was sliced open with another sharp blow, and Moreen, likely playing with her food, added another crackling wound to Kess’s cheek from the day before.
Kess stood, her limbs shaking and her breath coming in wet rasps, but without Fulminancy, her mind was devoid of a plan. It was dodge or be killed, but how much longer could she keep it up? Moreen’s attacks were less controlled than they’d ever been. There was only so much room in the ring to dodge.
There has to be a way, she thought. A way out without Fulminancy.
Her opponent stopped in the middle of the room, Fulminancy swirling around her in a storm cloud of her own making. She smiled, and began to laugh, her laughter devolving into sobs. The power grew and from the corner of her eye, Kess watched several of the patrons in the front seating scramble towards the top of the arena again.
Moreen’s breath came in labored staccato gasps, as uncontrolled as her power itself. She was unsteady on her feet even as Kess dodged a slower moving ball of crackling energy that would have left her body in pieces. Kess dodged another blow, Moreen’s Fulminancy somehow becoming more manageable as time went on. As it was, only Kess’s extensive training kept her alive and moving when many would have collapsed from exhaustion.
Her blood dripped on the stones, making them slick and hard to navigate, but sometimes helping Kess slip from the clutches of another white-hot burst of power. It was then that something clicked.
Moreen was, if anything, more winded than before, and Kess’s eyes widened. Moreen was hitting her limit. By letting her slow down, Kess was allowing her powers to continue on a slow burn, and Kess would pass out from blood loss long before Moreen ran out of steam.
Kess changed tactics then, closing the gap between her and the girl, moving as fast as her shaking legs would carry her, ignoring the sting of her wounds and the blood in her mouth. Moreen, as Kess figured she would, panicked, lobbing shot after shot at Kess, which Kess dodged like they were jabs, though several singed pieces of her hair that flew loose. Moreen’s breathing quickened and she backed towards the ring edge, no longer the aggressor.
Kess wasn’t faring much better. Her leg ached and blood ran down her side. Everything in her body screamed to give up and to let the girl end it, but she kept dodging, ignoring her fogging vision. She would survive this for Oliver, and for her freedom. She had to.
Moreen’s breath was comically rushed now, and Kess was able to fight her in close quarters again, though each punch the noblewoman threw was tinged with the energy of Fulminancy. Kess steeled herself and slipped a particularly large bunch of Fulminantic energy before slamming her fist into the side of Moreen’s face, throwing her last bit of strength into the only chance she had to knock the girl out.
Fulminant or not, she saw the light leave Moreen’s eyes as she fell. Holding her own arm, blood sticking to her fingers and dripping quietly onto the stones, Kess stood in a now silent arena. She risked a glance at Mattes. The man stood with his mouth wide open.
Kess didn’t stay there. Without thinking, she left the ring, ignoring the looks of shock as she limped away from Moreen, shouldering her bag. She snatched the large bag of gold from the prize table, stuffed it in her shirt, and slammed the door on the silent arena.
She ran.