Chapter 2: Fear

- Five hours ago –

The end of my jumping rope slammed against the mats, the impact echoing through the empty gym.

From a small window to my left wafted the odour synonymous with bustling cities: dead Shuras piled on top of each other outside the gates. Moonlight filtered through the window frame, illuminating the ring at the end of the room.

My heart skipped a beat at the explosion of sound from the black and white television hanging from the ceiling.

“Straight to the liver! And down goes Taylor. Ladies and gents—”

“She's not getting up, Nathan. I can tell you that much.”

Though a queasiness surged in my belly, I drove my wrists to turn faster. All the while, the tape showcasing the giant woman known as Taylor fighting my next opponent continued playing.

Leila was small compared to the other fighter, but her gloves were rigged with pure metal. She paced towards the ropes on the opposite end as Taylor tried to get up. There was a…swing to her step. A sway to her shoulders. When she turned to see if Taylor would make the count, her gaze was void of gleam. Her lips didn’t so much as twitch as she watched Taylor rise after the referee counted eight.

The arbiter gave his consent, and the fight continued.

Leila resumed her walk in the park. Taylor threw a jab that Leila had seen coming weeks ago. She weaved and countered with a Sunday punch. A wave rippled through Taylor’s cheeks with Leila’s knuckles at the centre, and she fell to the floor.

The crowd went wild.

“She’s done it, Joey! I can’t believe it! The Little Knockout beat the towering Shura half!”

“Good riddance, Nathan. It was time someone taught those dogs a lesson—”

“Oh, no, here you go again.”

Joey’s disdain for halfs, those of us with over fifty per cent Shura DNA, was a public secret. Yet each time he voiced his prejudice, a nerve on my forehead pulled taut. We may be the product of a fullblood human and Shura or two halfs, such as in my case, but that didn't make us any less intelligent or empathetic than purebloods.

“—They may be naturally stronger, Nate,” Joey continued, “but brutish force will never trump skill.”

“The rules changed, old man.”

Joey scoffed. “Allowing mana usage against these animals is step one. Step two is removing them—”

In a timely and much-appreciated intervention by the production team, Joey’s mic cut off.

Nathan waved him away.

“Folk, let’s tune into the post-fight interview with none other than the star of the night. Please, clap your hands for the Little Knockout!”

Leila and the reporter shared some pleasantries before detailing how exactly she'd dismantled a half almost three heads taller than her.

“It’s not about punching power or size, Dave.”

“Then, what is it?”

Leila’s lips curved upwards.

“It’s the accuracy. There’s a reason for everywhere I hit them.”

Her eyes didn’t rove around the crowd during the exchange. Instead, she stared straight into the camera.

“I can’t help but notice you’re staring at something, Leila.”

The pureblood raised her index finger and pointed straight at me.

“Asha Gloomworth!”

My name rang through the stadium, which had fallen so still I could hear the crackling of the TV.

“You’re next.”

I'd watched this tape a dozen times, but my skull still pressed in on the tissue of my brain.

Dave smacked his hands on his head.

“You can’t be serious, Leila. That’s the Phantom you’re challenging!”

“I know.”

“Aren’t you afraid you’re reaching too far, too soon? Every fan of the sport thinks she’s the next champion.”

There was a pause where Leila showed her teeth.

“Think again.”

And she walked off the podium.

The broadcast ended. But another match came on, displaying Taylor fighting a fellow human.

Skipping time was over, though, and I dropped my jumping rope. I sauntered towards the centre of the room. Then, I closed my eyes. Darkness settled into my pores as I let the shadows in the gym wash over me. My ears twitched. The punching sounds on the television grew louder, shaking through my body.

Taylor’s devastating right punch grazed past my chin. I threw a counter before I even finished my dodge, but she was faster and shorter than me. I covered my side with my elbow, and her left hook rammed into it. A blast rumbled from the stereos.

I bit the inside of my lip. That would have blown through my guard. I continued dodging, weaving and countering. It wasn’t until twenty minutes passed that I took a break, and the floor welcomed my collapse.

Since the tape had finished playing, a quiet lorded over the gym, only interrupted by the heaving of my breath. The shadows encroached on me like a tiger closing in on its prey. They circled me in. My heart pounded in my throat as they approached, and the hole forming in my stomach deepened.

What is this feeling?

A musty smell assaulted my nostrils. And though the dark had never bothered me, my eyes slid over the blackest corners of the training room. The reigning silence gave way to a hum that reverberated through the hall. It resembled a dance of bees around a hive.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I breathed in and let my eyelids cover my pupils. But the cacophony turned into a deep growl which crept up the back of my leg and coiled around my waist.

This is fear. I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

I was afraid.

Was there any professional boxer who wouldn’t be? No one wanted to lose. I didn’t want to lose. But after fifteen bouts—ten of which were against halfs—my opponent was still undefeated. What was I supposed to do against that?

The more I thought about it, the heavier my limbs became. They anchored me to the ground and the growl spread. Darkness surrounded me. It swallowed all the light in the room, leaving me in a void that stretched further than I could see. The gap in my belly turned from a pit into a chasm. When I heard footsteps, I knew it more certain than my own name: she was here. Leila was here. Sweat dripped down my brow as I tried to get up, but it was as if my neck had fallen asleep. My eardrum vibrated with the sound of a mat squishing like a sponge. Behind me. I yelled, and with all my strength, I jumped to my feet. I spun.

Nothing but shadows.

Where was she? My head swivelled in place. All that greeted me was a gloom.

“Where am I?” I whispered, yet my voice didn’t travel.

Home, the void replied.

Shadows congealed. Darkness swirled in on itself, creating a vortex.

A set of eyes flared to life in the blackness from within. The whites were yellow. Their pupils were more a vertical slit running down the middle of the eye than anything else. They came closer, strolling like the Little Knockout had, only stopping once they were right in front of me. This close, the outline of her muscled frame became visible.

My upper thigh contracted as a weak part inside me wanted to run. I gave in. Almost. But Dave’s words kept plaguing my thoughts. ‘Every fan of the sport thinks she’s the next champion,’ he’d said. A spark ignited inside me.

‘You’re next.’ Did she think me a stepping stone for her glory?! My teeth ground on each other as I stood there in the all-encompassing murk.

Guard and swerve, but keep your eyes on your opponent. My first boxing lesson rang in my head.

Leila raised her glove, causing a pressure to enter the atmosphere. It was like a titan pressed down on my shoulders, and my knees nearly buckled. Yet my gaze remained fixed on the figment of my imagination.

The same stench of corpses as before rushed past my nostrils as my chest cavity expanded. Everything slowed down. A muscle on her right lat twitched before she struck out. As I ducked, I noticed the air imploding around her knuckles, which blew on a stray strand of my hair, but my left hand was already halfway to her solar plexus. Warmth coursed through my limb in an unfamiliar sensation. I rotated at my feet, and when my uppercut connected, a gunshot went off.

Leila yelped, staggering backwards. She growled. Then, the yellow inside her eyes turned black, and she—

A light flicked on above me that expelled the shadows in a flash.

“Asha, didn’t I tell you to rest?!”

My back foot caught on my front leg, and I tipped over. It was with blurry vision that I watched Samantha stalk into the room. For a split second, right as my concentration fled me, I heard her footfall. Then they were gone, and my mentor once more embodied her title, ‘the Feather.’

“Sorry—” I gasped for breath. But it took a handful of pants before I regained enough control of all my faculties to speak.

Not waiting for me to answer, Samantha stepped into the natural luminescence of the moon. Wrinkles adorned her forehead, which wouldn’t fool me. The woman could still whoop my butt in a spar. She fastened her white hair into a bun and adorned it with an orange dragonfly pin. Fur covered her ears, revealing her background as a quarter from the Gano clan, a group of Shuras with canine characteristics.

“And you’re training in the dark again!” She said, waving her hand.

I brushed through my hair. I really have to stop doing that. Though I wasn't born with the ability to control mana, I'd inherited Father's inclination for shadows: my senses and speed were heightened in the dark. Training without light would adjust me to skills I wouldn't have during a fight where the entire stadium was under the scrutiny of a million spotlights.

My chin tilted downwards.

“It helps me focus,” I whispered.

“That’s the whole point, whelp! Explain yourself. Why are you here instead of resting like I told you?”

Seconds passed.

“I was just doing some light stretching.”

Salty liquid ran down the small of my back. Scratch that. My entire tank top was drenched. Yeah, that was a lie she wouldn't believe if I paid her. So, I caved quickly when the older lady's face went slack.

"I'm scared," I confessed, considering the spiralling emotions inside me.

There was a pause wherein the shorter Shura scrutinised me. Then, she let out a deep sigh.

“Fear is good.” Samantha threw a towel over my head. “I’d be more worried if you didn’t feel scared.”

“How so?” I asked, wiping away my sweat.

“Fear is one of our strongest emotions. Those who control it are infinitely stronger than those who run from it.”

“That reminds me of something Father once told me.”

The lunatic had chained me to the edge of a two-story building after I'd confessed my fright of heights. 'Fear is not the opposite of courage, but its source,' he would say. It sure was because I'd never wanted to punch someone that badly afterwards. Shame I missed that opportunity.

Samantha crossed her arms.

“And who do you think taught him?”

Fair enough. Father's clock ticked fifty years old some months ago, but Samantha had instructed him since he was a teen. She knew I was coming before Mother even chose my name.

“Are you finished,” she asked, her snout moving sideways, “or were you planning on sleeping between sets?”

“I thought you came here to tell me to go home?”

“Are you?” She murmured, a mean gleam on her face. “Going home?”

“No,” I said.

There was a fire near my belly button. Something inside me was burning and begging for release. There’s no way I was going home like this.

Samantha glanced at the heavy bags lined along a rack at the side, all lying motionless.

“Which one of them were you hitting?”

“Uh, none?”

After staring at me, she used the nail on her pinky to clean the inside of her ear.

“Must be my old age.” She waved for me to continue with my drills.

The image of Leila once more crossed my mind as I went through my forms. One. Two. My jab went out. The movement lacked power since it was short and fast, but my goal wasn’t to hit the Little Knockout. It was to get a reaction. Which way are you slipping? My thoughts chimed in my ears. In a split second, there was no time for complicated calculation. So, I guessed left and threw a haymaker.

“You should trust your instincts—,” Samantha walked over to a bench near the walls “,—but there’s a fine line between prediction and blind luck. The latter leads to defeat.”

Grimacing, I pressed on. The exchange between me and my mentor continued for another thirty minutes, with her commenting in between, criticising my decision-making. Eventually, a clap burst through the gym.

“Alright, that’s enough. Tiring yourself out any further will only be counter-productive.”

I sagged to the floor. “I can—”

“Rest,” she commanded. “It’s two more days until the fight. Store your energy and release it all on that pureblood harlot.”

My head hit the mats. “Racism is bad,” I said halfheartedly.

Samantha laughed. “Wait till you hear what they’ll be shouting at you in the arena. You think you’ll get off easy because you’ve got no marks?”

Marks are what they called the beast-like features of quarters and halfs. I glanced at Samantha's ears, which were covered in white fur. They were cute. Though I'd never tell her that even if someone held a knife to my throat. Still, they made me jealous. Despite being a half myself, I'd never had a mark. It'd confused people at the beginning of my career as they'd thought I was an extremely talented pureblood. So much so that I had to attend an official interview where the committee made me state my heritage.

That’d been one of my most awkward experiences. Ever.

“Any last piece of advice?” I asked.

Since I always spend the day before a match in confinement to enter my own mind space, I wouldn’t see her again until I entered the waiting room.

Her crimson eyes pierced through me, exposing all my insecurities. "A mistake is only a mistake if you punish it. Otherwise, it's a calculated risk. Dodge her, but don't flee. Strike back."

Leila’s explosive punches echoed in my ear.

“But if I get hit—”

“You’ll get knocked out,” she admitted. “At least you go down swinging. If you start being too passive, I’ll throw in the towel myself. I didn’t raise a turtle.”

Sighing, I raised myself off the floor. There goes my easy way out.

“Also,” she said. “Pay mister Gloomyhead a visit. It will help put your thoughts at ease.”

I swallowed my chuckle at the name she was using for my father. Our last name, the fact that his hero nickname had been 'the Shadow' due to his authority over darkness, or him always being in a serious mood, didn't exactly help his case.

"Does the prison allow last-minute visitations?" I asked.

I wasn’t against the idea, but I always booked my appointments a month in advance. The first Saturday of every month. I also had to prepare myself since my father liked to play some games of table tennis whenever I visited, which could last hours. He'd chew me out if I lost too badly.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. Else, I know someone.”

She walked over to me. I drew the quarter into a hug and rested my chin on her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

For everything, I left unsaid. She knew that already.

“Silly, child. Make us halfs and quarters proud.”

“I promise.”

I stepped out of the gym and stared up at the night sky. Stars danced hand in hand. And when I breathed in, the dark embraced me, calming the blood storming through me.

Tonight would be a good night.