The roar of the crowd rattled Vaela’s body, but she barely heard it. Her vision tunneled onto the Meteor. Areas of the woman’s chest were charred, other parts red and raw like uncooked meat. Dirt and blood had mixed to a red clay on her boots. Whose blood? Some of hers, maybe. And some of the man she’d just killed. Kicked until he stopped moving, stomped until he stopped breathing.

Vaela stayed rooted to the spot, drowning in the hungry screams of the crowd. No, she couldn’t fight that. She couldn’t go down there. Only death waited for her in that pit. Only the crunch of a boot through her eye socket. Only the pain from the mace breaking her ribs to stab into her own heart. She tore her gaze away, her lungs burning as she panted shallow breaths. Movement across the arena caught her attention. Timura descended, step by step, into the waiting hell. She couldn’t mean to…?

Timura arrived at the lip of the arena, poised like someone about to jump off a cliff. She held her staff out with trembling fingers. The crowd cheered her on and she closed her eyes. Her hand jerked open and the staff tumbled into the pit to the thunderous approval of the crowd. Timura slid down to the top rung of the ladder, testing it as if afraid it would break. Her leg shook, but she clambered down to the dirt. An official tossed a hoop down to her and she grabbed it and her staff, clutching her weapon to her chest.

Vaela squeezed her own staff, the metal warmed under her sweating palms. It looked like a twig compared to the Meteor’s mace. She could still leave. Walk away and sleep until she woke up from this nightmare. The sounds of the crowd, rustling in anticipation, faded back into her senses. Was this even real? Without her stick in her hand, it was so hard to tell who she was. It was back in the tent–safe, save a new scar. The new notch: evidence even it, a hunk of wood, could change.

She slammed the butt of the staff into the ground and drew herself up. Every part of her life had been with that stick. And she wouldn’t let it leave her behind. She descended to the edge of the pit and Timura watched her with wide eyes. Vaela snorted and held her staff over the pit.

She needed a new scar.

Her staff dropped into the pit and the crowd erupted into cheers. The rungs felt cold and her slick fingers fought to keep hold. Every step down, her body screamed at her fingers not to release, not to let go, not to descend into death. Her boots hit the ground and she turned to face the open pit. The walls seemed to stretch eternally upward. Not far from her, a red patch of dirt marked the Phoenix’s fate. On the other side, Timura’s small frame waited. And between them–the Meteor and her mace.

A hoop landed next to Vaela and she scooped it and her staff up. The hoop was metal and almost twice as wide as her entire body. So different from the ones she and her friends would make out of twigs when they were kids.

The announcer stood and extended a hand to Timura. “Disciple–are you ready?”

She jerked in a small nod, the hoop still clutched at her side. He pointed to it and she raised it unsteadily over her head. The crowd clapped, a restraint in the energy, still pent up for release. The announcer nodded to the Meteor. She heaved the mace to her shoulder and thrust it overhead. The crowd stomped and cheered before falling to a tense hush. He held a hand out to Vaela. “Charmer?”

Vaela’s heart pounded as she stared at the mace, blood crusted on its head. A single hit and she’d be dead. What was she doing?

“Charmer, are you ready?”

One hit and then no adventure, just darkness. A red stain in the dirt. Kindling in someone else’s fire.

She thrust the hoop over her head. Let her be strong. The crowd roared fully this time. Their screams filled the cavernous arena. By Blood and Shadow–let her be strong.

“FIGHT!”

Vaela and Timura tossed their hoops aside and the Meteor lowered the mace back to her shoulder. Vaela sprinted towards Timura, moving in a large arc around the perimeter of the pit. She had to talk to her, make a plan.

“Oho, look out folks! The Charmer is thirsty for blood.”

Timura raised her staff as Vaela approached, eyeing her with confusion. Vaela lowered her staff to her side and held out a palm. “I’ve been so worried about you! No time to talk, we need a plan.” She glanced back. The Meteor took her time crossing to them, closing the distance gradually. Her shoulders heaved, made even more visible by the rise and fall of the mace resting across her right side. That injury must be taking its toll. Maybe they had a chance of beating her. She wobbled every couple of steps, though her gaze maintained dead on them, no matter how she wove.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Vaela stepped closer to Timura, tilting her body so she could keep an eye on the Meteor. The crowd murmured, a few jeers breaking out when Vaela and Timura didn’t start attacking each other. Vaela regripped her staff and jabbed it at the Meteor, only twenty feet away now. “I can try to distract her. You come around behind and hit her.” She faced the Meteor fully and felt the tip of a staff between her shoulder blades. “Timura?”

“I-I can’t accept your help. Not anymore.”

Vaela spun around and Timura jerked her staff up, the tip leveled at Vaela’s face. She batted it away. “Don’t be crazy. We have to work together or we’ll die.” Vaela circled to Timura’s side and the tip of the staff followed her. The Meteor neared to only ten feet away.

Timura’s staff wavered as she glanced between Vaela and the Meteor. She whipped it away and pivoted to face the Meteor. “We’re not equals, Vaela. You’re always above me, even when you don’t mean to be. H-how could we ever exist if we’re not equals?”

The Meteor spat on the ground, her saliva tinted pink from residual blood. Up close, her wounds appeared even more grievous. How was she even standing? She hoisted her mace off her shoulder and lowered it into ready position. “Enough talk.”

Timura shouted and thrust her staff forward. Shadow wrapped around her arms and extended beyond them, forming into claws. Vaela threw an arm out to her. “No!”

Timura screamed and charged at the Meteor, staff raised overhead. She struck downward and the Meteor raised her mace. The staff thwacked off the handle and the Meteor’s leg lashed out. Timura jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the hit. Her Shadow claws raked at the Meteor’s face and the woman stumbled back. Timura lunged forward and the tip of her staff slammed into the Meteor’s ribs. She reeled another few steps back with a howl.

Timura wound her staff back and raced in, closing the distance. Her Claws grabbed the Meteor’s face, keeping her blind. The Meteor regained her footing, stance splayed wide, and crouched. Timura planted her feet and whipped the staff towards the Meteor’s side.

The Meteor Jumped backwards several body lengths and Timura’s staff cut through the empty air. The Meteor landed and skidded backwards, kicking up dirt in a spray. Her shoulders heaved, fury etched onto her face. She sprinted forward, letting loose a feral cry. Timura’s Claws shot towards her face again and the Meteor ducked them. She popped back up and twisted, striking with the butt of her mace. Timura blocked and stumbled back. The Meteor smashed her left leg into Timura’s side and she fell to one knee. Her Claws evaporated away and she raised her staff overhead, warding off some unseen blow that didn’t come. The Meteor’s mace dropped to the ground and she ripped Timura’s staff from her hands.

Vaela sprinted to them as the Meteor flung the staff to the side. She grabbed Timura by the throat and raised a fist overhead. The crowd roared and Timura clawed at the Meteor’s grasp. Vaela let out a scream of her own–to release her fear, to distract the Meteor. The woman paid no attention and smashed her fist into Timura’s cheek.

Timura’s head jerked to the side and her legs buckled. The Meteor held her up by her neck and drew her fist back again. Vaela closed the distance between them, staff cocked back. The Meteor pivoted and raised Timura up between the two of them. Vaela circled to the side and the woman dropped Timura. She scooped up her mace, eyes narrowing at Vaela. Timura fell to her hands and knees, left cheek bleeding, the skin already swollen. Rage drowned out Vaela’s fear and she charged.

She struck with fury, her staff meeting the hard resistance of the mace’s handle once, twice, three times. The impact jolted up her arms and her anger hungered for the soft resistance of flesh. The Meteor backed up a step, ceding ground under Vaela’s storm of strikes. More. She needed to feel it–her staff sinking into the Meteor’s body, only feeling the sharp rebound when it struck bone. The even greater release of bone breaking under her will, of screaming in anguish for its sins against Timura.

Vaela swung again and met no resistance at all as the Meteor sidestepped the strike. The woman’s legs tensed–she was Bracing herself. One hit…

Vaela twisted as the Meteor Kicked towards her chest. She brought her staff in time to block. The Meteor’s foot Smashed into the staff. Vaela’s arms buckled under the tremendous force and the staff flew back into her chest. A moment later, the Meteor’s foot collided with it and Slammed into her. A release of bone, a crack in her chest, and sharp pain piercing through her. Her cry was cut short, ripped out of her, as the air was forced from her body. She flew backwards and hit the ground hard. Her hands flew to her chest, trying to pull whatever was stabbing her out. The arena swirled and blackness crowded her peripherals. Couldn’t breathe.

She rolled to her side, a high whine and the swish of her own heartbeat filling her ears. A small gasp of air brought fresh clarity to her pain. Her breathing returned in choppy waves and she pushed to one knee. Her staff, the metal bent, laid in the dirt in front of her. And beyond that…

Timura partially pushed to her feet and the Meteor lazily put a boot on her shoulder and shoved her back to the ground. She raised her mace up, eyes ablaze.

Vaela reeled to her feet and snatched her bent staff. Her broken rib screamed at her and she clutched her chest, fingers over the stabbing pain as if they could feel the new notch in her body.

She had her new scar.

Now to be strong.