My mother and I stood with our backs to the rest of the high-rankers, staring down at the platform as Boris and Abigail squared off. When I had walked in earlier, it felt strange because many of them were casting hateful glances my way, as if I had done something very wrong.

  No matter, their approval wasn’t important for the events transpiring below. Major Shange was in her usual chipper mood… but I noticed she didn't mock Boris anymore. What a coward, he deserves more ridicule after yesterday’s display, not less.

  “And now we have an exciting first match for all of you! And don't forget their faces, everyone, because the winner of this match has drawn the lucky straw and is able to fight again later! I think this is going to be a real barn burner, so let’s get this show started, why don’t we?”

  I gazed across the crowd as they clapped politely, and I even saw one family holding up a large sign, big bold letters written across it that said, “BEAT THAT CIVVIE ABIGAIL!”

  “I remember you called him something similar in our discussion the other day, daughter. What do you mean by civvie?” Mother asked from right next to me, staring at the sign with a skeptical look on the unaged side of her face.

  “It’s… I believe it refers to people without powers.” I looked away as I mumbled, “A discriminatory way to refer to people without powers.”

  When I glanced back, I saw almost amusement in her eyes as she had turned to me, studying my behavior, “So… how does it apply to him, exactly?”

  “I… well, he doesn’t deserve his abilities. And he most certainly does not deserve to be among us. He is nothing but a murderer from the township, the ones you always warned me of,” I said stiff-lipped, looking down at the platform as the bubble started forming.

  In the reflection, I saw one side of her lip almost curl up as she said, “I must say, the slang your generation has come up with doesn’t make sense to me.”

  She stopped focusing on me and turned back to the match.

  I had almost smiled when Boris had walked out, as the lack of his shield proved Bongi had been successful with the task I had given him yesterday. All he had with him was what looked to be chair legs that he had ripped off of some poor stool, probably the one in his room, and his ability already started activating before the bubble was even half closed.

  Abigail had the pistol and flashbang she requested, and she walked back and forth across the platform, determination rolling off of her in waves.

  They sprinted at each other as soon as the bubble closed, and I almost started screaming. What is she doing? Boris has the advantage in close-quarters combat, why be so stupid to risk it when you have the gun? Stupid girl, I thought to myself as I felt my fingers twitch.

  Boris and Abigail collided, and Abigail was thrown backward at least twelve feet as Boris stumbled past her, likely dazed from the impact. Abigail looked like she had been run over by a leviathan as she lay on the floor, sitting up slowly and looking back toward Boris as he turned toward her.

  As she sat up, I finally noticed jagged bones jutting out of every inch of her torso, an image of a bloody porcupine coming to mind as her ribs seemed to elongate out of her chest, her jaw and forehead exuding lengthy spikes that seemed to grow even longer as she rose to her feet.

  I looked toward Boris. Every inch of him was bleeding, and one of his eyes hung out of its socket.

  And he marched toward Abigail as if nothing was wrong. Abigail raised the gun, which proved to be… utterly ineffective, as he simply dodged out of the way right before she pulled the trigger.

  She only got two shots off as she backed away quickly, her eyes wide with panic as he rushed towards her. After a moment, she snarled and threw the gun away. Marching towards him as she cracked her neck, two long bone spears extending out of her wrists, cutting long lines into the concrete below her.

  All of a sudden Boris flinched, looking away as I realized Abigail had masked the flashbang with the gun as it went off right behind her. I raised my chin, adding a mental note that his power also increased his senses because, from the way he was reeling, he seemed to have been struck with a thunderclap.

  She rushed forward even as he stumbled, then drove her lone bong spikes straight through his stomach, both of them extending far out his back as Boris tilted his head away from her jagged jawbone, which seemed dangerously close to his only good eye. He started screaming not a moment later.

  I saw bones jutting through him, and I felt pride well up inside me. She had done what I had asked of her. She had not hesitated. She had not shown mercy or kindness. She had tried… she had killed him.

  I closed my eyes with relief and turned to my left, lifting my chin with both pride and pity as I said, “See, mother? He has lost. Now we can make sure the right candidate will rise.”

  “He has certainly been harmed. But he has not lost,” she said as she took a sip of her drink, her eyes focused on nothing but the match, almost wider as if trying to sink in every detail.

  I turned back to the platform to see that Boris had let go of one of the chair legs. He had grabbed a hold of Abigail’s neck even as he screamed bloody murder. They grappled, their bodies writhing as Abigail brought him closer, inch by inch until her jagged rib bones bit into his, the scream on his face growing even more animalistic.

  No sound reached us, but the way his eyes contorted when he looked at the woman screaming back at him… I could hear the whispered promise of death, even all the way up here.

  He took the remaining chair leg and jammed it straight through her head. I slammed my fist against the window, blinking hard to wake from this nightmare. But every blink only revealed them standing together, locked in a deadly embrace, Boris unable to move and Abigail unable to let go.

  He was still holding her neck, and he turned towards the high ranker's booth and held her limp body towards me. He pointed at me with his now free hand. Then he pointed at her, his half-gaze staring at me with the same whispered promise I had heard earlier.

  I believe myself to be brave, even though I find more value in my wits and tactical experience… but when he looked up at me… I was afraid. Hatred grew in me, a specific tool that dashed the fear against the rocks of logic. He was still a civvie, and he will lose.

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  “I see he has a childish grudge against you, but even you cannot deny his talent for violence, daughter,” Mother said right next to me, her voice celebratory, as if things were going exactly as she wanted them to.

  I turned on my heel, going to sit by my high rankers, not even glancing at them as they shifted uncomfortably as I slid into my chair.

  I have been stupid, was the first thought that went through my head, hatred now serving as my north star. Nothing but a failure. I had not taken into account what would happen if Zach didn't beat Boris.

  How could I have not accounted for any backup plans besides thinking of a few names to throw at him? Was that seriously the best I could think of? Keep rolling the dice until he loses?

  I picked up my glass as I thought through this, and when I saw my Mother simply leave, ignoring the matches that were planned for the rest of the day, as if she were only here to see him, I couldn’t take it. My glass cracked in my hand, and I almost threw it at the door she had left through, even as some of the cocktail dripped onto my clothes.

  I put the glass down, calling one of the waiters over to sort it out, and he tapped his left arm even as he held a hand up toward me, the stain disappearing from my shirt.

  I had been a fool. I needed to see what worked against him, test new tactics with every person I threw at him, and build from there. I leaned over to Bongi and whispered, “Get Liam a knife, and see if that armory has any more flashbangs.”

  He nodded eagerly, sprinting off immediately as if shot out of a gun. The others kept glancing at each other. “Do you have something to say?” I asked, no emotion at all to be found in my voice.

  Selena simply put her hand over mine, “Nothing at all. We are just worried about you.”

  I gave her a flat look, my emotions not even letting me enjoy this rare moment of public affection, “You should be worried about the civvie's progress. He is not falling, as he should have yesterday.”

  Calder nodded gravely with understanding, and I gestured towards him, “Do you see? He understands the gravity of this situation.”

  Selena and Viktor glanced at each other, before Selena just sighed, pulling her hand away, “Of course we understand. But we have to wait until later to see if…. To see Liam beat him.”

  She sat up straighter, glancing at me after her mistake even as I kept staring at the side of her head, before she said meekly, “Why don’t we watch the others? Marnus, Richard, and Kate? They should win easily, shouldn’t they?”

  I stared at her for a second longer, before turning to the screen as my new drink arrived.

  Kate had changed from using one big construct to two small ones. She had carried two mops tied to guns and chair legs under her arms as she walked to the platform. A shame, her opponent didn't even get his ability off before Kate’s puppets were activated, using the strands of its mop head to pull the trigger, the bullets leaving no time for him to even prepare as Kate tackled him to the floor as she held a large nail towards his throat. He surrendered, and she went through.

  Richard walked onto the stage, and his opponent fared no better than Kate’s had. Worse even, as Richard simply used his spear to chase him around the arena for thirty seconds before cornering the man, holding him at gunpoint, the spear inches from the man’s face. He surrendered.

  I would never admit it as I ate and watched the proceedings, but they did make me feel slightly more at ease. I had options, and none better than the man who fought in the second last match of the day.

  Marnus walked onto the stage to fanfare, and that was what made me realize… the crowd was larger than yesterday. Only about two thousand more seats were fill, but that was two thousand more people who had shown up to watch the B rank tournament. It was interesting, I wonder why the sudden uptick in viewership?

  Marnus seemed anxious as the applause rained down on him as he walked to the platform, waving meekly at the crowd.

  Marnus’s opponent fared the worst out of all the opponents up to that point, as Marnus simply dived into the ground as soon as the bubble formed, leaving a trench as he raced across the platform in what must have been some record, the poor man across from him just staring wide-eyed at the concrete shark that raced toward him. Marnus grabbed the man’s ankle as he tried to hit him with a club attached with barbed wire at the end, and surrendered as soon as Marnus turned around to drag him back to where he had started from.

  Then the last match of the day was here. Boris and Liam walked out. After his previous two matches, the stadium had learned to grow quiet when the civvie fought. A stadium with at least twelve thousand people, and not one wanted to break the silence that hung around the arena. Not even Major Shange.

  “...and the last match of the day, we have Boris vs Liam. It’s going to be a barn burner, everyone! I hope you enjoy!” she said into the microphone, tugging at her collar as if to move past the crowd’s utter lack of reaction.

  I walked and stood by the window as the bubble started forming. The bubble was about halfway done when I felt a presence next to me. Mother’s presence, usually one I would welcome with open arms, made me so angry I couldn’t even look at her.

  As if he was trying to make me even angrier, the fool wasn’t even staring at his opponent, just staring up at the high-rankers' booth. He pointed a chair leg at me, and then at the man standing across from him.

  Liam seemed to growl at that, getting into a textbook boxing stance, as Boris turned away from me to face him just as the bubble closed.

  Boris’s dice rolled, but he didn’t rush toward his opponent. Just stood there, staring at him. Liam looked completely shocked since I was the one to advise him about Boris’s penchant for running straight at his opponents.

  Boris simply started walking forward, like he was at the beach. Liam shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then fell into Boris’s movement, simply walking towards him in turn.

  “What a fool,” Mother said next to me. I grit my teeth, in complete agreement. You cannot let your opponent dictate the action, and when Liam was ten meters away he punched forward, and the air seemed to be sliced in two as it hit Boris straight in the chest.

  Or it would have, if Boris hadn’t moved three meters from where he had been walking casually, one of his chair legs bouncing off his head before he even knew what was happening.

  This distracted Liam for only a moment. That was all the time Boris needed, as he was on Liam before he could recover, hitting him with a perfect one-two combination straight into his face. Liam reeled back from the blows, throwing a wild hook that cracked the cement even as Boris casually dodged under it, then drove the second chair leg across Liam’s face, knocking him onto his hands and knees.

  Boris climbed onto Liam’s back and put on a perfect rear naked choke. The crowd seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, even though the match was one-sided, it had lacked his usual barbarity.

  …until Zach took the knife out of his belt and started stabbing wildly into the man on his back, then cutting into the arms around his neck.

  Boris didn’t take kindly to this, grabbing the wrist holding the knife, and then slit Liam’s throat with it. He pushed the dying man onto the floor as he looked up at me, that same look in his eyes. I stared right back, letting him know that I decide his fate, not the other way around.

  “Why are they all so useless?” I said aloud, unable to hold my frustration back as I crushed the glass in my fist.

  Mother seemed to think on this as if it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “Daughter. Heed my words well now. Do not judge the man in the arena, even if he is a failure. Only when your face is marred with dust and blood can you judge whether your subordinates are truly useless… or if they faced an inevitability and paid its price.”

  I turned toward her, pain and rage snaking through my voice as I asked, “So he is an inevitability now?”

  She turned toward me, “For everyone in your year? He might as well be.”