I was returning to my room, mortified at how my match had gone. I almost lost to a healer in front of every person on the island. Mother hadn’t even stayed to watch the ending. How could that have happened? Luck? Did I almost lose to luck?

  I would have torn my hair out if Calder hadn’t been there, waiting.

  “Congrats on winning,” he said when he saw me, holding his hands up like he was waiting for a bomb to go off.

  “Why are you here?” I growled, shoving him aside to get to my desk, and dumping all my equipment on the table. He followed me into the room, still holding his hands up.

  “Oh… uhm, just wanted to say congrats. See if I can’t get a 'good luck' for my next match?”

  I stopped checking my equipment to look at him like he was an idiot.

  “Right. Uhm, still a good match, though. Gotta run.” He raced for the door, throwing it open before I called for him, “Calder!”

  He stopped midstride, turning back to look at me. “Yeah?”

  I thought for a moment, the words catching in my throat. “Prove what we are made of. Show what our brigade will be.”

  His face hardened, that empty smile leaving his face. “Yes, ma’am. I'll show them something they've never seen before.”

  And then, he was gone.

  Ten minutes later, I was sitting on the bed watching the tiny television when Calder and Bongi’s match started.

  Calder had the usual weaponry of a high ranker: knives, an assault rifle, and two holstered pistols on his hips. He had decided to forgo body armor, which I believe to be a mistake. He was either thinking ahead or had found out in his preparations that the body armor would melt once he activated his ability, which did impress me. But every match starts from a distance. Bongi could get a lucky shot off and end the match before it started.

  Even now, I could see Bongi planning to capitalize on his lack of gear, shifting the rifle into his shoulder as the bubble wall went up behind him. I got up and dug through one of the cupboards, taking out a notepad to take notes of the match with. But now that the empty page sat before me, I hesitated.

  At the top of the notepad, I would have just written Calder, since he was Bongi’s natural enemy based on ability… but they weren’t just using abilities. They were using weaponry. And Calder seemed to be ill-equipped to deal with that specific danger.

  I shook my head, chasing away the notion that Bongi had a chance. Abilities are far more dangerous than any weapon. I wrote Calder at the top, then waited for them to begin.

  The moment the bubble closed, both men snapped their rifles up and opened fire. The bullets ricocheted off the bubble’s walls, making jagged pieces of stone jump up as the two men strode toward each other.

  I had been through a match now, and I had noticed that the bubble’s wall cast a faint shadow along its edge. And I saw the exact moment Bongi noticed; his eyes, which had been locked on Calder, glanced away from him, and then he was sprinting toward the wall. I sighed. His only advantage, and he just threw it away.

  I saw Calder relax like this was exactly what he wanted. I wrote down, “He thinks ahead, but arrogance is his weakness. Doesn’t account for the fact that he could be harmed.”

  Bongi had thrown himself into the shadows now. Imperceptible, invulnerable, and completely doomed.

  Calder threw down his weapons and took off his shirt like a runway model. Slow, like he had all the time in the world, flexing every muscle as he pulled the shirt off overhead. He threw the shirt down and flexed his biceps before tapping his left shoulder.

  I underlined arrogance as his entire body was coated in flame, far greater than anything I had seen before. He strode toward where Bongi had been last seen, running his hand along the bubble wall like he was on a stroll through a park rather than fighting for his life.

  There, I thought to myself. In the corner, right on the edge of where Calder’s fire was distorting the shadow, I could see an almost imperceptible movement. It matched Calder’s pace for three strides before it broke off, and I lost sight of it.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  About twenty meters in front of Calder, Bongi jumped out of the wall, his rifle at his shoulder, his eye gazing down the length of the barrel as he squeezed the trigger.

  Calder closed the distance in the blink of an eye, shoving the barrel toward the sky as the gun went off. He could have ended it there, but he just watched as Bongi fell backward, tapping his left shoulder over and over like there was a shadow to run to.

  Calder kept watching him as Bongi held up his hands in some desperate bid to defend himself from the heat. He was crawling backward, his expression horrified as Calder took a step toward him and kicked him in the head.

  His skull crashed into the bubble’s wall, brain and blood exploding upwards, painting a gruesome image as Calder's leg was stuck in Bongi’s head. Calder shook himself loose of the corpse, before walking away with a fist in the air, like he had won a grand victory.

  The crowd roared their disapproval as I threw my notepad at the TV. Why would he do that? What was the point of such cruelty? He was acting like Boris… just a worse version. I could already see how Boris would use this in one of our eventual arguments. “If I’m so evil, why does your boyfriend do the same thing I did?”

  This was so unnecessary it made me think of the civvie. I picked up the notepad and added a giant note at the end.

  SPEAK WITH CALDER!

  Both men reappeared across from each other. Calder walked forward, head held high and chest puffed out, his hand outstretched. Bongi looked traumatized, his wide eyes locked on the man approaching him.

  Calder clapped him on the shoulder and said something that only he laughed at before lifting Bongi’s hand into the air. It wasn’t much, but it went a long way in regaining the crowd's favor.

  I considered sitting here, waiting for the next match to start, but decided against it. I got up off my chair and walked towards where the next participants would walk out.

  I had overlooked Viktor. All my plans for dealing with Boris now that he was a high-ranker involved Calder. But maybe that was a mistake. Perhaps Viktor would show that he was the son of an S-rank, a man with great potential.

  I rounded the corner to see Viktor and Boris standing shoulder to shoulder, both men staring straight ahead. Just as I was about to call out to them, Viktor’s father stepped out of the air right beside him. Vasili had his black cloak on, an image of a large golden dagger stitched into the material across his back.

  “What the fuck!?” Boris shouted, pointing a gun at him like he was looking at a ghost.

  Viktor just sighed like he was used to this, “Relax. It’s just my father.”

  Boris relaxed, but his voice continued to be loud. “Why the fuck is he here? Oi! You! Why are you here!? How are you here!?”

  Vasili ignored him, staring up the steps to the platform like he was transfixed on the match his son would soon be in. But I didn’t get that impression. He looked like he was staring past those stairs, toward the high-rankers' booth.

  Slava respected Vasili, but he always warned me to stay away from him. I had asked if he liked young girls, and Slava laughed and reassured me that no, he didn’t like young girls. He was dangerous because he did not disobey my Mother. No matter what order he was given.

  I did not understand how loyalty was a bad thing. But studying him now, as he stared up those steps… I thought Slava might have a point.

  “Are you going to talk? If not, can you fuck off, please? We have to go on soon,” Boris said as he gestured at Major Shange, who was calling his and Viktor’s name.

  Vasili put a hand on his son’s shoulder, “Do not lose.”

  “I won’t, Father. I promise.”

  Vasili nodded, his shoulders relaxing before he turned to Boris, “Point a gun at me again and I will visit you while you sleep.”

  And with that, he disappeared. Boris looked offended as he reholstered his weapon. “Your dad’s a real charmer, you know that?”

  “My father is a great man. Hold your tongue, civvie.”

  Boris rolled his eyes. “You high rankers are all the same. Do you wonder what your ‘great’ father will say when you lose? Or has he told you already?”

  Viktor spat at Boris’s feet before he stomped up the stairs.

  Boris just shrugged before he turned around and grinned at me. “Hello, Sofia. Come to watch your boy lose?”

  I stood frozen. I thought they hadn’t noticed me. I smoothed out my pants as I looked at his forehead. “I have come to watch an ill-mannered child learn his lesson.”

  Boris nodded as if he agreed. “He is quite rude, isn’t he? I saw your match earlier, by the way, and I got a question.”

  His face hardened, and his eyes locked onto mine. “Why wouldn’t you try to lose? You wouldn’t have had to fight me that way. Are you one of those sick fucks that like being hurt? Or are you genuinely that stupid?”

  I felt my jaw lock. “You are being called. I suggest you run up those stairs before I remind everyone that you're still just a B ranker.”

  “You almost lost to a healer lady. Quiet down before you get hurt,” he said as he rolled his eyes, turning around to walk up the stairs.

  I felt my pulse pounding in my ears as heat crept up my chest before I turned on my heel and marched back to my room.

  I had always thought of myself as someone who could uphold my family's legacy. Someone who could order a man’s execution without a second thought, like Mother could. But those lieutenants' execution had taught me something.

  I did not know death. Seeing it up close was something very different than hearing about it throughout my childhood. It made me reevaluate my entire belief structure, made me reevaluate myself and all my plans for Kaleidos.

  But now, sitting in front of the TV and watching Boris and Viktor square off, a thought had wiggled itself into the back of my mind and would not leave.

  I hated him.

  Watching him throw his arms up and grin at the crowd as they all glared at him, that thought grew from a whisper to a desire. To an overwhelming need.

  He had to die.