Boris had his pistol up and locked on Viktor faster than my eyes could blink. Viktor stumbled to the side as a bullet whizzed past his ear, his eyes growing wide as Boris kept firing as he walked toward him.

  Viktor ran to his left, firing his rifle in Boris’s direction to get a moment of relief from the bullets flying his way. Boris followed him not long after, his shield up in front of him as he broke into a flat sprint.

  Viktor reached into the pocket before he tapped his left shoulder and fired at Boris’s shield, keeping him occupied as he retreated backward. Nothing Viktor did impressed me. He just seemed to be panicking, moving on terror rather than the lessons drilled into him.

  Even now, Boris had closed the distance between them within the first twenty seconds of the match. I had advised quite a few B rankers with him present not to fight Boris in close range, and yet there he was, less than ten meters away from him.

  Even now I could see Viktor trying to skip the bullets off the wall in some hopeless bid at getting around Boris’s shield. What confused me most was that he had only one hand on his rifle, his hand flicking in random directions.

  When I looked at what was in his hand, I saw that he was holding coins. And that with every flick, the coins would fly far. I focused on the floor… only to see that it was covered in coins, dozens if not hundreds of them scattered about.

  And then Viktor disappeared, reappearing three meters to Boris’s right, his arm moving toward Boris’s head in what felt like slow motion.

  I felt all the hopes I had placed on my B rankers rushing up. For once, everything would go as it should have. Boris, having his brain shot out of his skull within thirty seconds of a match.

  And then Boris threw his head back, the bullet flying inches past his face. And all those hopes, once again, died. Of course he dodged, the stupid cockroach.

  Viktor was jumping all over now, appearing and disappearing so fast I couldn’t keep track. But Boris could. I did not think there was an audible component to Viktor’s teleportation, but perhaps when he appeared, a small pebble would move as his weight landed on it, and that’s all Boris would need.

  Viktor would appear right next to him and then fifty meters away, only the flash of a barrel being any evidence he appeared in the first place. And all those bullets would meet his shield.

  Viktor stopped jumping all over, standing at where he started the match. Boris whipped towards him, then lowered his shield. Both men seemed to come to an agreement for a moment of truce, because they just stood there, studying each other from a distance.

  I suppose they realized that they were at a stalemate. Boris could not pin down Viktor, and Viktor could not harm Boris.

  Could Viktor outlast him? Viktor’s power unused had lasted for days, but I had seen Boris battle Lieutenant Galina for hours. I suppose I answered my own question. No, he could not outlast him. So how could he win?

  As if he could hear me, Viktor appeared five meters in front of Boris and fired the gun straight at him. Boris had brought the shield up, but no bullet ricocheted off it this time. Viktor had run out of bullets for his rifle.

  Boris showed a surprising moment of honor. Instead of capitalizing on this moment of vulnerability, he pointed his gun at his own head before pulling the trigger. Viktor looked startled, but Boris just stood there, looking bored. Viktor rolled his eyes, a small smile on his lips as he pulled out a dagger. Boris threw down the pistol in response, kept the shield, and shifted his feet into a boxing stance.

  And then the dance of reappearing and appearing began again. Both men were moving faster than I could blink, transfixing me to the screen. Every twist and twirl, every near miss and near hit making my heart flutter.

  Viktor was so close. I could see him knick Boris every few seconds, but it was never anything major. But for every five knicks Viktor got, Boris would get one solid hit against his wrists.

  They went on like this for minutes before Viktor teleported away again, and I saw him stumble. Boris stopped trying to hit him, deactivating his shield as he waited, his arms and legs bleeding all over and not making a bit of difference. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

  After a few more collisions, Viktor appeared in front of him and then behind him, a tactic he must have used a dozen times by now, but this time he was slower. He planted his feet, the dagger in his hands flying towards Boris’s back. Boris turned just in time, the dagger burying itself to the hilt in his shoulder.

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  And when Viktor teleported away, Boris was still standing there. Viktor let go of the knife, and Boris grabbed his shirt. Viktor thrashed, digging his nails into Boris’s wrist, teleporting all over the arena. But it was over now.

  Boris had gotten ahold of him. He grabbed Viktor with both hands, wrenching him closer until their faces were inches apart.

  “Surrender,” he growled, his face contorting into something that brooked no argument.

  In response, Viktor grabbed the dagger sticking out of Boris's shoulder. Boris grabbed him by his throat, the veins in his arm contorting with how hard he was wringing Viktor’s neck. Viktor twisted the knife, so Boris punched him in the face, his teeth caving inward.

  Again, Boris offered surrender. And in response, Viktor tried to gouge out his eyes.

  I had seen what happens after. Viktor had proven himself not only capable but an outstanding warrior. He had just gotten unlucky. Out of respect and fear of that civvy's cruelty, I did not want to watch what happened after.

  “Boris wins,” Major Shange whispered, signalling the end to this ordeal. When I looked back, the entire arena was covered in blood. Boris resembled the arena, and he was panting from what he had just done.

  Through the blood and the deep breaths he was taking… I almost thought he looked sad. Heartbroken at what he had just done. But all I had to do was look at the arena to dispel the notion that he was anything but a monster. I wanted to thank the cameraman, because Viktor’s body was nowhere to be found.

  And then, both men were standing across from one another. Viktor cried out, throwing his fist forward even as he staggered backward, before landing on his butt. He looked around, at the pitied expressions of the crowd, at the man standing opposite him.

  The match was over. Boris was one of only two B rankers to win a match in the high rankers tournament. Viktor must've realized this, or maybe he realized that he failed his father, because he put his face in his hands and cried.

  I… I felt sorry for him. But I had never expected him to win. I had always placed Calder front and center in my mind when dealing with Boris. I put my hand on the screen.

  “I will avenge you,” I whispered. I got up, then walked towards the man who would put an end to this madness.

  On my way there, I passed Selena’s room. I considered knocking on her door to comfort her after her loss. Telling her she was my only friend and that from the moment I met her, I had wanted to be more than that. But my stride didn’t break, and I didn’t look back even as the door’s hinges squeaked behind me.

  I arrived at his door and knocked. He answered it the same as last time. Shirtless, loud music blaring so loud I could not hear myself think, let alone believe we could have a conversation. His eyes widened at my arrival, but he stood aside to let me in.

  I walked into the room, taking in my surroundings and ignoring the posters of action films and scantily clad women, as I considered something. Should I speak to him about his behavior with Bongi? About his cruelty?

  Like the fire, it was unnecessary, a hindrance. But with Boris… I wasn’t so sure of that fact. Would this be the only way to establish hierarchy? Show the dog that I have a wolf? I had hated the execution, and I still hated it now. Boris had humiliated me. Insulted me. Boris was…

  Was escaping just to feed his children. But he murdered his fellow B rankers. He brutalized Viktor. What was I supposed to do? Chastise Calder for the cruelty that might prove necessary tomorrow? Or just let it be and discuss it with him afterward?

  “If you just came to look at the furniture, I recommend the mirror. It’s got the best view in here,” Calder said from behind me.

  His words snapped me back to the present. It took me a moment to process what he had said before I snorted. “I see that you have improved with your compliments. I hope this means your combat skills have improved as well?”

  “So you didn’t watch my match earlier? I’m almost hurt,” he said with mock offense. He had moved to his desk to turn the music off, leaning against it with his arms crossed and a large grin on his face.

  Watching you kill someone in a disgusting way doesn’t mean your combat skills have improved, I thought to myself. I bit back the words and took a seat at the only chair in the room.

  “I’ve come to ask you to succeed where all the others have failed. To show that Boris winning all the other matches was a fluke, a mistake. I need you to win, Calder.”

  By any means necessary. I thought to myself. But I couldn’t say the words.

  His smile had dropped, and he was looking at the floor before he snorted and looked up at me. “That was quite motivating… but unnecessary. I am going to beat the brakes off that civvie. If I’m honest, I had hoped Viktor would fail, just so I can get my hands on him. Ignorant bastard,” he spat.

  Tell him he went too far, a voice whispered in my ear.

  “I’m glad. You know how many people I have tasked with this mission.”

  I got off the chair and walked over to him, my face inches from his. “And you know how many people have failed. I need you to win Calder. To show why high rankers are placed in their positions to begin with.”

  He kept glancing away from my eyes to just below my nose. “I am going to embarrass him. Make him realize why he should never have stepped foot out of that township in the first place. I promise,” he whispered.

  I placed my hand on his chest. “Thank you. May I go over tactics with you? Make sure that you are prepared adequately?”

  He glanced down at my hand before nodding, his eyes wide and his voice going a little higher, “Of course! Sure! Uhm, let me just put a shirt on… unless you want me to leave it off?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, thank you. Put on a shirt.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  He hurried to put on a shirt, and I watched as the muscles on his back and arms popped out as he wriggled himself into the fabric. You might call me perverted for watching a man dress, but it was the only thing distracting me.

  This is right. This is right. This is right. I told myself as I turned to the desk.

  And a little voice whispered in my ear, You know it's not.