A few hours later, after my conversation with my mother, I still could not figure out why she had slapped me. I had understood her speech about weapons and why they might pose such a problem in Calder’s and Boris’s match since Calder cannot use a weapon. But why does she think that Boris will win? Calder is going to destroy that civvie.

  I was back in my room covering up the new bruise on my cheek, before I heard the sounds of their match starting. I finished applying my makeup, got up, and hurried down the hall to the entrance.

  I found only Boris standing there and he was, for once, equipped as a high ranker should be, if one ignored the shield. He had on body armor and two pistols strapped at his waist, with a rifle hanging over one arm topped with a helmet on his head.

  And every single piece of equipment made my blood pressure sore.

  He didn’t even look nervous at the humiliation he was about to receive. Just ready, his hands curled into fists and his eyes locked forward.

  “Where did you get that?” I demanded.

  “Why the fuck would I tell you, thief?”

  “I am not a thief, I have not stolen a thing in my life. And you will tell me because after Calder beats you, I will be your superior officer. So you will do as you're told and tell me where you got that equipment.”

  He turned to me, his narrowed eyes narrowing further, filling with hate… before realization dawned on his face, and amusement crackled through them.

  “Wait wait wait. After?”

  “What are you—” I began, but he was talking right over me, a grin spreading across his face.

  “After! After Calder beats me! So you're my equal now! I remember the lieutenant told me that if one wanted to be all high and mighty we had to win this then two other useless things!”

  His grin grew like he had just realized the most fantastic news, before he turned to me completely, “So hello Miss Equal. Do you like being a civvie? How is it? Did you finally become a human being?”

  I was ready to choke the life out of him then and there, but he was armed and I was not. I bit my tongue, but inside my chest was a heat I had never felt before. This thing insults me by thinking we are equals?

  His grin grew wider at my silence, “oh! Cat got your tongue? Did I nail it on the head? Wow… then why do you still act like such a spoiled brat?”

  I felt something snap inside me, “You are nothing but a failure whose greatest achievement was falling through a window. You are a deranged dog, begging for an owner. And I shall provide. You will make an excellent subordinate once you learn to shut your mouth, and do as you're told.”

  “Unlikely. And who’s going to shut my mouth? You? Fire boy? Please. You couldn’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag.”

  “Just shut up for once! Why do you speak? Why do you not know your place? When Calder gets here—”

  “When Calder gets here he’s going to kick your ass six ways to Sunday and make it look easy.” Calder finished, stepping up beside me out of nowhere. And in that moment, the anger and doubt left me. I knew today would finally be the day this monster faced justice.

  Boris must have been spewing all those insults while Calder could hear, and still, he chose to keep speaking. I wanted to applaud the idiocy. Every provocation he threw Calder’s way would only improve the beatdown he was about to receive.

  Boris put his chin in his hand and tapped it with an annoying finger, “But Mr. Fire boy, you couldn’t even run a few laps. How are you going to beat me? Throw a few sparks my way?”

  “Sticks and stones,” Calder said, waving his hand like he was buzzing away an annoying fly. “We’ll see what you have to say after the match, won’t we? Still, give me a moment with this one before we start.”

  Boris stopped moving, the things that made him almost human leaving his face. “You're that man’s son. I’m sorry. You are going to die.”

  And then he turned back around and faced the stairs. I saw Calder take a step back, like he was talking to a madman before he stepped to the side. I joined him not one second later. “Are you ready?”

  “Of course. This is going to be easy.” Calder said with a smile. Boris snorted but did not speak.

  Silence fell between us as my brain went into overdrive. What could I say to motivate him? People act in their self-interest, so perhaps a reward for after he wins? I could give him a hint— no, a full-on reveal that he will be my second in command.

  “You're cute when you're thinking,” he said as he studied my face, an awkward smile on his lips as his ears turned red.

  “Why thank you. You are going to be beautiful as you beat that civvie,” I said, returning his awkward smile.

  Out of character for that man, but Boris didn’t speak. Just continued to stare forward. His cheek didn’t even twitch at being called a civvie. Was he that—

  Why was I focusing on his reaction? Ugh, stupid civvie.

  I turned back to Calder. He was wearing almost the same equipment as Boris, except he had substituted the rifle for grenades and flashbangs. I took a step toward him so that I could adjust the straps on his body armor to perfection, making sure everything was in place before I looked up into his eyes.

  “If I win, can I get a kiss?” he blurted out before his eyes widened and he smacked a hand over his mouth.

  I couldn’t keep the mask on, I laughed. Not at his behavior, or at his words. No, I laughed because I realized how to reward him if he won the match. All the positions, titles, and items I was thinking of, and the answer was staring at me right in the face.

  He is a man. I am a woman. What else would he want?

  I stood on my tip toes, put my lips next to his ear, and whispered, “If you win, I’ll give you far more than that.”

  I pulled back, and a dull look passed over his face before he said, “I'll be right back.”

  He fell into step beside Boris, whose flat face had changed to one of hate. “Calder, was it? Lust is a sin. You are about to learn what happens to sinners.”

  Calder turned to him, a playful smile emerging on his lips. “And you're about to learn what happens to civvies when they challenge their betters or was the lesson my father imparted on you not clear enough?”

  I saw Boris’s entire posture bend with rage as he marched up the stairs beside Calder. My body shivered in revulsion at Calder’s words. His father had permanently scarred Boris when he was nothing more than a boy.

  That same voice came back, whispering its problems at Calder’s behavior but instead of letting it speak, I shut it up by sprinting to my room. I could deal with his behavior after. Only after. I needed that thing to lose.

  I rounded the corner to my room, to see Slava standing at my door, an impatient look on his face. “Sofia, I know you're having a hard time right now but this silent treatment is unacceptable. Will you just come outside and join me to watch the match today? I will be at your side the entire time, so you don't have to worry about Warren or any other stupid high ranker.”

  “Do you promise?” I asked from right behind him. To his credit, he didn’t flinch, just put his hands on his hips and turned around.

  “And where were you?”

  “Having a conversation with the winner of today’s match. Come on, it’s going to start soon and I don’t want to miss a second of it!” I said, pulling him by his shirt so we could get there faster. I needed to see this.

  Five minutes later, I was standing front and center overlooking the match with Slava beside me. For once I was thankful for Major Shange’s theatrics since they were still showing action clips from Boris’s previous matches. Both men were pacing back and forth, like wild dogs that couldn’t wait to be let off the leash.

  I felt a presence come up and stand beside me. I stiffened as my mother said, “Daughter. Do you know why I was so angered earlier?”

  I saw Slava turn and look at her, her eyebrows creasing. I had thought about it at least a hundred times since this morning, so the answer was out of my lips before I even knew I was speaking, “Of course Mother. You were angered because Calder’s weakness does not let him use weapons, so suggesting that Calder has a guaranteed victory is nothing but a mistake when he is paired up against Boris, who has the natural advantage when it comes to weaponry.”

  My mother sighed with relief, “This is how I raised you. To think tactically. Weapons are for one purpose only. While our abilities set us apart, we must never forget the effect a mere bullet can have.”

  Calder stopped pacing back and forth, and studied Boris for a moment before he cupped his mouth with both hands as he screamed at the top of his lungs, “Oi! Civvie! Let’s see who's the real high ranker! No weapons!”

  Mother’s eyes narrowed at his question, then they became slits as Calder dropped the belt that held every weapon he possessed. Everything we had planned, from using the flashbangs and grenades to close the distance before disarming him, went out the window.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  I felt all that hope, all that excitement, all that certainty left me at Calder’s words… And came back with fury at Boris’s reply, “You're on, you lustful bastard!”

  Boris dropped all his weapons and looked at the shield before he unclipped it as well. It landed with a dust cloud as both men resumed their pacing. I could see Calder’s smile from here. That beautiful, beautiful man. He had just won the match.

  Mother’s glass shattered in her hand, her mask gone as she said, “What is he doing?”

  I could hear the smirk in Slava’s voice, “Well, from my estimation he has just lost. Or do you still think that boy will win?”

  Mother didn’t respond, but I could see the gears in her head turning… almost as if she wanted to stop the match entirely, go down there, and give Boris a lecture on how to win.

  When the bubble formed, it was as if a pistol went off, because both men started sprinting at each other. Calder tapped his left shoulder, his clothes, and body armor melting right off him as Boris’s dice rolled, and both men slammed into each other in the middle of the arena.

  Calder was the first to recover from the collision, standing up and shaking his head, before getting into the fighting stance drilled into him.

  I hate to admit it, but Boris weathered the heat that was two feet in front of him very well, standing up and mirroring Calder’s stance like the burns on half his body weren't even there. But it was no cause for concern, I knew he was a glutton for punishment.

  They squared off, Calder testing Boris’s reaction times with jabs and low kicks, his strikes so quick I could not see them with my naked eye, only an afterimage of fire left in their wake.

  And Boris… threw haymakers at every punch or kick thrown his way. He was trying to hit Calder so hard he would throw off his balance.

  “He’s either come up with a new martial art I have never seen before or he doesn’t know how to fight. What do you think, Llorona?”

  “I think that the match isn’t over yet and that his inexperience can be rectified after,” she said, annoyance creeping into her voice.

  Calder, if you would forgive the pun, turned up the heat. He started digging in with his kicks, letting his hands go as he started hitting Boris hard. And almost every blow landed, every kick buckled Boris’s legs.

  I felt butterflies in my stomach, felt all the pieces fall back into place. Calder was doing what he said he would. He was beating the brakes off that civvie.

  Boris threw a punch that even I could see coming. Calder simply wrapped one arm around Boris’s waist as he went for a takedown… which Boris sprawled on with practiced efficiency, driving Calder’s face into the floor with enough force that the stone floor cracked.

  He started screaming as he grabbed Calder’s neck and leg, throwing him into the bubble’s wall with a thud. He did not follow up after his only moment of success. He only looked down at his hands, which made him scream more.

  The skin had melted off them. I could see bones sticking out all the way from up here.

  I turned away from the disgusting sight that was trying to sear itself into my brain, to see Warren had come to stand beside my mother. He had a grin on his face at Boris’s screaming.

  But Calder did not. Even through the fire that engulfed him, I could see he was hesitant now.

  Just continue. It was a momentary fluke. Just continue.

  Calder got up and closed the distance, his every step calculated as he approached the screams. Boris whimpered, before he closed his skinless hands into fists, turned, and faced the fire.

  Boris’s cheeks were glistening with tears, but his teeth were bared, and his hands were up. He was not beaten yet. Calder held up his hands in turn, and the onslaught began once again.

  In the ensuing melee, I saw Boris’s ear get ripped off. I saw Boris lose at least half his teeth as Calder landed blow after blow. But every stumble, every fall did not deter him. He was always swinging back, always on his feet the moment I believed victory was assured.

  A jab missed Boris’s head by a fraction, and through his eternal luck, one of his haymakers landed, knocking Calder to the floor. Boris did not scream this time, and when Calder got up onto his hands and knees Boris kicked him straight in the ribs.

  Calder flew backward, tumbling head over heel before coming to a stop on his back. Boris’s pants were half burned off, as was his body armor. He threw his helmet off in this moment of respite, his scalp an angry red from the heat it had absorbed.

  And he just kept going. The front of his body was almost unrecognizable, almost every inch red or bruising from the blows that had landed, from the abuse he had just taken.

  And he walked toward Calder with hardly a limp.

  Why won’t he fall?

  He was losing. He was on death’s door. But that certainty, that joy, the butterflies that had been in my stomach were long gone. I needed to see his head leave his body. That was the only way I could be sure. The only way I would know he was dead.

  When Calder looked up, he saw Boris, and through the fire, I could see his eyes widen with terror. He scrambled backward, his face contorting with fear as he looked for salvation. But there was none to be found.

  “What is he doing?” Warren seethed, his grin fading with Calder’s apparent cowardice.

  I saw Slava’s jaw lock and saw my own face twisted with anger in the reflection. All of us had rage etched on their faces. All except my mother, who looked at the match with nothing but pride.

  Boris was standing over him now, just looking down at Calder. He waved a hand as if to say: Come on then, is that all you got?

  Calder’s fire turned off as he raised a hand in some pathetic attempt at shielding himself. Warren slammed his fist against the glass, shouting curses and encouragement at his son, but I ignored his outburst.

  As Calder scrambled backward, I saw the hand on the floor holding a flashbang. He rolled it at Boris as he threw himself backward, covering his head with his hands.

  Boris kicked it, but it went off as it left the ground. Boris had covered his face, shielding his eyes from the worst of it, but he was still stunned. He seemed to try and blink away the ringing in his ears, but the time it took to right himself was more than enough time for Calder to reactivate his powers.

  He lunged at Boris, punching him in the face so hard his feet left the ground. The moment he landed on the floor, Calder grabbed him by his ankle and threw him back to the center of the platform. He landed on his side, then his head, before coming to a stop on his stomach.

  This time, he did not get to his feet. This time, he lay still.

  “Kill him. He may still be alive. Calder, kill him!” I shouted at the glass like he could hear me. He needed to be sure. He needed to still that beating heart with his bare hands. Only then would I believe that thing is dead.

  Calder approached him, his every step seemed to scream reluctance, but he kept going. When he stood over the civvie and nudged him with his foot, I wanted to go down there myself and punch Calder in the face. What was he doing?

  I could not help it, I roared at him. “Calder! KILL HIM!”

  I felt Mother’s hand on my shoulder, her eyes locked on Boris but blazing with fury. “Enough child. Keep your emotions in check.”

  Slava’s arm snaked across my shoulders, knocking Mother’s hand off my shoulder. “Let her cheer. It’s good for her.”

  Mother turned to look at him, her hateful gaze now on him rather than the match. Slava’s halo pulsed once as he returned her gaze.

  Warren’s gasp snapped their eyes back to the match. Boris was not dead, as expected. Calder must have turned away because Boris had bear-hugged him from behind, his mouth open in an agonizing wail as the fire burned him.

  But he did not let go. He held Calder against his chest as if his life depended on it. And in his hand, I saw why. Boris was holding a grenade against Calder’s chest. Calder must have realized the danger he was in, for he was screaming almost as much as Boris.

  Please, no.

  I flinched as it went off. The force threw the men backward once again, both of them coming to a standstill a few feet away. Calder had taken the brunt of the damage, with a fist-sized hole blown into his chest, the lower half of his jaw missing along with a few of his fingers.

  The extent of the damage was hard to gauge though, for the fire did not go out.

  Boris had gotten to his feet before Calder. He was staring at his hands… or, what would have been his hands. His left hand must have been holding the grenade because that was gone. Only the index finger and thumb of his right hand remained.

  He looked back at Calder, who was stumbling to his feet. Then looked at the pile of weapons that lay a few feet away from him. They were his weapons. A piece of shrapnel must have gone through his feet because his every step left a bloody footprint as he approached the weaponry.

  He did not even glance at Calder as he finally managed to stand. He just stared down at the weapons, like he was deep in thought. He did not pick up a knife, or a gun, how could he?

  No, he looped his arm through the shield. He attached it with his teeth before he straightened and turned to Calder, who was stumbling toward him.

  Boris reached the nub of his wrist up to his shoulder then flicked it down, hard, and activated the shield. It hit his toes but remained open. He spat out some blood, then limped toward Calder.

  It would have been funny if it didn’t make me so sad. What should have happened in the first match happened now. Despite all the damage inflicted in the last five minutes alone, what finally led to Boris limping was not Calder, but his own shield.

  Calder clenched his fist as he coughed, the flames sputtering out and then coming back as he threw his arm forward. It was not even a punch, more like the desperate flailing of a dead man.

  It hit Boris on the cheek, turning his head with the force of the blow. Calder stumbled, then fell to his knees. He tried to stand, but couldn’t. He tried to turn around, but couldn’t. I saw the fight leak out of his face as he stared down at the floor, air bubbles filled with blood the only proof that his heart was still beating.

  The fire went out.

  Boris treated Calder’s final blow like an afterthought, an annoyance more than the final blow of the man meant to beat him. He looked up at the high rankers booth, his eyes meeting mine.

  Once again, I found myself locked in a timeless moment with him. The crowd fell away, and the window and bubble felt like they weren’t even there. There were no thoughts, no emotions shared between us. Only a question, written all over his broken face as he stared up at me.

  Why do you make me do this?

  And then his eyes wandered, and the flow of life rushed back into me. I took a deep breath in, just to remind myself I could. Boris was now staring at Warren. At the man who had scarred him for life, the man who had taught him how long it takes for people to burn.

  A smile emerged on his lips. Small, at first, before growing wider. Every second the smile would stretch further across his face, until it looked grotesque, like a demon had crawled into his soul and was parading around his corpse.

  Warren whimpered, the sound making me jump back and grab Slava’s arm. He pulled me into a hug and wrapped his cloak around me. But his eyes never left Boris. Neither did mine.

  Boris kicked Calder in the back, making him lie face down in the dirt. He lifted the shield until it was over his head, before slamming it down into the back of Calder's neck. Then he did it again. And again.

  And again. Every swing making the world lose color, every swing leaving me more breathless than the last. How could he… how did this happen? How did a man falling through a window after being kidnapped by some gangsters lead to this?

  It took eleven swings to remove Calder’s head.

  He was panting by the end, his eyes filled with nothing but pain. He bent down and picked up Calder’s head between the crook of his index finger and thumb, then held it up to us. To show off.

  Warren’s knuckles were white. I could hear his teeth grinding from a few feet away. I saw tears falling down his cheeks freely, as he stared at the man parading around his son's head.

  Mother did not say a word. She did not need to. Her once unique smile, the one I thought I would do anything to see again, was spread wide across her face. Like everything had gone exactly as planned.

  Boris stopped showing off Calder’s head, dropping it at his side like it was too heavy to carry. Then his legs gave out, and he dropped to the floor like a dead man.

  Major Shange’s whisper broke the silence like a thunderclap.

  “Boris wins.”