Chapter 1: The Deathmatch Begins
The air in the Superior was thick and used-up, smelling of old sweat, cheap perfume, and a metallic tang that everyone pretended was just the chrome walls. A single, stark circle of light burned down on the pit, leaving the screaming faces in the tiers above in a throbbing, shadowy blur. The noise was a physical thing, a wall of want that pressed down on the two women standing thirty feet apart.
Ashanti didn’t hear it. Her world had tunneled down to the woman across from her, to the rhythm of her own breath, and to the familiar, cold fire in her veins. The black lace of her lingerie chafed against the map of scars on her torso—some old and silvery, some newer and still pink. The six-inch heels were an absurdity, a test of balance she’d long since mastered. They were part of the costume. Everything here was a costume, except the killing.
Her eyes, dark and unblinking, stayed locked on Eun Ji. The Korean actress posed near the edge of the light, one hand on a cocked hip, rolling her shoulders back to let the crowd get a better look at her chest. She smirked, blew a kiss to a section of the audience, and tossed her long hair.
“You look tired, grandma,” Eun Ji called out, her voice carrying a sugary, malicious edge. “Should I be gentle?”
Ashanti said nothing. She let the words dissolve in the air between them. Talk was for people who needed to convince themselves. She was here for the opposite of gentleness.
A gong shuddered through the arena.
Eun Ji moved first, a surprisingly fast blur of pale skin and dark hair. She didn’t bother with fancy footwork; she just charged, a curving kick aimed at Ashanti’s head. Ashanti dropped, the wind from the kick ruffling her hair, and swept a leg out. Her heel connected with Eun Ji’s ankle. The actress stumbled, her own heels skittering on the polished concrete, but she didn’t go down. She laughed, a high, bright sound that cut through the crowd’s roar.
“Lucky shot.”
They circled. The chrome walls threw back distorted reflections of them: two figures in scraps of lace and straps, moving in a lethal dance. Ashanti’s muscles coiled, remembering older, heavier movements in mud and snow. This was cleaner. This was chosen.
Eun Ji feinted another kick, then dove in close, aiming a series of quick jabs at Ashanti’s ribs. Ashanti blocked two, twisted away from a third. The fourth connected, a sharp spark of pain. She grunted, grabbing Eun Ji’s wrist before she could pull back, and yanked her forward, driving a knee up.
It connected with a soft, sickening thud. Eun Ji’s breath left her in a gasp. Ashanti held on, looking into the actress’s suddenly wide, watering eyes from inches away.
“You fight for photos,” Ashanti whispered, her voice rough as stone. “I fight to erase pictures from my head.”
She shoved her away. Eun Ji staggered back, clutching her stomach, the cocky mask slipping into something raw and nasty.
The crowd bayed for more. Their chants merged into a wordless, hungry pulse.
Eun Ji straightened up, wiping her mouth. The pleasantries were over. She came again, this time using her reach, her strikes aimed with a theatrical brutality. A heel caught Ashanti on the collarbone. Another grazed her temple. Stars exploded behind her eyes for a second. She backed up, her own heels clicking rapidly, until her shoulders brushed against something soft and yielding.
The body pile.
A tangle of limbs, cool and slack. Empty eyes stared past her. The smell here was different, coppery and final. She used the moment, the distraction of the contact, to duck under Eun Ji’s next wild swing. She came up inside the actress’s guard.
Her hands, strong and scarred, found Eun Ji’s throat. She didn’t squeeze to crush. Not yet. She applied pressure, just enough to frighten, to make the eyes bulge with the first true hint of mortality. This was the threshold. This was where begging started.
“Do it!” someone screamed from above.
“Make her cry!”
Eun Ji’s manicured hands clawed at Ashanti’s wrists, leaving red trails. Her face was flushing dark. But she didn’t beg. She spat, the spittle landing on Ashanti’s cheek.
With a snarl, Ashanti shifted her grip, one hand sliding to the back of Eun Ji’s neck. This was the end. One clean, vicious twist. A snap to silence a pretty, selfish voice forever. The crowd held its collective breath, a vast, silent inhale.
Eun Ji’s free hand, scrabbling blindly behind her, dipped into the body pile. Her fingers closed around an ankle strap of a discarded high heel. In one fluid, desperate motion, she swung it up and around, driving the sharp, stiletto heel into the side of Ashanti’s thigh.
White, electric agony lanced through Ashanti’s leg. Her grip faltered. Eun Ji tore free, gasping, her throat marked with red welts.
Ashanti stumbled back, a hand clamping over the wound. Blood, hot and immediate, welled between her fingers, dripping down her leg in a steady stream onto the bright floor. The pain was a living thing, biting deep into the muscle.
Eun Ji stood a few feet away, breathing ragged, holding the bloody shoe like a trophy. The fear in her eyes was gone, replaced by a glittering, triumphant hatred.
“Not so tough now, are you, camp rat?” she panted, a vicious smile twisting her lips. “I think I’ll break more than your neck. I think I’ll break everything.”
The crowd’s silence shattered into renewed, fever-pitched screams. Ashanti lowered her hand, looking at the dark blood on her palm. The cold fire in her veins didn’t extinguish. It focused, burning away the pain until it was just another sensation, another fact. She shifted her weight onto her good leg, the remaining heel grounding her.
She didn’t speak. She just looked at Eun Ji and began to move forward again, leaving a trail of crimson footprints in her wake. The chapter wasn't closed. It was just getting to the good part.
It was just getting to the good part.
The blood was a problem. A slick, hot rhythm pulsing out of her thigh with every heartbeat. Ashanti catalogued it. She measured the drag in her step, the slight tremble trying to worm into her good leg. She converted it all into fuel.
Eun Ji watched her approach, the bloody shoe still in her hand. “You’re leaking,” she called out, her voice regaining its polished malice. “Should have stayed in the museum, relic.”
The words were meant to sting, but they evaporated in the heat of Ashanti's focus.Museum. Relic. She was a living monument to survival, every scar a testament. She channeled the fire in her thigh into a hard, forward burst, ignoring the slick drag of her own blood on the floor.
Eun Ji wasn't expecting the speed. The smile froze. Ashanti was inside her space before the actress could swing the makeshift weapon again. A palm-heel strike cracked up into Eun Ji's nose. Blood erupted, a dark red splash against her pale skin. She shrieked, a sound of pure surprise and outrage."Bitch!"
"You talk too much," Ashanti gritted out, her voice low and hoarse. She followed the strike with a grab for the wrist holding the shoe. Eun Ji yanked back, twisting, and the stiletto heel scored a shallow line across Ashanti's shoulder. More pain.Just noise.
The crowd's roar was a tidal wave. They smelled a turn, a shift in the spectacle. Not everyone wanted it. Some booed, wanting the poised actress to triumph. Others chanted something guttural Ashanti couldn't parse.
Eun Ji, breathing hard through her ruined nose, backed toward the chrome wall, using the glare to try and blind her. It was a cheap move. Ashanti closed her eyes for a half-second, advancing on sound and instinct. She heard the shift of a heel, the intake of breath.
She ducked. A kick meant for her head shattered against the chrome with a deafening ring. Eun Ji cried out, this time in real pain—her own. Ashanti opened her eyes. The actress was hobbling, her ankle clearly damaged from the impact.Now.
Ashanti lunged, leading with her good leg. Her target was balance. A hard kick to the back of Eun Ji's injured knee. It buckled. The actress went down with a sharp cry, one knee hitting the concrete. Ashanti was on her in an instant, a knee in her back, fingers threading into her long, dark hair. She wrenched Eun Ji's head back, exposing the delicate column of her throat. The crowd's noise hit a fever pitch, a singular scream of anticipation.
This was it.The end. The silence she’d come for. Ashanti’s hands, practiced and strong, found their final position. One last look into the actress's black, terrified eyes.No begging yet. But the terror was there. It would have to be enough.
Her muscles tensed for the final, merciful twist.
Eun Ji’s hand, scrabbling blindly on the floor beside the fallen shoe, found purchase. Not on a weapon. On the pool of Ashanti’s own blood, still spreading from the deep puncture in her thigh.
She didn't try to fight the hold. Instead, she smeared her palm in the slick warmth and slapped it upward, fingers clawing for Ashanti's face.
The wet, hot slap across her eyes was a shock. Blood filled her vision, a sudden, blinding curtain. Ashanti recoiled instinctively, her grip loosening for a crucial half-second.
It was all Eun Ji needed.
With a guttural shout, she bucked wildly, throwing Ashanti off-balance. The wounded leg gave way completely. Ashanti stumbled sideways, one hand desperately wiping at her eyes, the other flailing for stability.
Eun Ji scrambled up, favoring her own bad ankle. She didn't go for another strike. She saw her opening. Ashanti was blinded, compromised, one leg useless.
The actress limped forward, not with grace, but with a frantic, furious purpose. As Ashanti finally cleared her vision, blinking through a red haze, she saw Eun Ji’s shape blur toward her. Not for a punch or a kick.
Eun Ji launched herself, wrapping her arms around Ashanti’s torso in a desperate, crushing tackle. The momentum, fueled by pain and panic, was too much. Ashanti’s good leg slipped in the very blood she’d spilled. They went down together in a tangled heap of lace and limbs, Ashanti taking the brunt of the impact on her back. The air blasted from her lungs.
Before she could gasp it back, Eun Ji was on top of her, straddling her chest. The actress’s face was a mask of blood and triumph, her beautiful features twisted into something primal. Ashanti’s arms were pinned by Eun Ji’s knees. She tried to buck, to twist, but the strength was leaking out of her with the blood pooling beneath them.
Eun Ji leaned down, her long hair forming a dark curtain around their faces. The crowd was hysterical, a wall of sound.
“Look at you,” Eun Ji hissed, spit and blood peppering Ashanti’s face. “All that righteous anger. For what?”
Ashanti stared up, saying nothing. Her breathing was ragged. She saved her strength.
Eun Ji’s hands came up, hovering for a moment before settling with a terrible, deliberate gentleness on either side of Ashanti’s jaw. Her thumbs stroked the scarred skin, a mockery of a caress.
“This is how it ends for a relic,” Eun Ji whispered, her voice carrying over the din. “Not in a blaze of glory. In a puddle. Forgotten.”