I put on my fighting clothes. My fighting clothes comprised faded blue jeans, proper shoes, a pink tee shirt, which was a little loose, and a pink denim jacket. I bit my hair into pink and put it in two braids: no makeup and the right attitude.
Now, I overtook the role and saw how well this little thing actually helps with this.
I discreetly made my way towards the lower deck where the fight club was located. The ship had already quietened down, some shops had closed, and all the nightclubs and such were on the upper decks.
I went down the staircase and opened the heavy iron door. The space was quite large when I entered, and it smelled interesting. I realized I was smelling other species. Now, Dresden and Constantine have taught me that there are two kinds of demons.
The first kind refers to the ones that come from hell and take over a person requiring exorcism. However, the second kind, which was more common in the world, refers to demons that came here from other dimensions.
There were hundreds of different them, and they had a lot of abilities. They would recognize by their smell, and yes, there was clearly the smell of chlorine and ammonia, two types of smells that a werewolf would smell, and know that demons from another dimension were present.
The heavy door slammed shut, reverberating through the dimly lit room as I hesitantly stepped inside, trying to maintain my composure. The air was thick with tension, and the flickering lights cast eerie shadows across the scene. In the center, a cage loomed, filled with fighters engaged in a brutal battle. The diverse crowd surrounding the cage ranged from vampires to demons, their presence palpable.
As I surveyed the room, my gaze settled on a set of stairs leading down towards the cage. At a large table positioned nearby, a tall, gaunt man dressed entirely in black presided over the proceedings. Across from him, the opposite side of the cage housed a throng of spectators who had arrived from a different entrance. Among them, indistinct figures moved about, collecting wagers before the fight began.
With trepidation, I cautiously descended the stairs, my every sense on high alert. This was so fun to act up, I rarely got to do this to this extent, and I enjoyed my role. The sound of my own footsteps echoed ominously in the cavernous space, amplifying my so-called anxiety. I deliberately quickened my pulse, fully aware that such a change would not go unnoticed. Oh, that I secretly enjoyed my role.
I got down the stairs, headed for the cage, and signed up for the fight. The man was very plain looking; he had grey hair, a mustache, and a normal speaking voice. He was human. His black outfit made him look almost like an undertaker, and given the fight, maybe he was one.
The man looked at me from head to toe and smirked. "It's your funeral; your carcass will be thrown in the water, just for your information. What name shall I put you under?"
I looked around and swallowed, as the thought of dying had only just entered my mind. I saw the other fighters laughing at me.
I replied in a small, cautious voice, "The Flea."
This had always been my bravado, always. When I went into a fight, I was this little timid creature that didn't even really take a fighting stance. And every time, the alphas had underestimated me on my looks alone, but it wouldn't work for long as my reputation grew.
But for starters, it would be an excellent lesson. Let's see how many I'd have to kill before anyone would believe I was a serious opponent and get some resistance. I'd wander around outside the cage and lazily watch the fighters, my hands wandering from place to place, sweeping a good palmful of sand near one of the pipes, for example, which I'd casually put in my pocket.
It's always good to throw sand in the eyes. It works, by the way. This was still a very fine grain of sand; it would certainly get in the eyes, and a simple dodge always opened up the possibility of action, hit properly so that it would be felt.
There was now a human fighter called the smasher, and he'd already killed three vampires with a wooden stick he'd stuck into their hearts. Ironically enough, it works against vampires, but so does a metal pipe as long as you can break their hearts enough. Fighter after fighter died, the smasher gave himself a boost and got more and more smug and belligerent but also more careless as his ego swelled with victory after victory. Not for long. The flea would be next.
Then it was my turn. There was always one man, it was the vampire who would list the next fighter. Everyone was booing and bored that, again, this one. The smasher would get more fame while some little girl thought she was better than she was. The bettors settled down, and I didn't notice the figure at the back of the room betting on me to win.
I wasn't paying attention to anything, and I should have been, but as I'm not perfect, I stood up from the bench where I was sitting and kept my coat on; the role was well worth keeping up.
I walked timidly into the cage and looked around in awe as the cage door was shut.
The vampire said, "Well, let the fight begin. Flea versus Smasher."
The Scatterbrain was a six-foot-tall hunk of meat. He'd lifted so much weight and probably pulled steroids over times. No brains would spoil it, that's for sure.
He was human, and when he smiled, there weren't many teeth to be seen; his face and nose had been broken a few times and hadn't quite fully mended. I could smell his sour sweat and stinking breath a long way off. I knew this guy was a rapist and a robber. For some reason, I just knew it myself.
Mimosa said in my head, " One of my abilities, tell you the bad guys, so you already know who the victim is."
Mimosa and I worked together almost more than we did with Mirella. I didn't mind knowing who was going to die; no, it just gave me more power in this game. I kept my expression rather uncertain, watching and looking around.
The smasher's menacing voice echoed through the room as he growled, "Come on, babe, come over here and let me touch and explore that tight body of yours, and I promise to kill you quickly, painlessly, and cleanly. I'll just break your neck. It'll be over quickly, but I need a favor." His words were clearly heard as he approached me.
At that moment, a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I knew it was time to act. With a swift and forceful motion, I unleashed a powerful kick directly into his groin. I could almost hear the sickening split as his balls absorbed the impact. My strength, honed from rigorous training, surpassed that of any ordinary human. I was a little woman but a hell of a lot stronger than any human male, no matter how hard they had trained.
Without hesitation, I followed up with a brutal kick to his knee; the crack resounding in the air. His other leg crumpled beneath him, leaving him vulnerable. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I unleashed a snappy roundhouse kick to his sternum. Though not at full force, the impact sent him hurtling backward a distance of two meters. This was fast and easy. Killing a human is. They are just so fragile.
The force of my kick shattered his sternum, piercing his heart with bone fragments. Several ribs also succumbed to the powerful blow. In a matter of minutes, the smasher lay lifeless on the ground, his chest cavity dented, blood trickling from his mouth, his vacant eyes staring into nothingness. The room fell silent as I stood tall, my rage now clear in my husky voice. Smasher was dead in less than eight minutes.
"Who's next?" I said in a low, dangerous voice, shattering my image as a vulnerable little girl, my words hanging in the air, a challenge to anyone who dared to cross my path.
Everyone realized at that point that I was not human. Now the bettors were getting excited, and I didn't see the man leave the hall, now carrying a briefcase of money. I hadn't noticed that Mr. Sark had been in the audience and had seen me. He'd also had a fucking good payday for betting on me.
Next up was the demon, its human-like appearance deceivingly inconspicuous. Yet, it sported a long saber strapped to its hip, a clear sign of its readiness to defend itself. This one was protecting its balls. The demon had caught sight of my actions, clear in its piercing gaze. As I approached, the demon swiftly drew its saber, a glimmer of danger in its eyes.
I examined the demon closely, allowing my rage to intensify. The air crackled with anticipation. Without warning, the demon lunged, its saber slashing through the air with a menacing force. However, as a nimble and unpredictable vampire-werewolf hybrid, empowered by Damon's blood coursing through my veins, I possessed unmatched speed. Having refueled just the day before, I no longer occupied the same space as the demon when its saber swished through the empty air.
Seizing the opportunity, I flung a handful of sand into the demon's eyes, temporarily blinding it. In a blink, I darted behind it with the agility of a vampire, my movements barely perceptible. The demon's strike missed its mark, hindered by the sand-induced discomfort. Seizing the moment, I delivered a powerful jump kick to its spine, swiftly evading any retaliation. This was fun.
I was very unpredictable, and I didn't even know what my next move would be. When in the movie, someone tells their plan of action, where to hit, and what comes to it, like in Sherlock Holmes movies, Well, I am not like that- I react, let my rage and my instinct take over, and that's it, This is one reason I am very hard to beat in the gym, even Adam or Damon has said it.
Continuing my relentless assault, I drove my fist into the demon's diaphragm with tremendous force. The pain reverberated through its human-like anatomy, causing it to falter. As it attempted a top-down blow, I deftly evaded its attack, redirecting my momentum to strike its jaw with a resounding blow. The demon staggered, and at that moment, I knocked the saber from its grasp.
Evading the demon's desperate advances, I moved around the arena, purposefully avoiding the use of the saber. Each dodge was a near miss, eliciting gasps of awe from the enthralled crowd. Not only did I have to put on a captivating show, but I also reveled in the playful thrill that coursed through me after releasing some of my pent-up rage.
Toying with my victim, I snapped the saber in half, a symbolic display of my dominance. Drawing forth my vampire claws, I sliced once across the demon's neck, the sharpness of my claws nearly severing its head. With a surge of sheer strength, I ripped the demon's head from its body, reducing it to a sludge-like pile at the cage's bottom.
The crowd erupted in enthusiastic cheers, while the bettors eagerly exchanged their winnings. Time was of the essence, as there were only three minutes until the next challenger entered the cage. I discarded my jacket, basking in the adrenaline-fueled atmosphere.
One victim had his heart ripped out of his chest, like in a TV series. It was relatively spectacular, but when it was then, the victim always died straight away, and I didn't get to play as much. And then that method was excellent to try on demons because I didn't know the anatomy of all of them yet, so I coldly slammed my vampire claws into the demon and pulled something out.
I eventually let my rage be on full display. It was good to be a soulless killing machine; just let the rage guide me and give me a boost. My inner killer was starting to rise again. Damon had not put it down enough or then this was just too much fun for it. It gave and also made me a better performer, so to speak, as I was pretty damn careless when my rage was on, and I was taking hits, but I was getting better. It always got a rise out of the audience again.
I could feel myself leveling out as the worst of the rage wore off. I didn't feel like such a loaded powder keg all the time, and I knew that this would help in the long run pretty damn much, too.
It was a fun thing to do because, with rage, no pain or hurt feels like anything. Nothing hurts, and no harm is done. I can feel the pain, but I don't mind it. And I'm pretty much a force of nature when I really let myself go.
This was a pleasant cruise. I felt a lot clearer when I left the club in the morning. In the evening, it was always next time. I was wondering to myself how I would be after this cruise with my rage. I must feel great then.
By the morning, my balance was 13 wins. The flea was getting a bit of a reputation. Plus, with every win, you get at least $8,000; you're in for a good account day. It's nothing compared to the sniping loot, but it was money, and yes, I could always use it. Fight clubs were my thing, apparently.