Can't Cheat Death - Brennan Sorrengail

III: Battle Brief

Brennan Sorrengail can kiss my ass.

Ever since we first met in formation, he'd done nothing but make my life a living hell. Everything about him makes me irrevocably angry, from the way he can throw a single punch and send someone reeling to the floor to the way his stupid smirk crawls up his face when he knows he's won something. Challenges don't even start for another week, but he's already made it a point to show the quadrant he was tough shit.

Blood trickles from between my hands, staining the floor. A boy from Fourth Wing had thrown a mean punch right at my nose and although I left the mat with a bent nose, his chances of having kids had been greatly reduced. He'd been carted off to the infirmary with a concussion after I'd sent him to the mat.

Although his squad is gathered by another mat, Alill stands beside me, trying to coax my hands away from my bleeding nostrils.

"It's not broken," I snap, slapping at his hand. "Stop acting like a mother hen!"

Alill sighs and grumbles something under his breath.

"Shouldn't you be with your squad?" I huff, turning my attention back to the mats around us. Leadership is walking around, keeping an eye out to make sure no one's using any weapons or deadly force. So far, it seems all the cadets have managed to keep their name off the death roll.

"Yeah, Alill, last I checked you were second squad, Third Wing, or did I miss hear that on conscription day?" The butchering of Alill's name tell me exactly who's decided to disgrace us with his presence.

"Fuck off, Sorrengail. Don't you have your own match to get ready for?"

He shrugs, the taunting smirk on his face revealing the dimple on his cheek. "Just came to check on my squad mate is all."

"I'm fine," I seethe, pinching my nose harder, ignoring the flash of pain. "And we both know you just came over here to be an ass. Now Fuck. Off." Before he can respond, Professor Rilier calls out from his spot two mats over.

"Brennan, Naolin. You're up next."

Brennan smirks but doesn't say anything else as he makes way to the mat where a tall, black-haired boy is already waiting. "He's from my squad," Alill mutters quietly, watching the two square off. "Scares the piss out of everyone."

It's not hard to see why. Naolin is easily 6'7", towering over even Brennan who stands above most of the quadrant, and if looks alone could kill, everyone in the room would be dead. The two circle each other, easily the most imposing of the cadets on the mats, of any cadets for that matter, and the match up is terrifying. Brennan swings first, aiming for Naolin's middle, but the taller boy steps aside, narrowly missing Brennan's grasp. They square off again, sizing each other for a moment before Naolin leaps and tackles Brennan to the ground.

"It's over," I mutter, a sick sense of joy filling my chest as the cocky smirk is wiped off Brennan's face.

"I don't know," Alill's brow is furrowed as he watches on, eyes narrowed.

The two men tassel on the ground, throwing punches and kicks at the other like alley cats. Just when it looks like one has the advantage, they flip again jabbing at one another until I'm sure they'll both be covered in bruises tomorrow morning. Brennan manages to coil his legs around Naolin and throw him away with one good shove. I hate to admit it, but Brennan is fast to recover, planting one knee on Naolin's chest, while one hand seized the collar of his shirt and the other poised to strike down at a moment's notice.

"Yield!"

I'm surprised Brennan doesn't just punch him, and even more so when Naolin taps out a moment later.