Death: The Fall of Endsville

Chapter Seventeen: If You Want it, Fight for it

The two boys stood face-to-face in a tight circle carved into the smooth stone floor. The edge of the ring was marked by faint scratches from countless past fights, barely wide enough for two people to maneuver. Every step felt constrained, each movement deliberate, as the onlookers loomed just beyond, their silence heavy with anticipation.

The rich boy smirked, his stance confident and poised. His knife gleamed faintly in the dim light, his grip steady and practiced. Caleb, by contrast, shifted awkwardly, his knife trembling in his hand. He tried to steady his breathing, but the closeness of the circle made every motion feel suffocating.

"Not much room to run," the rich boy sneered, his voice carrying over the quiet murmur of the crowd. "Guess that makes it easier for me."

"Make me proud, son! Kill him! Hahaha!"

Caleb said nothing, his jaw tightening as he squared his shoulders. He inched forward cautiously, his back brushing against the invisible boundary of the ring. The rich boy stepped forward confidently, slashing toward Caleb's side. Caleb blocked the strike, their blades clashing loudly, the sharp sound reverberating in the confined space.

"You're so clumsy! Don't eat the sword!" the rich boy taunted, circling Caleb slowly. The tight space forced their movements to overlap, their feet nearly tangling with every step. Caleb tried to sidestep, but the boy advanced again, his knife cutting a shallow line across Caleb's tunic.

Caleb hissed, stumbling slightly as he clutched his side. The rich boy grinned. "Told you. Weak."

The fight pressed tighter, the rich boy's precise movements taking full advantage of the confined space. Caleb struggled to dodge, his back brushing the edge of the circle as the boy struck again. Their knives collided, the blades scraping against each other, but the rich boy twisted suddenly, knocking Caleb's blade loose. It clattered to the floor near the ring's edge.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Caleb froze, his wide eyes darting between his fallen knife and the smirking boy in front of him.

"Nowhere to run," the rich boy said, stepping closer. "Nowhere to hide."

For a moment, it seemed over. But then Caleb roared, a guttural scream that shattered the tense silence. He launched himself at the boy, his shoulder slamming into the rich boy's chest with such force that they both crashed to the ground. The confined space left no room to roll or recover; their bodies collided heavily against the stone, and Caleb's hands wrapped around the boy's neck.

The rich boy gasped, his knife still clutched tightly. Caleb's fingers dug into his throat, his face twisted with rage and desperation. "You think you're better than me?!" Caleb snarled, his grip tightening as the boy thrashed beneath him.

The rich boy's free hand clawed at Caleb's arms, his legs kicking against the stone floor as he struggled to break free. His knife hand flailed, the blade slicing shallowly into Caleb's side. Blood poured from the wound, but Caleb didn't falter. He pressed down harder, the boy's gasps turning to choked sputters.

Desperation overtook the rich boy. His movements grew erratic, his feet banging against the ring's edge as he fumbled blindly for an opening. With a sudden burst of strength, he swung the knife upward, the dull blade plunging into Caleb's ribs. Caleb cried out, his body jerking as blood gushed from the wound.

But he didn't let go.

Even as the boy drove the knife into him a second and third time, Caleb's grip remained unyielding. The rich boy's panicked motions grew frenzied as he aimed blindly, his knife plunging into Caleb's eye. The blade struck deep, and a sickening sound echoed through the chamber as Caleb's eye was torn from its socket.