𝐄𝐤𝐤𝐨 | 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬

20. Enemy

The morning air was crisp and damp, still clinging to the vague scent of the underground city's restless night. I had woken before the lights above the canopy had dimmed down for sunrise, a stimulated glow that spilled through the Firelight base to remind us time still moved forward.

I made my way to the training side of camp—the section carved out for sharpening edges and tempering instincts. I hadn't set foot there before, and my body had felt so out of shape that I was beginning to think of myself as weaker than weak. The place was too clean, too hopeful.

The punching bag was suspended on a thick chain, swaying slightly like it had been waiting. I cracked my knuckles, slid the wraps over my fingers in silence, and stepped forward. Then I started swinging.

Left. Right. Right. Elbow.

The thud of my fists was the only sound echoing through the chamber. Steady. Heavy. Desperate.
I needed this. I needed to feel something other than regret.

The rhythm built like a storm, but it never exploded—it smouldered, controlled rage meeting reinforced cloth. Breath coming out in short, sharp bursts. My knuckles began burning under the wraps. It felt good.

Then someone joined, and I slowed. Just enough to glance sideways. Kara came into the space, smiling like it was any other day. Like I hadn't been acting wildly the day before.

"You're up early," she said casually, carrying a water canteen in one hand and what looked like a self-made energy bar in the other. "Didn't think I'd find you here."
Right behind her, Scar trailed in, rolling his shoulders like a lion preparing for the hunt.
He didn't say a word. Just sent a look toward me—that same glare he wore only for me.
He peeled off his jacket and went straight for the weight rack.

Kara, undeterred by the tension, held out the energy bar toward me.
"You'll burn out before mid-morning if you don't eat."
I didn't take it. Not yet. My fists still clenched, breath still ragged. But I gave her the smallest nod, whatever it could mean.
"I'll eat, after this." I muttered, landing a solid punch on the bag as if my body could convince me otherwise. I didn't need a break now.

Kara moved over, a teasing glimmer in her eyes.
"You're not tough, Skark," she challenged.
"If we spar and you lose, you go eat right away. No more dodging food."
I scoffed, the fire in me refusing to slow down.
"I'm fine without food for a while."

A few other Firelights drifted into the training area, absorbed in their own routines. Meanwhile, Scar lingered at the edge, doing his own thing. His gaze expectant, much waiting for me to somehow slip up.
"You think I don't know you skipped dinner last night?" Kara bounced on her toes, arms relaxed but determined.
"Alright, then. Let's settle this," she declared, adopting a sparring stance.

I dropped my guard, meeting her challenge head-on. Our friendly match began—a dance of light jabs and feints. The room filled with the rhythm of our movements and the hum of determined effort.
With every punch or dodge, I could feel Scar's eyes burning in my back, a reminder that any mistake could mean more than just losing a bout.

The sparring was going surprisingly well between Kara and me— light, quick exchanges, jabs met with careful blocks, a friendly competitiveness. My punches and dodges carving through the air as I tried to push away the weight of the guilt of the day before.
Then, without warning, a tag at my leg sent me ​​sprawling. I hit the ground hard, the taste of dust and sweat filling my mouth. I looked up to see Scar standing a few feet away, his eyes glittering with a smirk that told me it wasn't just a random interruption. He had tripped me on purpose.

It was his way—his silent challenge, his reminder of what I had done to Dren and all the vengeance he'd been harbouring.
"You're taking over?" I asked, struggling to my feet as I shot a glance at Kara. I was annoyed, and the girl stepped between me and the Vastaya.
Her braid whipping as she glanced at me, then at him, and back at me again.
Scar surely was taking over, but Kara continued.
"No. We're not doing this, guys."

"Come on, now," Scar drew, his green eyes staring daggers at me. His tone light but laced with menace. "It's all in good fun, isn't it?"
He was dismissive, but I was certain he had a far more calculated intent.
I knew exactly what bat boy was doing—using his friendly spar for something darker. He wanted to prove a point about me. About Dren's death, about revenge. I braced myself as he stepped toward me, and I backed away.

"You're getting soft, Shark," a sneer, mocking. "Soon enough I'll have to abolish your skills, make sure you're ready when we finally come to terms about my brother's death." His words were charged with the heaviness of old grudges.
I inhaled sharply.
"I'm trying not to be that person anymore," I said, voice trembling with defiance and sorrow all together.

Without warning, Scar lunged. I managed to make it out of his first strike, but he was relentless.
He came to me again, and this time, my instincts took over—so I swung hard, and my fist connected with his side. A sharp crack came from the hit, and he staggered back, surprise flickering across his animal like features.
The room fell silent for a heartbeat, the friendly veneer shattered, replaced by raw hostility.
He wanted me to go all out, to go for the kill like I had done on the docks. But I wouldn't.

"Come at me!" Scar snarled, feral as he squared off against me once more. His breathing was ragged, each exhale laced with anger, a growl that filled the tense space between us. I took a cautious step back like before, trying to defuse the situation.
"Scar, please— this isn't what I want," I pleaded, wavering as I attempted to calm him down.
"We don't have to do this."

But he wasn't listening.
"Come at me," he repeated, a mixture of fury and something darker in his eyes, circling me.
I didn't want to, but he lunged again. This time, he punched me brutally in the ribs, the impact forcing the air from my lungs.
I cried out as pain exploded across my midsection. His attack didn't stop there— he drove another heavy blow into my stomach, and I felt my knees buckle beneath me.

I crashed to the ground, the cold concrete biting into my skin as I lay there, gasping, my vision swimming with stars. Every breath was a struggle, each one a desperate try to fill the void left by pain. We were a symphony of anger and hurt.

And I let him. I let him grab me, hit me once more, without resisting at all.
The world narrowed to the pounding of my heart and the sting of every impact. Then, as if needed to drive his point home, Scar reached down to his boot. With deliberate slowness, he withdrew the same talon dagger his brother had once held— a blade I'd handled a while myself— and pressed it against my throat.

I coughed, each damned movement making the cold steel scrape along my skin. I gritted my teeth, the pain was unforgiving, slicing through my fading resolve. Scar observed me with disgust as he leaned in close.
"How does it feel," he growled dangerously, "to be so close to death?"
Everything of him dripped with venom, demanding answers I couldn't provide. I felt trapped, my breath struggled under the pressure of the dagger.

Before I could muster a reply, Kara rushed to us. But the gray Vastaya shoved her away with force, leaving no room for compromise.
Others nearby murmured pleas of letting go and disapproval, but he ignored every sound, fixed on me.

I was so ashamed, and pleading apologetically.
"I'm sorry," I managed, voice trembling. "Do what you must— don't hold back."
I meant it, though it came out rushed.
The old me would have wanted to fight, to show that I wasn't merely a broken thing to be toyed with.
Scar's gaze flickered at my submissive behavior, and for a breathless moment it seemed like he hesitated.

I don't know if I felt anything other than acceptance in that moment, but I didn't get to feel what Dren had. I didn't get to have the same end, because Ekko stepped in. Once again, he'd come to my rescue.
"Stop!" He barked, the sudden intervention sending a jolt through me— both of relief and a fierce, raw reminder of what I had almost lost.
Scar, eyes smouldering with unresolved fury, refused to let go of me, but Ekko grabbed him.

He yanked him off me with a strength I hadn't seen in him before. His hand fisted in Scar's collar, shoving him back hard enough to make the Vastaya stagger.
"What the hell are you thinking?" Ekko snapped, such anger igniting in his voice as the two squared off.