Seven

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Envy/Enzo's POV

We head down to the basement, my brothers all in good cheer. Filled with anticipation for the coming brawl, a bit of tradition to end an eventful day that has otherwise been filled with new experiences. I watch as Warren sits on the railing, sliding down the stairs. Gabe follows him in a run, holding onto the small ledge above the stairs and swinging over the last several stairs like he's Tarzan. Parker, with his infinite grace, grips the railing in his right hand, vaulting over it and soaring to the floor below.

I'm glad to see they're all enjoying themselves. It's been a while since we've taken human form, and we all need a release. Unfortunately, I am not able to get in the same head-space as my brothers. I can't help but think about Mack, and her ability to see Luke's tat. That shouldn't happen. Has never happened.

"Dragging your feet will only put off the inevitable!" I can hear Gabriel taunting me from below, and realize I am walking down the stairs slowly. I'm lost in my thoughts, but I'm not ready to share my suspicions just yet. This could be used to my advantage, somehow. I'm not revealing what I know, not until I know how to use it.

My brothers and I, we like to do things big. We like flashy cars, expensive clothes, pretty women, loud music, and competition. So it should come as no surprise that our basement has more than enough room for a few mats and a staging area. With high ceilings, fluorescent lights, and whitewashed granite slab walls, my voice echoes through the room with ease.

"Alright Luke, what are the rules of the match tonight?" I say, lighting a cigarette and earning a glare from the others.

"Hands and Feet, loser must yield or be knocked out for a clear winner to be selected. I'll judge, with Warren and Griffin. No "Low Blows" or face hits, we do have school tomorrow after all". I laugh at that, seven immortal beings attending high school in the 21st century. It was preposterous. Made worse by posing as adopted siblings with too much money. Who supposedly adopted us, the Rothschilds? The more you think about it, the more absurd it seems.

I walk up to the mat, holding my hands out to Sawyer. He pulls a piece of tape off the roll, squeezing it between his teeth and ripping it away. Wrapping it around my knuckles and grabbing another piece. He does this a few more times before he's satisfied, and I check his handiwork for myself. Anyone who trusts Sawyer to be thorough, deserves to bust their knuckles.

I step onto the mat opposite Gabriel, and we bump fists to signal the start of the match. Circling each other, we both wait to see what strategy the other has adopted for the evening. In the beginning we were uneducated with little experiences in the art of combat, but that was thousands of years ago. Since then, we've all learned how to fight with just about anything you can use for the purpose. Everything is a weapon, in the right hands.

Our brothers are cheering, not for either of us specifically, though everyone knows I am the underdog in this match-up. We were all excited for a return to normalcy, just the seven of us, doing what we love to do. I still couldn't get my head in the game, this was bound to be a short fight! I'm better than most humans in a fight, and even some of my brothers. I'm well versed in the various types of martial arts used by man today, and many that have been long forgotten.

Gabe however, is better with one hand than I will ever be with two. His instincts are incredible, it's like he can anticipate where the next blow will come from. Calculating his opponents movements while planning his own seven steps ahead. Most people react with what they have available, swinging with whatever hand they have free, not Gabe. He knows how he will block, what part of your body he is going to strike, and with what he will strike you with. Seemingly before the fight even starts. Keeping up with him is... impossible.