The Grim (Ravens #3)

xxxv. one less enemy

Trigger Warning: Violence. This is the most violent chapter I've ever written so if that's going to trigger you please don't read it!!

Also Happy Hunger Games chapter! Ik it's cheesy but y'all would have hated the original plan for this chapter wayyyy more. 

Vanessa Doe

As her alias was announced over the microphone at the ring and the heavy doors before her opened, Emma was forced to squint at the brightness outside. The battlefield wasn't empty; the bleachers were more crowded than usual. The king would often force those who worked for him to watch, and it seemed that he had scheduled more spectators for such an important match.

Emma was the last of the contestants announced, although she herself was not truly announced at all. Vanessa was the last announced, and while they lived in the same body, the personas were radically different. On the other side of the ring, another door opened to reveal her five competitors. Three of them she recognized, fighters often called in to fight a uniquely disruly prisoner. But they were disposable to the king. She doubted if he even knew their names. The other two appeared defenseless, just as Mrs. Berron had warned her: an older man with an unclean beard and in poor health, and a small girl no older than thirteen with wide, terrified blue eyes.

King Hunter's voice on the microphone from his private viewing box continued. "Today's match will be organized differently. Our traitor, Vanessa, will be fighting off the other five. The round will not be over until she is either dead or the last one standing." She took a deep breath, rubbing the familiar handle on her friend's sword, waiting for the king to say his final word.

"Charge."

And she was in the moment, adrenaline rushing throughout her body as her enemies came closer. The little girl stood far behind, taking hardly a single step in the ring. Emma barely had the time to notice, however, for she was soon fending off two of the others.

Of her real opponents, one was standing somewhat away from the midst of the battle. A woman in her mid-thirties, Emma quickly realized that they had elected her to be their backup. She would not step into the fight until the others were killed. If the two fighters alone could take the assassin's life, she need not enter. Near the woman stood the old man, squatting with his hands on his thighs as though he was already out of breath.

The familiar clang of metal striking metal rang heavy in her ears, and it didn't take long for her to notice the shooting pains in her rips. There had been a dull ache for days now, a reminder of the torture she'd been forced to suffer, but once she had begun to move again her entire body felt like it was on fire.

She winced as a sharp pain struck her leg, and within seconds felt warm blood—her own—seeping into her pants. But the pain fueled her, for this was real. This blood was real, and it was drawn here on the battlefield in the light of day, and the sword in her hand belonged to a Knight. Self-imposed vigilantes, they'd been called. A community built on justice and vengeance, on righting the wrongs their own people endured. And this pain... now she was the one who had been wronged, yet she was holding her people's sword. She must act as a Knight; that was her mandate.

She must win. If not for herself, then for them. If not for herself, then to make them proud.

The adrenaline that rushed through her veins was warm, heated by the fire the weapon ignited. That fire took control of her now, and she was ducking her opponent's weapons, hitting them from behind when they had missed her. She heard the sword slash across the side of one of her enemies, a man at least twice both her age and weight. He fell to the ground, and she took the opportunity to leap over his crumpling body and lunge forward, stabbing the other in the stomach.