Revival Of Stars

12 | Caught

CHAPTER 12
•••

Screams filled the bar as Lance pinned the drunken man to the floor.

The customers circled around them, watching and waiting for a fight. And the drunk slurs that rolled off of the man's tongue and Lance's short temper were enough for a brawl to surely ensue.

From the side, at the barstool, Oran had ran up to Etta, who was wincing and coughing ferociously. "Hey—you okay?" he asked, panicking.

After a deep exhale, Etta stared at him with a dead-panned expression before responding bluntly. "Not feeling the g-greatest." Her red face was slowly going back to its usual shade, but her heartbeat continued to pound erratically against her chest. And to make the situation worse, the burn on her wrist was still intensifying.

"Get off of me! Get the fuck off me!" the man roared from the ground.

Blood-shot eyes stared into Lance's gray ones, fury and pent-up rage glowing inside. A tangle of rage swirled between them. Then suddenly, the muscles in the man's biceps bulged and flexed as he quickly pulled his arm from Lance's grip and nailed a blow to his jaw.

The customers all shifted back as Lance flew towards them and onto the floor. Using that to his advantage, the man shot up from the ground and began marching toward him, fumes practically emitting from his ears. He rolled his shoulders, readying himself for another attack. But Lance was already on his feet, hand gracing the place that he'd been hit. He winced before glowering at the man, who was arching his arm back again. However, Lance was already on him, swinging his fist into the man's nose, earning a loud crack.

The volume in the bar heightened, and Oran widened his eyes in alarm. "Shit."

After the hit, the man held his nose tightly, blood already gushing out and staining his thick fingers. His glassed-over eyes darkened significantly as they landed on Lance's equally fierce visage. Then he began stomping toward him, eyes never fraying from his. A giant, bulging arm curved backwards before swinging forward ferociously, the man targeting his next punch on Lance's nose. But before it could land, Lance was already ducking, bowing his head before ramming straight into the man's abdomen.

They both tumbled to the floor once again.

The crowd was in an uproar. Fists were raised in the air, and bets interchanged. A few people from the back of the bar shouted, "Somebody get the Vesper Guards!"

Oran's head snapped toward the voices' direction. There, he saw two people exiting the bar, their heads turning left and right as they looked for the guards that secured the streets from time to time.

They're going to find out. The fearful thought plunged into Oran's mind as he started to sweat.

The man brought his elbows down onto Lance's back, causing another roar from the crowd. Oran darted his eyes between his best friend and Etta, who didn't seem like she'd be okay to be left alone.

However, she looked at him before shaking her head. "Go," Etta urged—as if she had heard his frantic thoughts. "Go. I'll be okay. Save Lance."

Reluctantly, Oran left her side and neared the fight; he saw that the man's nose was broken, blood oozing out and staining his teeth that bared like fangs. Lance stood opposite him, his stance in defense mode, knuckles bloodied and jaw turning into a sickly shade of purple.