One Word Prompts 2020

Throw - The Fight

"Care to tell me what that was about?" he asked. His arms were folded over his chest, his shoulders square with the same rigid disappointment plastered to his tight lips and hanging from his furrowed brow.

She looked down, dodging his disapproving glare. She'd known the boss would be upset. She thought she'd prepared mentally for the coming reprimand. But although she'd steeled herself, she could still feel her stomach dropping.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. And she was. She had wanted to win. She had wanted to go all the way to the finals. She'd wanted to stand on the podium beside her hero, the Onyx Monarch.

"Sorry?" he asked, leaning in and putting a hand to his ear. "Say that one more time. It sounded to me like you said you're sorry."

She nodded, still watching her feet. "I lost."

There wasn't any explanation she could give. She'd lost. Even at the best of times, he took her losses badly.

He threw his hands in the air shaking his head. "Really? You think that's why I'm upset? YoU lOsT?" A disgusted grimace crawled across his face. He shook his head, jamming a fat finger in her face. "You threw the match."

She shook her head. She had to deny that. Had to prove—

"Am I expected to believe the undefeated SILVER CROW," he prodded her in the chest as he proclaimed the moniker the press had given her, "was beaten by that worthless trash Kris Marebrik? Beaten on your home stage? Beaten when you still had your ace up your sleeve?"

She couldn't look him in the eye. Couldn't lie to his face. Somehow, she'd managed to squeeze out the words, "I had an off day. That's all."

She wished her voice sounded stronger. Wished her shoulders weren't trembling. That she could stand firmly before the giant of a man shouting her down.

He scoffed. "Bad day? You don't have bad days. You are the prodigy mage, the Silver Crow, the greatest battle mage to take the floor of the Circle's arena! You crush your opponents with lightning and unfiltered magic energy. You pull stars from the firmament to decimate enemies. You don't lose to nothing, red mages playing with fire."

He took a deep breath, perhaps to let her explain herself, perhaps just to catch his own breath before continuing his tirade.

"I just—"

"Don't," he interjected. "I don't want to hear how you were caught off guard by Marebrik's familiar. That poor excuse of a salamander shouldn't have burned your wand's focus—You are paying for the replacement focus from your own pocket, for the record. Don't think for a second that I'm paying for that sloppy excuse of lost equipment."

"I couldn't—" she started to object. Losing it had been part of her plan. No one would have believed she'd lost if she still had the power to cast Starfall. Without that focus, defeat was believable.

He scoffed, cutting her off. "You know your weaknesses better than your opponents. We've drilled for covering them. You should never have let an opponent take out any of your foci. And isn't that why you use a different focus for lightning?

"Where was the arch-lightning? Hmm? You had options left. Yet, how quick were you to surrender after you lost the star focus?"

"The press are calling it a close fight," she muttered.

"HA!" He shook his head. "The press? What do they know? They're just trying to figure out how to spin the greatest upset in the history of the arena. Do you have any idea what the sales for tickets between you and the Onyx Monarch would have been? Hmm? Millions. Absolutely millions. And now the fight they've been teasing has been abruptly canceled.

"This was the semifinal, girl. You were to be the youngest champion in the history of the arena. And now, no named Marebrik's in the finals."

"There's always next year," she said.

"NeXt YeAr?" he asked, badly mimicking her voice. He sneered. "Next year, you'll be just another mage. This year you were a prodigy. You would have been the first rookie to win the title. Next year, who will you be? Just another junior mage with delusions of grandeur." He shook his head. Under his breath, he scoffed, "Next year..."

"I'll—"

He didn't let her squeak out her protests, cutting her off again. "Just tell me why you threw the fight? Why throw away everything? Everything you've worked for. Everything I've put into getting you this far?"

"I didn't throw the match," she lied again. He'd never believe her, even if she told him. Actually, worse, if he did believe, there was no way he'd understand. He'd mercilessly insult her for being soft. For being weak.

And maybe she was weak. She was certainly soft.

Kris needed to win. A life was hanging on their victory. They hadn't been able to explain in any more detail than that, but she'd seen it in their eyes when they'd begged her, it was about more than the title. About more than this competition.

Perhaps she shouldn't have thrown the match over something as nebulous as a fellow competitor's ambiguous words. But she'd seen their desperate eyes. Heard the shaking in their voice.

She knew desperation. And Kris's face? That was what it looked like.

And if she was able to do something to alleviate that? How could she refuse?