'ALL CRUELTY SPRINGS FROM WEAKNESS.'
-PROLOGUE-
Punch. Kick. Kick again. Dodge. Slide. Twist.
These were the vivid instructions running through her adolescent mind as she huffed out a delighted breath, looking up at her opponent.
A slight tilt upwards of her lips welcomed itself on her serene face and she boasted out loud, 'I could do this all day, what about you Aero?'
A gaze downwards at her victim and she maliciously laughed out loud. He was clearly struggling to get up, his breaths short and heavy. He was trying to salvage any dignity he had. Which he lost when he was knocked down by a 12-year-old.
She, however, thought it was pitiful and found immense amusement in it. This was nothing new.
The crowd's alerted eyes followed each and every one of their movements, calculating their movements carefully. This was the source of entertainment you get to experience here. This was where you earned your status. Either you lose or win.
He saw red. He flipped on his front, rage consuming his insides. He leapt forward, his fist clenched tightly.
A moment later, ear-splitting shriek tore the stormy sky, not unlike her eyes. She swiftly dodged and was behind him in less than a second when she twisted his already bruised arm, breaking it. She forced him down, her midnight dark hair thrashing around in the humid wind.
A wide wicked smile graced her face, 'Took you long enough to get up. I nearly thought you were about to give up.'
He whimpered painfully in response. She decided it was time to cut the guy some slack hence the releasing. He fell forward on his knees, crying out in misery.
She dusted her shoulders and her grey eyes flitted quickly through the people watching her with a grave expression on their faces. She brushed off those looks and grinned widely pleased. 'Who's next?'
The crowd, feeling unsettled and uncomfortable shifted in their seats avoiding her intense empty eyes. They were terrified she would see the reflection of their emotions in their own eyes. The regret, the pity, the feeling of having done something grave. And they had.
They had created a killing machine.
One that cannot be reconstructed nor broken down.
YOU ARE READING
Unmated
FantasyShe was his darkness; his killing machine. He was her light; her saviour. ____________ 'Stop!' The words rushed out of the boy's mouth in a rush but were unheard by the sudden assail of the breeze. It was too late. His eyes widened noticeably in tr...
