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You won the first round, little sister, you won’t win again.

It was a never-ending battle. She pushed against the voice in her mind, and he pushed back. Even when he had been alive, her brother had been all consuming. He was a force to be reckoned with – and in his death, in the way he followed her, haunted her every waking moment, he was worse. Pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose, the slender Russian leaned back against the wall, her sharp gaze missing nothing as she swept it across the pit. The first time she had placed her boot in the dust and blood, she had been confidant. It had been the first round – and she had refused to fall to anyone.

Now, she was going against someone that had possessed the same grit and determination that she had. She knew nothing of her new opponent, but if they had passed round one – she doubted that it was pure luck. Running her tongue along a sharp fang, she lifted her gaze to the stands, seeking her husband. It didn’t take her long to find him amongst the crowd, his angular jaw and muscle build taking up far more space than necessary. It was more than that, however. The humans angled away from him, a few inches between him and their forms, as if they could feel the tension, the chaos, within him.

A small smirk tugged on the corner of her lips, a single flash of emotion, before all was washed away and she found herself pushing from the wall to step into the center of the stadium. With one hand, she brushed it across her black t-shirt, the cotton hugging her form like a second skin. She stilled donned the same leather pants, the worn boots, and the jacket. The jacket that draped heavily over her shoulders and engulfed her, the jacket that held a single pack of old cigarettes and a lighter that she had never been able to throw out. Even now, her fingers dipped within the pocket and brushed across the plastic wrapping, finding comfort in the few remaining items that her brother had left behind. It was in this motion that she found herself torn between the man he was – and the ghoul he had become.

His voice still echoed in her mind, his whisper against her ear, and yet she remained focused, her head tilted to the side as she waited her second opponent. If she failed today, it wouldn’t shake her confidence, it wouldn’t leave her broken. Even the best succumbed every once in a while. With a flick of her wrist, she brought her braid over her shoulder and tapped her gun against a leather clad thigh.

Let the games begin.

Had it been skill or had it been luck? It was a question that had plagued the red-head since her fight with Azraeth. She had been fairly sure they were pretty evenly matched based on the gang fights they’d been in together for Voodoo. It had seemed close if she was honest; if she had taken another hit or two, she’d been the one heading out of the pit with an escort. Perhaps it had been a bit of both skill and luck. There was no way of knowing for sure.

Whatever the case it had landed her into round two of this underground tournament and against a new opponent. This one she didn’t recognize by name, which she wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing. There was no advantage to either based on familiarity; of that she was certain. It would likely be an interesting match for the spectators though she had to wonder if ‘Viper’ would repeat his folly. She had been most amused to learn that the man had lost four grand on the last match. Served him right for discounting a woman.

Her outfit was nearly identical to the one she wore in her fight with Az. Her bullet-hole riddled black leather pants had been exchanged for a fresh pair. A form-fitting navy tank top was paired with it as her black one had found its way to the laundry. Her assistant, Rei, had been bitching about that one earlier as it had had to be hand washed due to all the blood. Still, she paid the woman enough for her services, so she expected things to be done correctly. Her weaponry had been cleaned after that last battle and she had carefully holstered each piece in its correct home; daggers, gun, and extra ammo all on her person. The pair of throwing daggers completing the ensemble had reclaimed their place in her freshly done hair.

Her black leather coat was again shrugged off into a safe resting place before she crossed the pit to get her first look at her opponent. The woman either had skill or incredible luck to get through the first round, of that she was certain. She hadn’t watched any of the other matches nor had she even looked at the names of the other competitors. Her mind was turned to the woman as she tapped into her powers to give her an in-depth appraisal. She was certainly a skilled fighter. She also seemed to have the same interest in rituals as the red-head herself did; that was an interesting note. Her nose twitched as she found no evidence of that pesky ability some vampires had to block access to powers, like Azraeth had had; at least she wouldn’t have to worry about that. Ah ****. The woman’s sire sounded familiar, but why?

The toss of the woman’s braid drew Amalea’s attention as a silent signal the battle was about to begin. She had no doubt it would be fierce; she expected nothing less. Her eyes narrowed at the gun tapping against leather as she flexed her arm enough to release her dagger in a move reminiscent of her last battle.

Ready. Set. Go.

==========AUTOMATED POST==========

Reanna has initiated a battle against Amalea. Awaiting outcome.

=========AUTOMATED POST=========

The battle is over. Amalea's team are the victors!

Don’t cry, little sister.
Don’t worry, little sister.
We’ll be together soon….

The moment the woman stepped into the ring, she knew it wouldn’t be simple. There was something otherworldly about her – and it wasn’t just the supernatural blood that filtered through her veins. It was the fierceness in her eyes, the tension in her slender form. Tipping her head to the side, she remained still, as if she had been carved from stone, as her gaze lazily swept over her opponent. It was clear that she was human – the steady beat of her heart, the intake of breath giving her away – but she wasn’t… completely mortal. Another human, little sister, I am beginning to sense a pattern… There was a subtle twitch of her lips as the voice slithered into her ear, and the green of her eyes darkened. It was just like her brother to think a human as easy prey, as someone that she should feel shame in battling – but he couldn’t see what she saw as she finally pulled her gaze back to the woman’s.

Power.

It wasn’t the kind of power that the paladins inherited, nor was it the magic that the sorcerers found when they sank their fingers into the damp earth. It was dark, dangerous – it was stolen. Even now, she started to pick apart her very being, the very essence that made her; she knew that she had met her match with this woman. She possessed powers that weren’t her own, magic that she shouldn’t own. She had heard of these humans before, but she had never witnessed them first hand. Thieves of the night, thriving on their power, power that they wanted for themselves – but were too frightened, too disgusted – to reach for. At least, that was what she had heard of them. As she looked at the woman in front of her, the power of her appraisal circulating through her mind, she saw nothing frightened.

Nothing disgusted.

Working her jaw, she slowly let her arm fall, her calculations finished. She hated to admit it, she loathed to give her brother any credit, to breathe more life into the ghoul that swayed and flickered in her peripheral, but… she wasn’t certain she would walk out of this unscathed. Was she disappointed? No. She was far from it. The battle hadn’t even begun, and she was already calculating her odds, already figuring what she would tell her husband as he looked down at her when she failed. Could he see what she saw when she looked at the woman before her? Could he see the power, the confidence, the shadows that flooded her system? Would that matter to him if she lost? Those are just excuses, Iskra. You could have won, you could have used her power against her, he would say, and she would merely nod. Even now, all of those years later, she still admired him. He was tactical, she was rage. He was logical, she was violent. It was how they worked, how they took over the world – how they brought the Russian Rebellion to their knees. Yet, he wasn’t down here with her.

She was on her own.

A slow, chilling grin pulled on her lips as she finally rolled her shoulders, her gaze flickering just once to the stands, where his mountain of a form resided, elbows pressed to the metal of the barricade. In the back of her mind, she wondered what he was thinking, but she couldn’t think about that now. Putting her sole focus back into the redhead in front of her, she counted the seconds that had passed since she stepped onto the dirt, and gave a cold, dark laugh. Mere moments had passed, and it felt as though it had been a lifetime. Running her tongue along her fang, she decided to test the woman, to see what would happen, to see just how dangerous she really was. If she were a decent fighter, she could counter her attack, she would show her, but she hadn’t a clue how. She wasn’t rational.

She barely moved, she hardly even twitched as she felt the power swell inside of her. Her gun never moved, her sword remained strapped to her back, but the power flew from her – and missed. The woman wasn’t blinded. Had she even felt the magic dance over her skin? That was the only answer she needed, the final drop of water in the bucket that was becoming this battle. She… resisted. This was going to be one hell of a ride.

Blind – missed!
Appraised Amalea.

She could feel the shift in the crowd as those that recognized her from the first round of fighting began talking excitedly. It wasn’t that she could hear the going ons above her, rather, she felt them. It was an energy that hadn’t been there the first round nor when she had first entered the ring. Idly, she wondered if ‘Viper’ was in attendance and, if so, what odds he would give for this fight. Particularly since both were seasoned females.

Her attention was turned to the woman in the pit with her even as she was being eyed as though she were a side of beef. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence given a vast majority of vampires saw humans as inferior. As nothing more than their next meal that was then discarded. But she wasn’t human; not really, at least by human standards. Nor was she a vampire. She walked the line between never truly fitting into either side. Lips twitched into a smirk as she became aware of her opponent’s appraisal. Interesting though smart. Know thy enemy. Was she confused by the glimpse she had gotten? Or perhaps her confidence in winning the fight had rose?

In the end, it wouldn’t matter. Only one would move forward. Perhaps it would be her night or perhaps the Russian would emerge victorious. There was really only one way for it all to be decided and it wasn’t standing here staring at each other. An eyebrow rose at that cold, dark laugh; intimidation was an interesting tactic. Pity it didn’t work on her anymore. She watched. She waited.

The surge of power that washed over her was familiar; Azraeth had done the same to her in their battle. This time, though, she knew what the feeling meant and she fought it. Eyes narrowed as she batted at it almost as if it was a wayward tennis ball. The surprise she felt at the success of that plan was suppressed as her dagger dropped into her hand, nicking her finger. She had planned to open with something a bit different, but if this was how the woman wanted to play, a change was in order. Best to nip this in the bud lest she try again and succeed; a quietly murmured phrase saw her own power act to block the other’s access to hers. Let the real games begin.

Mindblock - Success

Oh, little sister, how dead you are…
Look at me. Can you not see what you did to me?
You caused this. You did this.
I hope she makes it hurt…

She couldn’t escape him. Every where she looked, he was there. His once flawless complexion was rotten, bits of skin peeling back from the bone. His smile was one made from nightmares. Cracked lips pulled back against broken teeth, and she swore she saw a maggot or two writhing around inside. His voice was a chilled hiss as it brushed against her ear, the smell of death on his breath. With each tilt of his head, each brush of his fingers against her arm, she found herself slipping further away. In front of her, the human shifted, her expression turning into one of concentration. There was nothing holding her back, nothing keeping her from destroying her opponent – she was calm, collected, and ready.

Running her tongue along her lower lip, she listened to the crowd as the roar grew. It vibrated through her skin and lit a new fire in her heart. They were there for her – and for the human. They wanted blood, they wanted violence, and she was going to give it to them. Cocking her head, she kept her eyes cold and her muscles taut, even when Markus crowded in against her, his laughter haunting. He was breaking her concentration. He wanted her to die, he needed her with him. Without breaking eye-contact with the woman before her, she tossed her arm back, her elbow meeting the pliable flesh of her ghoul. He let out a breath of air that caused her to lose her concentration, if only for a second. Her finger slipped from the trigger – but then she was moving, pulling her gun into place.

The entire time, the woman in front of her watched on. At first, she thought nothing was going to come of it, but then she felt the power. It was as familiar as it was strange. Was she appraised? Shaking her head, she hissed out a word under her breath, and her brother fell back, allowing her to think – allowing her to act. Raising her weapon, she aimed for the woman’s chest. She meant to pull the trigger, she meant to pierce her heart, but first, she was thought to attack her with the same weapon her brother was using. The dead. As she tried to summon her banshee, she realized she couldn’t. There was no power in her veins. She was… useless. That was what she had done to her. She had blocked her.

Gritting her teeth, she instead went back to her gun, and pulled the trigger. Finally, the gun jumped in her hand, the bullet flying through the air – and slamming into the wall behind her. She had missed. She ******* missed. Behind her, her brother laughed. In front of her, the human prepared for another attack. In the stands above her, her husband roared, the command strong. Focus!

Missed!

Warily, she kept an eye on the woman before her as the crowd roared with their excitement. It was hard to tell quite who they were cheering for, if anyone. She suspected they were a blood-thirsty bunch that just wanted to get their fill vicariously without care to whom won. An eyebrow raised as her opponent seemed to elbow at something behind her; if she had to guess, the red-head would say it was a wraith or perhaps the woman was a medium tormented by spirits. Either way, it was interesting to note that the Russian’s full attention didn’t seem to be in the arena.

The gun raising had the red-head debating her next move as she prepared to move out of the way of the speeding bullet once it was released from its prison. Amalea was more than a bit surprised when the woman seemed to hesitate, wondering what had caused such an action. At least it gave her an extra moment to plan her next move. The moment the bullet left the gun she dived to the right, rolling into a tumble before springing to her feet.

With an eye on the Russian, she began to circle around her like a lion to their prey. Once. Twice. The third time, she rushed the woman from behind. Grabbing hold of her, she pulled backwards until her knee was firmly planted in the woman’s back with an audible crack. Smirking, she swept her leg from under the woman as she let go taking care to dance backwards out of easy reach.

You grapple Reanna and pull them down, cracking their back with your bent knee.

His voice entered her mind, then, the growl calmer than his roar had been. Remain focused, he whispered. Ignore him, he begged – but it didn’t work. It didn’t matter. He was there. He was there, and he was taunting her. He jumped in and out of her vision, he laughed as if this was exactly what he had planned. The man she had loved, the man she had respected, had turned into a monster. Gritting her teeth, she kept her gun trained on the woman, even as the crowd began to chant. Their words meant nothing to her, their language all but lost on her, as she shook her head. She shook it as if she could make Markus disappear, but he was still there, in the corner of her eye, watching – waiting.

When the woman circled her, she followed every movement. It was impossible that this woman – this human – possessed the powers she did, but she knew the truth. She was a blood thief. She stole her power, and what was pulsing through her veins wasn’t her own. It wasn’t her strength that was beating her, but the vampire that she had harnessed. However, that didn’t completely count her out. She might have had a sip of darkness, but it was her wit, her own mind, that lead her to her next move. When she charged, she began a blur, and with her mind still reeling from the block, she didn’t react in time. When she had noticed her at her side, it was too late, and she found herself blinded by pain.

Screaming out, she collapsed to the ground, her spine cracked. If she needed to breathe, she wouldn’t have been able to. Every twitch had tears wetting her eyes, but they never fell. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t… she wasn’t this. The stands had gone quiet when she had fallen, and the sound picked up again when she braced herself for the pain. Finding strength in it, she lifted back to her feet, and aimed her weapon. This time, when she fired, she knew she’d miss. She knew it, because her aim was off, her vision blurred. It was a warning shot, a shot meant to show that she wasn’t backing down.

She wouldn’t make this easy on her.

Missed.

The scream of pain wasn’t precisely music to the red-head’s ears but it was better that the sound was coming from the Russian than herself. She moved back further, eyes on her opponent the entire time as the noise of the crowd began to rise again. After the other fights that the audience had seen, she had to wonder why they still were shocked to silence by such injuries. Did they not expect that her opponent would rise up from it? They hadn’t been paying very good attention in that case.

Eyes watched as the woman before her stood, seemingly in a great deal of pain which was understandable. That she was aiming her firearm at the red-head already was a bit of a surprise but the human was moving as soon as the trigger was pulled. Dodging to the side, she didn’t wait for the bullet to impact the side of the pit before unleashing her own attack. Taking careful aim, hopefully for the woman’s heart, she squeezed the trigger, cursing as she missed her intended target. She’d take what she could get at this point.

You take a couple of shots at Reanna, and one of them rips through their throat!