A "Fair" Fight

“Not every savior is a hero; some are merely the last ones standing.”

— Calystria Dane,

Fifth Prophet of the First Order

Hymns of the Forsaken

***

The first wisps of morning light crept into the city, delicate and hesitant, like they were testing the waters before committing to the day. Not enough to kill the streetlights, but enough to suggest night’s tenure was almost up. The city wore silence like a poker face, alleyway shadows leaning in, secrets pooling in the cracked pavement. There was a hum in the quiet, a sense that anything could happen if you waited long enough. I walked the empty streets, my breath fogging in the cool air, hanging around like the trouble I was trying to shake.

My feet knew the way. Home—if you could call it that. A shitty motel room with walls stained the color of old regrets and a ceiling that leaked whenever the sky got too heavy. I could’ve called Cali, but my gut said no. Not with the car gone. I didn’t feel like explaining that just yet. That car wasn’t just metal and gears. It was a symbol, a promise. Calling her now meant admitting I’d screwed up again—another notch on my belt of failures. The night had already kicked me in the teeth; I wasn’t ready for that conversation.

About a mile out, something flickered in my peripheral vision—a shadow moving where it shouldn’t, a shiver in a closed shop window. Instinct took over. My hand moved to my hip, reaching first for my gun, then lower for my sword. Except... damn Kane. Both were gone.

My senses spiked. I pivoted hard, bolting down the first alley I saw. The stench hit me—rotting garbage, sour piss, something rank and acidic. My footsteps echoed, and then, just like I’d feared, another set joined in. A syncopated rhythm that promised trouble.

“Satan’s tits,” I muttered, twisting around just in time to see a brick explode above my head, red dust showering down like confetti at the worst party ever. I pressed myself against the wall, slipping into a nook just out of sight and tugging Sarge in with me.

“Missed me!” I shouted, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice.

“Oh, I don’t have to miss,” came Al’s voice, dripping with casual malice. “Just didn’t seem fair, y’know? You look like you’ve had a rough night.”

Of course, it was Al. The bastard always had a way of showing up like a bad case of food poisoning—inevitable and messy. Another shot cracked, this one low, the bullet kicking dust from the bricks near my crotch. I could feel the warmth of the shattered stone dusting Sarge, who had been darting between my legs.

“Hey, hey!” I yelled, pulling Sarge closer to me. “Watch it, Al! You almost got Sarge!”

“Shit, man, sorry,” Al called back, his tone genuinely apologetic. You can kill a man, but mess with his dog? “You wanna get him outta here or what?”

Frank piped up, as sarcastic as ever. Not doing it, he told me silently.

Come on, I pushed.

Nope.

Maybe if he’s far enough away, it’ll break the link, I said, like a dealer pushing bad goods.

A long pause. You’re full of it, Jack. But fine.

There was another pause, then Frank’s voice returned. He doesn’t want to go. Says you’re not safe. Figures you’re likely to get yourself killed. Which, honestly, is a fairly good bet. Oh, and he says you smell like a dumpster fire on a summer afternoon.

Did he? I asked, dryly.

I might have added that last part. But it’s true.

I shook my head and bent down, staying close to the wall. Sarge looked at me, head cocked, his dark eyes full of confusion. “Okay, Sarge,” I said, voice heavy. “You’re gonna have to scram, buddy. I need to concentrate if I’m going to make it out of this one. I’ll meet you back at the motel, yeah? Can you follow my scent there?”

Sarge tilted his head, fixing me with a look that said, clear as day, You’re an idiot.

“ He said —“ Frank began.

“I got that one,” I interrupted, nodding. “Right, of course you can.” I scratched Sarge’s ear. “Go on now. I’ll meet you there. I’ll bring a treat.”

Sarge gave me a look that was half-skeptical, half-hopeful—like he didn’t quite believe me but wanted to trust me enough to go along with it. Then he took off, his tail vanishing around the corner.

“Al!” I yelled once Sarge was out of sight. “Can we reschedule this? Tomorrow works. Or, you know, any day this week—I’m wide open. It’s just… it’s been a long night.”

“No can do, Jack,” Al’s voice echoed down the alley, casual as hell. “Wife’s got me redoing the damn house again, and the bounty on your head’s a good chunk of change. Gotta make that happen.”

“I don’t have what they want anymore,” I shouted. “Check the morning paper! They’ll drop the bounty.”

“All the more reason to get this over with right now. A kill’s a kill if the bounty’s still active,” Al shot back. “No hard feelings, yeah, Jack?”

“No hard feelings,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “Work’s work.”

“Glad you understand.” Al sounded like he was smiling.

“Just a heads-up—I’m not holding back. I got a full clip, ready to unload!” I shouted, trying to bluff.

“Bullshit!” Al laughed. “You got nothin’, Jack.”

Way to sell it, Frank chimed in.

“Tell you what!” I yelled. “You put down your gun, I put down Frank, and we do this the old-fashioned way. Kill each other like reasonable people.”

A beat of silence, then Al answered, “You serious?”

Al was a hulking wall of a man, built like a fortress. Muscles rippled under his shirt, his shoulders broad enough to block out the dim light behind him. He was tall, and towered over me, with arms like tree trunks and fists that could probably crack stone. I knew I couldn’t take him in hand-to-hand combat on my best day—but, lucky for me, this was far from my best day.

What the hell are you doing, Jack? Frank hissed in my head. You’re gonna get yourself killed. Again.

Ye of little faith, I thought, rolling my shoulders, trying to loosen up. Trust me, I got this.

Oh, sure, sure. You are practically falling apart. But no, you’ve got this. Of course you do, Frank replied. Well, if I don’t see you again—farewell, goodbye, auf wiedersehen, adieu.

I looked to the sky, hands open, a quiet sigh slipping free as Frank continued, I suppose there are worse fates for me—though, truly, I can’t imagine them. His voice exuded theatrical sorrow. No, don’t worry about me. What am I to you? Just another accessory. Al will make a… suitable partner from here on out, I suppose.

Relax, Frank. I’ve got an edge, I said.

And what’s that? Frank asked, scornful.

“I’m hungry,” I muttered, stepping out, sliding Frank off my shoulders and setting him aside with exaggerated, almost mocking care.

“All right, Jack. Just for you,” Al rumbled, a smirk twisting his lips. “But I gotta make this quick. There’s an early bird special at Mabel’s.”

“I’ll try not to drag it out,” I shot back, feeling the amber energy pulse to life inside me, steady and electric.

He stepped forward, rolling his shoulders, the ground seeming to shake beneath him. “Just a fair fight,” he said, almost like a promise.

“Ain’t nothin’ fair about this,” I replied, a grim smile creeping onto my face.

***

Al stepped out from behind cover, setting his gun down, arms wide open at the alley’s entrance. His eyes were cold, his jaw clenched with determination. There was no hesitation in his movements, just the focused intent of a seasoned killer. The alley’s shadows hung heavy, dawn slowly bleeding through the sky, casting thin slivers of light that barely reached us. The moment I took off Frank the pain had rushed in, immediate and overwhelming, blurring my vision with a hot tide. My ears rang. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, each step a drumbeat in my skull. My knees almost buckled.

Al charged, his fist hurtling toward my head. I ducked, sidestepping just in time, but he twisted, driving his elbow into my ribs with a crack that rattled my bones. The alley spun—brick and sky merging in a dizzying blur. I staggered, barely getting my enhanced arm up in time to block his next hit—sparks flew as he nearly broke my arm clean in two. He hit like a freight train—a couple hundred pounds of relentless cyborg force behind every blow.

We moved like feral animals, unthinking, locked in a fight driven by instinct sharpened skill—two desperate predators battling for survival. His fist smashed into my jaw, pain swallowing my thoughts. My vision went dark at the edges, and I stumbled, the ground shifting beneath me as the alley tilted. I swung back blindly, my knuckles connecting with his ribs, the breath rushing out of him in a ragged gasp. His eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, I saw it—that killer look, a glint of something cold and merciless.

A predator, just like me.

Al roared, swinging wildly. I ducked low, grabbing his arm and twisting it. He let out a guttural growl, his face contorting in pain, his other hand scrabbling at my grip, nails digging into my skin. He stumbled forward, but he wasn’t down. His boot shot out, slamming into my gut with brutal force. I crumpled, my knees hitting the ground, the impact jolting up my spine. My stomach lurched, bile rising, and I fought the urge to retch. I doubled over, wheezing, the cold air searing my lungs. Al’s fists came down like sledgehammers, raining punches on my back and shoulders, each blow echoing off the narrow brick walls.

Ability Activated: Rage.

The hunger surged, and this time, it was different. This time, I let it in. I let it consume me, filling every crevice of my being until there was nothing left but the raw, gnawing need. Agony twisted through me, a visceral, searing pain that bent my spine and clenched my jaw. My face contorted as I felt my incisors extend—sharp, merciless fangs forcing their way out. What the hell is happening? The thought was fleeting.

I twisted, desperation clawing at me, using his momentum to fling him sideways into the alley wall. He hit hard, a grunt escaping his lips, but before I could press the advantage, he surged back, his knee driving into my stomach again. The pain flared, hot and ugly, but it was distant, like a scream muffled within the trunk of a car.

I wasn’t going to stop. Not now. I bared my teeth—long, sharp, monstrous—and felt the hunger rising higher—a gnawing heat blurring my vision, turning everything red. My hands moved almost of their own accord, fingers finding his throat, squeezing. Al’s hands flew up, clawing at my wrists, his gasps turning into desperate, choking sounds. His eyes bulged, filled with a mix of fear and disbelief, panic flooding in as the fight drained out of him. Al’s pulse thrummed beneath my fingers, frantic and fragile. I tightened my grip, power surging through me, promising an end—

A soft bell rang. A ding, like a door chime or a—

—a bicycle bell.

We both froze, staring. A kid on a battered old bike wheeled into the alley, a rolled-up newspaper tucked under one arm. He barely glanced at us as he coasted by, whistling some jaunty tune, and tossed the paper between us with a casual flick of his wrist. It hit the ground with a soft thud, the kid already gone, pedaling out the other side without a second glance.

For a moment, it felt unreal—an absurd, almost laughable scene that distracted me from immediately sinking my teeth into his flesh. The sheer ridiculousness of it all hit me, a flash of clarity breaking through the hunger, startling my grip just enough to hesitate—a kid with a paper, and us, two idiots covered in blood, playing at war. It was all too much. I almost laughed—a bitter, manic laugh that would have matched the insanity of the moment.

The sun was up now, crowning the rooftops, spilling gold over the grimy brick and puddles, its warmth a cruel joke against the violence and blood still hanging in the air. It felt like some kind of twisted blessing—a new day in a city that never deserved it.

I glared at Al, my fangs still bared, the hunger a relentless pulse in my veins. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the crumpled paper on the ground. I nodded, loosening my grip just enough.

“Wanna get that?” My voice was a low growl, barely human.

I still held his neck firmly, feeling the blood trickling down from where my fingers had pierced his skin. He trembled, but I allowed him to bend, his movements slow and deliberate, the weight of my threat never lifting.

He hesitated, then slowly, his hand trembling, he reached over, snatching up the paper. He unfolded it, his eyes darting over the headline.

“Care to check the list?” I rasped, the words barely making it past my lips, my vision still tinged with red, the hunger ebbing reluctantly.

Al’s gaze flicked from the paper to me, his shoulders slumping, a weary resignation settling over him. “You’re off the list.”

I glanced at the paper, the bold print glaring back at me—my name, struck through, removed. Just like that.

“Looks like,” I muttered, the fight draining out of me. I pushed the hunger down, my fangs retracting slightly, leaving me exhausted, hollow. I let Al go, stumbling back against the alley wall, my body screaming in protest. I fought the hunger with the last of me.

“Get Frank. Now.” I managed, the words barely a whisper. Al staggered, rubbing his throat, before bending down to retrieve the jacket. He tossed it to me, and I caught it, the leather cool and grounding in my hands. I slipped into it. The pain dulled almost instantly as Frank settled back against my shoulders. A warmth spread through me, the hunger moving just under my control—just barely.

Seriously, you’re a goddamn idiot , Frank’s voice snapped in my mind, sharp but laced with relief.

I looked up at Al, my vision still blurry, my body barely holding together.

“Think you can give me a ride?” I asked.

Al stared at me for a long moment before letting out a weary sigh, his head shaking almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah, Jack. Breakfast after?”

“Sounds good. But you’re buying.”