Last Stand? (3)

Kain hadn't moved.

Not since the fight began.

He had watched, fists clenched, heart hammering against his ribs.

But he didn't move.

He didn't know how.

He had never seen anything like this.

Torik had taken everything.

Fists to the ribs.

Knees to the gut.

A blade across his side.

He should have dropped long ago.

But he didn't.

Then the Bruiser grabbed him.

Forced him to look up.

And drove his knee into his face.

Torik staggered.

His body gave way.

And then—

For the first time—

Torik dropped to a knee.

The crowd exploded in cheers.

They wanted blood.

They wanted Torik broken.

But Kain?

He couldn't breathe.

He felt something in his chest, tight and burning.

The fighters were moving again, closing in. Torik was still breathing, still trying to rise. The Bruiser raised a fist for the final blow.

Kain felt his body tense.

His heart pounded.

He couldn't watch this, so he lunged.

There was no plan, no thought.

Torik was still on one knee, blood running down his face.

The Bruiser's fist was coming down, ready to end it.

Kain got there first.

Kain crashed into the Bruiser's side. The impact wasn't clean, wasn't practiced, but it was enough. The Bruiser staggered, surprised and thrown off balance, Kain didn't stop, his fists swung wild and desperate.

He wasn't strong enough to drop a man like this.

But he didn't care.

He just kept hitting.

The Bruiser shoved him off, hard.

Kain skidded across the sand, coughing, but didn't stop moving.

The others had been focused on Torik.

Now?

Now they were looking at him.

For the first time, they saw Kain.

Not as a boy but as a threat.

Torik wiped blood from his mouth, eyes flickering to Kain.

For a moment, he said nothing.

But something in his face, the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers curled into fists—

He understood.

Kain wasn't watching anymore.

He was fighting.

Torik exhaled.

Then he rose.

Torik moved first.

His ribs screamed, his body begged for rest, but he shoved forward, driving his shoulder into The Scarred Prisoner.

The man stumbled, forced to react.

The Cautious Prisoner followed, seeing the opening, but Torik spun, forcing them both back.

Torik was bleeding, half-broken, but he still knew how to control the battlefield.

But that meant that now Kain was on his own.

The Bruiser rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck.

He wasn't smiling anymore.

"Alright, brat."

His fist came fast.

Kain saw it too late but thankfully hiss body reacted before his mind did.

Kain ducked.

The Bruiser's fist tore through the air where his head had been.

Too close.

The force of the swing alone sent a rush of wind past Kain's ear.

If it had landed it would have been over.

Kain didn't think.

He moved, low and quick, aiming for the ribs.

His fist connected—

And did nothing.

The Bruiser barely reacted.

Then—

His knee slammed into Kain's gut.

Kain staggered, coughing hard.

He had been hit before. Beaten before.

But this was different.

The Bruiser stepped forward, towering over him.

"You're fast, brat. But not fast enough."

Torik is still holding off two fighters, but barely. The Desperate Prisoner is watching, unsure whether to step in.

Kain isn't winning.

But he isn't dead.

And that changes everything.

Kain staggered, still coughing.

The Bruiser wasn't even winded.

"You got guts, brat."

He rolled his shoulders. Stepped forward again.

"But that won't save you."

Kain's fingers curled into the sand.

Think.

You can't hit harder than him.You can't overpower him. So stop trying.

Kain adjusted his stance.

Lighter.

Lower.

He exhaled, steadying himself.

This time, he'd make it count.

The Bruiser stepped forward again, confident. Unbothered.

"Ready to die, brat?"

Kain's fingers twitched in the sand.

No.

He wasn't going to die.

Not now. Not ever.

The Bruiser lifted his arm, another strike coming.

Kain moved first.

His fingers dug into the dirt, gripping a fistful of sand.

Then he flung it upward, straight into the Bruiser's eyes.

The Bruiser grunted, stumbling back, hands snapping to his face.

"You little—!"

The crowd roared.

Some laughed. Some jeered.

But Garik?

Garik leaned forward, intrigued.

"Huh."

Kain lunged, low and fast. He slammed his foot into the man's knee, aiming to drop him.

The impact wasn't enough to bring him down.

But it was enough to shake him.

Torik, still fighting his own battle but catches a glimpse of Kain and his lips curl slightly. The other opponents are noticing, the boy isn't dead yet. The Bruiser is furious, his face is twisted with rage now.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

The kid was supposed to die quickly.

The sand was still in his eyes.

The hit to the knee had rattled him.

But the Bruiser wasn't done.

Not even close.

He let out a snarl, wiping at his face, blinking fast.

Then his gaze locked onto Kain.

"You're dead, brat."

The Bruiser didn't just swing this time.

He charged.

Kain tried to move but he was too slow.

The Bruiser's fist slammed into his ribs, sending him sprawling.

The world tilted sideways.

Sand scraped against his skin.

His breath ripped from his lungs.

Pain.

The Bruiser was already on him.

A boot crashed toward his head, Kain rolled.

A fist smashed into the sand where his skull had been.

He scrambled backward, coughing, vision blurring.

He had to move. He had to—

The Bruiser was too focused on killing him now, he wasn't thinking straight. His movements were big, wide, open. Kain's eyes flickered and then he saw it.

His weakness.

His balance.

The Bruiser's foot slammed into the dirt where Kain had just been.

Kain lunged.

He went low, under the Bruiser's center of gravity and at the same time, Kain hooked his foot behind the Bruiser's other leg.

The Bruiser's weight tipped.

His body wobbled and he fell

The crowd gasped.

Laughter. Shouts. Some boos, some cheers.

Even Garik's eyebrow twitched up.

"Didn't expect that," he muttered.

The Bruiser wasn't out, he was already getting back up. Kain had seconds. Maybe less. He had to make it count.

His eyes flicked around the sand.

And then he saw it—

A weapon.

Kain kicked, twisted, tried to shake him off but the Bruiser's grip was strong.

He yanked hard again.

Kain collapsed forward, just inches from the weapon.

He clawed for it, fingertips scraping the hilt—almost—almost—

But the Bruiser was already rising.

"Not so fast, brat."

The Bruiser tightened his grip, dragging Kain back.

Kain thrashed, kicked, twisted, anything to get free.

The weapon was right there.

He needed it.

His fingers scraped the sand, the hilt just out of reach—

Then he threw his weight forward, slipping free for just a second.

And that was enough.

Kain's hand closed around the weapon. He turned, his body moving before his mind. The Bruiser was lunging, ready to rip him apart.

Kain drove the blade forward.

It slammed into flesh.

The Bruiser froze.

His mouth opened, a sharp inhale, but no words came.

Kain twisted the blade deeper.

And then—

The Bruiser collapsed.

The crowd erupted, some in cheers, some in shock.

Kain was panting, staring at the body.

His first kill.

His first real kill.

But there was no time to think about it, as the fight wasn't over yet.