Nolan made a strange sound, but didn’t speak again. When we stepped out, finally, into the place of my soul, I barely managed to stop the small gasp from emerging.
Holy shit. It was nothing like I’d expected. The room had at one time been a huge cave, hundreds of yards in diameter. Over the years they’d fixed it up, adding some octagons, boxing rings, and a grassed tournament area. How they’d gotten grass to grow down here, I had no idea, but I could already tell it wasn’t fake.
There were also dozens of people in the room, every single one of them clad in dark colors with a black mask over their face.
I could pick out some features, like those who were very tall or broad, but it was next to impossible to really see anything in these masks. They clung, but did not give too much detail.
“Are there other women here?” I whispered into Nolan’s back.
His muscles tensed. “Yes.”
One word and I knew that was all I’d get.
“But they don’t fight.”
Okay, maybe not completely all.
And as much as the gender stereotype annoyed me, it did make it easier for me to get away with my extracurricular activities—no one expected a woman to run around wielding a sword.
Chapter 14
“Come on, the fight’s about to start,” Nolan said, pushing through the cheering crowd and heading for a square, roped-off section. He didn’t need to tell me twice; fighting nourished my soul and I was so fucking here for it.
In the center of the fight square there was a single, black-clad person. I spent a minute examining him, trying to discern a recognizable feature. I really didn’t know many people in this school yet, and I had absolutely no idea who was beneath the black mask.
“Five minutes,” he suddenly shouted, his voice unnaturally robotic, like it was being morphed by something.
The crowd pushed even closer, and Nolan kept a hold on my arm so we wouldn’t get lost.
“Demonica, three times broadsword champion, runner up for short blades, and a top ten finalist in hand-to-hand, will face off against the Fallen Angel.”
A hushed murmur rocked through the crowd, and I found myself straining forward, wanting a glimpse of these fighters. And this “persona” Nolan kept rambling on about.
Demonica was the first through, and I blinked at what I saw as they stepped into the square. On top of the black outfit, he wore a red costume that covered him almost completely. His demon mask was twisted and grotesque, with lifelike blood trailing down both cheeks. His red suit perfectly depicted the muscles that lay beneath the skin, almost like the “demonica” had been skinned alive before stepping out to fight. His outfit was still formfitting, and I was pretty sure it was a dude below—mostly because Nolan seemed sure women didn’t fight—but it was pretty hard to tell for sure.
“Fallen Angel is our reigning champion,” the robotic voice shouted again. “Undefeated in his last forty fights and skilled in at least eight fighting disciplines and twenty weapons. This is going to be one insane fight tonight, faceless.”
I flinched at that word. Even though it made sense, it bothered me on many levels. Faceless. Useless. Worthless. Homeless. I’d been called so many “less” names in my life that I had an instinctive dislike of that label being placed on me again, even in a not-so-derogatory way.
My existential crisis was interrupted by the appearance of the Fallen Angel.
Subconsciously I found myself leaning forward, to see the fighter better. I didn’t need to bother though, the Angel was tall—much taller than Demonica, who almost looked feminine now in comparison. Unlike the red, grotesque appearance of the first fighter, the second one was dressed in black with huge silver wings detailed across his broad shoulders.
“Demonica doesn’t stand a chance,” Nolan muttered, angling his head so that he could speak without being overheard. “He’s too cocky, makes too many dumb mistakes.”
“Oh yeah?” I replied without thinking, until Nolan jabbed me in the ribs.
“What did I say about not talking?” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “As dark as it is, you can probably pass as a dude…” I could fucking feel his eyes running down my body “...an underdeveloped, weak, kinda girly dude. But still. It’s better for everyone if no one notices you’re a chick. Let alone you.”
I snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I wasn’t a total moron; I whispered it.
“Violet,” Nolan growled in a tone edging past exasperated and into angry. Rolling my eyes, I mimicked zipping my lips, but he still made a vexed grunt.
A long pause ensued, within which the black-clad robot-dude blathered on with more fight stats to hype the crowd up. Not that they needed it when Fallen Angel was a clear favorite. Lots were cheering for him. A couple of spectators even sported imitation wings on the backs of their black hoodies. Who were all these people?
“This network of tunnels runs for miles,” Nolan whispered, answering my silent questions. “People come from all over the Switzerlands to compete here. All over the world, if they can afford it. They’re not all students, if that’s what you were thinking.”
That was exactly what I’d been thinking. Creepy.
“That’s another reason anonymity is so important. If people knew how many royals were down here, unguarded…” Nolan gave a small shrug, and I nodded. Made sense. Nolan and Jordan were both here, which meant…
“Rafe’s here somewhere, isn’t he?” I couldn’t keep the words inside my mouth, despite the sharp glare Nolan shot me. When all you could see were someone’s eyes, it amplified things like glares.
“Somewhere,” Nolan grudgingly admitted. “We split up when we arrive; otherwise it’d be pretty fucking obvious what each other’s personas were. Safety lies in anonymity, new girl.”
I shrugged. I’d figured as much, and really, this wasn’t crazy different from the tournaments I’d attended—and entered—back home. In a world where breaking the law meant death, not a fine or imprisonment, it was too damn risky not to adopt some level of identity concealment.
Both combatants drew their weapons, and I could already pick the winner based on how they held the katanas—traditional Japanese style blades with super sharp edges. Demonica’s handle and guard was red, Fallen Angels was black and ornate, and my fingers itched to touch either of the beautiful pieces.
The crowd roared, and regardless of what Nolan had said, the smaller fighter had a lot of support.
I wanted to ask a million questions, but I got the feeling I’d pushed Nolan as far as I could. Instead, I just bit down on the inside of my cheek and soaked up every little detail I could. When I got my chance to enter a fight, those observations could damn well save my life.
The fight began, and soon the whole room rang with the clang of steel on steel. It was a heady, intoxicating sound, and I bit back a groan of anticipation. My whole body thrummed with excitement, though, and I scarcely dared to breathe for fear of missing a moment. Nolan had positioned us well, with uninterrupted views of the fighters.
Demonica was putting on a good show. I could see why he held such prestige, but Nolan was right. He put too much focus on showboating and not enough on getting the job done. Fallen Angel would have this won in a matter of minutes.