He needed to up his game. All he’s been doing for the past few weeks were paperwork and bargains. There hadn’t been any time to participate in his own rink, and by the time he decided to let loose a little he had grown a bit rustier than he would’ve liked. Then again, his opponent did inject a few serums that boosted the other’s agility and strength, but that wasn’t really an excuse on his part. What his magic could do was devastating, but it was hard to find the balance between killing someone too fast and having fun. Since he had gone into the black matches, naturally, it meant that there could only be one man alive. This time he had accidentally severed the man’s central vertebrae after nearly getting hit. Not a finger had been laid upon the other fighter before it was all over. The man died instantly and collapsed onto the floor. The match was over, and it was over far too soon for anyone’s liking.
It was disappointing to say in the least, but Griffin just shrugged it off and exited the rink. When he had fought constantly within his own underground system he had been so skillful with how he killed. The crowd would go wild every time he stepped onto the stage, but now he was often seen within the confines of his office. That made him feel like an old crow, but he tried not to think about it as he went outside where it was more secluded and quiet. The body would be dealt with, the area would be mopped clean per usual, and the days would go on.
Griffin found some sort of solace in the late night air outside. A cigarette was lit and stuck in between his lips as he enjoyed the chilled breeze that drifted by. He didn’t have to look over to know that someone else was nearby since his magic did it for him. “Comments? Concerns?” Griffin asked absently as he took out the cigarette to flick the ashes off the end.
Skylar had known that there was an underground fighting ring in the sanctuary, ever since he’d peered into that salamander’s mind and seen the punches thrown, heard the roar of a bloodthirsty crowd. It hadn’t taken him that long to find out where they were held, either. So it was only a few nights after the blackout had ended, a couple of weeks since he’d found out about the underground fights, that Skylar found himself in a much more crowded area than he’d ever like to be in, pressed up against a ring and watching two men step inside.
Death. The image was in Skylar’s head several seconds before it happened, and he watched with an impassive face as one of the men dropped to the ground like a bag of wet cement. It was impossible to hear anything over the din of the crowd, but Skylar could hear the cracking of the vertebrae in his mind, making him wrinkle his nose in disgust.
Deciding that he needed some space from all the people crushed against him, he turned and shrugged his way through the crowd, biting his tongue to keep himself from cursing at people who - for the most part - were admittedly much bigger than him. He didn’t need his psychic abilities to see how that would turn out.
To his surprise, as he finally reached the outside of the building, face twisted into a sour expression from having to elbow past so may people, he found himself being addressed by none other than the man who’d just won the fight he’d watched. “Curiosity, more like,” he drawled slowly, taking a step closer as he fished his own pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “That, and claustrophobia.”
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