WHO IS WORTHY?

Harsh lights lead the way down the wide tunnel and into the arena cavern. Huge stone pillars ringed around, supporting the ledges from where spectators could stand and watch from the relative safety of the heights. There were no chairs or resting places carved from the smooth walls; it was decided that any spectator should be ready to move or duck at a moment's notice. Outside, the sun had began to sink beneath the mountain peaks, but within the arena it was bright as day. Huge racecourse-style lights paneled the vaulted roof.

The ground level belonged to the fighters, stretching twenty-five paces from north to south and east to west, and perhaps a hundred feet from floor to ceiling. Four gates opened at each end of the ring, and two of the newly elected House prefects stood sentry at each one, eight in all. They were given cue-cards and took turns reading exhaustive lists of conditions and fouls, voices projecting to the highest reaches of the cavern.

Don't fight dirty. Don't break bones; at least don't do it on purpose. When a prefect said stop, it meant stop. These were the rules, in essence.

All the while, people kept coming, in packs, trios, couples, or alone, until the trickle of students became a river. There was chanting in the stands, some booing, and rustles of early aggression as more and more spectators arrived, packing into every gap to witness the slaughter. Scorch marks and cuts in the pillars remained, scars of former battles. The clamor built and built until it reached its pitch, a sea of faces filling the walls. People with drinks. People with signs.

The last prefect in turn walked to the middle of the ring, holding up a blood red ruby set into a gold clasp. Some old heirloom of the Academy.

"The rules state that whoever holds this brooch will be our next champion." The prefect bent to place it lightly on the ground and stepped away. "If that's you, then come and take it."

Cailin swallowed hard after speaking, glad to return to her place by the gate. Just standing here with the entire school's eyes on her sent her nerves spiraling. She felt wired, adrenaline picking up with every roar of the crowd. She was stiff as a statue in her distinguished prefect uniform, eyes hard as she scanned the crowd. Dad liked to brag about his golden days in the arena, re-enacting every strike and blow and kick, always keeping her on the edge of her seat with new grisly details every telling. Ridiculous stuff, like his arm getting pulled clean off. "Did you ever win?" she'd asked once.

"Please. I was unstoppable."

"You were the champion?" She still remembered how his mouth twisted, like he'd tasted something sour. He reassured her that he'd fought the champion, and kicked their ass. With a little bit of coaxing and prodding, she got him to admit that he'd lost, and no, he was never champion, but in his mind it was more of a draw. Then a little bit later she'd asked, "Did Mom ever fight in the tournament?"

"Once or twice."

"Did she ever win?"

"Nope." That was all. Born to a couple of losers, then. That was all fine with her. Cailin clasped her hands together, feeling the rigid tension in her shoulders, waiting for the first of the challengers to step forward. Hearing dad's stories from twenty years ago was different from experiencing the brutality live; she couldn't bring herself to relax here, not when any minute now, the stone circle could explode with violence. Wasn't it a little barbaric to sit here and cheer on two bullies bashing the snot out of each other? She didn't want to hurt anyone; she didn't want anybody to hurt her; most of all, she didn't want to watch people hurt each other. If that made her a coward, or a buzzkill, or a square, then she was proud to be one. But she had to be here tonight anyway, to keep these idiots safe from themselves.

Her powers turned her bare hands into weapons. That made it her responsibility to keep them to herself, to keep her temper and turn the other cheek, because any fight could end with a stopped heart. It should be the same for anybody born with a gift, in her mind. She shifted uneasily in place, and prayed for this night to be over quickly.

Esther lived for the sport like she lived for music. They said football and boxing and hockey were violent; this was better, a refinement on the most ancient and raw sport there was. You couldn't get an experience like this anywhere else in the world, not on any sports channel or shock site, and front row tickets were free. There was something about mashing two human beings together like Ken dolls and betting on which one would break first. How much pain will a human being endure for a bit of applause? She got lost in the heart and soul of the crowd, and maybe even more than the spectacle of fighting, she loved to hear the 'ooo's and 'aaa's. The moment three thousand people hold their breaths at once, and the dome becomes so quiet all you can hear are the fighters.

Streaks of red, black, and white facepeaint shaded her cheeks; Summer House colors.

She got in early to get a good seat, on the lowest level, closest to the action. Esther kicked open a fold-out chair behind a chink in the protective barrier, split from a forgotten attack in a forgotten match, something she took as fortuitous, and let her black bag packed with snacks and water slip to the ground underneath her. In her hands, she cradled a two foot long cherry red plastic horn, which made the most monstrous, ugly groan like a horde of locusts burning through a field. A vuvuzela. Twenty blank dollars at a park gift shop in Alabama, and to her, only having to fork over blank money was as good as having received it for free.

Anyway, the horn was something of a necessity. She pressed her lips to the vuvuzela to drown out the boring ass prefects.

i'm by myself

What was the stupidest thing you'd ever done to impress somebody? A girl, a boy, a vague paternal figure, anyone. Would you try to race lightning? Or withstand three hundred gallons of water smashing you in the face? Evander lurked on the upper levels, but his long-seeing gaze could make out the names on the prefect ribbons. His condition made violence not an option. Truly a lover and not a fighter. But when you were good at something, you kept at it, whether you really enjoyed it or not. So like the rest of his siblings he could juggle axes and twirl knives and other cool party tricks, but if he was being honest, it scared him shitless to think about stepping out under those harsh stage lights.

Nothing lured him here. He usually avoided any scene where he might see blood. But he wanted to see Beata's strongest, with his own eyes.

A few years of competing in the competition was enough for Shepard. He had won one time out of dumb luck though had trouble defending it. The battle where he won, the blond had little control over the vast creativity his power gives him and won by pulling an idea out of his ass that somehow worked. Then lost half a year later because he still hadn't mastered his power. The rest of the battles leading up to today, he opted to watch, perfectly happy to say he had it once for a period of time.

Yet there he stood, next to another prefect, Cailin who he knew from classes and the ongoing investigation. Blue eyes checked out the audience, noting his siblings a few rows back from the front. As soon as his eyes landed on them, Eve waved excitedly, nearly falling over the poor sod who sat in front. The prefect was about to wave back when a vuvuzela drowned out any noise.

Blue eyes spun around, narrowing at the student in question. Oh. Okay, that definitely made sense. Joanna's niece, barely any younger than them if only by a few years. Though the main question was which one. His best friend introduced them from afar when they first met. One was edgy and one wasn't so edgy (or at all). Which was all and great, but he couldn't remember which one was which. Elia or Esther? It was a 50/50 shot. In all likeliness, he was dead either way.

But like hell was he going to deal with that noise the entire time.

Golden transparent wings sprouted from his back with sunlight brightness. Flying was the first thing he learned and was where he was most comfortable. Wi,th ease he glided the distance to Esther, floating in front of her with crossed arms. "Your horn please, Elia" A hand was outstretched. He wasn't about to snatch it from her, but if he had to he would. "You can have it back once this is over."

And the show was coming to her. The hoarse roar of the horn trailed away as the shadow of the prefect bounced up from the arena floor to land lightly in front of her, showering her in golden radiance. Jo's guyfriend, the new Headmaster's son, she'd seen him around the halls, on Esper, now naggingly taking up her field of view. And he came up to bother her? Her expression snapped from confusion to incredulous annoyance to complete bloodthirst in flash frames. Growing up around empaths, you never learned how to hide how you really felt. There was no point. Esther rose in her chair, horn angled up into his face.

"WOOP! WOOP! FUN POLICE!" she yelled through the mouthpiece, voice bursting out the other end with a static Darth Vader mask.

This wasn't a freaking spelling bee; they were here to watch people hit each other! Making noise was part of the whole fun. Not just that, but he couldn't even get her name straight. Elia! Did she look like Elia?! "I'm not hurting anybody, Sherman. Don't you have anything better to do?"

When it was starting to appear as if no one was going to enter the arena to claim the brooch that was left to sit on the ground, a short figure dressed in a dress bearing the emblem of Bloodline Lupo entered from the Spring gate, a kama held in each hand. Keir looked around the area as he entered, his confusion obvious on his face: where was everyone else? There were spectators aplenty, but where were all of the other fighters? When he failed to find any to engage, the effeminate Lupo walked towards the center of the arena where the brooch laid, before picking it up and starting to idly toss it up in the air repeatedly. He came here to earn the title of champion, but if no one else was going to show up, he'd just... take it. Keir's attention was drawn towards the stands when he heard Esther's vuvuzela sound. There was definitely more going on in the stands than there was in the actual arena right now, after all.

Despite the adrenaline that coursed through the boy's veins, he couldn't help but notice a rising lump in his throat. Nick had entered this competition twice before. The first year, his powers were uncontrollable, and the boy found himself disqualified for nearly ripping the poor girl's leg off as a feral dog. The second year, he had a determination. To beat his rival. He came close but...

A flood of embarrassment crashed over him as he recalled the failure. Some stupid kid with super strength knocked him out cold in the semi-finals before he could face that dumb Herman boy. Gritting his teeth, he stood at the Summer Gate, voice bland and dull while he read rules and regulations. His little sister, on the other hand, stood tall and proud, her voice directing the attention of a good portion of the crowd. Nick always called it cheating, using her gift to become the center of attention. It didn't matter what kind of pack it was, she was always there with the intention to command it.

"You're still competing, right Nicky?" Mary-Jane called over in a hushed tone between sentences. He answered with a swift nod, looking down at the papers once more. He wasn't going to lose this one. No. That brooch was his.

Before he could brood over his past loses, an alarmingly loud voice boomed even over the echoed chant of the prefects. His eyes glanced up and squinted to see past the brim of his glasses. While his eyesight wasn't the best, he spotted a familiar pair of wings making their way over to the noise. Blinking his eyes a few times, the morphed into a bird of preys, enhancing his vision. It was rare for him to use his gift like this but his curiosity got the better of him. Who was Shepard scolding now?

For a moment his heart skipped a beat, but it settled after the dark clothing filled his view. Despite the disappointment that it wasn't the right twin, his arms shifted into large wings and he too carried himself towards the kerfuffle.

"Sherman here doesn't know what fun is," the black-haired student chuckled. "Always got a stick up his ass. Wouldn't you agree, Esther?" He flashed a cocky grin at the blond prefect before landing and sitting pretty beside them. He couldn't help himself. Any chance to laugh in Shepard's face and he was in. Even if he had to go out of his way. "If you can't join us in the pit, why not raise some hell up here? It'll give Shep something to grumble about since he's too chicken to get his fists all bloodied."

As if they were just going to let wolf-him-her-they-xer run off with the breach that easily, disruptions aside, the arena was for watching all out brawls; and heck, if nobody else was going to volunteer as tribute...

Gabriel had put on his lousiest set of clothes for the occasion, some old raggidy tour t-shirt and sweatpants, nothing that he'd mind getting shredded. Green eyes glue onto the broach, one of the city's old heirlooms. His mom had one too, he knew, the old ugly necklace she never took off. His uncle had one too, probably to be passed down to sweet Mara.

It was only right that his family should take the old broach and add it to their collection.

Taking it was simple enough. It was only a matter of popping in close to the Keir kid and swiping it into his palm as it was tossed carelessly into the air. "Thank you!" He flashed a crude grin and disappeared again, phasing back twenty feet away.

And like that, the broach was his.

Of course, things weren't going to stay that easy, but he wasn't about to start things off on the wrong foot. Gabe kept a close eye on Keir, listening to the quiet rattle of needles in his flimsy pocket.

Keir paused when he didn't feel the broach fall back into his hand, followed by thanks as a student that'd appeared out of nowhere then re-appeared further away. At least now he had someone to fight.

Without another thought, Keir charged after Gabriel. Upon reaching him, he brought his leg up whilst turning, his foot headed straight for Gabriel's side. For the time being Keir'd left his kamas in the sort-of sheathes attached to his dress, where he'd placed them before picking up the broach. After all, if his opponent was going to use any weapons, why should he? That'd hardly be fair, and that was exactly how Keir intended to win this: fairly. Of course, use of his gift wasn't completely off the table when his opponent was seemingly teleporting around, but he wasn't about to try and maul him or something quite yet.

Keir wasn't going to let that broach walk out of here in the grasp of anyone else as long as he could still stand, though. He was more than prepared to fight until he could fight no longer. He wanted to win.

The Autumn prefect knew he had said something wrong the moment her faced flashed to a completely pissed look. No one got that angry over a horn. The girl made a similar face to Joanna when she was pissed and god damn was it terrifying. He forced his eyes to stay open and to not flinch away from the blasting voice coming from the horn, though a twitch of his eyes gave away annoyance. "Sherman?" He questioned, placing a hand on his hip and another on the horn, and was about to say something else when the last person he wanted to see showed up.

Oh, Esther. That made sense. No wonder she was pissed. Standing comfortably now, Shepard folding the wings behind his back, casting a glare Nick's way. Every single word coming from that boy's mouth pissed him off to no end. Did this asshole have anything else he wanted to do other than get in the way? Not join them? Chicken? Seriously, fuck this dude. Growling, Shepard wrapped his hand around the horn, pulling it sharply up and out of her hands, solar flames licking up his arm.

"First of all. The horn is a distraction, same way they don't let people make game distracting noises in sporting events." He explained, holding the horn with the hand furthest away. The crowd roared suddenly, and Shepard was quick to glance back. "And second, it really does cause harm. Keir had the broach and lost it because he was watching us." He gave her a stern look, then flickered a pissed glare Nick's way.

"You seem to forget that I was a champion, Nick. The same way you lost to someone I beat. If you have something to settle--name a time and place-- but not here. I have a job to do." A perfect caught his attention, and the blond tossed the horn their direction. Having achieved what he wanted to, Shepard's wings spread back out and he positioned himself ready to take off. "Try not to get knocked out this time, Nick."

Turning back to Esther, he added in an honest voice "Sorry for calling you your sister's name, Esther." His eyes seemed to be turning back to the battle happening below, knowing he would have to be the first person to get between a wolf and his opponent if things head south.

Scarlett walked down the hallway of the arena, the one that lead to the fighting platform. Her hands brushed through her hair, pushing the red strands up into a loose ponytail. Black leggings traced her legs and a shear maroon tank top covered her black undershirt. The fox-girl stood at the edge of the arena platform inspecting the current fighters. Some rando that seems to be phasing around the arena, teasing the other fighter. The other fighter. Oh god, a wolf. A giant Lupo emblem sewn on their clothing gave it away. Scarlett stepped into the ring, her nose wrinkling in a snarl-like way. At first this broach didn't mean much to her, the fight seemed interesting, but now she had a new motivation. To win for the sake of the Vulpes. "You Lupos are always so flashy." She snapped, shifting her gaze to the other fighter and back.

---

Why was this a regular for her? She was apart of the speed family, she should always be on time. Iris flash stepped to the entrance of the arena, flashing onto the platform where the other competitors already gathered. Her green eyes traced the red shine of the broach in one of the students hands. A single flash step took her to the side of the student. She used her surprise advantage to elbow the boys arm to loosen his grip, her other hand snatching the broach and a flash step backwards that made her phase a good distance away. She didn't know what was going on - or if the fight had even started. What were the rules, and did she just make herself the new target?

"Thank you!" Esther said as a giant fucking talking turkey or something swooped into the conversation to rescue her in the nick of time. She could hear the roar of the crowd, and the first victims coming into shape in the pit below, but she almost didn't care that Sherman's big bright yellow face was in the way as the two boys exchanged shots and insults. If there was anything that made her feel warm and gooey inside, it was being the centerpiece of a bitter argument. Violence was whipped cream on top. How lucky would she be if they started punching each other's beautiful faces in right in front of her?

The horn wrenching out from her grip brought her back down to earth, and anger flooded back in to fill the vacuum. She tipped the legs of her chair forward, arms waving uselessly at the horn that was held just out of reach. "Bull. That fruit loop wasn't going to keep that thing anyway and you know it," she protested, but the horn was already being tossed to another prefect. The freaking nerve...!

Esther tucked her wrists into her deltoids and made little bak-bak motions to accompany Nick's shit-talking.

"Sorry you didn't get into art school, Adolf."

reviving this shit through the power of a million disadvantages 'cause 24 hours has passed many times now

Before he knew what was happening, several more people had entered the arena. Just as he'd sent his foot into Gabe's side, someone else had appeared next to him to take the broach for herself and proceeded to practically teleport away. That was awfully familiar. Mild annoyance was visible on Keir's features as he took off running towards Iris, virtually forgetting about Gabriel almost immediately. Was this "fight" going to devolve into people grabbing the broach and running before it'd even begun? That was hardly befitting for someone aiming to be the arena's Champion. Once Keir was upon Iris he grabbed for the broach and tugged at it with one hand while his opposite elbow was used to strike her and push her back a little in the process, forcing her to release the broach into his grasp. His feet were planted firmly on the ground as he did this; if she didn't let go of the broach there was a very real possibility of her pulling him towards her after all. The whole move flowed as if rehearsed countless times, like an actor playing their part for the billionth time, now finally on stage for all to see.

Once Keir had the broach he hopped back and glanced around, trying to make sense of everyone else in the arena with him now. On top of the two teleporters, there was... a Vulpes. At least now he knew there was someone who would offer a fight instead of running away.