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Her speed also came at a cost. She was burning through more energy, by darting and rolling around Trevor’s attacks. At one point she stayed in place a second too long, and Trevor grabbed her leg when she tried to kick him. She scratched towards his face but he held her at arm’s length and then threw her across the room. She tumbled through the air like a cat, landing on her feet in a crouch, before charging at him again. But he was ready for her. He feigned with his right fist, which she avoided easily, but then struck hard with his left, and the blow connected. It was like she’d sprinted straight into a wall of concrete. Her neck snapped back and her legs crumpled. Trevor slammed his fists into the ground as she rolled out of the way, leaping around his arm and crawling up behind him to wrap her arms around his neck from behind. He threw her off him and then charged after her. This time she ducked away, towards the shell of a car against the far wall. She dove through the window and disappeared. Trevor tore open the rusted metal with his fingers, ripping off the door and then picking up the vehicle to look beneath it.
Tate shouted from above, where she’d been hanging on to the ceiling beneath the second floor, and scratched deep gouges down his back with her fingernails. Trevor’s eyes went wide with pain, and his face contorted in anger. He grabbed the car door and hit her with it, swinging like a tennis racket. The metal dented and Tate was flung back much harder, tumbling across the floor. This time she didn’t get up as quickly. When she stood, it looked like she had to reassemble herself, stretching her joints back into position. There was a dangerous look in her eyes, and I had a feeling that this was no longer just a game. They could do each other serious injury if they kept going like this. Tate would heal until she ran out of blood, then she’d be forced to escape or forfeit. Or she’d find something sharp and end the fight more quickly. Luckily, it wouldn’t come to that.
Someone was shouting, pointing at Trevor as he stepped back into the spotlights. Cries went up, chanting “first blood!” until Augustine stood and raised his hands. He jumped down from the balcony and called both fighters to the center for inspection. Trevor’s wounds were still bleeding, soaking from his back down his legs and staining his footprints as he walked. Tate’s white dress was splattered with his blood, and her fingers and hands stained red. She licked them off, smiling maliciously, preparing for Augustine to declare her the winner. Instead he paused in front of her, passing his thumb across her lower lip, then waving his fingers beneath his nose. She touched her lip, and her eyes widened when she saw the purple stain of elite blood.
“That’s not fair,” she said. “He used a weapon.”
“He responded to the environment,” Augustine shrugged.
“Still, I got him first.”
“Probably,” Augustine nodded. “Unless you were already bleeding, and that’s why you retreated into the shadows under the ledge so I wouldn’t see.”
“But I could have got him earlier,” she pouted. “You know I could’ve. I was just stalling, to give you a good show.”
“But you didn’t,” Augustine smiled.
“So, is it a draw?” I asked.
Trevor bent down and whispered something to Augustine. He nodded, then raised Tate’s arm and declared her the winner. She took a bow and blew kisses, then they joined us at the side entrance.
“What just happened?” I asked.
“Trevor conceded,” Augustine said. “Tate’s right; it’s impossible to tell for certain whether she bled first. Other than her own integrity, taking her word for it, which wouldn’t satisfy the crowd. A tie is no good for anyone, as everybody feels like they lost. And Trevor’s blood is more profusely visual. To the crowd, Tate is the winner, they saw it with their own eyes. To counter that belief and let Trevor win on a technicality, a nearly invisible drop of blood that few but an elite could spot and smell, it would have caused some frustration. We gave them a good show, we proved the concept. Nobody died.”
“So, are we good then?” I asked.
“One more thing,” Augustine said. He took out a small thimble, with a curved metal barb, and used it to pierce his own wrist. The elixir started to bubble up to the surface immediately, but Gemma caught it in a large mug and handed it to Trevor. He grimaced, but drank it down. The change was faster this time. As we watched, Trevor seemed to melt away, like an ice cube left on the table, shrinking layers of muscle, skin and bones that evaporated away in a cloud of steam and sweat. His brow contorted in pain and he gasped for breath, doubling over and shaking. Nathan wrapped a heavy towel around his shoulders. The bruises, which had faded, blossomed to life, like purple fireworks erupting across his body. Then the elixir started to work. He took another shaky breath, then stood up again.
“You ok?” I asked.
“Ask me again tomorrow,” he said, clutching his ribs.
Augustine led him back out into the open again, raising his hands, and the crowd celebrated him. Though this time it felt more like sympathy or disappointment. He was still a large man, comparatively speaking, but compared to his previous size he looked small and weak.
“In a real battle, I’d have had a sword, and it wouldn’t have lasted three seconds,” Tate grumbled.
“Thank you,” I said. “For going easy on him.”
That seemed to mollify her a bit, and she was smart enough to realize I was just placating her. The truth was, they both looked a little shaken from the fight. Now that Trevor was himself again, and no doubt feeling the pains of both his transformation and the beating he’d just taken—I knew even unarmed, an elite could pierce a ribcage or skull and easily extract a heart or brain from a common. He’d never faced an elite, not really. Not like this. But few ever had, because one punch should have been all it took to take down any challengers.
But Tate too seemed unnerved. I wondered if she’d been around long enough to see real brutes, from the early wars. She hadn’t seen the ones in Denvato, who were much bigger. Still, the potion had been enough to make Trevor somewhat of a contender. If not a threat, still maybe a greater challenge than she expected. I wondered if this was also part of Augustine’s plan, to show her that the elite weren’t as powerful as they assumed, to reduce overconfidence or recklessness by showing their weaknesses. I had a feeling Tate would use this experience and be more careful going into battle than she would have been otherwise. Trevor had managed to draw blood after all, even if just a drop.
Luke and Camina joined us as the crowds filtered out towards the exits.
“I hope that ass-kicking earned us a ride home at least,” Luke said.
“A deal is a deal,” Augustine answered, though he was looking at me shrewdly, no doubt confirming our agreement.
“You should travel in the daytime. Secure your allies and resources. Tate and I will join you later.”
“They won’t be happy seeing you show up. Meet us in Algrave. I’ll head there first and make sure you’re safe.”
“Thoughtful of you,” Tate said, though she didn’t mean it.
“The rest of the details you can work out yourselves. I suspect you’ll have more joining you, eager for their own taste of blood and battle, after tonight’s showing. Let it settle, Gemma and the others will put a quiet word out and finish preparations tonight. You should leave at dawn. In the meantime, I suggest getting a little sleep tonight, if you can. It’s been an honor to welcome you in the strip. I hope you’ve had an educational experience, in our little slice of paradise.”
9
