#pit fighting

A punk through and through, you wore your rebellion like a second skin—leather jacket scuffed from too many fights, chains clinking with every step, tattoos winding up your arms like battle scars. The people here knew you, respected you, maybe even feared you a little. But fear was just another form of admiration, wasn’t it?

And then there was Vi.

You’d heard whispers about her before you ever met her—Stillwater’s ghost, the pit-fighting legend, Vander’s lost girl. She carried her past like an anchor, wrapped in bruised knuckles and barely-contained fury.

The first time you saw her, she was knocking a guy twice her size out cold in the ring, her signature gauntlets absent but her fists just as devastating. She stood there, shoulders rising and falling with adrenaline, a grin splitting her face like she hadn’t just broken someone’s nose.

You leaned against a rusted railing, lighting a cigarette. “Not bad, Pink.”

She turned, eyes locking onto you—eyes sharp enough to cut. “That supposed to mean something?”

You exhaled smoke, smirking. “Means you can throw a punch. But can you take one?”

That’s how it started—an unspoken challenge, a rivalry laced with something deeper, something electric. You clashed in the pit, fists flying, bruises blooming like warpaint. She fought with the precision of someone who had everything to prove. You fought like you had nothing to lose.

It was a dangerous balance.

But the fights were just the surface. The real war happened in late-night walks through Zaun’s twisting alleys, where she asked about the anarchy symbols inked into your knuckles, and you traced the “VI” tattoo under her eye with your fingertips.

“You ever think about leaving this place?” she asked one night, voice rough from exhaustion, blood dried at the corner of her lip.

You shrugged. “Zaun’s in my bones. Running won’t change that.”

She hummed, staring out over the flickering city lights. “Yeah. I get that.”

There was a quiet understanding between you—two fighters, two lost souls, both too stubborn to break, too damaged to heal.

One night, after a particularly brutal match, you found her sitting on the edge of a rooftop, knuckles raw, shoulders slumped.

“You keep hitting walls like that, you’re gonna break before they do,” you muttered, sitting beside her.

She scoffed. “Ain’t the first time.”

You sighed, nudging her boot with yours. “Vi.”

She glanced at you, eyes dark, guarded. “What?”

You hesitated, then reached out, fingers ghosting over the cut on her cheek. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just let you touch her, let you see her—past the bravado, past the scars.

“I’m not gonna tell you to stop fighting,” you said softly. “But maybe… fight for something that won’t kill you.”

She exhaled sharply, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “And what the fuck is that supposed to be?”

You smirked, leaning in just enough for your breath to brush her lips. “You tell me, Pink.”

And then, just like that, she kissed you—hard, desperate, like she was trying to pull the fight out of you and into her.

But you weren’t fighting this.

Not this time.

His fight was scheduled to be the last one of the night, the grand finale. A duel between two mages, a once in a lifetime spectacle for everyone in the building. He hadn’t seen his opponent, but he had overheard some conversation when he was led to the holding area. Apparently the betting pool had him at 26 to 1 odds of winning, which wasn’t a good sign. Dread began to creep up his spine and the boy turned his attention to the current fight, hoping it would distract him. 

The current combatants were two men, convicts. They were both slated for execution on the same day and were offered a chance at amnesty if they both fought in the pit. Whoever survived the fight would be allowed to walk free, and neither of them were going to make it easy for the other. A chain roughly ten feet long connected them at the waist, making it so that there wasn’t much room to fall back or give ground. Both were forced onto the offensive and both looked like they were half an inch from death.

One of the fighters, a short stocky man, was bleeding heavily from a gash on his forehead and had one eye almost swollen over. The other, a taller man with long limbs, was sporting a broken arm and had to limp when he moved. They were both covered in bruises and cuts and were obviously hurting. Despite that neither of them were willing to back down, and the crowd was eating up the brutality.

The shorter man lunged forward, slamming his body into the taller man and sending them both to the ground. They struggled, arms and legs flailing as they each fought to get an advantage. After a moment the taller man was able to straddle his opponent. Without a moment’s hesitation he began to pummel the shorter man, raining blows down onto his head with the ferocity of a wild animal. Blood spurted into the air and after a solid minute the shorter man stopped struggling. The taller man didn’t stop his assault and continued on pummeling his now dead opponent. Finally, when the shorter man's face was almost entirely caved in, the taller man was pulled off of the body by two of the pit’s guards. He was pulled away as the crowd screamed and chanted, blood lust almost emanating from their bodies. 

Lucas watched the entire ordeal with wide eyes. He had seen and suffered acts of violence, bloodshed for the sake of bloodshed, many times in his life. This was something else, something worse. The moment he stepped into the pit he would be facing down another mage. A mage that was most likely stronger and tougher than him. A mage that would be both willing and able to kill him. When he had walked into the pit he convinced himself that he might be able to walk away, that if he puts up a decent fight and then lets his opponent beat him into unconsciousness that would be enough. Now the crowd was in a frenzy, and Lucas could feel in his bones that only one of them would be walking out of this. He could also feel that it wouldn’t be him.

“Nervous eh?”

The slurred voice of Devran pulled Lucas out of his mind. His master’s had been enjoying the night, drinking and eating while they watched from the waiting area. It was arguably the best seat in the arena. They were also both in a good mood, their riskier bets had all paid off and the fights had been good up to now. Maybe he could appeal to them, beg them to stop this.

“Master Harol-”

“Shut it kid.” Harold cut him off. “I know what you’re going to ask and the answer is no. I was already paid for the fight and if this crowd hears I backed out and screwed them out of their finale? They’ll have my head on a pike. I’d focus on figuring out how you’re going to win instead of trying to weasel your way out.”

With that Harold took a long swig from his tankard and waved Lucas away. The boy obeyed, sulking to another corner of the room. His mind was racing. He wasn’t a fighter, and he only had a few minutes to figure out how to be one. Once the pit was cleaned out and the audience back from collecting their bets it would be his turn. 

His magic began to flare, energy flowing through his body until it stopped at his wrists. Lucas grunted, taking a deep breath and forcing the magic to dissipate. He couldn’t afford to lose control now. If there was any chance of him winning this it would be because he made sure he had every possible advantage going for him. Having his magic backfire on him wouldn’t aid that plan.

A few more minutes passed and Lucas was still far from anywhere close to ready. Unfortunately time wasn’t on his side. Harold walked up behind the boy and lifted him to his feet before unlocking his shackles and all but dragging him to the gate. The metal bars blocking the way into the pit were raised and Lucas shot Harold one last desperate glance. The man looked down with a blank expression and then shoved the mage through the gateway into the arena proper. 

The gate slammed closed, trapping Lucas inside the pit. He looked around frantically, searching for any avenues of escape. He found none and his eyes eventually settled on the only other person in the pit with him, his opponent. He was taller and far more toned than Lucas was, which didn’t come as a surprise. He also had an air of confidence that Lucas was sorely lacking. 

Their eyes met, and the man shot Lucas a glare that caused the boy to fold in on himself. There was a cold determination in his man’s gaze that sent shivers down the boy’s spine. The message was clear, Lucas should expect no mercy tonight. 

A loud voice pulled Lucas’ attention away from his opponent. “Ladies and gentlemen I hope you’re all situated because our grand finale is about to begin! We have a very special treat for you my lovely audience because tonight you will witness a once in a lifetime event! Tonight, you all get to watch not one, but TWO mages duke it out in this very pit!”

The crowd exploded, excitement and bloodlust filling the air. 

“Now for those of you who may be concerned about two master magic wielders being in the same building I assure you we have invested in some...extra security tonight.”

The announcer gestured and Lucas followed him. The boy turned around and froze, his eyes widening in fear. Situated among the top seats of the area was a man pointing a crossbow directly at Lucas. The silver tipped bolt and half mask marked the man as a witch hunter. Lucas gulped and took a hesitant step to the side. The man tracked his movement flawlessly, the tip of the bolt always pointed directly at the boy. Lucas turned and saw his opponent looking backwards. Sure enough another witch hunter had his sights trained on the bigger man. 

“Yes ladies and gentleman those are indeed genuine witch hunters. Their job will be to make sure you fine people are protected from any nasty tricks those mages down there might pull. Give a round of applause would ya?”

The crowd obliged and a loud cheer erupted from the stands. Neither of the hunters even blinked at the noise, their focus solely on the two mages in the pit. Lucas and his opponent turned their attentions back to each other as the announcer spoke one last time.

“I think we kept you waiting long enough, without further ado...LET THE GAMES BEGIN!”

The man sprung into action, pulling his right arm back and then flinging it forward in a throwing motion. Lucas yelped before diving to the side, three small projectiles whistling past his ear. He looked back and saw three icicles embedded in the arena wall. Lucas gulped before turning back around to face his opponent. The man was almost on top of Lucas, his fits encased in a thick layer of ice. The boy barely had enough time to roll to the side, the man’s fists slamming into the ground where Lucas’ head used to be in an explosion of ice shards.

Lucas scrambled away, scrawling on all fours before stumbling upright. He barely had a moment to catch his breath before he heard an angry shout from behind him. Pivoting on his heel Lucas saw the other mage running towards him, his right hand encased in a sharp blade of ice. The man swung at Luca’s neck and the boy almost threw himself to the ground to avoid it. The older mage kept up the assault, swinging wildly at Lucas while the boy dodged desperately. Luckily it seemed like the older man knew about as much as Lucas did when it came to fighting. His swings were slow and clearly choreographed giving Lucas plenty of time to move out of the way. Despite that the younger mage could feel himself tire out. He needed to get some space, a few seconds to catch his breath and gather his bearings.

Lucas channeled his magic into his hands, the familiar burn filling his veins. Energy flowed into his fingertips, and when the older mage went for another wild swing Lucas thrust his arms forward, creating a small explosion. The man flew backwards, his clothes and hair singed from the blast. Lucas moved backwards, putting as much distance as he could between himself and his opponent without boxing himself against a wall. 

Lucas watched the ice mage stand up, an appropriately cold look on his face. The boy gulped, he was hoping he could try and plead with the other man but right now that seemed unlikely to work. Still, he might as well try.

“Please,” Lucas called out desperately. “I don’t want to fight you”

The man responded by throwing his arm forward in and underarm motion. Long shards of ice materialized on the ground as he did, creating a line of razor sharp icicles that grew towards Lucas. The boy ducked down, the tip of an icicle embedding itself where his head had been a moment ago. The ice mage repeated the motion, creating waves of ice in whatever direction Lucas tried to move.

Lucas was getting boxed in, the space he had to maneuver shrinking as walls of ice cut him off. He needed an out soon. Waiting for the man to commit to another attack Lucas began to gather magic in his hands again. When he saw the ice wall begin to materialize he flicked his fingers outwards, creating a shockwave that broke through one of the ice walls and allowed him to get away. Once he was in the open Lucas turned and tried to reach out again.

“We don’t need t-”

A large chuck of ice slammed into his stomach, cutting him off and sending him to the floor. Lucas coughed, blood coming up with spit. So that was it then. The only way he was getting out of here was if he fought, if he killed the man in front of him. The thought of it made his stomach churn, but whatever sense of self preservation he still had forced him to act. Gritting his teeth Lucas channeled energy into hand before shooting it out forwards. A bolt of lightning arced from his fingers and the older mage barely had time to put a barrier before it struck him. Ice shattered and the man stumbled back, dazed and off balance. 

Deciding he needed to keep his momentum Lucas clenched his fists, letting magic build until small fireballs materialized from his palms. The fire burned his skin, but he let them grow bigger and hotter. Once they were the size of small melons he threw them towards his opponent. The older man dived out of the way, the fireballs barely missing him before hitting the wall and burning out. Some of the flames licked the faces of the front row audience, but they didn’t seem to care.

The crowd was roaring with excitement, each display of magic seeming to rile them up further. Some had taken sides, chanting their support for their preferred combatant. The crowd didn’t know either of the mage’s names, but nicknames quickly developed. One patron was leaning over the barrier separating the ring from the stands, yelling at ‘ice-man’ to get up. Another shouted support towards Lucas, telling ‘hot-shot’ that she had a lot of money riding on him. 

Both mages eyed each other. Lucas was already preparing his next attack and ‘ice-man’ prepared to defend himself. The younger mage shot out another lightning bolt and the man rolled to the side, the bolt grazing his shoulder. He responded by forming several small icicles in the air and throwing them at Lucas, who ducked beneath them at the last moment. Lucas summoned a pillar of flame and sent it towards his opponent, preventing him from gaining any ground. 

The back and forth continued and neither mage seemed to gain any ground. Shards of ice and arcs of lightning flew across the small arena. Lucas’ opponent would keep trying to close the distance between them while Lucas desperately fended him off. The stalemate dragged on, and both of them were getting desperate.

The fight had only gone on for around ten minutes, but Lucas felt like he had been in the arena for hours. Sweat soaked his hair and he could feel every part of his body protesting the intense use of magic. He just wanted to lie down and rest, just for a moment. Unfortunately his opponent wasn’t going to give him the chance. The ice mage was rushing towards him, a solid blade of ice covering his right hand. Lucas began to channel his magic again, but nothing happened. His magic was spent, and the realization hit him right as the older man was within striking distance.

A sharp pain blossomed from Lucas’ side, and he looked down to see his opponent’s ice blade piercing his body right above his thigh. A deep, biting cold began to spread from the wound and Lucas could only shiver and gasp as the ice mage twisted his arm, driving the blade deeper before breaking it off of his hand. The boy turned his gaze back to his assailant.  The man’s eyes were filled with a cold determination and he drew his arm back. Ice covered his hand again and he sent a haymaker flying towards Lucas’ face. 

The boy was sent flying backwards, his body slamming heavily onto the ground. Stars danced across his vision and he could feel blood gushing from his now broken nose. The cheering of the crowd filled his ears, none of them seemed to care that he was dying on the floor. The shard of ice was still embedded and all he could feel was the cool. The skin around the wound was covered in a thin layer of frost and it felt like the blood in his veins was freezing solid. Lucas’ breath began to slow, and soon he started to slip away. His vision darkened, his body shuddered, and then consciousness failed him.

              -------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hell of a show eh?”

“Yeah, too bad the rat went down though. Was feeling lucky, put down a few coppers on him.”

“Really? Well you’ve always been shit at gambling.”

Harold and Devran shared a chuckle as they walked through the hallways of the arena building. They were both fairly intoxicated, stumbling and swaying as they heard towards the holding cells. While Devran may have lost his bet, the payday they got from the fight far outweighed the loss and both men were in quite high spirits.

“Think the little shits still alive?” Devran asked, slurring his words slightly.

“I dunno, maybe.” Harold paused for a moment before continuing. “If he aint I think we still managed to make a profit off him overall.”

“Really? Well that's good at least. Can’t say I’ll be sad to see him go.”

“You know you’ll miss him.”

Devran scoffed. “Really? Why’s that?”

“Won’t have anyone to kick around when you’re bored. He was always good for that at least.”

They shared another chuckle. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

They continued the rest of the walk in silence. It wasn’t long until they reached the cell they were looking for. Lucas was lying on one of the benches in the cell, still unconscious, while the ice mage sat on the other. His attention was focused on the boy, and he gave Devran and Harold the barest of acknowledgements when they entered the cell.

 “Well done out there, really gave the rat a beating.”

The man didn’t respond and Devran scowled before spitting at his feet. Harold walked over to Lucas and placed two fingers on the boy’s neck. He focused and after a moment he felt a faint pulse. He nodded his head before reaching into his stachel and pulling out a small vial. It was the same stuff that Devran had given Lucas on the trip to the city, and without delay Harold opened Lucas’ mouth and poured the liquid down his throat.

Nothing happened at first, but soon enough Lucas began to sputter and cough. With a deep gasp the boy awoke, sitting up and looking around confused before he noticed Harold and Devran.

“There you are kid. Welcome back to the land of the living,” Harold said with uncharacteristic warmth. “You did good out there, real good. Good enough to earn yourself a few days rest. We’ll be hanging around the city for a while, have some deals I want to pursue. While we’re here you’ll get the good stuff. Warm food, a bed, I’ll even keep Devran away from you. Sounds good huh?” 

Harold didn’t wait for a reply. He reached out his hand and Lucas flinched before it settled on the top of his head. Harold ruffled the boy’s hair in a way that could almost seem affectionate before turning around and leaving the cell. Devran gave Lucas a neutral look before also taking his leave. They locked the door behind them and as their footsteps faded away Lucas turned to his cellmate warily. 

The older mage looked at him before holding up his hands in a placting gesture. “Easy kid, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Lucas wasn’t convinced. “You almost killed me out there.”

The other man rolled his eyes. “No I didn’t. Trust me if i wanted you dead you would be dead.”

“You stabbed me!” Lucas said, his voice almost rising to a yell. “You stabbed me and left me to freeze to death on the floor!”

“I stabbed you and left the blade in so you wouldn’t bleed out,” the man replied calmly. “Yeah sure it was cold, but not enough to freeze you from the inside out.”

Lucas still wasn’t convinced, and he slid into a corner of the cell, his arms wrapping around his legs protectively. Both mages stared at each other for a few minutes. The silence grew until eventually before Lucas decided to break it. “You didn’t need to punch me that hard.” 

“Yes I did! my win needed to look convincing. If it didn’t the crowd would have complained about the match being rigged and we’d both pay the price.” The older mage sighed before softening his voice a little. “I was just trying to make sure we both got out alive. Besides, I had a feeling you weren’t exactly a stranger to pain.”

Lucas didn’t respond and simply looked at the man. Up this close and without the distraction the fighting he noticed a lot more. He noticed the scars on the man’s arms, almost identical to the ones on his own. He noticed the man’s sunken eyes and gaunt face. He noticed the collar around his neck, familiar looking runes etched along its surface. He noticed the burns that his own attacks had left. He noticed how two of the man’s fingernails were missing. 

“This?” the man asked, holding up the afflicted fingers. “My master did this to me before the fight, said it was an ‘incentive’ to perform well.”

Lucas nodded, a sense of understanding formed between them. “My name is Lucas,” he said softly.

“Finch”

They fell into silence again, this time far more comfortably. A few minutes passed and Lucas felt himself dozing off before hearing Finch call out.

“Hey Lucas, how long have you been with those two?”

Lucas paused, thinking for a moment before responding. “Five years.”

Finch nodded, and then asked a question.

“You want to get away from ‘em?”