Chapter 41

As it turned out, the good fortune that I felt when I was sent all the way up to the 100th floor was misfortune wrapped in silk. The money that could be earned from the matches won in the lower levels, specifically above 50, was forfeit. Because I didn't win a fight on the 100th floor and simply got pushed to my position, I got 152 jennys from my first fight - barely enough to even scrounge up a soda from the vending machines.

A bit more annoying than that was the realization that everyone from 100 above was desperate to keep ahold of the free room that being this high got them. They looked at the newer rookies that got to this floor like an all-expense-paid buffet and they did anything to get their hands on us—specifically a girl who could be easily overlooked in favor of the hulking bodyguard at her side. I looked like my match could be a fluke - I looked like an easy target - and even more so, a very easily hated target.

"Mori Amori and Omi Katsuya, please report to stage A where your fight will begin."

The smell of clean sheets and stale air had barely hit my nose before the upbeat announcer clicked on through the speaker systems. I frowned, agitation making my skin itch. I hadn't thought about the way the announcement system would be broadcasting through the next 100 floors. The 200th and above would have their own systems but for now, we would all be able to hear who would be in that ring every moment.

This would be mean that Ichihiro would know exactly where I was - that I was here. He would know before I even found out where he was.

I cursed foully, turning sharply to make my way quickly down the sickly yellow hallways. People milled here and there, their eyes tracking me like cats watching an unattended bird. I didn't mind the looks, the gleefulness behind them. It was never a great sacrifice to be underestimated - not when it came to fighting. I didn't cherish the reputation. What I cherished was the feeling of winning, the look in their eyes right before they hit concrete. I liked watching as whatever hope they possessed before they got in front of me slipped away - it felt a lot like watching a child build a sand castle and then seeing the waves crash over it as they wailed nearby.

This could be good, Minoru whispered to me through our bond and I felt his presence grow closer as he picked up his pace to follow me. This goes both ways. We can know where he is-

I whirled, teeth flashing as I snarled up at him . And what happens when he turns tail and runs like the gutless coward he is? What then Minoru?

Whatever hopeful light in those dark eyes dimmed, his whole body sliding back from me in an undeniable wave of submission. He looked beaten - vulnerable in a way that made bile rise in the back of my throat. I had never seen him look so small - feel so small inside of my head.

And it was because of me. Because I couldn't help the way that my own hatred was running my life right now. I wanted to scramble back, reverse time to when it was just the two of us - when we had been forced to cooperate. There had been a gentle truce in place in the time that it had taken me to fully understand and develop my own powers along with him. It was like a machine finally working, going through motions that it had been programmed to run.

The problems didn't come in the beginning, when you're learning how to dance. It comes later when the steps have already been developed - it comes when you finally have the time to remember that the only thing holding you to this other person were the things that you had learned together - the need to finish something.

What would happen when I finally found Ichihiro? What would become of me after I had killed him? Worse - my stomach ached, a set of clammy hands gripping my neck - Worse was the thought of what I would be left with. I felt like a star slowly collapsing in on itself, turning and swirling terribly until I eventually burst apart.

I turned, unable to look at him anymore. I felt wretched - like a used cloth forced to walk and talk when all I was meant for was cleaning up messes. I felt like I didn't deserve the comforts of the 100th floor, the praise that would come with winning these matches. My insides warred, half of me wanting desperately to convince myself that if I lost Minoru that it wouldn't matter. Minoru was a part of me, he was leeching from me. Losing him would be -

Would be like losing yourself , a small, treacherous voice sang into my ear. My eyes snapped over to Minoru quickly, catching the flash of his eyes as they darted away. He had heard - heard my thoughts. When had I started wanting to hide so much from him?

Stay here , I finally snapped, watching as his eyes shuttered, his head dipping slightly. They don't allow weapons in the arena below level 200.

He wasn't a weapon. I wanted to slap myself. I never thought of Minoru as my weapon. We were two halves of one whole - two sides of one knife. If he was a weapon, then so was I.

I walked a bit faster, trying to get anywhere but where I was at.

"ALL RIGHT, EVERYONE!" The arena here was a lot like the ones on the lower floor, benches ringing the small fighting area below like a bowl ready for a dishing of rice. The only difference seemed to be the single ring in the middle and the large, overwhelming multi-screened tv just above us. The crowd was subdued, a few rowdy cheers with barely any real enthusiasm but that was to be expected. Most people seemed to think that my win was a trick - maybe I had paid off the ref. Maybe I had paid off the guy who was against me. Maybe I paid off both. My brothers would have been flattered on my behalf - imagine, a street urchin paying off another street urchin just to get a ring higher on the fight circuit. The amount of money that I would have to be loaded with would be astronomical.

"I'm not letting you win this one, pretty girl." I ignored him. The man I had been put up against was ropey - maybe a boxer or some sort of martial artist. He would have posed an actual threat to me a few months ago if I didn't have Minoru or my brothers. I was glad of that not being the case now since he was an obnoxious, foul excuse for the human race. He hadn't stopped chatting at me - half - flirting, half - threatening since I had gotten out here. I bit back a grimace as he gave a detailed description of his sexual prowess, trying to see beyond the glare of the lights above me and out into the sea of people. He had to be here. He had to have heard. He had to be here-

Spit landed, hot and thick along my ear, plastering the white strands to the side of my face.

I went still. Everything inside of me froze. I had been spit on before. It was a common favorite for the wealthy to spit on those who had dared to touch their silk pocket scarves.

But never so publicly.

The crowd roared and I couldn't tell if they were booing or cheering - maybe both. My insides twisted, my fingers shaking as they instinctively reached up to wipe away the thick, slimmy substance.

"You like that, bitch?" He wanted me to look at him. Guys like him got angry when people ignored them. Probably why he spit on me. I could hear the ref giving him a reprimand, telling him to save it for the fight. There would be spitting in the match? "You didn't pay me off, Mori Amori." Hearing him say my brother's name made me want to tear out his tongue. "I'm about to-"

I felt him before I saw him - the roar of his aura, the press of his eyes on my back. My eyes slid to the side, my fingers still coated in spit. Gold - gold so sharp that it cut through the resounding darkness that the glare of the lights created on the crowd.

"PUT IN YOUR VOTES ON WHO YOU THINK WILL WIN, FOLKS!" He was nothing more than a shadow, those cat-like eyes burning out from the gloom, the tips of his hair spiking away from his face like a crown of horns. He looked like a jungle cat among mice. He looked like he was about to strangle the life away from everyone around him. "OH NO! LOOKS LIKE THE ODDS ARE AGAINST MORI AMORI TODAY!"

Someone in the crowd gave a low, clear whistle. "GO GET AN OFFICE JOB, GIRLIE!"

I had heard worse.

"DON'T LET THESE CREEPS INTIMIDATE YOU!" Someone else called to the chorus of a dozen boos.

"SHE'S NOT GONNA MARRY YOU, YOU FUCKING SIMP!"

Hisoka Morrow was at my match. His eyes drifted dangerously to my curled finger, the spit shining dully in the overhead lights. If it was possible, his eyes shone a shade brighter, his pupils dilating and then narrowing. I felt his nen, felt the push of it as it reared its head. The people around him shivered, skittering away farther down the bench.

"Three rounds!" I finally turned, burying the hatred in myself deeper and deeper still. My skin felt icy, the chill inside of me pressing out like the cold from a closed ice chest. I had hate in me enough for the whole stadium - but it wasn't for the man in front of me. Maybe that was why it was so easy to not react - not leap forward and tear out his tongue with my bare fingers. "Three minutes per round decided by points or K.O." The ref's hand rose, slicing cleanly through the air. "Begin!"

For all his bluster, he didn't rush in. He stayed back on his side of the pad, his arms raised loosely in front of him, his face tense with gleeful determination.

My eyes drifted lower. His feet weren't planted correctly though.

"DON'T TAKE THIS PERSONALLY, SWEETHEART!" Someone jeered from the stands. Right as I closed the distance between us, my hands reaching out to stop his defensive swing.

I stared into his eyes, watching the color leech from his face as my hand tightened around his wrist, turning his skin an alarming shade of red. "You heard him - don't take this personally-" I grinned, my teeth pressing against the skin of my lips so lightly that I could feel the indent of my canines. " Sweetheart ."

The sound of his bone breaking, skin and muscle tearing away as the white of his radius broke through, mingled with the shocked gasps and screams of the audience. His screaming came a second later, an odd sort of delay happening as he shook, watching me snap his arm in half like a twig with that same pale, half-smile on his face. That always happened - an odd sort of defense that the body had when faced with immeasurable pain like your brain was giving you a moment to brace.

No one was catcalling anymore. No one was jeering. No one was cheering for me either - the domed room shaking with morbid fascination - bone-tight shock. They came to see people beat each other to a pulp - this was on the menu so I shouldn't have been surprised that no one ran out screaming hysterically. They were all degenerates - thrill-seekers that were either here to fight as well or too scared to do more than watch.

Big Mouth crumpled, my fingers releasing from their hold on him as he went down. I didn't want to keep him up - the thought of supporting him in any sense of the word revolting.

"SHE BROKE MY ARM!" He wailed, clutching at the grotesque body part. His breath came in flighty little gasps, his eyes rolling wildly. He wasn't passed out though. "SHE BROKE MY ARM!"

I sighed, stepping forward. His threshold for pain was actually rather high. The referee looked close to hurling. I crouched next to him, swatting away his feeble attempts to swat me away, his body crawling backward in awkward spurts as I slid down closer to him.

"Next," I started, eyes drifting to the audience once more. Ichihiro had to be here. Didn't he? "I'll tear out your tongue with my bare fingers. Tongues are actually pretty hard to get loose so it'll take me a while. I'll have to dig my nails in - probably closer to the back of your throat since that's where the root is. I'll have to dig and dig and dig-"

"MORI AMORI WINS BY K.O !" I blinked, glancing down to find the man slumped, the whites of his eyes hideously bare, his lids pulled wide in an expression close to a scream. He reminded me of a cartoon I had once seen of a drunkard passed out by the railroad - some odd story about someone who had wasted their lives away. In it, all his woes and trials had been turned into little jokes, heinous in a way that only ignorance could be.

No one cheered as I stood or as I got my ticket stating my win from the ref who shoved it at me like I was infected. No one cheered as I hopped off the stage and headed silently down the long hallway that led out of the building. I wasn't entirely sure that what I had just done was smart. Being underestimated had gotten me that match - I would almost bet on it.

I stared down at the flimsy piece of paper, the number at the bottom seeming like a serial code, not actual cash. I had never seen this much at once in my whole life. Imagine if we had just come here instead of -

"You let him off easy." I stopped, the dark of the hallway leading out to the main area before the arenas casting Hisoka in enough darkness to make him a shadow. His teeth flashed white and sharp as those eyes of his slid to me.

I slipped my ticket into my pants moving a bit closer so that we were only a few feet apart. He eyed the space like a cat calculating the distance between its next meal, his eyes sparkling with half-amusement, half-starvation. "I broke his arm," I stated, trying to keep my tone mild even as his eyes burned from my toes to the very tip of my head.

" One of his arms," he clarified and I watched as he made a conscious decision to lean a bit further against the far wall, relaxing back into a languid tilt. His eyes slid all along me, sharpening as I drifted a little bit nearer. "You could have broke his other one - That would have definitely made him pass out."

My lips slid closed, pressing tightly shut. He had a point.

"Instead - what were you saying?" His smile turned cruel, his eyes flashing to a deadly yellow like the sun when it realized it could burn the skin of humans. "Whispering sweet nothings? Telling him a little bedtime story-"

"I was telling him how I would cut out his tongue," I hissed, glaring up at him. In a blink, he straightened, his big body suddenly surrounding me as he towered above. I craned my head back, shivering as the scent of sweets engulfed me. He was everywhere, his eyes burning into me with an intensity that caught and held.

"Romantic," he purred. One of his fingers dragged slowly down my arm, leaving fire in its wake. "If I had known that you had a fetish for tongues, I would have offered you mine."

I forced my voice to stay steady, my eyes inadvertently sliding to his lips, watching as his tongue slid forward to run along his canines. "You want me to cut out your tongue?"

His smile was positively wicked. "If you want." He paused, head tipping to the side, his face dipping dangerously close. His next words shivered along my lips, warm and wet. "But I think it might serve you better with me."

I didn't know what I would have said. Maybe something along the lines of yes. Maybe I would have not said a thing, tugging him down to me so that we could continue where we had left each other in that hallway.

I guess I would never know because at that moment my eyes slid just beyond him and collided with a familiar pair of bland eyes, familiar oily black hair framing a waxy face. My blood roared, everything narrowing down. Ichihiro .

He turned and ran.