Lying alone on her bed, Mayberry stared at the ceiling, grimly marveling at the experience of being a prisoner on Death Row. A soft knock on the door brought her back to her sad reality.
"Who is it?" she called out.
"Amy. May I come in?"
At least, it wasn't Treat visiting to gloat. "Yes."
The Goetia entered and stood beside May's bed. "We all heard about what happened. I hope Marchosias doesn't take his frustrations out on you during your bout."
May gave a glum smile. "Thanks, but, spoiler alert, he will."
"I wanted to ask you a question."
"Why did I do it?"
"No," he said. "Why do you limit yourself?"
That caught her off-guard. "What do you mean?"
"Marchosias told me you were tired when he had you doing push-ups in the gym that first day. I'm told you have superior strength, even when you were human. Why didn't you use it? Why limit yourself?"
May blinked at that. No one had ever asked her that, and the reason was soon apparent. "My parents, I guess. I was taught, as a girl, not to use my full strength and how to keep my temper, so I wouldn't hurt anybody with it. Guess I failed, huh? It just comes when I flare up."
"Flare up?"
"When I get all angry and glowy," she explained.
Amy nodded. "I understand. Your parents taught you to see your gift as a liability. Something to suppress for fear of the trouble and destruction it could cause."
"Were they wrong?" May defended. "I did lash out. I choked a student and threw her through a ceiling. She could've been killed at either time."
"And yet," he pressed gently. "Before you 'flared up' to defeat Martha, you used your strength to save your students."
"Yeah, because I...Because they needed my help. I had what I needed to save them."
"Exactly."
She was beginning to see what he was leading her to, but she could still see the obstructions in her path. "But, I'm only strong when I'm angry or afraid."
"May, this is Hell," Amy pointed out calmly. "Despair is its stock and trade, and business does very well, partially because many people, especially Sinners, create the supply. Have you seen any souls burning in lakes of hellfire lately?"
"No."
"You know why? Because there's no greater hell than what we make for ourselves. You think you must be threatened to use your natural gift, your strength. That it's some situational curse bestowed upon you." He shook his head. "The curse is a lie. When you, a demon, saved your students, you proved that you have control. You are free to give yourself permission to reconnect with that part of you. That good, blessed, and life-saving part of Mrs. Mayberry."
His words made her heart feel lighter, and a small smile peeked out of her. Yet, what was the talk for?
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.
He smiled. "Because although you're here to train, even if you can't finish that training, I don't want you to forget that you still have gifts, strengths to fall back on, and not just of brawn. Gifts that long served you, and in the end, will continue to serve you, as long as you have the confidence to call on them. Do you understand?"
Mayberry felt like she had just awakened from a long sleep. "I...I think so. Thank you, Master Yoda."
The Goetia looked confused. "But, my name is Amy."
Smiling with understanding, May said, "I know."
"Oh, I wish I had popcorn!" Treat gloated at Mayberry when she entered the gym. "He's going to flatten your ass, and I only wish I could take credit for it. Wait! I'll just lie and say I did!"
May didn't know what made her stomach twist more, seeing the Goetia, Ms. Treat, and Dark Mark assembled in the gym to see the fight or knowing they'd bear witness to the pummeling the wolf-demon would deliver.
The battlefield was a wide space in the center of the gym demarcated by four smaller mats placed on the "ring's" corners.
Amy and Seir stood by the corner designated for May, and Treat hovered by Marchosias'. Dark Mark stood by the salon's doorway, dispassionately leaning against its door frame.
The marquis stood calm in the confidence of his fighting prowess, giving himself a slight stretch to limber up. This also had the benefit of psyching out the Sinner, something May would admit.
For her part, she limbered up and tried not to let the signal to start the match shake her from her inner focus. She was in the wrong, she knew, but she could still redeem herself. She just had to show him that she didn't waste his time.
Just then, an unlikely inspiration popped into her mind; the title of the DVD she saw in Marchosias' bedroom: Fake It 'Til You Make It. She didn't have to knock him out-a tall order, in and of itself, but just fend off his attacks until he was satisfied...maybe. She might even get in a few hits herself.
The strategy gave her some hope as the marquis regarded her with grim eagerness.
"There is no need to expend my full might on you, but I will see how much you've learned from me...apart from things you have no business knowing. If you beat me, I will forgive your perfidy. But, if I win the bout, you will leave, not just my home and tutelage but our cause. For trust is at the heart of all of this, and your is sorely lacking!"
"I know! I made a mistake. I-I'm sorry," she appealed again. "I just wanted to stay! I just wanted to help!"
"Apart from your betrayal, the only mistake you made," he growled, stepping out onto the center of the "ring." "Was showing compassion in the field of battle that night. Such feelings are targets on your back. Tools to give the enemy what he needs to destroy you! At least take that lesson with you after I bounce you out on your ass! Come!"
She walked out, running defensive moves in her anxious mind, hoping she had the strength and speed to counter him.
The audience fell silent, both fighters assumed their stances, a few more seconds ticked by...and then it began.
Marchosias widened his arm span, looming to strike. May hunched low, watchful, and evasive.
'The Fury of The Lion. The Agility of The Goat. The Speed of The Serpent,' she reminded herself.
The marquis stepped forward, hand flashing out for her. He wanted to end this quickly, and a well-landed choke hold would do it.
May retreated a step and batted the paw-hand away. Then, she swayed, dodging when another clawed hand struck out and deflected another.
The marquis switched tactics to catch her off-guard, swiping and striking out to connect with her lower body. But, a swipe that came the closest was intercepted by a raised knee, buying May time to backpedal away again.
Such was the dance; attack, defend and retreat, advance and evade.
"Why do you run?" Marchosias asked mockingly while reaching out again. "The confident Chimera didn't retreat from Bellerophon."
May deflected the swipe. "That's why he wasn't back for the sequel."
"You can't dance away from the inevitable, Sinner. It will find you."
May couldn't tell if those words got to her, but her next block came up too slow, and the wolf took advantage of it, grasping her raised wrist and giving it a painful wrench.
He pulled her into his zone of attack and knocked the wind from her with three hard knee-lifts into her torso.
Favoring the pain, she backed off, again too slowly. He reached out for a head blow, and she twisted evasively, but the wolf-demon's claws found her hair, running through it until they snagged into her scrunchie.
He felt its resistance and yanked, snatching May from her hooves. He pivoted, turning the pull into a high swing by her hair. When he released, she flew past a delighted Treat and collided with the far wall behind her.
Shaking off the dizziness, May looked up to see her master approach.
This wasn't working. Marchosias wanted to make an example of her, and by being defensive, she was giving an experienced fighter like him the one thing he needed most. Time. She had to fight back to end this quickly, for good or ill.
Getting up and taking a breath, she returned to her comfort zone: analysis. He was bigger and stronger than her; if she wanted to get the upper hand, she would have to be unpredictable. Be where he wasn't, strike what he neglected.
"Time to be a cunning Chimera," she goaded herself, pulling off the scrunchie and letting her hair fall free. Looking like a silver-maned lion, she allowed her posture to become looser and more flexible to match her mind.
She closed the distance in a run, arms, and claws raised for a high attack. Marchosias noted the body language and followed suit to defend.
At the last moment, May pivoted into a sidekick that caught Marchosias off-guard and hammered her hoof into his gut.
Taking advantage of his stumbling reversal, she leaped forward and raked blows down against his head, rewarding her with a cut over one of his eyebrows.
Focusing on her situational awareness, May noticed, for a moment, that Dark Mark had left his spot by the doorway.
Defensively, the marquis lashed his tail at her. Its tip connected with her jaw like a right hook, dazing her.
He relaunched it, but she anticipated, leaning away from it and grabbing it on its recoil. Its strength yanked her to him, close enough to fire a palm strike into his sternum, staggering him.
May moved in, lashing kicks at him, but the Goetia recovered and swung his wings before him as shields, blocking her attacks before one displayed its surprising strength and slapped her to the floor. Then, the marquis advanced.
She rolled away, stood, and hopped off to gather space, then turned and ran back, her body telegraphing a flying kick. Marchosias readied his wings for the leap.
It came, but it was a feint. The jump brought her close enough to grab one of the wings, like a cat catching a bird, and pull him into a wrenching, off-balance stoop to the floor. She swung her legs over his shoulders and battered and clawed his face.
Marchosias grabbed her hair in volumes and tried to pull her off, but she gritted against the agony and tightened her legs around his neck, keeping them on the floor, still locked together, writhing and striking.
Marchosias' great wings unfurled and, on their downstroke, lifted them both to the ceiling.
Before May could react to the change in scenery, her head and back were driven into the ceiling. She slipped off his shoulders and fell back to the floor in a stunned heap.
Contained by the enclosed space of the gym, the draft of his wings buffeted his opponent and witnesses alike before he landed.
Mayberry collected herself and unsteadily stood to face him. Both were scarred, bruised, and winded.
"This isn't what I taught you," he observed.
"Nope," she confessed, giving herself a stretch. "Doesn't make much sense to do what my opponent expects, now does it?"
"Was losing the children that night a key part of your strategy?"
She knew it was psychological warfare she heard and didn't care. "I checked on the twins! I'm not going to apologize because of what happened!"
"Exactly! You are a slave to those feelings! You will never be a true defender! Only the innocent have the right to be called sheep. You have to be the unwavering hound that guards the flock! Calling on your worry was an example of how compassion for your charges makes you sloppy and weak!"
May said nothing else and rushed at him. Punishment be damned.
The marquis assumed his stance, ready for her tricks. But, before she made contact, she veered off after dodging a defensive swing and ran for the far side of the room.
At first, that confused him. Then, he remembered how unorthodox she was determined to be and gave chase.
Hearing him close in, May headed for the trampoline and leaped for it just as he reached out to snag her.
Energized by her landing, and angling herself back to Marchosias, the rebound brought her up to his surprised face. Her tail lashed out, its barb striking true against one of his eyes, blinding and stopping him in his tracks.
Landing from the trampoline, she pivoted, but didn't ignite or tap into her demonic energy, this time.
Thus, Marchosias, expecting the telegraph of her aura, couldn't counter the raw, unamplified strength of Mrs. Mayberry as she drove a severe low kick into his knee that buckled him forward into a palm strike that smashed into his muzzle like a bombard, crashing the wolf on his back.
He sat up in shock, catching his breath, as a trickle of black blood ran free from his nose. The tips of his ears burned with embarrassment. He could still snatch victory from her, but she was proving to be more challenging than she appeared, and he would have to earn that victory with a bit more effort.
Catching her own breath, Mayberry glowered at him. Pointing at him, she made a direct pronouncement of her own.
"You want to teach me how to fight, do it. But, don't ever tell me how to feel."
"Fighters, to your corners!" Seir called out from the precincts of the "ring."
As both parties returned to their spots, May noticed Dark Mark standing on the threshold again. He took particular notice of the marquis' tail brushing slightly against the floor.
"That was exemplary, May!" Amy cheered as Mayberry hunched over and held her knees to rest.
"Thanks," she gasped. "I guess that pep talk did the trick."
"No, dear. You had the tricks, all along."
Seir came up to May with her water bottle in his hand. "Drink up, Killer! Ya gotta hydrate before you annihilate."
May quaffed nearly half the bottle before giving it back. Stretching her body and feeling refreshed and focused, she ran more possible unconventional tactics and counters in her mind, confident that her opponent would be watching for them, now.
Again, Marchosias started the match by coming out first, only this time, with a more guarded step.
"You drew first blood," he admitted. "But, don't let it swell your head, Sinner. This bout is over when one of us can no longer stand."
"Why take it that far? I kept up with you. Isn't that enough?" she protested, wondering what he was thinking. "Unless this isn't punishment anymore. What's going on?"
The wolf roared in frustration. "Why did I take you in? Do you think you have a cause worthy of your pain? Delusions!"
"Told you," Treat muttered to herself.
"You almost got killed that night, and for what?" he continued ranting. "Children who don't even know your name? Why should you care? Or they? You took your life! Accept your fate and live out your days!"
Mayberry brought her hands and her guard down. There was no need, now. The battle had now evolved into one of words, and she would not be found lacking in hers.
"Well, since we're being so honest with our feelings, Scruffy," she said calmly. "I've gotta ask, does all of that bullshit have anything to do with what I saw in your closet?"
A sudden wave of dizziness hit May for a second. It alarmed her, but she maintained her composure to press on.
"The music box," she continued, fighting her swimming head. "Maybe it's...me, but I don't think it's yours. You're not butch enough. And..."
It felt like narcolepsy. She blacked out for a moment, and when she reopened her eyes, it took an effort to keep them open. And all the while, Marchosias approached slowly, carefully. A cautious hunter sensing wounded game.
She backed off unsteadily as the gym swirled and tilted like a boat in rough seas. Her mind couldn't stay lucid, and it screamed for an answer. "The weapon...Defeats the purpose of a...trophy...if you hide it...Must mean something else...C'mon...what are you not...telling us?"
The marquis glanced at his peers. As he feared, the other Goetia, already concerned over Mayberry's condition, took her words to heart and returned glances that asked the same question. Why was he acting this way?
Ignoring them, the wolf-demon rushed over and lifted a collapsing May by the low collar of her top with one hand.
"What are you trying to prove with this?" he snarled into her stupefied face. "I am the master of this house, and my secrets are mine to keep, Sinner!"
Adding the final point to his words, he raised his arm to its height and dashed her into the floor. "Mine!"
Her horned head struck with an awful percussion, and then, she laid still.
"Marchosias!" Amy rebuked as he ran to tend to the insensate demoness, Treat cheering all the while.
"How is she?" Seir asked.
Amy drew the errant hair from May's face and leaned in to hear and feel; breathing was shallow, but there was a rhythm.
"She's unconscious," he reported. He turned to the marquis. "And you're unconscionable! You speak of trust yet act so suspiciously. How has she wronged you so, Marchosias?"
The wolf looked at his work on the floor; his mind was empty of reaction.
"I want her out of here when she recovers," he muttered. Then, he turned to the doorway and left.