traversed a series of labyrinthine hallways and
stairwells. Employees rushed along the same corridors, often shoving her out of the way in their haste to get
to their destinations. Yoli didn’t care. She just needed to see Zel. If that meant being elbowed and slammed
into concrete walls, so be it.
As they neared the arena floor, the deafening cacophony took Yoli by surprise. She’d never been to any
kind of fight in her life and had no idea what to expect. The guard paused at an entryway onto the lowest—
and seemingly most expensive—deck of seats to converse with another set of guards and an attendant of
some sort. Her ticket was inspected and she was waved through. A woman in a red vest and black slacks
escorted Yoli down a small set of stairs to an aisle seat.
There was no point in sitting down since the entire crowd of thousands was on its feet. Pulse racing,
Yoli finally looked toward the menacing black cage in the center of the floor. Her stomach dropped at the
sight of Zel and Mace grappling on the mat. Bloodstains marred the blue floor and its various logos. For the
briefest moment she caught a glimpse of Zel’s face. His left eye was swollen and a gash split his left temple.
“Sweet Jesus,” Yoli whispered as Zel pounded Mace with his fists. Mace threw back his elbow,
narrowly missing Zel’s nose. When Zel leapt back, Mace clambered to his feet. They circled one another,
bobbing and weaving as they waited for the next opening.
Yoli glanced around helplessly. She didn’t know how to read the scoreboard. Was Zel winning? How
many rounds were left? How much longer would this go on? Judging by the low energy of the two fighters
and the intensity of the crowd, Yoli guessed the fight was in its final minutes. She closed her eyes and
prayed silently. Please let Zel win.
A shocked gasp rocked the crowd. Yoli’s eyes flew open just in time to see Mace land a vicious kick to
the side of Zel’s head. He teetered on his feet before falling forward in what seemed to be a jaw-rattling
landing. Yoli nearly puked at the sight of Zel’s lolling head and the blood dribbling down his mouth. The
smirk on Mace’s face filled her with fury.
“GET UP, ZEL!” Yoli shouted manically, as if he could hear her over the din. “GET UP!”
Mace approached Zel with a predatory grin. Yoli realized he meant to land the final blow. Her insides
nearly turned themselves inside out as he pulled back his leg in preparation for a nasty kick. She could see
the muscles flexing in his bulging thighs as Mace drew back and whipped his leg forward.
“NO!”
At the very last second, Zel leaned just far enough to the left to avoid the deadly blow. In a flash, he
grabbed Mace’s ankle and jerked the man off balance. Mace slammed into the mat so hard his head
bounced twice. Zel was behind him in an instant, his forearm locked around Mace’s head in a viselike
squeeze. Mace flailed and clawed at Zel’s forearm but to no avail.
Zel popped him once in the temple—and Mace was out.
The arena exploded as Zel gently lowered Mace to the mat and staggered to his feet. Yoli’s knees gave
out and she crumbled into her seat. Tears of relief flooded her face. With trembling fingers, she shielded
her face. It was over. Zel won. Zel was safe.
By the time she regained the use of her limbs, Zel had cleared the cage. With a sickening thud, Yoli
realized he hadn’t seen her. She looked out over the sea of moving patrons. It would take quite a bit of
finagling and elbowing to get to the locker rooms. She’d come this far. There was no failing now.
* * * * *
Forehead against the tile, Zel let the hot, pounding pressure of the shower ease the tension in his
shoulders and neck. He felt as if he’d been hit by a semi. Every muscle in his body ached. The slightest
movement made his stomach churn. His med check had ruled out any severe injury, and while that
knowledge pacified his usual post-fight anxiety, it didn’t do