By Mykhia Thorpe, Virginia State University
Kioni wound the gauze tight around her knuckles, flexing her fingers to ensure the wrappings wouldn’t restrict any movement in the upcoming fight. The goal she needed to achieve was security, not immobility. If she couldn’t move, she couldn’t fight. If she couldn’t fight, then…
A lot of the old permanent fighters disappeared without a trace after their waning skills had cost them too many battles. Kioni wouldn’t let herself join them. She’d come too far to end up like the failures before her. Fallen from grace—old stars that burnt up and out and were then swallowed up by the endless sky. Inadequacy was a crime in the eyes of the underground, and in the Galda Arena, the fine could only be paid in blood.
Kioni would only ever allow her blood to stain the mats of the arena. She would live and die in the ring; the match runners wouldn’t claim her life, too.
The lock on her cell door rattled noisily, interrupting her solemn musings. Kioni hastily straightened her back, the feathers in her wings puffing up, messing their already ruffled state. Was it already time for the match to begin? How much time had she wasted while lost in thought? She should’ve been considering strategies, not daydreaming. Now, she had no clue whom she was fighting, and she had no tactics lined up to fall back on.
She would have to figure it out during the match, then.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too troublesome. On-the-spot plans were a bit of a staple of her fighting style back in her earliest days—if she could tap into that potential, then she could win.
She needed to win. This would be her third match this week. The rule of the Galda Arena stated that if a permanent fighter won three matches in a single week, they would get the rest of the week off. One of the small mercies they were oh-so-generous to provide, and Kioni capitalized on this opportunity as often as she could. The ring was more brutal than anything else in the world, and nobody wanted to go into their fourth fight with broken ribs and bleeding wounds. Those few days to recover were like gold.
Kioni snapped back to reality as her door was swung all the way open. In the doorway stood Akande, one of the few other Hybrids that worked the Arena. He was a simple Reptile Hybrid with specifications as a Chameleon. It showed in his scaly skin and bulging eyes even as he held up his humanoid appearance. Most Hybrids would never look fully human, and Akande was no exception.
“You’re up, Phoenix,” he said lazily, leaning against the doorframe. Kioni hoped the old metal tore up his scales. “I hear you’re going against a strong one. Think he’s been here before.”
An old opponent, then? Maybe she could fall back on some old strategies instead.
“I’m betting on you,” he continued as he led her to the arena. “If I lose money tonight, I’m takin’ what I lost out of your stash.”
Kioni scowled, resisting the primal urge to pierce her talons through his chest. It was an appealing thought, but it would have to remain within her sweetest dreams. The punishment for attacking one of the arena workers was far too costly. If they didn’t kill her directly, then the back-to-back matches she’d be assigned certainly would.
As the jeers and howls of the audience grew louder, Kioni sighed.
“We’ll both end tonight with more than we started with.” She was sure of that.
“Mhm,” Akande hummed condescendingly. “We better.”
The short conversation reached its end then. And just in time, too, as the pale-yellow lights of the arena blinded Kioni’s vision just as the final syllable fell from Akande’s lips. She squinted as she entered without him, attempting to force her eyes to adjust to the new lighting. She wished they would just pick a level of lighting and stick to it. It wasn’t good for morale if she was blinded every time she stepped up to fight.
…On second thought, Kioni wondered if that was exactly why they had the arena set up that way.
Something to consider for later, she thought, climbing the stairs to enter the metal cage that she’d be fighting in. It seemed her opponent had arrived before her, and as she came up upon him, she startled.
Kioni did know this man—The Unbreakable—but he was far different from the image her memories procured. Before, when they had shared their first fights, he’d seemed hopeful. Kinder. Despite being inside a cage that had seen more blood than an experienced medic, his punches only ever served to win. Never more. It had been clear he fought for something beyond anger and blood, and Kioni had found it admirable.
Now, though, it was only clear that he’d changed. Most immediately noticeable was his newfound muscle mass—he was huge now. Bulging muscles that shifted as he moved and belied years of some kind of extensive physical labor. His hair had been cut in a way similar to hers. Short curls coiled close to his skull, almost completely chopped off. Obvious now that his hair was cropped so short were the ears. His curls traveled all the way up his Wolf Hybrid ears, and the hair there was cut short as well. Scars were littered across his dark skin, but most surprising of all were his eyes.
They were dark. Dull in a way that spoke of tragedy and anger and bloodlust.
There was no kindness left.
Kioni guessed the arena was what took that from him.
“Ey, that last match was intense! Think I saw some people leaving after the tooth went flying!”
The announcer, Kayode, came bounding into the ring, and Kioni refocused her attention on him instead. It would do her no good to dwell on the loss of the man Unbreakable used to be when there was a match to be won.
“They tell you not to enter an arena with a weak stomach! Hey! They should’ve listened, right? Who here is ready for more?!”
The crowd cheered in response to the question, and Kayode let a bubbly laugh pour into the mic. Everyone else practically feasted on his energy, but Kioni only wanted to cringe. She knew every arena worker in Galda, and the acts they all put up for the audience turned her stomach. These were some of the worst people she knew, and these fools would never know that.
They were too busy hanging onto the manipulations of a performer.
Mood dampened by her thoughts, Kioni turned her attention to the crowd. It was always the same types of people jeering from the audience, but observing the old and new faces in the audience was better than listening to the grating tenor of Kayode’s voice.
For example—she spotted an old regular sitting in the first row, and he seemed bothered by the energy of the mob around him. Kioni could understand why, truthfully. Apparently, he’d been coming out to the arena for years even before Kioni had been dragged into the mix. After years of seeing the same fights over and over again, the magic had worn off. Some people just couldn’t bring themselves to stop, though.
Farther to the back, Kioni spotted a definite newcomer. They were shrouded in a dark cloak, but the hood obscuring their eyes wasn’t enough to hide the braids spilling from the shadows underneath. Curious, Kioni squinted in hopes that it would strengthen her eyesight.
While people often traveled to the arena to avoid detection, they usually removed the disguise once inside. Everyone here was a criminal at this point—few attendees bothered with covering up.
It was strange and worth thinking about. Not the strangest thing, of course, but still—strange.
“Tonight, we introduce you to an old flame…a fighter from our bloody past!” Kayode’s voice filtered back into Kioni’s ears, so she chose to listen to the rest of his speech. “He comes from a background of few losses and many, many wins. Y’know, before we get to the good bit, I’ve—I’ve gotta ask. Where’ve you been? What’s our dearest fighter been doing out on the surface?”
Unbreakable remained silent for a moment. Whispers and murmurs rippled amongst the audience as everyone rushed to hypothesize the truth before it could be revealed. Kioni could already guess, however. Likely, he kept fighting. Fighting elsewhere and fighting for something. Maybe even someone. He’d been too kind for something as selfish as monetary gain.
She wondered if loss was what kept him in the cage.
Unbreakable cleared his throat, and nearly all noise hushed. It almost felt like everyone leaned in to hear what he had to say.
“…I never abandoned the ring.” His eyes swept over the audience, but Kioni got the feeling that he wasn’t truly looking at them. “I traveled. Arena to arena. But I’ve returned, now.”
“Returned,” Kayode pressed, “Did something bring you back here?”
“Yes,” he hummed. His eyes found Kioni’s. “No arena challenges me like Galda’s.”
She scowled, pressing her talons into her palms. It really did always come down to this, huh? Fighting to fight. Fighting because they were free and capable.
Kioni only ever fought to survive. She fought because they clipped her wings, and she could no longer fly.
“Ohh,” Kayode laughed brightly, spinning to face the audience. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a trainer, folks! This fight’s gonna be a good one, I can tell! I present to you—what used to be the famed Unbreakable—our returning fighter for tonight! Our very own lone wolf, The Anchor!”
The audience screamed, pushed, and clawed at each other in an attempt to prove their excitement. It was a mess, and Kioni caught some of the arena workers trying hopelessly to quell their enthusiasm.
Kayode waited patiently for the elation to die down before he moved on to introducing Kioni.
“Going up against The Anchor is a fighter we all know—and one we all love! She’s been in the ring hundreds of times, and at just fifteen, she’s won hundreds of matches! Top three of our registered permanent fighters, I present to you the legendary, the amazing, the dazzling, the illustrious, the powerf—”
A low growl rumbled in Kioni’s throat.
Kayode snickered, gesturing lazily in her direction. “Fiery, huh? I present to you the pride and joy of the Galda Arena, the beast of the cage—Phoenix!”
Kioni chose that moment to bury herself in her mind, blocking out the screams of the overenthusiastic crowd. She didn’t want to hear those calls for blood. She didn’t even want to hear how badly they craved to watch her bleed.
She just wanted a quick fight and then to rest.
“Are you ready, Galda Arena Spectators, to witness the fight of the night?! Are you ready?! Get those bets in quick, ‘cause we’re starting now, and there’s no telling who’ll be taking home the prize tonight!”
Kayode sauntered out of the cage as he spoke, riling up the crowd even more.
“Remember,” he sang, “Anything goes!”
He was the most annoying man in the world.
Behind her, she listened for the clicking lock of the gate. There was no countdown for these matches—so long as both gates were locked, either fighter could attack.
Clink.
Kioni immediately dropped into a defensive position. She put together a strategy as quickly as she could—she’d let Anchor attack first so she could get an accurate read on how his style had changed. She could gauge any weaknesses and openings through his methods, and she’d take the win like that.
It was simple, but she was smart. She could do this, no matter how big he was—no matter how sharp his claws were.
As expected, Anchor struck first.
He leaped across the arena, easily crossing the distance required. Instead of relying on his claws, he curled his fingers into a fist, prepared to strike Kioni down with a punch.
Grimacing, she brought her arm up to block. The power sent shockwaves through her bones, but as Anchor brought from below another punch, Kioni swiftly rolled out of the way. If she cowered at any pain she felt, she’d have never gotten this far.
Releasing a puff of air, she cataloged what she’d already figured out. He was right-handed—and he heavily favored that side of his body. His form was sloppy on the left, too loose and doubtful. If she could focus her attacks on that side…
Anchor came in quick once more, going for another punch. Kioni moved as if to dodge, but just as she planted her feet to push off the ground, Anchor swiped her feet from under her. She hit the ground hard, feeling all the air in her lungs escape at once. Breathing heavily, she blinked up at the lights swaying dangerously above the arena.
She wasn’t the only one observing, then.
Kioni rolled out of the way of a stomp in the ground meant for her stomach, using the momentum to climb to her feet. She caught her breath in the few seconds she had and then jumped out of the way of another punch.
He didn’t seem to use his legs much. Kioni filed that away.
Plan made up in her head, she rushed forward, palm raised as if she intended to swipe at Anchor with her talons. However, upon moving within range of Anchor, she switched tactics. She dropped to the ground, sliding the rest of the way and landing a sturdy kick at his legs.
The momentum sent him careening to the ground like a sack of flour. He hit the floor with a heavy thud and an audible grunt—distantly, Kioni noted the crowd growing louder at the maneuver.
“I don’t lose to losers like you,” she hissed, slinking her body over to where Anchor lay. She wouldn’t let him get up—not without getting her own hits in.
She drove her foot into his stomach—once, twice, three times—and then dropped herself on top of him. Running on autopilot, she clawed at every single opening her eyes could find, and when his arms came up to protect his face, Kioni just clawed at his arms until he threw her off. She hit the ground hard, but she simply used the momentum in the tumble to get straight to her feet.
Anchor spit out a glob of blood and saliva that had disgust roiling in Kioni’s stomach.
“Failure is good for kids your age,” he panted, shifting into an offensive stance. “Keeps you humble.”
“I don’t need humility.” Kioni grabbed onto the cage bars behind her. “I just need to win.”
Anchor charged first once more, and Kioni smirked. Though he seemed to be paying attention to her methods, he clearly hadn’t mastered the art of adaptation.
Once he got close enough, Kioni used her grip on the cage to lift herself up, up, up and above Anchor. He stumbled, grabbing noisily onto the cage to prevent himself from slamming into it headfirst.
Too bad, Kioni thought. That was the plan anyway.
She dropped down at that very second, grabbing as much of Anchor’s hair into a fist as she could.
Then, with as much force as she could put into her arm, she slammed his face into the cage. Then she slammed it again. And again. And again. And again.
And then some more for good measure, because Anchor’s head was probably strong enough to withstand metal.
When she finished her violent tirade, she backed away in a rush, avoiding the falling body before her. If Anchor fell on her now, they might just have to call a tie.
When he hit the ground, he fell hard onto his back, giving Kioni and the audience a perfect view of his broken and bloody face. She was sure his nose was likely broken, and already there were purple bruises sprouting all over his countenance. Blood leaked steadily from his nose and other places that had split open.
He looked a mess, and Kioni prayed that there was no coming back from this.
Anticipation permeated the air—but most importantly, anticipation slithered beneath her skin. All she needed was five seconds. Five seconds of no movement and no attempts to stand. If Anchor was as unconscious as Kioni was going for, then she won—and earned that break she was so eager for.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
“And there you have it!” Kayode’s voice returned to the arena, announcing the results that everyone already knew. “We have a winner! We have a winner! Who lost the money tonight? C’mon now y’all, don’t be shy—we all know a few of you doubted Phoenix! She’s so tiny, isn’t she? But height doesn’t mean anything when you’ve got muscle mass and brains! Give it up for our tiny titan! Come on, get louder! That fight was amazing!”
Kioni relaxed, leaning her weight against the bars of the cage. Any second now, someone would come to drag her back to her cell and hand over her earnings.
“Someone go get that poor wolf, please—he’s just laying there. It’s so embarrassing.”
Kioni snorted. Sometimes Kayode could be a bit funny.
The locks unbolted, and Kioni righted her posture. She was so ready to sleep.
A bit of commotion from the crowd distracted her instead. She squinted, trying to see what was up. Looked like an argument had started up…not unusual for such a high-energy night, so Kioni ignored it and headed toward the worker at the exit. Seemed like they brought Akande to walk her back as well.
Ugh.
“Looks like you won’t be stealing from me tonight,” Kioni said once she was within earshot. “You can keep your scales out of my stuff.”
Akande scoffed, closing the gate behind her. “Yeah, this time. Just keep up the good streak and you can keep all you own.”
Own? That was a…weird way to word that. They were just talking about some money—it wasn’t like he was taking everything she had.
Not that she was more okay with the money being taken. She rather liked having some coin to herself. She couldn’t go out into town, of course, but there were opportunities in the arena to spend what she earned. Taking some of her earnings would honestly be more detrimental than stealing any of her non-existent belongings.
Kioni shrugged and let it go. She didn’t care for Akande anyway, so she saw no point in wasting her thoughts on him.
As they headed back the way they came, Kioni’s focus narrowed in on the audience. Under normal circumstances, she would no longer bother with whatever the rowdy crowd was doing, but this sounded less like rowdy fun and more like rowdy hostility. It sparked a curiosity within her, and she couldn’t help but turn around and see what was happening.
Sure enough, when she turned around, the small argument she’d seen earlier had rippled out into the surrounding circle. They were getting pushy, crowding each other and snarling in everyone’s faces.
Kioni turned back around. Fighting outside the ring was prohibited—for the fighters and the audience—but that didn’t mean it never happened. People fought over failed bets and lost money all the time, and usually, the arena workers would break it up before it got out of hand. Strange, however, that she hadn’t seen anyone rushing to stop them yet.
Dutifully, she matched pace with Akande. All she had to do was make it into the hallway leading to the cells, and then she could ignore the world for an indefinite amount of time.
It was a wonderful thought, and the daydream of hitting that stiff bed was enough to keep her happy.
Happy until someone slammed solidly into her side.
Grunting in surprise, Kioni stumbled, nearly tripping over her own feet. The shock of the unexpected left her reeling for a moment, but she quickly forced her mind to right itself. No one was even supposed to be down here—even on the first row, the only row of the stands that touched the floor—there was a fence that served to force everyone in the audience to remain sectioned off. It was required to ensure the fighters’ safety, to guarantee a straight shot to and from the cells, and to keep the audience in check. The workers would never allow anyone to somehow make it through the fence and then get close enough to attack Kioni—
It was like a signal had gone off. One moment, everyone was in the stands, waiting for the next match. The next, everything was in chaos.
People had pushed through the fence, throwing punches and kicks and throwing each other around. People farther up the rows were climbing over each other to get in on the action, and then when they bumped into their neighbors beside them, suddenly they were punching, too. The more reserved of the crowd rushed to the exits, tripping over each other in their haste to avoid getting caught in the sudden brawl. Finally, Kioni caught some of the arena workers desperately trying to calm everyone down. They were shouting, but she couldn’t hear any of them over the sounds of the fight. She doubted anyone else could hear them either.
Kioni had been in the arena for nearly a decade. She’d never seen an audience get so disorderly.
A hand closed around her wrist, and Kioni jerked back. She yanked herself out of the grasp of whoever had dared touch her, flexing her talons in preparation. She might’ve just come out of a match, but she always had fire left in her.
Kioni came face-to-face with the strange person under the cloak. She blinked and then dropped low. Maybe they were a sore loser—lost some money and came for revenge at the source. If that was the case, then Kioni would show them what top three meant.
“Out of my way,” Kioni shouted over the commotion. “I swear if you don’t move, they’re going to be burnin’ your corpse when I’m done with you!”
“I’m not here to fight.”
Kioni jerked backward, her hands coming up to cover her ears.
She heard them so clearly. They weren’t even shouting—their gentle cadence was smooth and calming, as if the world wasn’t raging around them at this very second. It was like she was hearing them directly beside her; it was uncanny, and Kioni found that she didn’t like it very much.
Heart pounding, she took a step back. Was this a witch? She’d heard about those before. Humans who possessed supernatural abilities…moving things with just their willpower, traveling through dreams, portals, and more.
Kioni realized at that moment that she’d bitten off far more than she could chew.
“Wait!” The witch spoke, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “Please, please don’t run. I’m not here to hurt you, I promise.”
Scoffing disbelievingly, Kioni flapped her wings behind her. She was sure she was puffing up now, but that was the least of her worries.
“Please.” The voice in her ears grew softer. “My name is Onika. I can get you out of here. Out of the arena. That’s why I’m here.”
Instinctively, the shock of the witch’s statement sent every taut muscle in Kioni’s body slack.
Out of the arena? That was nothing more than a dream—something to hope for and never achieve. Kioni had long since made peace with the fact that the arena would be her final resting place. Maybe she’d fall at the end of a match and never get back up again. Maybe she’d fight for decades until her curls had gone grey and her skin had begun to melt with age. Maybe she’d pass in her sleep.
But in all of those futures, she was still inside the arena. Galda would never let her go. Not willingly.
Kioni swallowed. She couldn’t trust this woman. But maybe the keyword was willingly. Maybe she could go with her, and then leave her behind. If she went with her, she only had to trust her for as long as it took to get far away from here. It didn’t have to be a permanent alliance or anything—just something to get her free.
She’d always dreamed of freedom.
But what if it was a trap? A trick being played by the arena to test her audacity. Would they even be smart enough to do that?
Would they be dumb enough? They didn’t fight, not like she did…and they wouldn’t send everyone after her at once. She was high priority, but not so high priority that they would practically shut down the arena to find her. More likely, they would assign specific groups to go out and conduct a sweep of the town. They would take shifts. This meant that she could take on whoever they sent her way. In the arena, she was chained and outnumbered, but if she made it outside…
“…How would you get me out of here?”
Onika’s shoulders sank, relief so palpable it physically moved her. Kioni couldn’t understand why she cared so much, but it didn’t matter to her now. The opportunity she’d been dreaming and praying over for all these years was sitting right in front of her.
She was going to get out of here.
“Come,” Onika commanded, waving her hand in a gesture that meant come here. “I cannot get us out of here in this mess.”
The “mess” referred to the all-out brawl that had only gotten more violent in the few minutes they’d been standing around.
Kioni nodded, moving so that she was close enough behind Onika that she wouldn’t get separated from her.
She was going to get out of here.
About the Author
Mykhia Thorpe, Virginia State University
Mykhia Thorpe, born in Newport News, Virginia, is a current freshman at Virginia State University. Majoring in English, she has decided to dedicate her education to becoming a teacher, and she also aspires to be a published author. "Birdcage" is an excerpt from a longer novel she intends to write and publish one day.