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Defeat or Death


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She's restless, and thus destructive. Mackenzie hasn't exactly been feeling the thrill of danger, instead too swamped with her duties and falling into a perfect, chaotic marriage when she isn't. There's no telling what her excuses were, except for the need to get out for a bit. Jasper is busy with his work, and she is doing her best to fill the time with something other than the bizarre need to further escalate her already ridiculous security measures within Sine Metu.

The underground is something she has known of for some time. A place they'd never dare go, if only to keep themselves alive. The place is well known for it's way. Every night, supernatural cretins enter the establishment and enter the name into the lottery. Ten names would only ever be called out of the massive crowd, and the odds low - but their luck?

That dictates precisely what happened.

Mackenzie walked inside, signed her name in her own blood, and within thirty minutes her name had been called. The string of profanities had been prolific and impressive, and she was ushered into a smaller area above the pit.

The pit. A place where the fights took place, down below the rest. From above, people would lean over the railing and watch on as complete strangers beat one another to death. The floor would be slippery with blood after just a single match, and the bodies of those unfortunate enough to die during the fight never removed. This truly is a wretched, disgusting, satisfying experience.

She swears she can smell the grime of a thousand nights here, and if you listen hard enough, the ghostly cries of the defeated echoing from the walls. That's another element: Defeat, or death.

As if her pride would allow for anything less than death.

But Jasper...

No, he'd be the same damn way.

Shaking herself, she watches as the first two fighters are pulled from the area, leaving eight behind. Her icy hues would travel to the dirty chalkboard, looking over the names etched upon it. Matches, really.

Hans and Frank.
Toben and Margaret.
Mackenzie and Elia.

Elia.. she wonders who that might be. Her opponent, for the third match. Glancing over her shoulder, she casts a quick glance about at those left behind with her. None appear to be a challenge at all, and her nerves are settled as ego drives her forward. Down below, Hans and Frank step into the pit to the tune of an uproar of cheers and jeers, immediately moving to circle about as they size one another up.

A twisted little grin appears on her lips, and slim fingers wrap around the railing as she leans over to watch as Frank lands the first blow.
November 03, 2019 08:07 pm
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