Make me bleed

It was the first night the twins were in port in the island city of Syrin, and Killian had, quite unsurprisingly, already secured his trysts for the evening. Their ship, the Kit & Killian was docked, legally of course, and they had barely dropped the anchor before the elder twin had wooed his way into the dockmaster and at least one or two other workers.
 
Kit had watched, arms crossed, as her brother led them away, his arms around the blushing man and woman, on their way somewhere for Killian’s games. One of these days, he was going to get them into serious trouble, Kit mused. Still, she couldn’t be entirely disappointed he was already gone. It was rare they visited the larger cities, and Kit had been craving her own kind of drug – one that was sorely unavailable and missing from the smaller port towns.
 
Once Killian had disappeared into the maze of streets and buildings, Kit returned to her quarters and grabbed a small bag from under her bed, slinging it over her shoulder, and slipped into the darkness. She ran along the edge of the ship’s railing towards the platform, silently moving amidst the shadows. As she landed without a sound on the ramp, she heard an “ahem” from behind her, spinning around to see Oak perched casually on the opposite railing, leaning against one of the mounted posts.
 
“You do realize it’s your ship, you don’t have to sneak off it, right?” the large cat chuckled.
 
Kit glared at him. “I’m aware. But I didn’t want anyone to see me, lest they tell Killian.”
 
“What does it matter what you do with your time?” Oak asked, raising a large, furry eyebrow at her.
 
“He won’t like what I’m doing, is all. Utter a word of this, and I’ll slit your throat when you sleep,” Kit threatened.
 
Oak laughed again, a soft purr erupting with it. “Kit, you could never slit my throat.”
 
“Shut up,” she retorted as she started to walk away. “Just don’t say anything, okay?”
 
Oak shrugged. “Your business is yours.”
 
Kit smirked as she walked away, feeling only slightly guilty for threatening the only person the twins could even potentially refer to as a friend. Slightly, of course, was as guilty as she ever felt. After all, she had a reputation as the harsher, colder twin to keep up. She pulled her hood up over her head, hiding her tiefling horns and casting enough of a shadow across her face that she disappeared beneath it, then stuck to the darkness cast by the buildings as she made her way through the streets, avoiding the nightwatch and city folks alike. It wasn’t long until she found her way to a solid concrete building with a steel door and a single lantern mounted above casting a small glow. The door had a slot at eye level, blocked by two iron bars, with no windows anywhere to be seen on either the door or building.
 
Kit raised a gloved hand and rapped twice quickly in succession, pausing, and rapped one more time, repeating this process three times, then waiting. A few moments later, a high-pitched voice spoke through the hole.
 
“Whad’ya want?” they demanded.
 
Kit lifted her left arm and opened her hand, palm upwards, revealing a handful of gold.
 
There was no reply, but the lock on the door clunked from the other side and steel mass swung open just wide enough for Kit to slip inside. A halfling male sat on a tall stool inside the door, hand held out towards Kit.
 
“Two gold entry-fee.”
 
Kit obliged and turned to walk away, ignoring the halfling as he shouted at her about the rules. She waved a hand dismissively as she stalked off, uninterested in any kind of chatter. She was there for one reason, and one reason only.
 
The hallway was long and dark, and she followed it along to a set of cement stairs leading two flights underground, the odd torch lit just to provide enough light for anyone with darkvision abilities to move without issue. Another hall twisted and rounded to two doors, both guarded by burly goliaths with waraxes strapped to their backs.
 
As she approached the first, he looked her up and down, sizing up her frame.
 
“A little small for competin’ tonight, eh?” he grunted.
 
Kit didn’t respond, eliciting a harumph from the half-giant.
 
“Fine. Yer just in-time anyway. Another dropped. Time for fresh blood.” He opened the large door, the hallway immediately filling with loud cheering and shouting, revealing a small, underground arena.
 
Kit smirked from under her hood and stepped forward into the room filled with dozens of people all demanding a new contender. The ringmaster heaved with relief as Kit entered and rushed forward.
 
“A minute longer without another fighter, and this crowd would kill me,” the large, sweaty man said, looking at her gratefully.
 
Kit didn’t respond.
 
“Uh, well, welcome to Syrin’s battlegrounds. What do they call you?”
 
Kit remained silent, staring at the orc inside the ring, watching as he raised his arms enthusiastically and roared, riling up the crowds. His left eye had taken a hit earlier, and was swollen with black bruising spreading quickly. There were a few fresh cuts on his face and arms, and a bruise spreading across his abdomen, but otherwise it looks like he had been the winner in most fights tonight.
 
“Ma’am, I need a name to introduce you,” the ringmaster pleaded.
 
“Ghost. You can call me the ghost.”
 
He looked at her strangely, and shook his head, muttering as he walked away. “Great, another dark and broody about to get their skull crushed. Why didn’t I listen to my mother and become a barrister?”
 
Kit glided forward, pulling two sets of brass knuckles out of her pack and sliding them onto her fingers, and slipped a small brass cap onto the end of her tail, before dumping the bag on the bench. Her face and horns still covered by the cloak, Kit stepped into the ring.
 
The orc began to roar with laughter at her tiny size, the crowd following his lead.
 
“This is what you give me to finish off my night?” he shouted at the ringmaster. “I’ll match whatever any of you bet against this child tonight. Double or lose it all.”
 
Kit planted her feet a hips-width apart, and held her arms straight down, standing dead still as her eyes darted and assessed the small arena. Chain-caged walls, a mesh net above, chains holding down the raised walls at the bottom of solid steel. Plenty to work with.
 
“Are you ready to die, little girl?” The orc howled.
 
Still, silence. This seemed to unnerve the orc slightly, who began to pace back and forth on his side of the ring.
 
“I’m going to tear you apart. Such a waste. Such a pretty frame.”
 
The muscle in his neck began to bulge out as she still refused to engage.
 
The ringmaster cleared his throat, unsure of what to make of the situation.
 
“Ladies and gentlemen, introducing for the first time in Syrin, challenging Ruk’sul, our reigning champion, comes this… unique contender… theeeee ghost!”
 
The crowd burst into laughter, people beginning to shout their support and bets on Ruk’sul as the champion.
 
From under her hood, Kit smiled. Not a single bet on her. Just the way she liked it.
 
Ruk’sul’s veins looked like they were about to pop. “Silence won’t save you, little angel.”
 
At that, Kit flicked her tail, ripping off the cloak, and tossed it to the side. “It’s a good thing I’m a devil then,” she retorted, beckoning Ruk’sul towards her.
 
The crowd gasped, a mix of shock and horror at the Tiefling in tight leather armour, adorned in thick, dark makeup and tattoos, standing across from their champion. Ruk’sul only looked momentarily startled before he charged forward, leaning downward to slam her with his shoulder. Kit stood firm, letting the orc plow into her and slam her into the wall and chains behind her. Pain seared through her body as she grunted, at the force.
 
“You’re supposed to do SOMETHING!” the ringmaster shouted in shock, wondering if they had just allowed an amateur into the ring.
 
Kit coughed blood out, spraying some onto Ruk’sul, who grinned.
 
“Had enough?”
 
“Baby, this is just the foreplay,” Kit whispered, letting the pain flow through her body, triggering the adrenaline.
 
The orc started to chuckle, stopping mid-laugh, eyes flying wide with pain as her steel-toed boot connected with his groin, causing him to rear back and drop her.
 
“CUNT!” He roared in pain as Kit slipped out from underneath and darted to the other side of the ring.
 
“Not for you I’m not, love,” Kit retorted.
 
Ruk’sul growled angrily and forced himself forward, charging at Kit again. This time, Kit leapt upwards, grabbing onto the chainlink walls above and steading her footing in them. Ruk’sul snarled and grabbed the walls, shaking them in an attempt to force her off. Kit closed her eyes tightly, matching her body’s movements with the rhythm of the shakes to time her move. As the fence pulled forward, she used the momentum to propel herself off, flipping in the air and landing on the opposite side of Ruk’sul, throwing a sharp uppercut as he spun to face her. The orc had missed the brass knuckles on her hands in his assessment, letting out a loud “OOMPH” as the knuckles connected with his jaw, a sickening crack that could only be heard by the two competitors.
 
He swung his own fist at her, Kit somersaulting out of the way and into a crouched position. As Ruk’sul charged her again, Kit leapt forward and charged him back, slipping to the side as she grabbed the neck of his armour. She used his own momentum to help her swing herself up on his back, slamming her elbow down into the bottom of his neck where it connected with his spine. A quick whip of her tail to each side of his temples, and Ruk’sul was screaming in pain. He flung himself back first into the wall, crushing Kit once again. Kit grimaced and pushed her right arm free as she began to pummel him in the back of the skull with her brass knuckles, breaking flesh, then bone, as black blood began so splash on her face.
 
Ruk’sul stepped forward, grabbing at her over his head, trying to tear Kit off. Finally getting a grip on her, he flung her over his head, smashing her into the ground. Kit grimaced again. This was going to bruise, she thought as she flipped herself back to her feet in time for Ruk’sul to swing again, hitting her in the nose with one of his giant, rock-like fists. She felt her nose crack and groaned. “Killian’s definitely going to notice this,” she thought angrily as she recovered from the stars dancing around her just in time to drop down into half splits to avoid the next swing. As his fist passed over her head, Kit threw a solid punch into Ruk’sul’s gut, aiming specifically at the edge of the lower ribs, grinning with satisfaction as they cracked, and whipping her tail around the other side, cracked another two ribs with the brass tip. Ruk’sul withdrew his fist angrily, giving Kit the time she needed to re-position herself by slipping further to the ground and swinging her legs to knock his feet out from underneath him.
 
Kit’s head was thundering so loudly from the pain and adrenaline at this point, and with all the shouting voices, she couldn’t make out whether they still stood in favour of the orc, as he crashed down on his back. Kit leapt onto his chest and began pummeling him in the face with her brass knuckles, blood splattering everywhere.
 
“Yield yet?” she smirked down.
 
Ruk’sul, through his bloodied face, roared and grabbed her from behind, throwing her again. Kit smashed into the wall one more time, but bounced back, charging forward as Ruk’sul tried to force himself from one knee to his feet, and gave a sharp kick under his chin, sending him to his back once more. She stepped forward and put her boot on his throat, digging it in.
 
Silence fell across the arena.
 
“Do you yield?”
 
He tried to reach for her and she pressed harder, cutting off his airways.
 
“Do. You. Yield?”
 
There was a pause, and Ruk’sul tapped out.
 
Satisfied, Kit removed her foot, and walked past the stunned ringmaster towards the now opened gate.
 
“Monstrous bitch,” Ruk’sul snapped from behind her.
 
“Look who’s talking, love.”
 
She snatched her cloak, picked up her bag from the bench, then passed by the gawking bet collector and picked up the rather large bag of coins.
 
“Pity no-one bet on me,” she said. “Guess I’ve got no-one to share this with.” Then without another word, she turned and stalked out of the club, silence and stares following after her.
 
When she returned to the ship, Oak was still napping on the railing. He opened one cat eye and peered at her.
 
“Ouch, that must’ve hurt.”
 
Kit shrugged. “Not a word.”
 
“I’m napping. Haven’t heard a thing. Picturing that delicious gnome I ate last week.”
 
Kit chuckled and passed by, slipping back to her quarters. She stopped to look in the mirror. All-in-all, the damage wasn’t as bad as she expected, she thought as she reached up her hands and adjusted her nose with a crack.
 
She poured herself a bath and washed the blood off, taking care to wrap her wounds, then made her way out to her perch on the bow, hoping Killian would be too drunk to notice the injuries in the morning.