Another day had come and gone, and Jonas was sparring like usual with both Simon and Ahmed. There was nothing really out of place, but even the guards could tell that there was a strange feeling in the atmosphere. If someone were to pay close attention, they would see that nearly every fighter would occasionally glance over at Jonas who was on one side of the room, and Pete who was on the other.

Jonas ignored the stares as he, Ahmed, and Simon continued to spar. They punched, kicked, grappled, and beat the hell out of each other. Only once did Jonas look over towards Pete, and he notice that the one-eyed man was beating the life out of a defenseless slave who tried begging for mercy but couldn’t find the air to breathe the words.

“There’s nothing special about beating up someone who can’t even fight back.”

“Don’t be noble,” Ahmed replied, “That’s just Hell, it’s what people do.”

“I’m not being noble,” Jonas said as he dodged a punch that was aimed right at his nose, “I just think it’s a waste of time, you’ll only improve by fighting stronger opponents, I don’t even know why the gang gives the fighters dummy slaves.”

“To fuel their Sin,” said Ahmed, “The cruelest of men are always good at Sinning.”

“I’m not cruel,” Jonas reminded.

“I never said that they were the only ones who were good at Sinning, did I?” and he performed a great leg sweep that flipped Jonas into the air and flat onto his ass. Jonas got up from the ground and began to concentrate harder. He needed to imagine that Pete was just as strong as Ahmed, that way he wouldn’t underestimate his opponent and lose. There was no guarantee that Jonas could keep his life if he lost that fight. He also knew that if Pete or Wolf didn’t kill him, Brow surely would.

The minutes ticked away and the anticipation was building. Finally, the gang members came around and announced that sparring was over. All of the beaten, bruised, and broken slaves began marching miserably back to their cages, and normally the fighters would head to the gym, this time, none of them moved an inch.

Simon was one of the last slaves to leave the training room, and he gave a worried glance to Jonas before his head disappeared behind the door, and it was slammed shut. The guards had nothing to say about the twenty or so fighters left behind, they were already taking bets.

Jonas and Ahmed began walking toward the other end of the room where Wolf and his gang usually sparred, and he could see them forming a semi-circle around the pit. They continued forward until they were both standing at the edge of a sandy pit, and were eventually surrounded by an excited crowd.

“I’m glad you two could make it,” said Wolf. His gray hair seemed to shimmer, and he had a rather pleasant expression on his face like he was happy that Jonas and Ahmed could come to his party.

“You probably shouldn’t have come,” said Pete, who stood at the opposite edge of the arena, shirtless and barefoot. Jonas noticed that a large amount of dried blood covered his knuckles, forearms, chest, and pants.

“I knew you’d come,” Jonas said, “You’d never miss an event with sweaty, shirtless men,” and Pete scowled as chuckles rang out across the room.

“I’m going to kill you, mouthy ass kid.”

“Easy, Pete,” Wolf’s voice was still polite but there was a dangerous undertone that very few caught. Instead of raging, Pete swallowed his anger and transferred all of it into his fists. The flames on the back of his hands began glowing softly.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” Pete jumped into the sandpit, crossing his arms as he made an expression of provocation towards Jonas.

“Remember,” Ahmed said quietly, “Don’t waste your movements, don’t trust him to fight cleanly, and don’t hold back.”

“No worries,” said Jonas as he too stepped into the sandy pit. His heart began hammering rapidly, and his legs began to feel numb. These were the tell-tale signs that his body was ready for a fight, or flight.

“No death,” said Ahmed towards Wolf, and the aged veteran gave a toothy smile.

“Of course not,” but the look that he sent Pete said the exact opposite, kill Jonas if he gets the chance.

“Fight!” Wolf barked, and Pete exploded as if he had been holding in so much rage and violence that he had popped like a balloon.

He roared like a Berserker, and charged toward Jonas, his fists swinging wildly. Jonas dodged them skillfully, and he found them to be much slower than Ahmed’s punch, but after the sixth swing, Jonas screwed up and hadn’t anticipated that Pete would open his hand up at the last second. Instead of dodging a pair of knuckles by a breath, Jonas was painfully scratched across the face with long, dirty fingernails.

Blood began to seep through the four scratches that went across his cheeks, and Jonas would have winced in pain if he had the time to, however, Pete was relentless in his assault and Jonas barely had time to strike his opponent, let alone dodge.

Finally, the moment came, and Jonas swung an uppercut that hit Pete in the ribs, and he wanted to go for a second attack, but Pete hadn’t recoiled in pain which caused Jonas to jump back as he narrowly had his head taken off by a tremendous high-kick.

‘I can’t let him get a hold of me,’ thought Jonas. There was an instinct that told him that Pete, who was much heavier, would eventually try to use submission tactics to win the fight if brawling didn’t work out.

He kept sidestepping and back-pedaling around the sandy pit, and after a few exchanges, the crowd could see that although Pete was bigger and stronger, Jonas was faster and had much better footwork.

After a few minutes, Pete was breathing heavily and his one good eye was widened. There was an annoying frustration that filled his body like a tiny insect that kept nibbling at him, and he knew it was because he had yet to land a clean hit as Jonas was too good at dodging. He opened his mouth and let out a mirthless roar and it echoed across the room.

Wolf shook his head disapprovingly, “Stop all the screaming, you need to feel Wrath with your soul, not your throat,” but it didn’t seem like Pete could hear him, “Moron,” he added under his breath.

Jonas began using that rage against Pete who became more frustrated every time he was hit, and also more frustrated every time he missed. As Jonas dodged a right hook, he used all his might to kick Pete backward. The Berserker flew a few feet but managed to keep his balance, and he threw himself forward.

Jonas was ready, and he spun on the spot and kicked Pete so hard in the chin, that people in the crowd began to cringe. Pete’s brain sloshed around inside his skull, but he managed to keep himself from falling unconscious. It seemed his willpower was quite good.

Jonas had time for another attack, but instead, he twisted his body and got back into his stance, his instincts told him that something was off with the way that Pete left himself so open for an attack.

Pete shook his head, stepped into his stance, and stared evilly at Jonas who he wanted to kill more than anything.

‘It’s coming,’ Jonas thought as he sidestepped Pete who had charged at him and resembled a wild bull. Pete whirled around on the spot and threw a vicious right hook towards Jonas’ ribs, and Jonas was about to dodge but he felt his foot slip on a large piece of bone that had been left in the sand.

Jonas nearly puked as felt a few of his ribs shattered into pieces. He threw his body out of harm's way, but Pete was like a shark who smelled blood and he began advancing on his enemy.

Pete made to throw a haymaker, but it was a faint, he suddenly ducked his head and attempted to dive towards Jonas's legs. There was a loud crack that sounded both eerie and satisfying to all the fighters, as they watched Pete’s head bounce off of Jonas’ flying knee. His one good eye rolled in its socket and he hit the sand with a cushioned thud. He was completely and utterly unconscious.

First, there was silence. Then loud whoops and shouts began to reign through the sparring room, echoing off the mossy stone walls. Jonas looked downward at his opponent who was bleeding profusely from the skull. The wolfpack all wore ugly expressions on their faces, but none more so than Wolf himself who looked extremely vexed and there was an indistinguishable vein throbbing on his temple.

“So-so,” said Jonas, who was trying his best to keep his composure. His ribs had turned purple because of the internal bleeding and his knee was so numb he thought it had been hit by a metal bat. Clearly, he still needed to work on which area of the skull to attack.

“Great flying knee,” said Ahmed as he jumped into the arena, partly out of excitement, and partly because he didn’t want the wolves to jump Jonas.

“Thanks,” said Jonas, “I knew he would try to go for my legs at some point, I just had to be ready for the exact moment he dove. I knew I’d be able to land the knee if I timed it correctly.”

“I know,” said Ahmed rather loudly, it seemed like all of the fighters wanted to listen to the play-by-play, “He was baiting you into getting cocky, three times he let you hit him on purpose, but you didn’t fall for it.”

“I could tell,” said Jonas, “He could have gotten me when I slipped, luckily he wasn’t in a good position to grapple me, and instead I only got a few broken ribs.”

“Good fight,” Wolf said dryly as he stepped into the sandy pit. His hulking figure strode to the side of his fallen soldier and he looked at his unconscious face. Jonas could tell there was not a shred of pity in his expression.

“Get him out of here,” he said, and Jonas watched as that intimidating seven-foot giant marched over into the pit, grabbed Pete’s arm, and slung him over his shoulder like a very light backpack.

“Sorry about all that,” the crazy Canuck stepped forward and held out a very calloused hand. Jonas contemplated on shaking it, he felt like this was an obvious trap, but if he didn’t shake he might look like a coward in front of all the fighters, how could he earn any respect then?

Jonas courageously stuck out a hand and for a moment, he thought that Ahmed might call him stupid and slap his hand away but the old desert warrior held back the temptation as he watched Jonas’ slender hand become covered by Wolf’s.

The pain was excruciating, as Jonas felt every single one of his fingers crunch under Wolf’s iron grip. The other fighters heard the crunching noise, and they grimaced as each personally considered whether or not they would have shaken Wolf’s hand if they had been in Jonas’ place.

Jonas tried to squeeze back, but it was impossible to do when his hand was so numb that he could no longer feel if it was there or not. He didn’t grimace, nor did he crumble under the pain. He locked eyes with Wolf and concentrated on letting Pride fill his body until he felt like a lion, and the pain meant nothing to him, and he felt as if he was just shaking the hand of a fellow competitor.

The seconds drained by and so did the color in Jonas’ hand which turned a nasty shade of purple. Finally, Wolf let go of Jonas’ hand, and yet the feeling didn’t come rushing back like he wished it would. Wolf looked down at it and an expression of mock surprise was plastered on his face.

“I’m sorry, I think I might have shaken your hand a bit hard there, bud,” and the fighters gathered around couldn’t help but roll their eyes in exasperation.

“Did you?” Jonas asked with an uncertain frown, “Ah, just a puppy bite.”