"Yield," he said quietly. The word carried no command, only a quiet offer of mercy.

For a dangerous moment I thought of giving in...

Because what exactly was I fighting for?

I life I don’t think I have really enjoyed before?

Or a life no one cares about...?

But Morvalis flashed through my mind in a torrent of nightmarish images: endless dark alleys where the weak were prey, nights spent starving while the powerful feasted on you, the endless cycle of dying a little more with every sunrise.

Even though I’ve never been there, I’ve heard stories, and the thing about stories is that they’re either blown out of proportionor not told enough to capture how serious they really are.

Yielding meant going to meet that

I tightened my grip on my remaining blade until the hilt bit into my palm, drawing fresh blood.

"No," I whispered, the sound barely audible even to myself.

Something flickered in his eyes then. Not surprise. Not anger. Pure, genuine curiosity. As if I were a puzzle he hadn’t expected to be so stubbornly complex.

He lunged.

This time, my body betrayed me. I didn’t dodge fast enough. His strike connected with my leg like a thunderbolt, pain tearing through muscle and tendon in a white-hot blaze. The world tilted violently as I collapsed, the sand rushing up to meet me. My remaining blade skidded from my grasp, spinning away into the chaos. I tried to push myself up, arms trembling like withered branches in a storm...

They gave out completely.

He loomed over me now, his shadow swallowing me whole, blotting out the harsh lights and the distant, silent crowd.

This was it.

The end of Nyx Vaeloria.

A forgotten girl from the gutters, reduced to another stain on the field floor.

My whole life didn’t flash before my eyes in glorious montage. Only questions... cold, hollow, relentless.

Would my parents even be sad? Would they shed a single tear for the daughter they’d abandoned to these monstrous academy? Would anyone remember my name beyond a wolfless, powerless, cursed and twin killer?

Will anyone say "Nyx Vaeloria, was eliminated in the final round."

At least that was remarkable of me

Final round... Very remarkable

Tears slid silently from the corners of my eyes, carving clean tracks through the grime and blood on my face.

I was so tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing exhaustion. Tired of fighting for scraps. Tired of struggling against a world that had never once fought for me. Tired of the constant ache of survival.

And then, through the haze of pain and encroaching darkness, I heard it.

"Nyx."

A voice... familiar yet distant, cutting through the roar in my ears like a lifeline thrown into stormy seas. But I couldn’t see the speaker. The field blurred into indistinct shapes and shadows. My head lolled weakly.

Until something metallic slid across the ground toward me with a soft hiss.

A knife.

It skidded to a stop mere inches from my outstretched hand, the blade gleaming wickedly under the lights, its edge still pristine.

My heart slammed violently against my battered ribs, a sudden surge of adrenaline cutting through the fog like lightning.

I didn’t look up. Didn’t question where it had come from or who had risked everything to throw it.

Hope, sharp, dangerous, and double-edged... flared hot in my chest, burning away the despair.

I grabbed it.

The hybrid sensed the shift immediately. His posture tensed, power coiling like a serpent ready to strike.

But he still underestimated me, just like he has been doing. For that crucial fraction of a second.

I didn’t retreat. Didn’t scramble away in fear.

I lunged forward, straight into him.

Pain erupted like a volcano as his follow-up strike tore across my shoulder, ripping through muscle and sending black waves of unconsciousness crashing at the edges of my mind. Blood sprayed in a hot arc. The world narrowed to a tunnel of agony.

But my arm moved anyway. Pure instinct. Pure, stubborn refusal to die quietly.

I drove the knife upward with everything I had left, every ounce of rage, every shattered dream, every moment of being told I was nothing.

The blade sank straight into his neck with a sickening, wet ...thunk...

Everything froze.

His body went rigid against mine. His breath hitched, wet, broken, gurgling as blood flooded his airway. Warmth spilled over my hand, over my wrist, soaking into my sleeve in thick, pulsing rivers. His hybrid eyes widened in genuine shock, the vampire stillness cracking under the werewolf vitality that fought futilely against the inevitable.

Then he collapsed.

His full weight crashed down on top of me, crushing the last fragments of air from my lungs. I lay pinned beneath him, chest heaving in shallow, desperate spasms, vision swimming with dark spots. Too weak to push him off. His blood continued to soak into me, hot, heavy, intimate in the most horrifying way. It mingled with my own, painting us both in shades of violent red.

This was my first kill.

The realization shattered something deep inside me, like glass fracturing under pressure. A piece of my soul I hadn’t known was still intact cracked wide open. Nausea rolled through me in waves, but there was no time to process it. No space for horror.

The field erupted.

The crowd’s silence shattered into a deafening cacophony, cheers, gasps, roars of disbelief and bloodlust all blending into one thunderous wave.

Sentinels surged forward from the perimeter, their armored boots pounding the sand. Strong hands grabbed the hybrid’s lifeless body, hauling it off me with grunts of effort. They dragged his dead weight away, leaving a long, smeared trail of crimson in the sand.

I stayed exactly where I was, sprawled on my back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling far above where banners fluttered like indifferent ghosts.

Shaking.

Staring at my blood-soaked hands.

Mine.

His.

Both indistinguishable now.

I hadn’t won. Not really.

I had survived.

And for now... in this moment of raw, trembling exhaustion

...that was more than enough.

The world around me faded into a dull roar But inside, a quiet voice whispered:

"One more day. You’ve earned one more day."