The World Will Crumble In Our Grasp

The iron floor pulses beneath my feet, people’s cheers driving me forward despite the blood dripping from a cut above my left eye. I charge at my opponent, reaching for his temple. He dodges away, thorns protruding from his ears, snaking around his head in a protective helmet. I skid to a stop, breathing heavily.

“Kill the Hanahaki!” Someone in the crowd screeches. The one they’re referring to, Hanahaki, glances into the surrounding crowds nervously. I take that moment of hesitation to swipe my leg at his ankles. Hanahaki slams onto his back. I press one knee into his stomach, and the other on his side, one hand pins down Hanahaki’s arms while the other presses into his temple. The thorns he grows prick my fingers and palm, stinging as I press deeper. I seap all the emotion from me, every pounding thought, and pour it into his frontal lobe.

Hanahaki screams, I can imagine the kind of pain he’s in. Worse than any headache, and wound, anything he’s ever felt- all pinned right in his head. The crowd goes insane. The vines that were wrapping my ankle loosen, he’s losing focus. I ignore the pain and grab onto the thorns, ripping them from his skin. His hands break from my hold and reach up to push me off. I take another clump of vines with me. The plants leave behind blood on his skin, shallow cuts across his face.

Hanahaki swings a fist at my stomach weakly. It nearly knocks the air out of my lungs- nearly. I rip more thorns from under his eyes. The bleeding intensifies, he stumbles on his feet. My foot hits him in the side and he drops to his knees. Hi chest heaves, fighting to breathe, calm the body, survive the blood loss. I already won, I should stop. I won’t get anything by hurting him any further. The crowd’s yells echo in my ears. I feel dizzy, blood is pooling around Hanahaki, almost touching my shoes.

I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, curling my fingers under the plants. It’s a stupid power. Sure, plants growing out of your skin could be cool, but it’s too easy to kill you. Rip them out and Hanahaki will fall soon after. He barely even wins a fight these days. I tear the plants out from their roots. Hanahaki wails tears streaking the blood on his face. My brain slows, letting my hands destroy this boy’s garden of a face and body.

“Please, please,” He gasps, whining for me to stop.

Hanahaki coughs blood, splattering it onto the floor. Someone throws me off of him, screaming at me to stop. The person hoists me up and pushes me out of the boxing ring. I recognize the person as our ref, Forkie. She scowls, hair thrashing angrily- another seemingly useless power. Not that I’ve ever had the honor to fight her. She steers me onto a bench on the sidelines, pushing my head between my knees.

“Calm down, you’re not a rabid dog, so stop acting like one. The Boss will take all your winnings if you don’t calm yourself,” Forkie rests her cold hand on my neck. I didn’t really notice how hard I was breathing before, but now I feel my breaths steady. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The blood on my face and hands in drying. The crowd is still loud and charged from the previous fight.

I pull my head from Forkie’s hand and look up. Hanahaki is being dragged from the center ring, probably for the healer, Aid, to tend to. The floor is slick from his blood, but more fighters line up regardless. I stand up and stalk out of the arena, my pockets already feel heavier.