tw: minor gore, bodily harm, fighting, threats

Something tells me this dude is the reason my shoes are missing. As Lorelei’s back hit the metal of the lockers, she very much regretted telling Thema and Ai to go ahead.

“This is for my brother.” The hooded figure’s voice snapped her out of her head, thanking the stars for the speed that let her narrowly avoid the dagger slamming into the locker door where her neck had been. A split second later, and she would have been choking on her own blood.

Whoever this was, they wanted her dead. Fully, seriously, dead. And they were going to do it themselves.

Without wasting another second, Lorelei moved, driving a fist into her assailant’s gut. Flesh met flesh, just the way Mihael had taught her. In the aftermath of the punch, the coughing echoing through the girls' locker room, she got just far enough to think, putting a few benches in between her and the person in the hood.

Think. She needed to think. Would calling for help do any good? The janitor was cleaning the gym, her teammates-

“Thema! Ai, someone, help!”

There was no response, and it hit her then. She was alone in here. At least, on her own. Her teammates had left long enough ago they had to be outside, probably somewhere in the parking lot. All she could do was hope maybe Thema had picked up her shouts.

Fight like this is life or death. Lyss’ words echoed in her head. Because for all you know, it is. That’s where the fun is, Lor. And this was life or death. That was obvious.

The respite from the sudden attack was short lived, Lorelei on the defensive as she moved, moved, and didn’t stop moving. If she stopped moving, she’d die. Here, in a goddamn locker room. Here, the result of a revenge plot she didn’t remember doing anything to cause. The aissalant wasn’t skilled, by any means. But they seemed driven by some sort of fury, lashing out at her and clipping her arms, her chest, anywhere available.

Ducking around a row of lockers, Lorelei practically slid to the end, where a discarded baseball bat lay, probably left over from the game that had happened yesterday. Pure luck. And she didn’t even have a charm.

Too bad she couldn’t use the bat.

The wood of the bat let out a clang every time it struck metal, seven swings landing one hit to her attacker’s side. She missed and missed and couldn’t stop swinging, knowing as soon as she did, she was creating an opening. But she hadn’t expected to create one as she swung.

Blood. Blood and steel. Her mouth was full of the taste, the bat dropping from her hands as she blinked. Once. Twice. Stars, her face felt like it was on fire. Why was her face on fire?

“You fucking Hallowes leave nothing but a trail of destruction behind you. I’m going to finish your bloodline right fucking here. You can thank that dead mother of yours for this, if you ever see her again.”

As the person spoke, voice painted with an anger that was somewhat shocking, Lorelei reached up. Her fingers found her jaw, the blood coating her fingers. Her cheek was heavy, and the cause-

The dagger that had nearly pierced her neck just a minute ago was now in her face. In. The handle protruded from her cheek, the tip of the blade drawing a thin line against the inside of the other side of her mouth. She could feel it, the metal against flesh, in between the sides it had created. The weight, the pain. There was a rushing in her ears, drowning out the noise coming from in front of her. The lacerations on her upper body had nothing, absolutely nothing, on this right here.

And as suddenly as the pain had started, it stopped.

The hooded attacker stopped speaking, eyes wide at the light that sparked in Lorelei’s. She had told Alex, just that day, that she and Lyss were more similar than anyone thought. That was no secret now.

Her fingers wrapped around the handle, sliding it slowly from her cheek, the now free flowing blood staining the fabric of her uniform as soon as it met with it.

“You made the biggest mistake ever, you know that? Rule three in any fight.” She flipped the dagger, grasping the handle and feeling the weight of it, face lit up with a grin. “Never leave the knife.”

With that, she threw the weapon.

~~~~~

“Hey, Thema, was Lorelei okay when you left?”

Lysander looked up as Alex spoke, noting the worry coating the boy’s voice. While he, himself, wasn’t all that concerned, he had to admit that it was strange that she’d been gone this long. Usually, his friend would have been out by now. But five minutes had turned to ten, with no sight of her, and there was a growing sense of unease among the team.

“She was normal. Made a joke about that blonde on the other team falling, then said she was glad he didn’t end up injured.” The tall girl said, crossing her arms as she looked to the gym building. “Despite being hungry, she was completely fine. Which is why it’s-shit, is that-”

Her words were cut off, and the group of worried teens turned to follow her gaze. Lysander felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of his best friend, the pink hair and team number being the only things that identified her. It took everyone else a moment of stunned silence to even speak, but he was already moving, wrapping an arm around Lorelei despite her protests that she was fine.

She very much didn’t look fine.

Lyss’ eyes swept her up and down, noting the cuts and forming bruises, and the fact that she hadn’t changed out of her uniform. She had her bag in one hand, and…

No shoes?

But the worst part that he could see was the cut in the side of her cheek, that moved every time she spoke.

“Damn. Someone looks like shit, and it ain’t me.”

He watched Lorelei blink, before she burst out laughing, a mix of pained gasps and relief. Alex looked sort of sick, and Ai had her phone out, already dialing for an ambulance. Mihael and Thema, though, looked angrier than he had ever seen them.

As the flurry of voices, concerned questions and expressions of worry rose up, Lyss glanced back at the building Lorelei had left a moment ago.

What had happened in there? And who was the cause of it? His fingers itched to withdraw one of his knives from his pockets, to go see if there was any trace of what had happened and who was at fault.

His chest ached with the need to avenge his friend, he himself unaware of how ironic that itself was.