Pretty yet deadly

The warmth of it all was intoxicating. Her heartbeat went crazy as the blood was trickling down her face, onto her chin and down onto the marble floor. Why did this feel so good? Why was this easier and easier? Addicting. The crowd cheering made her feel the world spinning around her, like that one time she tried drugs. Would this be just as hard to give up on like the drugs as well? The constant craving for that feeling, but not the aftermath. She wondered what the aftermath would feel like, but for now, there were still four more people she needed to worry about before she could think of tomorrow's reality.

Standing over the corpse, Alex just now noticed the gruesomeness of what she did. This was a hate fight as well. All that mocking in the back rooms, all those invasive touches and stares that made her feel violated. Growling, she smacked her head with her foot, the crack of her bones making Alex almost gasp in pleasure. She was dead and this was her punishment. Now her pretty white dress that Kira mocked her for, was stained red with her blood, a strap was ripped, but she didn’t care. The pretty girl won. 

Turning towards the crowd, her eyes were sparkling with adrenaline, euphoria taking over her as she smiled bright and bowed before skipping off the stage. This wasn't the contest she signed up for, but it was the contest she was going to win no matter what. 

“Good job sunshine,” Damien muttered as she passed by him, smirking.

“Thank you, kind sir. See you in the finals.” 

With a wink, she passed him. She knew he was going to win the next fight so that made the two of them. Going back to her changing room, people were already waiting for her, ready to clean her up, prep her hair and change her dress, but the blood was going to stay untouched, just like any other small wounds. It was their medal to go in the next round. Alex wasn't used to any of this, especially this type of medals that showed their passing. Usually, it would be a pin or some tacky golden star. 

This was nothing she prepared herself for and from the introduction, no one was specifically prepared for it. If they had the luck in their life to get in any physical altercation and win, that was a plus. It all started with some pretty faces, nice bodies, and preppy clothes, but this was so much more now that she was so deep into it. 

As she left herself in the hands of the people in the room to take off her clothes and take care of her, she couldn’t help but wonder how she came this far. How she started to enjoy that gruesome stage that was now bathed in blood, the lights all over them, the masked crowd enjoying every second of it. 

Two hours ago, there were 20 people, now there were only three. Her long red dress with a slit down from her thigh down, low cut both back and the front was long gone. Alex loved that dress and she loved how it showed off her curves and long legs, but now it was long destroyed. Glancing over to the side of the room, on a rack, there laid all her torn up dresses that she wore since all started. Whoever won was going to have their battle clothes sold, a token of this contest, the money going towards the winner. The thought of people buying ripped up and bloodied clothes made her wonder why people would spend money on such things, but she soon realized why. 

All those dresses were now tied to a battle, to a crime, and success at staying alive, being the hunter, not the prey. A token from the battles and a piece of the contest itself. They were still calling it a contest, not just a fight until death. If they wanted help in the last round, they needed to win the hearts of the crowd. Voting each round on who would win and then at the end of each fight keeping scores. It was a system from 1 to 5. They revealed what would happen at the end. The one that got the highest rating would mean they are the public's favorite which would bring its benefits. Not sure of what that meant, they knew it must be something good so they needed to put on their best face even as they killed brutally. 

Some of them sadly forgot this was a contest in the end and the votes counted, so Bruce ignored it. He thought only of the end goal, killing everyone in order to survive. The crowd wanted foreplay, they wanted dirty fights but with fair chances. The girls never fought against the boys, not until the finale round. They wanted the thrill of a long bloody fight, hearing them growl and cuss with each new wound, with each new bruise and cut. Seeing them fight for their lives, seeing the growing desperation as one of them realized this could’ve been the end and tough decisions were going to be taken. 

Bruce wasn't aware of it and snapped the opponent's neck in a matter of seconds. He saw a weak point and took it, finishing it all without giving the crowd what they wanted. The silence after that was morbid, no reaction from anyone, just Bruce in the middle of the scene, arms spread, wanting to challenge the world itself, feeling invulnerable. What he didn’t know was that no one liked that and they were ready to challenge him back. Red buttons lit all over the room. Alex could swear that she saw those red lights flicker inside the crowd's eyes, thirsting for the blood they didn’t get. 

He got one from everyone. If just one person would’ve given him another score, he could’ve survived, but those were not the rules. Tied up, every participant still alive was meant to wound him, not fatal, but in an appealing way that would make the crowd tremble in pleasure. That, or they would join his faith. Whoever had the highest score in that round would get the best prop for the next round. Kira won it by being her sluty self, yet she still died. 

Looking at the dried blood under her nails, the image of her nails dragging down on Kira’s face made her shiver. What did she become? From the first round lamb, she now became a cheetah. She was fast and agile, thanks to the years of gymnastic her mom forced her into taking when she was six; it was now paying off. What would her mother think of seeing her like this? Knowing her little baby killed and killed and killed? Maybe she didn’t have to know. All was good, she was alive and she could be hugged by her mother away. A long nice bath, washing away all the blood and together with it her sins. She would go to church. She would wear her most modest white dress and braid her hair like her mother did ages ago when they would go there. 

“You are good to go princess.” The woman smiled gently towards her, just like a grandmother. 

Kind eyes and deep wrinkles next to her eyes when she would smile. She looked so out of this picture, and yet she was the one that cleaned the blood off and nurtured her wounds. If she could look at her with this kindness even after knowing and seeing all she did, her mother will as well. She loved her. Her little angel. 

“This is suiting.” Alex exhaled as she stared at herself in the mirror. 

An angel. Another white dress, long and flowy, a pair of wings, and a sparkling tiara. The blood wasn't even bothering her. It looked like a second skin now, a piece of her, something that she shall never be able to wash, always seeing it stain her in the mirror. 

The next thing she knew was that she was back on the stage, face to face with Damien. Dressed as the devil itself, black shirt and burgundy vest, shiny shoes and black pants, tiny red horns on his head. He was beautiful she had to admit to herself once again, and if this was a normal contest she could imagine herself at the end of it with him at her side, arm around her waist, both winners, prizes in their hands. A pretty image, but there was going to be just one winner and the prize would be their own lives, still being alive. 

“You look angelic.” He laughed, his fingers gently tracing her face in the eyes of the crowd. 

Smiling, she placed her hand over his, keeping it on her cheek. So warm and gentle, making her insides wrestle inside of her, the thrill she felt as she won, but those long fingers were going to soon strangle her, digging deep into her, wanting her dead. 

“You look devilish yourself.” She smiled as she placed her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, so close.

She didn’t want this… she wanted to be done with this bloodshed, but it was her or him. Getting close to him, their lips gently touching, she gasped as he kissed her back, his hand on her neck, pulling her closer. This was what the crowd wanted, right? A show, to see them suffer, for them to feel their pain while they weren’t losing anything. A love story would make this so much better, a cliche, but it was a cliche because people enjoyed it, always watching it. 

Kissing harder, she moved her hand towards her wings, detaching one, grabbing tight. Before she left the dressing room, the show master brought her another pair of wings, congratulating her on her scores and her new prop. One glance towards the old lady and she realized what it meant. She saw her assemble the wings so now she did the opposite. Cutting her hand on the blade, grabbing tight on it and lifting her hand, she stabbed the wing deeply in the back of Damien just as he used one of his horns stabbing her in the back as well. Both collapsing on their knees, neither of them stopped the kiss, becoming just more intense as the crowd gasped. It was just a matter of time of who would bleed faster, who would turn cold. 

They were going to die in their own way and they were going to wait.