Prisoner

Prologue

Prologue

Fists flew with the vigor of a thousand bulls as rage flooded his system like a dam busting open during a hurricane. Bloodied knuckles collided with bruised flesh, igniting barrel after barrel of TNT hidden within his veins. He was ready to completely destroy the competition and he felt the adrenaline fly high as each fist slammed into its target. He added extra oomph, quite literally, with a kick to his opponent's face, watching several teeth go flying through the air and into the dirt of the arena.

Fury. Rage. He loved it. It was a fire he wanted to be consumed by. It was enough to give him goosebumps as he grabbed his opponent's head and smashed his own head against it, watching his opponent crumple to the arena floor. His peers whooped and hollered with excitement, with their own sense of bloodlust.

Not that it was any match for his own.

He was a keg of gunpowder waiting to explode and take out everyone in the area.

He wasn't done yet.

He picked his opponent up off the floor and threw them up against one of the walls of the arena, drawing his fist back and hammering it like a jackhammer into the guy's skull. More screaming and hollering from the audience that only set fire to his veins once more. He bared his fangs and took out a hunk of flesh, earning a satisfying scream from his opponent. Blood hit his face like a glorious shower as his opponent hit the ground, unconscious. He faintly heard the roar of his instructor.

He backed up, breathing heavily, wiping spit and blood from his mouth as he looked down at his latest victim.

He was so goddamn proud of this one in particular.

Mikhail had been pursuing him for years. The sick bastard had even courted him as a child, despite constant warnings from other guardians. The black haired jinn lay face down in the dirt, blood pooling around him like a sea, his body riddled with enough injuries to keep the guy in the medical wing for weeks, if not send him to the morgue. It made Four salivate for more. He wanted to take the guy's body and bury it six feet under.

Gods, but it was so satisfying to put him down. He wanted to do it again and again.

"Winner," Micah's voice shouted through the ear ringing glory in Four's head, "Four, what is your answer to Mikhail's proposal?" After all, that was what this had become. It had gone from a simple battle of opponents to a bloodied feud when Mikhail proposed marriage.

Four told him exactly how he felt about the proposal. With his fists.

"Fuck no," Four declared, "Rot in Tartarus, piece of shit!" The audience screamed and roared with approval. Because no one liked Mikhail. And this was the only time they could declare it, when the bastard was face down in the dirt with Four's foot on his shoulders.

Satisfied, Four backed off, held his arms out to encourage the roar of the crowd while the medical team came sprinting over to gather Mikhail into a stretcher.

"Back..." came a croak that made Four frown and lower his arms. Four came stomping over, grabbed hold of one of the medics and threw him aside so he could get right up in Mikhail's bloodied ruined face.

"Come again, asshole?" He demanded. Mikhail peered at him with a bloodshot red eye.

"I'll... be back... and when I am... you're mine," he choked out. Four smirked at that, leaning away and giving Mikhail a firm squeeze on his bloody shoulder that made Mikhail moan in agony.

"Yeah, okay, asshole. Enjoy the morgue," he responded laughingly and stepped away to go join his peers.

"Holy shit," Six, his fellow artificial, said in awe, "You completely destroyed him. He's practically dead." Beside him was his husband, Three, who also looked impressed as he watched the medics wheel Mikhail away.

"I'm fuckin' lucky you didn't say no like that," Three said. Six snorted, so did Four. Because he could not imagine Six decking anyone like he'd done to Mikhail. Six, while a strong artificial, was ultimately far too weak to demolish his opponent, especially if said opponent was his husband, Three. Despite the fact that Six had said no to Three's proposal, he hadn't fought too hard to keep the inevitable from happening. It helped that they were friends since childhood.

Four, on the other hand, held no soft feelings for Mikhail in his heart.

At five-years-old, he'd met Mikhail when the jinn was only sixteen. The predator had approached him and asked if they could play a game together. When Four had refused, Mikhail had dared to lay a hand on him, so Four bit him. It was the beginning of their not-much-of-a-relationship relationship.

Now, years later, he had finally beaten the male into submission.

Four was just too powerful.

He was strong. He was wrathful. He was glorified by his peers.

He was all mighty.

No one could defeat him. Not a soul.

Especially not Mikhail.