Javier wasn't a professional fighter, or commentator for that matter, so he wasn't even sure that what he was seeing was what he was seeing. The two fighters threw themselves at each other with a wild abandon that he at once admired, and was repulsed by as well.

Yrsa was able to get some separation and with a lunge, she was able to charge into a huge shoulder check that lifted Latham off the ground and sent him sprawling in the hard dry snow.

Latham stood up and wiped blood from his nose and mouth. He stared hard at Yrsa and with a wild roar that shook the trees around them, he charged. Yrsa did not meet the charge, in fact, to Javier's eyes it looked like her body was relaxing.

Latham closed the distance, and that's when Yrsa's arms shot out and wrapped around Latham's midsection and twisting her body around, she flung Latham away from herself. Latham spun around through the air and was off balance as he skidded backwards. He stopped suddenly, his eyes filled with rage, and his body convulsed as he coughed, spurting blood from his lips. He looked down and saw a jagged piece of wood sticking through his chest.

Yrsa walked to the edge of the fighter's circle and regarded her opponent. She felt nothing for Latham, even now all she saw was an opponent. Her eyes held no hatred or pity, no compassion or mercy.

In her own language Yrsa asked, "Is the fight over, Latham?"

Latham almost laughed but winced in pain instead, "Our fight will never be over."

She stood there, on the inside of the fighter's circle watching him. The wound was oozing dark red, almost black, she knew that he would need to be helped immediately if he was going to survive, but as he hadn't conceded, their laws were clear.

Latham struggled, trying to pull himself off the tree branch, "You took everything from me, bitch! I'll have you're fucking head!" he spat before a coughing fit brought fresh blood to his lips and the snow around him.

Yrsa didn't begrudge the sentiments of the former Chief's father. He was a father after all, and she could only imagine what her father would do in similar circumstances.

Latham pulled and with gritted teeth, snorting and grunting, spitting up blood, spit, and snot from his flaring nose, his neck bulged with the effort as he pulled himself off the tree branch.

He didn't stop to hold his wound; he kept walking towards her. Yrsa watched him come and stepped back allowing the dying man to re-enter the fighter's circle. Latham threw a wide right haymaker that Yrsa stepped inside of, and landed a devastating gut punch to the older man.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

This caused Latham to cough up even more blood as he staggered back from her. She didn't bother speaking. Latham made his choice, though something about this was sad, or it should have been sad. She wondered why she didn't feel anything when looking at this man.

She charged at her target. Latham stood his ground as Yrsa threw punch after punch and kick after kick. Yrsa fought with all the rage of her bloodline. Gone were all feelings, except rage. Rage fueled her attacks and she landed far more than were blocked. The rage of her people burned white hot within her, but there was another feeling with that, softer somehow.

She focused all her strength in an unblocked right hook that knocked Latham sprawling to the ground. She followed it up with a kick to the gut and then a kick to the face which landed him on his back staring up at the sky blankly as he shook his head weakly.

Yrsa, dove on top of the man and pummeled him with punch after punch. There was no end to her rage and there was no end to her stamina. Blood sprayed out from her attacks and coated the ground around them.

How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? It might have been days for all she knew. She let her hands fall to her sides as she stood up. Blood from her fists dripped down and coated the ground at her feet. Looking down, she wasn't able to identify the man who used to be Latham. His face was nothing more than a mashed puddle of ground meat and bone chips.

She turned back to the village council members, "The fight is over." She walked out of the fighter's circle and through the group of gathered spectators. Javier wanted to follow, he took a step towards her, but Huan Li grabbed his wrist and held him in place, shaking his head. Javier understood and stayed where he was.

Keva asked Huan Li, "So, that's it? Yrsa won the fight, so… now what?"

Huan Li gazed at the fighter's circle as people had moved in to tend to the body. "I don't know. I assume that this one thing is resolved, at least for now."

"What were they saying over there? Latham screamed something but I don't understand a word of their language," Michelle said.

Huan Li shook his head, "I didn't catch all of it, but it was something about how he would never stop fighting or something along those lines."

"Well, Yrsa found a way to stop him," Javier replied dryly.

Keva watched as they took the body away. "Ok, so now that that's over…" she stalked up to Rorric and stood in front of him. "Ok, so now what about us? You promised after this was delt with you would hear our story. I have a score of my own to settle."

Rorric regarded the red-haired woman as the rest of her pack joined her. He looked over at Huan Li and nodded respectfully. "I'm sorry, Keva. This fight is over, that's true. But if you remember I said only the Chief can grant the right of combat, and now we are without a Chief. It will take some time before the council chooses another." He started walking away with the rest of the council towards the main lodge, but said back to the Shape shifter pack, not unkindly, "You are welcome to stay, we will see justice served, as is your right. But these things do take time."

Keva was pretty sure that she felt some of that rage that Yrsa had channeled. This was ridiculous, and yet what could she do? She knew that she was just tired and part of her irritation was because of that, but even here, it seemed, bureaucracy reigned supreme.

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