Page 71 of The Phantom's Vice

“Quit flirting with each other and fight!” Master bellows, shocking me so much I nearlyfumble my dagger. Brenden uses my distraction to his advantage and charges forward, his dagger poised to strike my liver. At the last moment, I step out of the blade’s trajectory, using Brenden’s momentum against him as I swipe my leg under his feet, causing him to crash to the ground like a giant felled tree.

Before he can recover, I straddle his chest, pinning his arms to his sides with my calves like Master had done to me so many moons ago. Just like then, my dagger finds its home at the base of Brenden’s sternum, the tip of my blade pointed up toward his heart.

Brenden’s eyes go wide—like he thinks I may genuinely kill him—and he desperately bucks, trying to unseat me. I don’t move, and my muscles hold taut as I try to catch his eye to relay my intentions. When he still refuses to meet my eye, I speak out.

“Submit,” I say, pulling the blade back slightly when Brenden takes a heaving breath.

“That is NOT allowed!” Master screams, his voice cracking with rage. “Kill him now, Boy!”

I look down at Brenden. At that horrified sheen in his eyes. “I-I can’t,” I whisper, my arms shaking.

“How dare you!” Master screams,spit flying as his face purples from rage. “Do it! That’s an order, Boy. The match is over—end it!”

My hands shake on the handle, but I have no intention to move that blade. Brenden looks up with those wide, worried baby blues, and my eyes scream what I’ve been trying to say all along. That I will never, ever hurt him. Not if they hurt me, if they kill me. We’re getting out of here together. There is no other option.

“I can’t,” I say, louder this time. I toss the blade to the side, standing up from Brendan and offering him my hand. “I won’t.”

Master watches the situation, his body eerily still as he watches Brenden dust off. I give my friend a grin and a pat on the shoulder before turning away and walking to the edge of the circle. Just before my foot makes it past the line, my body crumples to the ground.

Utterly confused, I turn my head in time to see Brenden, a triumphant grin spreading his freckled cheeks as he rips the dagger from my spine. The dagger he thrust into me.

I look down at the tip of the blade, at the rubies pilling, falling to the soil with a weak thunk…thunk…thunk.

“You,” I whisper, a strange, cold numbness creeping into my mind. “You.”

“Sorry, brother. It was you or me.”

“I was… protecting you,” I choke, a coppery taste coating my mouth and tongue. “I’ve always… protected you.”

“Maybe you should have looked a little closer at what you thought you were protecting,” he sneers, brandishing that knife in a steady hand. So, so steady. Steadier than mine ever was.

“Brenden,” I whisper, pleading with him with my eyes. “Don’t… don’t do this. We can still make it out together, just like we promised.”

“We both knew that was a lie,” he murmurs, glancing at the weapon in his hand. “It always came down to this. You were just never ready. You never came to terms with it.” His eyes are hardened with hate as he glances back at me. “I did.”

“Brenden, please don’t—” But I never get to finish my plea because just as I do, Brenden swings that blade at me, aiming for the artery in my neck. My reflexes take over, and I grab the blade before it has a chance to connect with something vital. The edge digs so deep into my palm, and blood flows, slicking my grip and sending that awful deep red running down my arm.

But I don’t feel it. I don’t feel a thing. No pain, no sorrow. Just… nothing. I’m not quite sure how, but suddenly, I’m on top of him again, pinning his chest to the ground with that blade pressed into the center of his neck. My blood pools onto his chest, but still, I feel nothing. No remorse, no guilt. Nothing.

“Wait, Ghost,” he breathes. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking!”

I look down at the nameless face, expecting to feel something from the cries pouring from his mouth. But I don’t feel anything. I am nothing—a phantom—just like they wanted.

“Ghost!” he cries, tears streaming down those ruddy cheeks. “Please! I know you don’t want to kill me! I know you care about me?—”

“Care? About you?” My voice is foreign to my ears. Cold and robotic. “A worthless pile of garbage like you?”

My blade pierces his throat, stabbing straight through to the earth below. A horrible squelching sound emanates from the wound as he tries to suck in a breath, drowning in the blood filling his windpipe.

“It’s not personal, brother,” Iwhisper, my knuckles white on the handle of the dagger. “I had to take out the trash.”

I watch the light go out of Brenden’s eyes, waiting to feel something. Sadness, remorse, any of it. But I am numb as I look into the lifeless eyes of my best friend. So, so incredibly numb. I hang my head, glancing down at my palms.

Red. Awful, disgusting red—-covering my hands, seeping into the earth beneath my knees. Slippery, metallic, deep dark red seeping from the knife lodged in my friend’s carotid.

“Fucking finally! I was wondering when that bitch would finally die.”

It’s the voice of one of the remaining Rooks, though it sounds distorted to my ears. Like I’m underwater, and I can’t seem to raise my head above the waves.

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