Two days after arriving, I'd already found myself in deep shit. Hitting the dirt, I forced both my legs up, sending the speeding nephilim over me and into the floor, instead of onto me, as he'd intended.
Corey, the nephilim I'd floored, and I, were sparring. He'd bet me that I could be bested in under 3 minutes, and I'd accepted the offer. We were at 2 minutes 15 seconds, and counting.
Here at this college, sparring becomes a group event. Like a football game. I'd been witness to 4 of them already, and I was in my first match. Getting to my feet, I stuck out one leg as Corey came flying for me, sending him tripping. I made sure to get a good handful of his face in the process, so he had long, red scratches across the bridge of his nose, like satanic freckles. Dad would have approved of that, as there were no rules in a fight. You do it to live, not to look good. Dirty fighting was the best thing a girl should learn.
One little thing I should mention, is that I'm the only girl here. Nephils are far rarer than their male counterparts, nephilims, which sucks. If dealing with cramps and back pain wasn't bad enough, I have to wait before I can become uber-smart, lethally strong and the identical twin sister to Naomi Campbell. Nephilims are like that from birth, but they get a touch more advanced around 13 or 14, when their voice breaks. It doesn't quite suck being a girl, but it comes close.
Corey turned towards me, growling in the back of his throat. This wasn't just a business fight now; this was personal. He sounded just like Belial did when I caught him in the canteen yesterday.
Basically, another kiss victim had asked him something about me, and he got defensive. It started as a shouted arguement, but ended with both of them shoving eachother about, a lot of growling, several bared teeth, a broken nose, and me wading in to make them cut it out.
With the force of a bullet, Corey came charging straight for me. I clenched my fist and stuck it straight into his nose, as the force carried me into the air. Already, I knew I'd fucked up. I don't have the kind of muscle mass needed to meet a punch, or the weight to stay upright when I whack someone. I should have turned with him, and helped him into the far wall, which we were headed for.
This is gonna hurt! I crashed into the breeze blocks, smushing my face into them. Something wet began trickling onto my top lip, as the crowds parted. A teacher must have gotten wind of the fight, and now it was getting broken up.
I'm not really supposed to be fighting anybody here, as I haven't flourished yet. The angelicky-half-human stuff in my blood is supposed to be toxic to angels, as how bleach is toxic to bacteria. At the moment though, I just smelled like a really good snack.
"What the fuck is going on here?" The assigned teacher asked. Here, when a teacher speaks, you listen. They swear like troopers here aswell, and even encourage us to. It's something to do with the whole Swearing-Is-A-Natural-Painkiller myth. It's one of the myths that are actually true, like how when you get "cold feet" over something, you physically get cold feet. Or that the Illuminati planned the 9/11 attacks, and they killed Michael Jackson because he knew they did, and he showed the world about it on the Blood On The Dancefloor/HIStory In The Mix album cover (released in 1997, with the city in the background as NYC, minus the towers).
"We were sparring, and I got stupid." I replied, as a drop of something wet dripped off my top lip. If that was snot, then that would be so gross.
"Right. You, piss off." He pointed at Corey, "And you, get to the medic roo- Jesus Christ, you're bleeding!"
At these words, the nosebleed sprung up. Scarlet blood soaked my tank top, as two kiss victims grabbed me by the arms and dragged me off. They don't get driven batshit crazy by it, so they have to drag me out. Here at the college, the fight don't end 'til there's blood on the floor. When it's my blood though, it's trouble.
Just another day at the college then.