"Sixty seconds..."

Hope could die in the next ten minutes.

It would be arrogant to think she was invincible. Being a tribrid- being a Mikaelson, could mean nothing here. She had to enter this ring with every bit of awareness as any ordinary supernatural.

After digesting every bit of information Dominik could give her, she planned to play the bait on a hook. Evade dangerous blows. Let Flynn tire himself out before she unleashed her skill into the ring.

It would be like fishing. First, drag the bait along the riverbed while the fish gives chase. Then only when the fish is too tired to swim anymore, let them catch the bait. The hook will sink in, and reeling will be less of a task with the already exhausted fish.

That was the plan, anyway.

Hope bounced a little on the balls of her feet. The familiar scent of anticipation filled the air. Mainly from the crowd, she thought. Though, she had a sneaking, horrifying suspicion she might be a little excited. Not in the way they were. She didn't want to kill anyone; she didn't think. But the adrenaline pumping harshly through her veins gave her such energy it was difficult to stay still. Maybe it was the knowledge this wasn't a training exercise construed by her family. Flynn wouldn't take it easy on her, and she was eager for the challenge.

Hitting her forehead with the heel of her hand, she tried to dislodge those thoughts from her brain. What terrible things to think. Even if they were true.

The room she was in was small. It reminded Hope of a deep freezer, but it was too dark to see what the walls were made of. She'd been shut in here twenty minutes ago, something about not conversing before the fight. It couldn't be that, though, because everyone had plenty of time to talk before the battle. It's how she'd managed to rake Dom's brain of his tips against Flynn.

No, she suspected it was to get the fighters on edge before entering the ring. Thirty minutes in the silence, in the dark, not knowing what lay ahead. It would make anyone unhinged. Made sense, she thought, the more unpredictable the fighter, the better outcome for the show.

While in her own thoughts, Hope hadn't realized a countdown had begun on the other side of the door. It was cold and flat, leaving nothing to grip for an attempted early escape.

Bummer.

"6...5...4...3...2...1...!"

The steel sheet in front of her slid up with a hiss.

Hope couldn't hear the hollers of the crowd in the surrounding stands as the blood behind her ears pumped wildly. Her breathing slowed, and her knees seemed made of jelly now. But despite these sudden bodily malfunctions, Hope managed to step out of the holding chamber and onto the dusty dirt floor. The ring was set in the same way it had this morning.

Almost.

There were more white markings on the ground. She couldn't tell what they all represented from the ground level, but Hope was sure she'd get some clue if she were higher. Lifting her head, she tried to spot an area that might have a good vantage point. She was a skilled climber, but to do so unobstructedly while trying not to die would be challenging.

Hope shouldn't have done that. She shouldn't have looked up.

Her eyes landed on Benjamin, almost immediately picking him out from the thunderous crowd. He fit right in with his suit and attire, smiling at other patrons who held large wads of cash in their fists. But when his eyes met hers, they were hard and unyielding. She wanted it to mean that he meant what he said and did intend to tear the place down. Every last dusty part.

A voice boomed over the loudspeaker.

"Welcome, one! Welcome, all!"

It definitely wasn't Dorian's voice, but she was sure he was somewhere secure. Watching her every move.

The crowd quieted a little, but there were so many in the amphitheater that it would still be a loud hum even if they all whispered. Dominik hadn't lied to her; more showed up for the evening event. Many more.

The echoing voice continued, but Hope started tuning it out as her eyes landed on the opposite side of the ring. It seemed so much more prominent in person than it had on the screen. Flynn seemed miles away as he paced the space in front of his holding chamber. He was like a caged lion, waiting for the dinner bell to ring.

Hope, however, refused to be the main course.

She stood still, taking in everything she could about the ring. The size and shape, how many places could she dive to avoid the impact of an attack. All without leaving the white surrounding the edge.

The white; the markings. The closer Hope looked, the more she could see, the more she understood. These weren't created by some average witch doing what they're told.

They were constructed into...traps. They were the same entrapments she'd used at the warehouse when she killed the hunters. The same hunters that worked for Dorian.

Hope wanted to roll her eyes.

His revenge skills were seriously lacking if this was some sort of payback. If anything, this gave her an advantage. She knew these traps, this magic. She'd studied it all her life to the point of near perfection. Hope knew what to avoid and what to exploit against Flynn. She looked down at her hands now.

But she couldn't do magic here. Could she?

"There will be two weapons available!" The booming overhead voice caught her attention.

Weapons? Where?

She saw no weapons, not even now, as her eyes flitted over the scene in front of her. Flynn appeared to have the same thought as he looked the place over, glaring to see nothing of use.

"Our contestants will use their battle of wits and strategy to slay each other," Hope could practically hear the announcer grin now, "And might I add, any wrong move on the playing field and it'll be a blood bath."

The audience roared their approval.

Hope locked eyes with Flynn now. Was that uncertainty she saw? Dom mentioned that he was a bit of a show, swinging around the heaviest weapons to intimidate his rival. But he couldn't make a show of his mental ability. Not in the way he was used to. He might be a deadly opponent with an axe, but he'd never had Elijah as a teacher.

She smirked, which only drew a growl from Flynn.

It seemed the introductory was through, finally. So many of the patrons leaned forward. She could feel thousands of eyes on her. Acknowledging that fact sent a trail of goosebumps down her bare arms. Hope still wore the jumpsuit given to her upon arrival.

"Let the fight begin in 3...2...1...."

Her enemy charged into the ring, running at Hope. She studied his footwork as she stepped over the white line. The magic she was so hoping to feel was nonexistent.

So much for the lingering hope that she'd get to use it.

Flynn was agile enough, though, unlike a jaguar or other smooth jungle predator. Fast and robust, he barreled toward her more like a ravenous lion. He might think he's the king here, but didn't he know the lioness did all the hunting?

Hope darted between two sigils painted like spirals into the ground. It was less dusty here, likely to make sure the paint didn't disappear. Before she could take note of the workmanship and understand what damage it could do, Flynn changed course to run at her again. His strategy seemed to be to get in, make the kill, and get out. He could feel the danger of this battle, it exploited his weaknesses; Hope could practically taste the electric spark of his fear on her tongue.

It wouldn't be enough for her to skip around, avoiding him. Eventually, he would catch her, and she didn't want to risk being unable to get out of his grip. Death wouldn't be far away if that happened.

But the crowd could get bored if she didn't get close enough to strike a blow. Meaning the circus ringmasters would intervene and force a death, one way or another.

These thoughts passed through her mind in seconds while she stood her ground to Flynn's charge. He was almost on her. Just a few more steps, and he'd be within touching distance.

Sending her foot in the air, her shoe connected with Flynn's chin, sending his head back along with his body. He crashed to the ground on his back in a heap of flailing limbs while Hope hopped on top of him. She let her total weight crush down on his ribs before crossing over him and onto a safe patch of ground where no sigils lay.

Flynn missed the two tornado sigils by just a hair. Maybe that was the key, get him to fault his own feet into a trap. Then, she wouldn't technically have to kill him herself...okay, it would be by her doing, but it would be more by his own stupidity of magic than her callous cruelty.

Hope looked around, eyes searching for a weapon in the dirt. Then, just when she thought it might be hopeless, she saw a promising shape. Dashing toward it, she was careful to avoid any other paint marks. Maybe yoga with Rebekah to improve her balance really had been worthwhile.

She skidded to a stop before another spiral sigil, but this one was different. It didn't have the shape of a tornado with a thin cone at the bottom swirling upward. Instead, this one looked more like a snail's shell. Unlike the other small trap, it was huge. At least ten feet across in all directions. The center was the only safe portion of the trap, like the eye of a hurricane.

To enter, there was a unique pattern a person had to take.

Some steps directly in front of another, others three feet apart, or another in the next row. Any wrong action could take Hope's legs off. It made this trap easily the most deadly here but ironically also the safest. If she could make it to the center.

One of Freya's past lessons surfaced in her memory. Magic never leaves entirely; there's always some sort of residual energy left behind. To access the power, a witch must be one with the earth. They must let everything else fall behind, trusting the magic to guide them.

Hope glanced over her shoulder just before Flynn's fist came down on the left of her jaw with a blow that resulted in a sickening crack. She'd been so focused on the sigil and its pattern that she'd forgotten Flynn would only be down for a few moments.

That mistake can't be made again, she thought as she dodged out of his arms. Slinking away from them like an acrobatic snake. She'd have to return to the sigil, but at least the crowd seemed pleased as their favorite fighter got a good blow in.

It would be easy enough to push Flynn into the spiral, but it was too great a risk. If he dragged her with him, she'd be toast. So no, she had to find the right time while keeping the crowd occupied.

Hope skirted around the edge of another trap, letting it block their path between each other.

"What's it like knowing you're going to be a has-been?" She shouted through her stiff jaw, over the crowd and across the distance between them.

Flynn's features contorted into fury.

Yes, she was poking the bear, but she anticipated the claws.

"I mean," she continued, letting her arms rise and fall with a shrug, "Once you die, no one will remember your name. You'll be nothing more than a piss stain on a carpet."

His chest rose and fell more quickly. Hope could hear his heartbeat quicken, watched his nostrils flare. Provoke him. Let his anger make him sloppy.

Flynn lunged for her, trying to jump over the trap to reach her. A risky move, she thought as she sprinted away, letting him either fall to his demise or come crashing to the ground where she once stood.

An idea suddenly sparked Hope's mind, almost as if Freya had whispered it to her. She darted through the sigils while taking her shoes and socks off, letting them fall behind her. This was probably taking a risk, but it would win her the match if it worked. Maybe...just maybe, she wouldn't have to kill Flynn. They might want another show like this, given that the crowd was eating it up, and let them both go.

While Flynn was distracted with his new bloodied scrapes from the impact on the floor, she raced back to the snail swirl. She'd have to be quick and precise if this would work.

Hope closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She let the crowd around her drown away until it was no more than a slight annoyance. She imagined the bayou, the energy she always felt coming from the boggy swamp water and moss-coated trees. Focusing on the hum she always felt when practicing her magic there, she latched onto it. Let it flow through her before slowly opening her eyes again.

The first step into the circle glowed the slightest shade of pure white. It was almost invisible. Maybe to anyone else, it was, but Hope could see it. She could feel it.

Stepping forward, her bare foot tingled with the touch of magic. Freya had been right; all magic left behind a residue.

Hope kept on her tiptoes as she took each careful step, ensuring she only touched where the glow emanated. She could feel that magic swirl inside her, greeting her like an old friend.

A step here and a step there...a few more steps, and she made it to the safety of the inner circle. It was a tiny space, barely fitting both of her feet even while on her tiptoes. As long as her legs held out, she'd be safe from the predator who now stalked the circle.

The spiral was too big to clear with a single jump, and even if he could manage it- that move would only send the both of them into the rings around her. They'd both die, and Hope knew he didn't want that. Flynn wanted to be seen and acknowledged, not lying in a pit of piling corpses.

Above them, the announcer spoke again, but this voice was different. She knew it by the distinct roll of the r's in his speech.

Dorian.

"It seems we know the victor, yet very little blood has been shed."

Boos erupted from the stands.

"To accommodate this unfortunate scenario, we've lifted one rule..." his voice trailed away, getting lost in the swarm of rising voices.

Hope glared up at the view box she could see now from this vantage point. Dorian was probably up there now, watching her as he spoke. That stupid smirk probably lifted the corner of his mouth. Hope raised her middle finger to the box. She could have sworn she heard a chuckle in the background.

Why did he seem to think all of her threats were funny?

His voice came again, silencing the fitful audience. "All magic rules have been lifted for one minute. Good luck."

The speaker went out, and in its place, a timer appeared on a digital board. Counting down from sixty seconds.

Sixty seconds.

One minute?! To make a choice like that?

Her legs would give out before they ever called an end to the match. Standing there, she knew she had two choices. Die in her own trap or take out Flynn to be crowned the winner. There wasn't a third option. Just as Dom had warned, kill or be killed.

Forty-five seconds left.

Hope had to make a choice. Die to save her humanity or kill to save herself.

Racking her brain, she searched for some way out of this. Any extra pawn in this chess board she could use to her advantage. She could just maim Flynn, let him be taken to the infirmary. Barely breathing, but still alive.

Thirty seconds.

No, it couldn't be like that. She couldn't spare everyone; now, Flynn wasn't just a jerk from across the room. He was an enemy. Not her fathers, but hers.

Hope quickly met his eyes. They were hungry for blood, her blood. If she didn't finish this now, he'd always be someone she'd have to watch her back for. Of course, his crew would see her as an enemy too, but if she showed no mercy, there wouldn't be much they could do. They would know what she's capable of. Murder.

That was the thing, though, wasn't it? The circus and ringmaster wanted her to be nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer. They wanted her to be the perfect monster they had in their heads.

Monster.

That was the word that made her decision. They could do anything they wanted to her. Torture and beat her to physical submission, but she would never give in to their desire of becoming the monster of their twisted fantasy.

Hope lifted her left leg out, balancing now only on one ball of her foot. Her leg raised above the deadly paint below, ready to come down and set the trap off. She lifted her head, eyes focused on the dark glass box in the far corner.

Want to play dirty? She thought. Fine.

Their biggest competitor, their most unique name - Hope Mikaelson, tribrid, could be dead by the most minor action of letting her foot hit the ground. All the money they wouldn't make off her, all the bets they'd have to return.

The thought made her smile.

Ten seconds.

Hope looked over at Flynn, who still wore an animalistic mask of anger and blood-lust. But the moment she locked eyes with him, something strange happened. Well, strange was an understatement.

Flynn's chest exploded outwardly. A hole in his chest gaped at her, his chest hollow where it should have held a vital organ. It was as if a cannonball had ripped through his body. Blood sprayed, painting her and everything in range with scarlet.

His lifeless body fell to the ground with a wet thud.

The patrons erupted in cynical cheers, but Hope couldn't hear anything over her own heartbeat. Why were they so thrilled? Weren't they confused as to what just happened?

She certainly was.

It wasn't until Hope registered she was holding something firm yet pliable in her hand that her brain caught up with the rest of the world. Hope looked over to see her hand entirely stained in warm crimson. Her fingers securely wrapped Flynn's heart.

The room around her seemed to turn into buzzing static. She didn't see the men rushing behind her but felt the jab of the syringe going into her neck. She pictured silver glitter entering her veins as she fell backward into their arms.

Hope dropped the organ, which was still sticky with blood.

Even as her eyes closed and she plunged into darkness, all she could think was: What the hell just happened?