Veran Brosia hates being called a pixie.

He hates it so much that he snaps at anyone who does. And then they would act surprised because “pixies are supposed to be nice, and gentle”. Humans are the worst when it comes to stereotypes. Veran just wants to be left alone.

Maybe it was his own fault for coming into the human world. Maybe if he just stayed in his own world among his friends, he wouldn’t have to deal with ignorant humans. But then he’d never get to do what he’s always dreamed about doing. Fighting.

There was a human ring that let him fight once a week. They would advertise it under the table as a boxing match between a Sup and a human. Only the regulars bet on Veran, and they usually get their money’s worth.

Veran pounded his gloves together and bounced on the toes of his feet. He breathes heavily through the mouth guard with a wicked smile. His opponent was a beefy looking human who expected this to be the easiest fight he’d won all year. And the human would be right. All he had to do was reach Veran’s wings and pull. But he wouldn’t ever be able to get close enough to do so.

“Fight!” The referee declares.

The beefy human charges forward with a manly yell and swings first. Veran holds his arms up to block his face, and catches the blow with his forearms. The man went for another hit and Veran waited until the punch was too far extended to take back. As the man pushed his momentum forward, Veran dodges left quickly. He supplies a solid punch to the man’s ribs.

The satisfying crack of bone is enough to make Veran sing with joy. The crack of bone beneath his fists released so much pent up anger and frustration that Veran nearly had to take a step back to catch his breath.

Avians, or pixies in Veran’s case, were no stronger than regular humans. But it wouldn’t have seemed that way from how the human man crumpled back from Veran’s hit. The man cries out and charges forward. His fists swing anywhere they could reach. This time, he isn’t really punching. The man is going straight for Veran’s wings in blinded fury of clearly losing this fight.

Veran isn’t surprised by this in the slightest. Once a human realizes they are going to lose, they always go straight for the fragile pixie-like wings. They definitely were the most fragile part of his body, but Veran knew the risks going in. If they got grabbed a little too roughly, the wings would crack, and Veran would never fly again. It is the cruelest form of permanent injury to a pixie-type Avian, and humans never hesitate to jump on the opportunity. Humans are irrational like that sometimes.

The man reached over Veran’s head to grab the pixie-like wings. Veran gives a solid punch to the man’s jaw in response to the vein attempt and sends him flailing backwards. Veran admits that he treats those wings more like bait than real wings. His Nana would say that he’s got a real knack for using his wings for everything except flying.

That last punch was enough to send the human stumbling back and clutching his jaw as blood pools inside his mouth. Right about now is when the human would start yelling that this was an unfair fight because Veran isn’t human. Humans are pretty predictable if you give it enough time.

“This is an unfair fight! He’s not even human!” The man barked at the referee. The referee, a good friend of Veran’s, shrugs. It was as if the referee had said ‘you signed up for this’. The crowd boos the human fighter for being so weak. Veran’s wings flutter. He loves this part. He loves seeing the humans boo their own kind. It makes him more excited than the fight itself.

The referee started to count. If he reached five, Veran would win by default. Inaction for so long in these situations was boring, so the referee usually gave these fights a good five seconds before calling the fight a win in Veran’s favor. Other fighters would have a huge problem with that, but Veran prefers to win this way. It means that the human was too afraid to continue.

“Pixie!” The man sneers as the referee reaches the last count. Veran’s blood boils.

Veran Brosia hates being called a pixie.

He launches himself into the air and attacks the human in front of him. He no longer cares about who wins or loses the fight. All he cares about now is beating the hell out of this low-life human. He wasn’t even going to bother holding back anymore.

But before Veran could throw the knock-out punch, the lights of the arena shut off. The crowd quiets down from their usual screaming applause. A low murmur overtakes the stands. Veran searches for any sign of light in the crowd. He rationalizes that it was simply a power outage. His wings flutter from fear now, rather than excitement.

But something gnawed at the back of his mind. The reminder that people have been disappearing lately. People like him.

He told himself that any moment now the lights would switch back on, and he would go back to destroying this lousy human. That time never came. The low murmur continues to sweep the crowds, and Veran got more and more jumpy. His wing brushes against his wrist and makes him jump with momentary fear.

“Is the power out?” Veran asks. He was talking to the referee but he would take anyone’s answer over the creepy murmurs in the dark. No one responds. The man he was fighting moments before didn’t even have the courtesy to answer back. Veran grumbles.

He wouldn’t be taken. No one would be stupid enough to try and kidnap a boxing-martial artist-body builder. They would have to be insane, right? Veran made sure he was the strongest in the room so that people would stop calling him a pixie. He is an Avian, goddammit. Avians were always the toughest in the room. And with that strength, came the assurance that he was the predator, and not the prey.

If only he knew.

One of the hanging lights from above sparked and Veran jumped again. The sparks fell down toward him and lit the air around him for mere moments.

“Is anyone going to turn the lights back on?” Veran yelled. His voice is uneven. He became more and more unraveled as the seconds of silence tick on. Again, no one answers.

He was standing in a room with at least three hundred people in it. Why is no one speaking up? Veran’s breathing isn’t ragged from fighting; it was ragged from the sudden fear edging its way into his consciousness.

“Hello? What is going on?” Veran sounds more angry than scared now. What kind of cruel joke are these humans playing on him? It isn’t at all funny. He clenches his hands into fists and unfolds his wings. If they aren’t going to answer him, he would just fly himself to safety. Maybe he couldn’t see, but there isn’t much to run into when you’re flying.

But before he could get off the ground, a hand grabbed his wrist.

Veran assumes it is the disgruntled human that he’d been fighting before. He tries to yank his wrist back from the man’s grasp. Only, it didn’t budge.

The hand that Veran couldn’t see tightened even more around his wrist. He screames in pain when it becomes too much to handle. His bones smashed into one another and he heard a painful crack. A pixie’s bones were light and airy to allow better flight. That only increases the immense shattering of bone in his wrist as his assailant squeezes. No amount of muscle building could make your bones more dense, Veran relents.

“Not so fast, little pixie,” The voice hisses. Veran uses his feet to push against the creature's claw. Even with all his strength, there was no breaking that grip.

“Stop.” Veran begs through gritted teeth. “You’re hurting me, you crazy-” His voice cuts off when another claw closes around his throat. He tries to rip at it with his one good hand, but Veran can’t get a good hold. He is losing breath, and a will to fight.

This isn’t the weak human he fought before. This is someone far more powerful.

***

Annisa awoke to clanging chains and an angry man shouting at her.

“Where am I? What’s happening?” He yells. His voice echoes loudly through the dungeon as he rips against the chains that kept him in place. The clanging of chains and the screaming made the others wake up too. Groans to express pain and complaints echo from the surrounding cells.

“Shut up, would you? It’s easier not being awake.” Annisa says. She pulls her knees in tight and hugs them. Waking up here was always the worst. When she is asleep, the reality of her being trapped in this prison cell didn’t exist.

The water dripped from a leaky pipe relentlessly. And the ground was always damp whether it was raining or not. The chains bruised around Annisa’s wrists. She wants all of it to just go away. The dripping. The damp feeling. The numbness in her butt, and the pain in her wrists.

“Who took us?” He whispers, almost inaudibly. Annisa looks up at him for the first time. The light of the high cinder block shaped window dimmed out over his face. He was a buff avian with thin cut wings. In other words, a pixie.

She stared at him for a moment longer. She sniffed and buried her head in her knees. Annisa couldn’t even drudge up the courage to say what she wanted to anymore. They’d come back in, and beat her like the last time she screamed for help.

The man sighed and bows his head. Annisa took in a breath of relief. If he gave up, that meant they were both safe for now.

All the others wallowed in silence alongside Annisa and the pixie man.