“Here are the rules,” announces Sharkie. “Upon the count of three, you shall battle onto the death. If the Choker loses, he goes to Hell.” The angels look at me with encouraging glances. “If the Choker wins, he goes to Heaven.” The demons let out a deafening roar.

I watch the demons cheer, my hands balling into fists. Those freakies would love for a purely evil soul to enter Heaven. If a spirit has even a smidgeon of good in it, they ‘go angel’ once they cross the pearly gates. A purely evil soul could cause no end of trouble for the angels, and demons love trouble.

The crowd quiets into a nervous hush. Sharkie waves his hand; Sheila, Walker, and XP-22 make a hasty exit into an obliging archway. I hop from foot to foot and crack my neck. This will be a hoot.

Sharkie raises his arms. “The battle begins in 3, 2, 1!”

If your nickname is ‘the Choker,’ it doesn’t take a genius in battle strategy to predict your first move in a fight.

“I kiiiiiiiiiiiiiill you!” Sure enough, the Choker lunges for me with both hands outstretched, aiming directly for my throat.

That gets my demon up. Anger spikes along my spine as my attacker speeds toward me. Each step goes in what feels like slow motion. I look around helplessly as if I’m cornered instead of surrounded by an empty arena the size of a football field.

The Choker’s fingers brush my neck. My rage boils over. Jumping super-high, I haul up my knees, then kick my opponent squarely in the chest with both feet. The Choker falls flat on his back with a satisfying thud. Meanwhile, I use the momentum from my chest-kick to flip backwards into a somersault, landing right by his head.

Twisting my hips, I send my tail whipping toward my attacker’s boots, careful to loop the length around his ankles. Stepping backwards, I tighten my tail around the Choker’s feet and haul them up to his waist-level. The movement makes him curl his body so his hands rest right beside his ankles, which is exactly where I want them.

Shaking my hips again, I loop my tail around the Choker’s wrists, cinching together his ankles and hands.

I grin. This scumbag’s now hogtied.

The Choker’s face flushes red as he rocks on his back, trying to wriggle free from my tail’s grip. Not going to happen, buddy.

Tapping his boot with one finger, I whisper: “I beeeeeeeeeeat you.”

The Choker struggles in a losing battle against my tail. Sharkie raises his bony arms. “The human loses!”

The angels cheer while the demons act like someone knocked their collective ice cream cones on the pavement. Boos and hisses erupt from the dark seats. Turning to the angelic side of the stadium, I wave to my cheering fans.