You two didn't get along. In his eyes, this was his game of survival, and you and your morals were getting in the way.

There was a duality between the two of you, and your side he couldn't stand.

Those thoughts of yours were quickly interrupted by sounds of cheering, mixed with groans that you could recognize as painful.

You went outside and saw Bellamy's bloody figure, punching a guy in the face.

Small pecks of red were left on the ground, illuminated by torches of fire that few people held in their hands.

"Stand up and fight!" Bellamy said to the helpless guy, kicking his leg with one foot.

Breaking the fight would be a good idea. But you knew he'd be more pissed off than he already is.

He lives for the thrill, the adrenaline, the power of superiority at this point. That's why he enjoys leading so much, he adores being followed, looked up to.