by Keri Lake
“Oh, yes. You’ll be right over top of them.”
Fascinating.
The view has utterly consumed me, so much that I don’t immediately notice Madame has stepped away until I hear her speak from behind. “Thalia, I’d like you to meet one of your Champions.”
“My Champion?” I turn to see a short, but muscled, man in worn clothes.
“This is Percy. He’ll be fighting in your honor.”
My smile fades with the burgeoning confusion that has me glancing toward the field and back. “My honor?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I pray that luck will be on my side today, and I might call you mine.”
What?
The man bows his head and exits the box, while another steps up in his place. “This is David. He’ll also be fighting in your honor.”
Brows furrowed, I watch as the man bows like the first and exits soon after. “What do you mean, fighting for my honor?”
Ignoring my question, as has been the custom with her, she turns toward the man climbing the staircase toward the box. Blond curls and narrow blue eyes, he carries an unsettling glint in his expression. Something that has the hairs on my skin standing on end. “Ah, Remus … I wondered if you’d show.”
“I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to lay eyes on the virgin daughter.” Those ominous blue eyes sweep over me, and the corner of his lip lifts with a devious smile. “She’s everything I imagined, and more.”
“Will you be fighting in her honor?”
“No. I’ve arranged for someone to fight in my place. He’s preparing as we speak.” Without taking his eyes off me, he steps up into the box, his closing proximity forcing me backward. “How utterly spectacular.” The moment his hand reaches out, I notice the deformity of it. Ectrodactyly, specifically, where the fingers between his thumb and pinky are absent. I’ve read about it, but never actually seen a real-life case of it.
I rear back, the thump of the glass hitting the back of my head, and he lifts a golden curl from my shoulders, letting my hair slide between his only two, long, bony fingers.
“I look forward to another meeting,” he says.
“Please don’t touch the prize.” Madame’s flat voice carries an air of authority and impatience.
The man gives only a slight bow of his head and steps away, before exiting the box.
When he’s finally out of sight, I lurch forward, my hands balled to fists. “Prize? What is this?”
The smile that stretches across her face sends a sinking feeling to my stomach. “I told you, my dear, there is nothing more ambitious, nor inspiring, than hope.”
Instincts fire off like canons inside my head, and I dart across the box, but not before she steps back behind a glass shield that slides down and separates us. My body slams into the barrier and I crumple to the floor on impact. After only a moment’s distraction, I scramble to my feet and hammer my palm against the glass. “What are you doing! What is this!”
The stoic expression on her face rattles my nerves. “I have to tell you, darling, we’ve never had a crowd like this before. It’ll be quite an event. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make the official kickoff announcement.”
A throbbing pain shoots up my wrist as I slam the heel of my hand into the glass. “Wait! Wait!”
She and Henry disappear into the shadows, leaving me alone inside the glass cage.
Twisting around shows the crowd filtering into the seats, and perhaps I was wrong about the size of it, because there seems to be spectators everywhere I look. A sea of them below me.
“Thalia.” At the sound of a familiar voice, I spin around and find Sam. The man who brought me here, sold me to this wretched woman without care, or conscience.
“What are you doing here?” If the venom in my tone were poison, the jerk would be seizing on the floor right now.
“I came to fight for your honor.”
“To hell with fighting for my honor. Get me the fuck out of here!”
“The cage is locked with a code. Only Madame can open it.”
I trail my gaze over my surroundings in search of a crack, a gap, a weak point. A means of escape. “What is this? What is going on? Why am I locked inside here?”
Frowning, he lowers his gaze. “You’re the prize.”
“What does that mean? She’s selling me off?”
“A half dozen men have been chosen to fight for your virtue.”
“And …. And then what?” The anger and frustration vibrating through me affects my words. “They get to break in the virgin?”
“They get to keep you.”
The lying, thieving bitch. “You said she wouldn’t sell me, but you knew she was keeping me for this!”
The remorse crinkling his brow doesn’t even begin to tug at my heart, my hands twitching with the urge to punch him right now. “I’m sorry. I needed the supplies. Desperately. But it was wrong, and now I’m going to fight on your behalf. And I swear to you, I’ll take you back to the convent.”
“That’s sweet, and all, but I just met one of the Champions, and he’s about twice your size.”
“I’m not fighting the Champions.”
“Then, what--” My question is cut short by a loud screeching scream that drowns the din of conversation and chatter echoing through the stadium.
Muscles tight and trembling, I turn away from Sam, and see the truck that was parked back at Madame Beaumont’s compound backing in through an opening below. It comes to a stop, and three of the guards I recognize, one of them Henry, climb out and round the trailer to the back. They swing back the door, and something caught on one of the grates catches my eye.
Teal. Flowy. It flutters as it dangles from a sliver of the trailer’s wooden grate. Bright red dots are scattered across the fabric, sending a sinking feeling to the pit of my stomach.
Oh, God. Yasmin.
The three guards wheel a large, steel box into the stadium, to just beneath my feet.
“Welcome, my beloved patrons, to the Battle of the Monsters!” Madame Beaumont’s voice thunders from somewhere above, and I search the crowd to find her. “Every tournament, I try to procure a worthy prize, and this year, I have a special treat for you! One I think our Champions will find most enticing!” In a sea of stillness, I catch sight of the rippling fabric of her outfit, where she stands on a platform at an adjacent section of the stadium. From here, I can see the wicked smile that I’d love to slap right off her face, when she waves her hand toward me. “Behold, the Virgin Daughter of Szolen!”
The roar of the crowd below steels my muscles, and I back away from them, until the glass wall behind me presses into my spine.
“You know the rules. Six Champions will fight to their deaths,” Madame prattles on, and I turn to find Sam is still standing behind me. “If all six fail, she will be awarded to the monster as a sacrifice for good fortune and health!”
Another round of deafening cheers.
“Sam …” My voice wobbles in my throat. “What does she mean? Awarded to the monster? What monster?”
The crowd silences beneath a loud beeping sound that skates across every nerve ending in my body. A woman’s robotic voice follows.
‘Danger. Please step back. Please step back.’
A door on the silver box below me clicks forward, then slides open on a gust of smoke. Long translucent claws curl around the edge of a box, before a terrifying creature steps out of it.
Breath held, I step forward, staring in awe at the enormous deformity below me. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It has the form of a human, but mutated to something else entirely, and its height nearly reaches the crossbar of the goalpost.
The creature hobbles forward and turns its small black eyes to me. Soulless eyes. It leaps into the air, and I tumble back onto my ass, kicking away from it. Too high up, the creature can’t reach me here, but when it leaps again, I can’t help flinch.
The crowd breaks into a riot of shouts and cheers, some of them climbing the fence that
divides the seating from the field. They remind me of riled animals in the presence of a bigger predator.
Their shouts seem to excite the creature below, who scrambles about the field on all fours, bounding upward for the spectators.
“I have to go,” Sam says behind me.
Snapping my attention toward him and back to the creature, I shake my head. “Wait. Get me out of here.”
“I told you, Thalia. I can’t. I don’t know the code.”
“Well, try, dammit!”
“I’m going to. I’m going to fight the monster in your honor.”
Slamming my hand against the glass, I stare at him through the translucent barrier. “I’m not a virgin. I’m not what they think I am! They’re fighting for nothing.”
“Do not say a word of that in front of her. Hear me? They’ll sacrifice you for that alone.”
“You can’t beat that thing, Sam. It’s huge!”
“We’re allowed all weapons except guns.”
A weapon might give him a slight advantage, but my muscles still burn with the fear and anxiety of having to watch it.
“Please. Whatever you do? Don’t die. Okay?”
“I promise. And, Thalia? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come to this. I’ll make it right.”
Chapter 9
Face plastered to the glass, I watch as the first contender, David, steps onto the field. He wears a helmet that reminds me of the gladiators back at Madame Beaumont’s home, and everything clicks into place. This woman is so obsessed with that time period, she’s resurrected it from the past.
Clutched tight in his hands is an oversized axe. One that could do some damage, if he actually knows how to use the damn thing. His knees look like they’re shaking as he waits in the center of the stadium, facing off the creature that crouches down to all fours.
Shifting on his feet, David seems to be stalling, as though anticipating the mutation’s first strike.
Only a flash of white streaks across the field, before an object flies up into the air beneath my feet, and I realize it’s David’s severed head.
My jaw comes unhinged, stomach churning, as the creature tears the man’s limbs from his body, pausing to tear away a bite of his flesh.
“Oh, God,” I whisper in a shaky voice.
Four men enter the arena, carrying pointed sticks that they jab toward the creature, urging it back to the opposite side of the stadium. Once there, they quickly scatter in all directions, but the monster manages to swipe one up before he can retreat through the doors. The caught man kicks and screams as it lifts his thrashing body to its mouth and tears his spine out with its teeth.
My veins are so deluged with adrenaline and shock, I can’t even react to having witnessed such a thing. As if every emotion is paralyzed.
Another contender steps in and manages one hit with a spiked flail, looking like something out of medieval times, before his body thumps against the outer surface of my cage, leaving a bloody imprint on impact. He falls to the dirt below.
The third man to enter shakes uncontrollably and scrambles for the wall of the arena, in an attempt to climb for his freedom. His harrowing screams convert to gurgles, as his torso is torn in half like a frail sheet of paper.
Tension coils inside my muscles, my hope for escape dwindling with every sacrifice. And soon, I’ll be one of them.
Sam is next, and for whatever reason, my heart aches for the look of determination on his face. Yes, he put me here. Yes, he’s a lying, thieving bastard for selling me off to a lunatic. Yes, I’d surely take pleasure in wrapping my own hands around his throat.
But no one deserves the kind of death I’ve seen so far. Not even him.
The creature darts at him, and in spite of the weapon, which looks like a pronged bat, he skirts around it, managing to dodge a hit. The mutation slams into the arena wall on a cloud of dust. A victorious smile lights up Sam’s face when he glances up at me, but I remain watchful, cautious.
Hopping back to its feet, the beast twists to face him. On a loud screech, it charges, and as Sam pivots to dodge again, the creature catches him by the throat.
My heart hitches.
Sam’s eyes meet mine in one blink, before the creature bends forward and rips away his throat. His body convulses in its grasp before he’s dropped to the ground.
No. Oh, God, no.
Only two men remain.
Two chances of escaping this cage and avoiding the same horrific death as these men.
The next contender, Percy, steps into the arena. Boasting bigger muscles than the men before him, he might stand a chance, but I can’t bring myself to hope. The man shifts on his feet, holding the weapon light in his hand. The creature charges. My muscles sag with relief, the moment he whacks his axe into the creature’s flank and blood spatters upward. Quick on his feet, he dodges the chasing swipe of the mutation’s claw. Another swing of the axe kicks it back a step, and the mutation roars at him on a charge. Percy pivots and shuffles, and for a split second, my heart thumps again with hope.
The big muscular man has managed more hits and outlasted the contenders before him, but as he dodges the snap of its teeth and slides to the ground, I watch on with my hands balled into fists.
The creature slams its claw into Percy’s chest and yanks out his still-beating heart. In the next breath, the beast consumes it in front of the crowd.
I fall to my knees in defeat.
“Our last contender will be fighting on behalf of his master, Remus Drenzel. You may recognize him from some venues throughout the Deadlands, known as the God of Monsters! As I understand, this Champion is quite skilled at fighting, but even the best warriors don’t seem to be a match for this creature, so be sure to stick around afterwards for the virgin sacrifice that will immediately follow the tournament!”
Ungodly bitch!
None of these men were expected to defeat this monster. I suspect none of them could defeat it. The point of this was never the battle itself, but my inevitable sacrifice. For their health and prosperity.
Tears blur my eyes, as the final contender makes his way into the arena. A black leather mask covers his nose and mouth, and his hair is pulled back from his face in a ponytail. Tall and muscled, he’s far brawnier than Percy, and the scars on his body are the marks of many battles, but I’ve come to the disappointing realization that it doesn’t matter how strong they are. This creature seems to have a genetic advantage in its favor.
Unlike the others, the new warrior wears tattered rags for clothing, with unbound shackles at his wrists.
A slave.
As if this fight is his only moment of freedom.
I fear it’s his last moment.
The mutation screeches and hisses at the man, who remains stoic, unfettered by its threats. I study his body, which doesn’t tremble in the least. And it’s then I notice that he didn’t bother to bring a weapon into the arena.
As if he plans to fight the thing with his bare hands.
What the hell?
The creature hops and skirts around him, like he’s the threat, and I frown down at the strange encounter.
The mutation barrels forward.
The man lashes out, grabbing the creature by the throat, and throws it across the field, where it skids over the dirt, kicking up dust.
I rise to my feet. My heart leaps into my throat.
Something is different this time. Something about this man sets him apart from the others. I scan his body, and while it appears to be as human as every other man who’s stepped in before him, he can’t be. No man could possibly do what he just did, tossing the enormous monster like it was nothing but a plaything for him.
The mutation charges again and swings out its claw, leaving a gaping slice over the man’s bicep.
The crowd gasps. A dark cloud of despair settles over me. This is when they start to fall apart. This is when the creature gets the best of them.
The mutation scrambles toward the wall on all fours, but not before
the man snatches it by the foot and yanks it back. Coiling around, it thrashes another claw that slices across the warrior’s meaty thigh. Another swipe lashes at the hardened muscles of his stomach. Releasing the mutation’s foot, he throws his leg over its body and takes hold of the underside of its face. In one quick snap, he tears the mutation’s head from its body.
Done. Dead. Like snapping a dandelion from its stem.
A wheeze of a laugh rattles in my chest, the shock of his victory a tight clamp around my lungs.
The crowd is silent. Not a single hoot, or holler. As if they’d hoped for his death and, ultimately, my sacrifice.
It’s not until the man tosses the mutation’s head onto the ground that the spectators finally break into cheer, the sound of it like thunder throughout the stadium.
“God of Monsters! God of Monsters!”
Their chants reverberate off the glass dome ceiling, beating down my spine, while I breathe shallow in a poor effort to slow my racing pulse. Spread out over the cage barrier, men raise their drinks, spilling it onto the arena below, while women bare their breasts, screaming and whistling for the fighter’s attention.
I exhale a sigh of relief, watching him stride out of the arena, skin coated in a sheen of sweat.
And then I remember.
This man fought on another’s behalf.
The blond man with a serpentine smile and clawed hand.
Remus.
Chapter 10
“Congratulations. It seems you’ve been spared today.” Madame pecks at the wall beside the glass barrier, presumably punching in a code, while I wait, impatiently grinding my teeth. “You should know this is the first time we’ve not had a sacrifice to offer. I fear what this will mean for the future.”
The glass wall slides upward, and as I step forward, she steps back toward Henry behind her.
“I hope you starve to death in famine. That you become so violently infected with the Dredge, your own guard has to slit your throat.” I spit on her, smiling as the saliva drips down her cheek.
With an indignant expression, she wipes it away. “Gloat, if you will. But I can’t say the fate you’ve been handed is any better than the one you faced today.”
