Yrsa swung her war hammer once more, slamming the broken wing into the ground. She then jumped on top of the metal, swinging down over and over onto the spine of the beast.
The wing broken and dented, Yrsa dropped her war hammer for the moment, lunging fully onto the back, pulling at the stem of the wing.
The metal tore, the crowd cheering as the wing came flying off, landing on the ground.
But the harpy did not feel pain. Not like a normal beast. It instead jabbed out with one of its swords, sliding it behind its torso, almost hitting Yrsa in the chest.
She leapt off, reaching for her war hammer, when a large smashing sound made her turn back around.
Logan Rexington. Yrsa had not spoken to him, not since he first went into the arena. But he here was, standing over the dead body of the metal harpy, axe in hand.
First, he’d stolen her headline match. Now, he’d stolen her kill.
“Leave me be, you stupid man!” she roared, gritting her teeth as she twirled the war hammer in her meaty hands.
“I was just—” Whatever Logan Rexington said was drowned out by the sound of sirens. Yrsa gave pause, looking around the arena.
There were still a couple of metal harpies in the air, Grimsaw twirling his flail as he waited for one of them to strike. The barbarian was often put in matches with Yrsa, another contender who did not favor the metal crossbows of the beyond time.
He too was looking around. The siren was different than the others. Which meant something was about to happen.
She glanced up to the screen, frowning to try and read the words. She’d never needed to read when she was alive, and was struggling to learn in the afterlife.
“Scary Viking lady?” Logan said. “What does ‘lava mode’ mean?”
Yrsa rolled her eyes, looking to the center of the arena.
A burst of orange light appeared as the bubble of lava popped in the middle. Slowly, but surely, the lava began to seep out, spreading in a near perfect circle.
The lave started as a puddle, only five feet across. But they only had three, maybe four full rotations of the arena before the lava would swallow them all whole.
“Oh shit!” Logan clutched his axe tight, his eyes widening in fear. “Okay… if we go back to back we can—”
But Yrsa was already on her feet, circling around the lava in the middle, looking between the two harpies above her.
“We should work together!” Logan called out to her.
“This is my battle!” Yrsa yelled back. With that, she picked up a broken piece of the metal wing, and hurled it up above her.
Of course, one of the metal harpies darted out of the way, easily avoiding the blow.
But it caught the attention of the beast. This one had its own war hammer clutched in its metal hands. The wings slid behind, the beast darting towards Yrsa, piercing the air impossibly fast.
Yrsa clutched her war hammer tight, looking over at the downed harpy near her. Logan Rexington had already darted away, trying to talk to Grimsaw as the barbarian swung his flail into the last remaining harpy.
How could Logan Rexington be regarded as such a fearsome warrior? He spent more time trying to talk than to fight. Yrsa had thought he’d shown promise last night, fighting against that dreadful Yateley in the barracks.
But in the arena, she was convinced he’d spent more time watching her than the harpies.
Maybe trying to learn from the best?
Yrsa would show him the best.
She planted her feet on the ground, glancing up at the harpy as it pelted towards her. Yrsa chanced a glance to the expanding lake of lava, now fifteen feet across.
There was time. But none to waste.
Grabbing her large hammer with two hands, Yrsa held it up, ready to swing when the harpy got in close.
The beast would have to spread its wings to slow down its descent to attack.
It would be expecting Yrsa to swing.
What it didn’t expect was Yrsa to drop her war hammer. As the metal harpy curved its wing out to block the blow, the war hammer dropping to the ground was a satisfying thud. Yrsa darted in, leaping up a few feet, right into the middle of the metal beast.
She grabbed onto the harpy’s war hammer, digging her feet into the ground. Her heels dug grooves into the sand and dirt, coming to a halt a few feet away as the harpy pushed against her.
With that, Yrsa grabbed the middle of the war hammer, twisting it in a circle.
The metal harpy’s arms clashed together, its grip loosening as the elbows smacked into each other, contorting at an odd angle. If the beast could feel pain, Yrsa was sure it would be screaming.
With that, Yrsa yanked the war hammer free, bringing it crashing down on the harpy’s head.
After the third blow, the metal cracked apart, sparks and the strange material inside bursting free.
Yrsa roared, the crowd cheering her on, as the metal harpy slumped beneath her feet.
As the metal beast fell, she glanced across the growing lake of lava. Twenty feet across, it helped light the other harpy from underneath as Logan fired a crossbow bolt into the wing and Grimsaw slammed into it with his flail. The ball of metal spikes knocked the sword out of the harpy’s hand before swinging around and smacking the head clean off the beast’s shoulders.
All the harpies in the ring were defeated.
But the lava was still growing.
Yrsa frowned, glancing at her surroundings. The crowd began to murmur, look at one another confused. Usually the announcer came in at the end of the match, but there was no voice to be heard.
The lava still growing, Yrsa darted forward, picking up the war hammer in the other hand. Whatever she was about to face, two war hammers were better than one.
Griping the metal tight, Yrsa glanced up as the siren blared once again.
“BATTLE ROYALE MODE!!! LAST GLADIATOR STANDING IS THE WINNER!” the voice of the announcer finally called out. It was hard to hear any words after ‘Battle Royale’ as the crowd began to scream.
Battle Royale.
They’d no longer be fighting metal harpies, or Nazis.
They would be fighting each other.
Yrsa gripped both war hammers tight, darting towards the nearest contestant. She adjusted her sprint, moving around the lava as it grew. At least thirty feet across, it made running through the middle of the arena impossible.
Grimsaw began twirling his flail, slowly approaching Logan. Yrsa ran up behind, readying both war hammers.
She could easily swing them into his legs, fell the barbarian before pummeling him from above.
But that felt like cheating somehow.
“GRIMSAW!” she yelled, pointing one of her war hammers at him.
He turned around, snarling, his blue warpaint beginning to drip off from the sweat. “Now we’ll see who’s really the strongest gladiator!” He grinned, blood matted in his teeth from an earlier wound.
Grimsaw lunged forward, swinging the flail above his head. The spiked metal ball swung down, Yrsa easily stepping to the side as it slammed into the ground.
Yrsa swung up with one of her war hammers, hitting Grimsaw’s elbow from below. The bone cracked as it bent in the opposite direction, Grimsaw screaming in agony.
She then slammed her other war hammer into his foot, his little toe flying off from the blow.
Yrsa spun around, bringing both war hammers down, each solid block of metal pounding into either side of his skull.
The blood burst out, splashing her in the face, teeth and chunks of bone bouncing off her cheeks. Clumps of the brain spurted out, flying up into the air, dangling for a moment before coming crashing back down.
This was what the afterlife was supposed to be. For the glory of battle! Grimsaw would be back again in a few days, the dead always returning to Hel eventually.
But for now, it was time to have fun.
As she grinned at Logan, she knew she was about to have lots of it.
Chapter 18
L
ogan has seen a few head shots in his time. Even been close enough to get some blood sprayed on him.
He’d never been standing right next to someone when a Viking slammed two sledgehammers on either side of their head.
Grimsaw’s skull had cracked in on itself like an egg, blood bursting out at all angles. One of the ears had somehow survived, an intact piece of the body now sitting inside the smashed in skull.
Chunks of flesh and bone had burst out the front and the back. A flap of scalp covered in hair dangled past the neck, shards of skull and a river of blood pouring out of the wound.
Logan couldn’t help but watch as large clumps of brain matter flew up into the air, landed with a plop in the sand.
He instinctively reached down, his first thought to wipe the sand off the brain, in hopes of somehow returning it to the body.
But as Logan’s hand reached out, his military training took hold, suppressing any primal and panicked instincts.
He took a step back, Yrsa holding out both her sledgehammers as the crowd went wild, a few even chanting her name.
Logan moved slowly, hoping not to draw her attention. But after a few tense moments, she lowered her war hammers, wiping some of the blood from her face, grinning as she looked at Logan.
“We don’t have to do this!” Logan said.
“Do not worry, little Celt man,” she said, beginning to march towards him. “You cannot die again in Hel. You’ll be back in a few days, just like everyone else.”
“Oh… oh damn.”
Yrsa had no idea what was actually happening. Logan took a few steps back, the horror setting in.
Of course. She was a Viking. Iron was a modern miracle to her. She wouldn’t understand about clones, or space travel.
She would understand the world as a woman who grew up in the Viking age.
“Listen! This is real,” Logan said, “if you kill me—”
“Of courses it’s real!” Yrsa pointed one of the sledgehammers at him. “Now prepare to fight!”
“No, I mean, I…” There was no way Logan could explain in time.
Not with the lava growing closer.
The arena itself was slowing spinning, but the lava was consistently growing. Seven, maybe even eight meters across now. They only had a couple of minutes before it reached them.
Logan glanced down, noticing Grimsaw’s flail on the ground next to him.
He grimaced, picking the weapon up. He’d barely had time to practice with the crossbow, yet alone a spiky ball of metal attached to a stick by a rusty old chain.
Yrsa held each sledgehammer out, lunging towards him.
She swung the first sledgehammer towards the flail. The solid slab of metal hit the ball, almost wrenching the weapon out of Logan’s hand.
But she had two weapons on her.
Acting on instinct, Logan darted back, her other sledgehammer slamming into the sand.
Her moves were unrefined, but had solid foundations. Take out a leg, or an arm, and it would leave Logan helpless against her.
There was no way Logan could beat her up close.
But maybe he didn’t have to.
He glanced down, looking at his crossbow on the ground.
But just because Yrsa was a woman out of her time didn’t mean she was stupid.
She followed his gaze, swinging out with a sledgehammer, smashing the wooden weapon smack down in the middle.
Logan jumped back a couple of feet, spinning the metal flail. He jumped in as she looked away, swinging out with the weapon.
The chain on the end pulled taut a couple of inches short, only a third of the ball smacking Yrsa in her shoulder. She grunted, looking at the few small stab wounds in her shoulder, and then snarling at Logan.
“Please, can we stop,” Logan said. He’d promised Crickett he’d keep an eye on Yrsa in the arena, but he hadn’t expected a battle royale to happen.
Yrsa instead hurled one of her sledgehammers at him. The solid block of metal flying through the air, Logan just barely darted out of the way in time, stumbling to regain his footing.
Even though Yrsa was big, she was fast. Rushing in, she swung her sledgehammer once more. Logan only just brought up his flail in time, the slab of solid metal smashing into the wood, leaving a large crack in the center of his weapon.
Logan darted back, rolling into a crouched position, the cracked wooden handle painful to hold.
He could hear the crowd clapping, cheering. He wasn’t sure if they were on either one of their sides; it sounded like they were happy just to see two people fighting.
Logan began swinging his flail again, the cracked wood in his hand shaking, even pinching his palms a couple of times.
He took a moment to glance at the lake of lava, still growing in the middle. Twelve meters across now, it was beginning to envelop one of the flying robots.
Which was when he saw it.
The crossbow.
Yrsa had thrown it at one of the robots earlier. It was just sitting on the ground, a couple of meters away from the lake of lava.
The growing lake of lava.
Logan turned on his heels, putting all of his energy into the run.
“DO NOT RUN FROM ME, YOU COWARD!”
Logan heard her grunt, and on instinct lunged a couple of feet to his right. The sledgehammer slammed into the ground, exactly where his ankle had been a second ago. A strange gargled grunt of relief burst from Logan’s lips as he carried on running.
Fifteen meters away.
He turned around for a second, hurling his flail behind him. Yrsa was two meters behind, one sledgehammer in her hands. She swung it out, knocking the flail out of the way.
Which meant Logan had his hands free to help with his run.
He’d run for miles in boot camp training, often liked to run whenever he was on a base.
Running for his life was different. Sweat ran down the scar on his eyes, catching in his eyebrow as he got closer to the crossbow.
The lava was one meter away, the robot halfway melted. Logan could feel the heat, the air itself heavy to breathe.
He glanced behind him, Yrsa only a meter away. She swung out with her sledgehammer, just missing his ankle as he carried on running.
Yrsa would have been an amazing soldier in his platoon. Instead she was trying to murder him, in the Arena of Doom, one hundred years in the future, while fifty thousand people cheered her on.
Life was strange that way.
Logan lunged forward, skidding across the ground as he picked up the crossbow. The wood was uncomfortably warm, the hair on his neck singeing from the lava as he hoisted it up.
The practice from earlier paid off, as he pulled down on the trigger and the bolt flew through the air.
Stabbing right into Yrsa’s gut.
She stopped dead in her tracks, stumbling to a halt as she looked down at the wound. Blood began to pour out from around the bolt. It had hit her just above the belly button, no doubt piercing her stomach, maybe her intestines.
Logan pushed himself up, the rubber in his boots beginning to melt as the lava carried on growing. He dashed forward, grabbing a bolt from the holster in his ankle, loading another shot.
Yrsa lunged as Logan fired again.
This one definitely pierced the lung, Yrsa stumbling forward, landing on her knees as a bubble of blood popped out of her open mouth.
A hush came over the crowd, everyone waiting to see what Logan would do next.
With practiced ease, he loaded another bolt into the crossbow, aiming at her face.
His finger rested on the trigger, refusing to pull.
He’d hardly spent any time with Yrsa, and most of that she’d spent shouting at him.
But he was a soldier. Not a killer.
He dropped the crossbow, looking around him.
“The announcer said last one standing!” Logan could hear his voice echoing back, a floating microphone nearby no doubt capturing his voice. “Well, here I am! Last one standing!”
&n
bsp; The boos started before he’d even finished his sentence.
Logan ignored them, grabbing Yrsa by the shoulders, dragging her away from the encroaching lava. She flailed her arms, clearly trying to hit him. But the body trauma was too strong. Her organs were struggling to function, one of her lungs filling up with blood.
Digging his heels into the sand, Logan began to drag her away. He could only move her a couple of feet before he had to pause, catch his breath.
After the fifth or so tug, the ground opened up beneath them, the two disappearing into the dungeon below.
Whatever punishment was waiting for Logan, he had no doubt he was in for a world of hurt.
Chapter 19
Eleven days.
That was how much stubble Logan could feel on his face.
Logan had been in his cell for eleven days.
There was only so many push-ups Logan could do in a day, so many times he could meditate.
The cell was starting to get to him.
It was just him and his thoughts.
Clone.
Clone.
Clone.
At first he was worried Lord Zemka would pull his fingernails out, or give him lashings in the courtyard. He’d remembered what Victor had told him, about the clone who’d tried to start an uprising twenty-five years ago. Starved to death, dropped into acid, and also something about being literally skinned alive.
Logan guessed that, for now at least, it was better savings to keep him alive and physically healthy. So instead of any torture or beatings, he’d been silently dragged to his cell after the battle royale, locked away from everyone else.
The servants who delivered him three square meals a day didn’t say a word. Logan had tried talking to them, asking questions, telling a couple of jokes to get them to open up.
But that was the problem with a ruler like Lord Zemka. Everyone was keeping in line for fear of punishment. For fear of falling to his whim.
At first, Logan thought his punishment would be for the day. And then he thought his sentence was for the week.
After eleven days, he was beginning to worry. How long would it be? Two weeks? A month? Even longer?
Clone.
Clone.
Arena of Doom (Clone Squad #1) Page 10
