by Steve Feasey
Trey looked down at the little demon and stretched out a hand. The demon looked at it for some time before realizing what the lycanthrope was doing. Then he reached out and wrapped his hand around two of the werewolf’s fingers. The two friends shook.
‘Thank you, Shentob.’
The demon bowed, bending at the waist and staying that way for a second or two. When he straightened up again there were tears in his eyes. ‘No. Thank you, Trey Laporte. You have made a worthless, insignificant nether-creature very happy. And old Shentob has been unhappy for as long as he can remember.’
40
Two tunnels faced each other across the arena. Each fighter entered via one of these tunnels, and was transported into the arena on a small two-wheeled, open-backed carriage which, like so many other things to do with these Demon Games, Trey thought looked decidedly Roman in design and build. The chariots were drawn by a brown, two-legged, pig-like beast. Once inside the arena, they were introduced by the master of ceremonies.
Trey recognized the official as a trainer called Korg from Molok’s fighting school. The creature did a double take when he saw the werewolf walking down the tunnel towards him, dressed in the silver-and-black livery. He looked down at the clipboard in his hand, then back at Trey, his yellow eyes narrowing and deep frown lines forming on his forehead.
‘You are not in your designated armour,’ the official said.
Trey looked at the official, then at Shentob, motioning with his head for his aide to speak for him, as he’d been told was the custom.
The old demon drew himself up to his full height and addressed the official.
‘Trey Laporte fights in the colours of Theiss. The contract he has with Lord Molok states that he is to fight as champion for the demon lord. No mention was made of armour. Trey Laporte chooses to fight in the armour of his kind.’
‘If he fights for Molok, he fights in the purple colours of the school.’
‘That was not discussed during the agreement between my fighter and the demon lord.’ Shentob paused, pursing his lips as if in thought, and Trey knew that the little servant was enjoying himself again. ‘Perhaps it was an oversight by Molok?’
The demon gawped at the servant. He leaned to one side and looked down the tunnel behind Trey, hoping that it might find someone there to help it out; then he turned to look behind him, through the metal lattice of the portcullis at the noisy, expectant crowd.
‘Does Molok know about this?’ the demon hissed, turning back to address them, his eyes now wide.
A fanfare of music started up somewhere in the stands up above their heads.
‘No,’ Shentob said. ‘Perhaps you would like to delay the quarterfinals of the Games to go and have a chat with him about it.’ He tipped his head to one side and blinked at the official.
‘This is an outrage! There will be hell to pay for this!’
The heavy gate began to slide up.
Shentob looked beyond the trainer at the crowd. ‘It looks like a sell-out,’ he commented. ‘And the spectators seem eager to see the next fight. It probably wouldn’t do to have a big snag in proceedings right now.’ He shook his head. ‘Even if we could find the armour that Molok gave my master to wear, and I have a terrible feeling that it was left back at the school, it would take a long time to get him changed into it now.’ Shentob smiled at the master of ceremonies. ‘It’s your call, but I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if the quarterfinals had to be delayed.’ He raised a finger as if an idea had suddenly occurred to him. ‘I suppose you could disqualify Molok’s champion for not wearing the armour it says he should wear on your clipboard … ’
‘This is an outrage,’ the demon repeated. ‘You will die a long and painful death for this – mark my words, Shentob. You will be strung up. I’ll see to it myself!’
Shentob smiled sweetly. ‘Perhaps you’d like to know how the champion would prefer to be announced? We wouldn’t want any confusion in the crowd, would we?’ He turned round and winked at the lycanthrope, who was grinning back at him, his long pink tongue lolling from his mouth.
The official had no choice. The chariot carrying the Gurgot was already making its way into the stadium, and the crowd was on its feet. The noise was deafening. ‘Quickly!’ he said.
Shentob beckoned Korg towards him so that the demon would be able to hear the introduction he and Trey had agreed upon over the tumultuous din.
When the demon straightened up, he had the same look of disbelief on his face as when he first saw Trey.
‘You want me to introduce him like that?’
‘Yes – and don’t be changing it or making up any of your own stuff. Just do it like that.’
‘You will regret the day that you ever set foot in this arena, Shentob,’ Korg said, glaring at the servant.
‘No, I will not.’
Shentob turned his back on the master of ceremonies and indicated to Trey that he should board the chariot. ‘Hold on to these handles here. The shleb knows where it’s going and it will take you out to the central square.’
‘Aren’t you going to wish me luck?’
‘You don’t need it, Trey Laporte. Remember what I told you about your opponent and you will be fine. Also –’ the demon paused, placing a hand on the werewolf’s forearm – ‘remember what I said. Out there, you must forget you are a human. Out there, you must fight like a nether-creature.’
Trey nodded, and the chariot began to move out of the tunnel into the arena.
41
The crowd had given the Gurgot a great reception, and it was clear that the creature was a favourite with the fans, many of whom had watched it battle its way through the early rounds to get here. The creature wore a yellow leather breastplate and open-faced helmet of the same colour. The yellow armour indicated that the creature fought for the demon lord Orfus – a school that was now under Caliban’s control.
Trey looked off to his left to the area where he and Shentob had sat earlier. Below an awning of purple silk were Molok and his entourage. The demon lord was on his feet, pointing down at Trey and bellowing. Even from this distance Trey could see the black flames that licked across the Hell-Kraken’s skin. A demon to Molok’s left said something to him, and Trey watched as the nether-creature careened through the air, landing in a mangled heap among spectators three or four rows down from where the demon lord had struck him.
Alexa sat impassively in her place throughout all this, her eyes never leaving the figure of Trey dressed in the black-and-silver armour that had caused the demon lord to explode in rage the second the werewolf had emerged from the tunnel.
Trey allowed himself the briefest moment of enjoyment at seeing the demon lord’s reaction.
‘Creatures of the Netherworld, esteemed guests … ’ Korg had begun his introduction, standing in the centre of the fighting square with a large conical megaphone to his lips. The demon turned towards the section in which the Hell-Kraken sat and bowed deeply. ‘And of course, the sponsor of these Games, the demon lord, Molok.’ The section of the crowd wearing purple and waving purple flags cheered and clapped. Molok was still standing, and he raised a hand, nodding in all directions before retaking his seat. He glared down at Trey, his face a mask of fury.
The announcer looked between his master and the werewolf at his side. Trey heard the demon swallow loudly before lifting the megaphone to his lips again. ‘Lord Molok presents for your entertainment today his new champion.’ There was a brief pause. ‘Forsaking the traditional colours of Molok’s school, his champion fights instead in the black-and-silver armour of Theiss in honour of his father, the erstwhile champion of the Games, Daniel Laporte. Creatures of the Netherworld, may I present to you the lycanthrope Trey Laporte.’
At the mention of his father’s name, Trey felt a chill run down his spine, and he straightened up to his full height and looked around.
There was a moment of silence, as if none of the spectators were sure whether or not it was OK to applaud. The purple-clad supporter
s in particular stood up in their seats and craned their necks to look around at the demon lord, hoping for some kind of signal as to how to respond.
Molok looked down at the teenage upstart, his lips parted over his teeth in what Trey guessed was supposed to be a smile, but what in fact looked more like a grimace. He slowly raised his hands and began to clap.
The crowd, having been given permission to applaud the black-and-silver-clad fighter, followed suit, the sound growing as it spread around the stadium.
Trey glanced behind him and could just make out Shentob in the shadows of the tunnel. The little demon was leaping up and down on his short legs, shouting and clapping wildly. Trey raised a hand in salute to his friend.
The chariots withdrew along with the announcer.
‘The horn!’ Shentob shouted from the tunnel, pointing somewhere off up above the stands. ‘Remember, the horn signals the start. Be ready!’
Trey turned to face his opponent. The volume in the stadium grew to an incredible level as the spectators roared and shouted, many calling out the name of the fighter that they wanted to win. To Trey it was just a mishmash of noise.
‘Are you ready to die?’ the Gurgot said.
A horn sounded somewhere over his left shoulder.
Trey Laporte’s first fight of the Demon Games had begun.
42
Shentob was right: the Gurgot was ugly.
Its skin was a sickly greeny-grey colour and it looked out at Trey through little red eyes sunk deep into the flesh beneath a prominent brow. There was no nose, just a flat area with two nostrils covered with flaps of skin that opened and closed with every inhalation like blowholes. The bottom section of the creature’s face was truly horrific. It was crab-like: two articulated mandibles, complete with pincers, projected from its cheeks, framing a heavy jaw, the lower tusks of which curved up out of the mouth and over the upper lip.
The two fighters circled each other, Trey keeping to the Gurgot’s left as he’d been instructed by Shentob. Trey glanced at the creature’s arms. They looked all wrong: the forearms were almost twice the length of the upper arm, and because of this disproportionality the demon was forced to hold them out before it, like the arms on a forklift truck. If Shentob had not warned Trey of the speed with which the demon could move these appendages, the teenager might have been inclined to think that the nether-creature would be clumsy. It certainly looked it. But there was no doubting the reach advantage the creature had over him. And at the end of that reach, protruding from each arm was a curved, deadly-looking, sickle-like claw.
As if on cue, the Gurgot shot out its right arm, piston-like, the claw scything the air a hair’s breadth from Trey’s face in a vicious hooking motion. Trey dodged the attack, parrying the creature’s arm away with his own and quickly rocking back on his heels as the left arm came swinging in behind. The Gurgot shot out another right, but Trey had already moved and the shot flew well wide.
A small ripple of applause for the Gurgot’s opening attack went through the crowd.
Trey continued to move to his right, keeping on the side furthest away from the Gurgot’s deadliest weapon. His opponent feinted with its left this time, but the lycanthrope wasn’t fooled. Shentob was correct: the Gurgot strongly favoured its right side.
‘Did you come here to fight or to dance?’ the Gurgot snarled, turning in a tight circle as it looked for another opportunity to attack.
The crowd began to get restless. A small group of spectators began to boo and hiss, and somewhere off to his left Trey heard a nether-creature urging the Gurgot to rip the werewolf’s head off. The teenager flicked his eyes in the direction of the sound.
It was the tiniest lapse, but the momentary slip in concentration was enough to make the Gurgot – its senses and fighting instincts honed to perfection – react. The demon shot out that piston-like right arm again, and this time the bony barb bit deep into Trey’s thigh. The lycanthrope roared as the demon pulled the hook free, a shower of bloody droplets tracing the course of the retreating arm in the sandy ground between them.
‘Maybe that’ll slow your dancing down and make you more willing to fight.’
‘Keep your distance, Trey Laporte! Keep your distance!’ someone was shouting from behind the teenager, and Trey realized it could only be Shentob; every other voice was screaming for him to engage with the fighter in front of him.
The sight of the werewolf’s blood had brought the crowd to its feet, and the noise in the stadium had risen to a new level – an oppressive wall of sound that pushed in on both fighters. The vast majority were clearly supporting the qualifier in the yellow colours, clapping their hands and stamping their feet in time to the chants of ‘Kill, kill, kill, kill’.
The pain in Trey’s leg was terrible. He didn’t look down at the wound – he was not going to make the same mistake twice – but he could feel the blood running down his thigh and calf muscle, and he knew that the gash was a deep one.
Trey made a feint of his own, shifting his weight forward, but not too much, inviting a counterattack. He kept his eyes glued on his opponent’s right shoulder. Sure enough, the Gurgot shot out the stronger arm again, but this time Trey was ready.
The lycanthrope ducked beneath the limb, reaching up at the same time to grasp the demon’s forearm just above that terrible hook. He twisted as he stood, not relinquishing his grip, so that the pressure on the Gurgot’s elbow joint and shoulder forced the nether-creature to bend forward at the waist, its back to the lycanthrope. Trey smashed a forearm into the elbow joint and was rewarded with a terrible cracking sound, accompanied by a howl of pain from his opponent; in the same movement, he let go his grip on the arm, reaching forward across the creature’s face and raking his claws backwards in a swift and deadly motion. Great bloody valleys opened up in the demon’s flesh, and one of those terrible mandibles was ripped loose, flying up into the air before landing on the ground behind Trey with a wet flop.
The Gurgot sank to its knees and then toppled forward into the sand of the arena floor, where it lay unmoving.
There was a moment of perfect silence, and then the entire stadium erupted in a wave of noise which hurt the werewolf’s sensitive ears, making him flinch as if he’d been struck. When he straightened up and looked around, the spectators were going berserk: the purple flags of Molok’s school waved, and even supporters from other schools were applauding and shouting. A chant of ‘Lyco! Lyco!’ started up, quickly taken up across the crowd.
A chariot carrying the MC emerged from the tunnel again, and Trey turned to see Shentob running out behind the vehicle. His aide was grinning from ear to ear, shouting out the boy’s name and pointing with both hands in the werewolf’s direction as he scampered across. Drawing closer, the little demon slowed, his expression changing as he noted the shocked and bewildered look in the lycanthrope’s eyes.
The chariot came to a halt beside Trey, and Korg leaped off, the megaphone already to his mouth.
‘Creatures of the Netherworld, I give you our winner and semi-finalist … fighting for Lord Molok … the lycanthrope Trey Laporte!’
Korg lifted Trey’s arm. And the crowd erupted again.
Shentob was by the teenager’s side now, and Trey was aware that the little demon was trying to usher him back on to the chariot.
‘Come, Trey Laporte. We need to get your injuries looked at.’
Trey was hardly aware of the pain in his leg any more. He felt completely numb, and when he stared down at Shentob it was as if he was looking through somebody else’s eyes. As though he was detached from his body and viewing the scene from above. He looked back at the dead body on the sand.
‘Please, Trey Laporte,’ Shentob said, pushing ineffectively with all his might against the lycanthrope. ‘You need medical attention. We have to stop the bleeding. We need to get you away from here.’
Trey allowed himself to be ushered on to the back of the vehicle, and was taken from the arena to the sound of the crowd’s applause.
He sat on the edge of the bench while Shentob stitched up the wound in his leg. The little demon had refused the services of the Games doctor, telling Trey that they were all butchers and he would do better to allow Shentob to do the job. Then the little demon set about persuading the teenager that it would be easier to suture the wound if Trey would transform back into his human form, reasoning that he would be able to do a neater job if he didn’t have a fur coat to contend with. For some reason the boy was reluctant to do this, and Shentob had to repeat his request over and over until Trey finally morphed back into his human state and allowed his aide to pull a fresh tunic over his head.
To the demon aide, there was little doubt that the boy was in shock, and this was confirmed when Shentob got to work on the injury; the boy sat silently on the bench, staring off into space as the needle dipped into his flesh repeatedly. He didn’t flinch or cry out once.
‘Shentob is a better cook than he is a seamstress,’ the demon said. ‘Although maybe Trey Laporte would say otherwise, eh?’
‘Hmm?’
The nether-creature tied off the last stitch, biting the black cord with his teeth. He looked at the job he’d done and, satisfied, came round and knelt in front of his young charge, taking Trey’s hands in his own.
‘You had no choice,’ the demon said. ‘You did what you had to do to survive.’ He nodded. ‘If you had not done what you did, it would be Trey Laporte lying out there in the fighting-square sand. You must not to let this upset—’
‘I’m upset because I enjoyed it,’ Trey said in a flat voice. He looked back at his friend, his eyes properly focusing for the first time since they’d arrived back in the room.
‘What?’
‘Not at first. At first I was petrified. I couldn’t think straight through all that fear. But when the demon hurt me, when it gashed my leg, something inside me switched. I wanted to hurt the Gurgot back, but more. I wanted to … ’
