Chapter 192
Thirty minutes later and the anticipation in the arena’s only risen to arythmic levels.
“Citizens of Ao,” Raif’s voice booms, carrying over the din. “The time has come for the Menagerie to begin. Let us witness the strength of our warriors and the mercy of Tangaroa as they face the trials ahead. Fighters, may the gods favor you.” He raises his hand, signaling the gates to open.
A deep, metallic groan echoes through the arena as the massive gates at either end begin to rise. From the shadowy depths beyond, the first wave of creatures spills into the water, and the crowd erupts.
My breath catches as I see them clearly: razor-toothed lampreys, their sinuous bodies undulating as they dart forward in a writhing mass, followed by swarms of carnivorous rays with barbed tails. They come in waves, hundreds of them, filling the arena with a living, thrashing storm of teeth and fins.
The twenty-two warriors below stand poised, their weapons gleaming in the dim light. Wake and Khale are side by side, their expressions steely and focused. Wake’s spear is gripped tightly in his hand, while Khale’s whip-like tail lashes the water behind him, ready to strike.
Kota and Kelis, on the other hand, are already showboating, waving to the crowd and grinning as though they’re about to perform in a play rather than face a swarm of deadly creatures.
Raif lowers his hand, and the battle begins.
The lampreys are the first to strike, darting forward with terrifying speed. Their mouths are rings of razor-sharp teeth, latching onto anything they can reach. A younger fighter, barely more than a boy, hesitates for a fraction of a second too long. The swarm engulfs him, dragging him down in a flurry of thrashing bodies and crimson plumes. The crowd roars, their bloodlust insatiable.
Wake and Khale move as one. Wake’s spear flashes, striking with precision as he skewers lampreys mid-lunge. Khale’s tail snaps through the water, the sharp fin at its end slicing through the creatures with deadly efficiency. They cover each other’s backs, their movements fluid and synchronized. It’s mesmerizing to watch, their partnership a stark contrast to the chaos around them. The water around them churns as they cut down the swarm, each movement calculated to protect the other.
Not far from them, Kota and Kelis take a different approach. Kota makes a dramatic sweep with his trident, the weapon arcing through the water in a flashy, unnecessary flourish that earns cheers from the crowd. Kelis, laughing, grabs a smaller fighter by the arm and hurls him into the path of the lampreys. The man screams as he’s swarmed, his cries cutting off abruptly. Kota and Kelis barely spare him a glance, too busy reveling in their own theatrics. Kota even spins his weapon mid-strike, the unnecessary flourish earning louder roars from the audience.
My stomach churns at the sight. I glance at Wake and Khale again, relieved to see them still holding their ground. Wake’s face is set in a grim line, his movements efficient and deliberate. He sees Kota’s reckless antics, and his frustration is evident in the tightening of his jaw. But he doesn’t let it distract him. Khale yells something to him, and they shift their position, taking down another group of lampreys as they press forward. The bond between them is clear; they don’t need words to anticipate each other’s movements.
The carnivorous rays are next. They’re larger than the lampreys, their broad wings slicing through the water with unnerving grace. Their barbed tails lash out, striking with lethal accuracy. One fighter manages to dodge a strike, only to be caught by another ray from behind. The barbs pierce his side, and he crumples, his blood swirling around him as he sinks. His lifeless form drifts into the arena floor, forgotten by the frenzied crowd.
Wake ducks under the lashing tail of one ray, driving his spear upward into its belly. It shudders and goes still, its body drifting lifelessly. Khale circles another ray, his tail striking like a whip to sever its barb. Together, they work to thin the swarm, their teamwork keeping them ahead of the relentless onslaught. Wake’s eyes dart around, tracking their enemies with precision, while Khale uses his agility to outmaneuver the creatures.
Meanwhile, Kota and Kelis continue their reckless displays. Kota pins a ray to the arena floor with his trident, twisting the weapon for dramatic effect as the crowd cheers. Kelis smashes another ray into the wall, laughing as its body crumples. But their antics put others in danger. One fighter, trying to avoid Kota’s wild movements, stumbles directly into the path of a ray and is struck down. I see Wake’s hands tighten on his spear as he glances toward them, his frustration mounting. Khale mutters something under his breath, but they keep fighting, knowing they can’t afford to intervene.
The wave finally begins to subside as the remaining fighters drive back the creatures or kill them outright. The water is murky now, clouded with blood and the debris of the battle. The stench of death hangs heavy in the water, the metallic tang of blood impossible to ignore. Of the original twenty-two fighters, only sixteen remain. Wake and Khale regroup near the center of the arena, their chests heaving but their expressions calm. They exchange a nod, their bond stronger than ever. Wake wipes blood from his face, his grip on his spear tightening as he looks toward the gates for the next challenge.
Kota and Kelis, on the other hand, strut to the edge of the arena, basking in the adoration of the crowd. They’re grinning, waving, and gesturing triumphantly as though they’ve already won. Kota’s chest is puffed out, his trident raised high as if he’s claiming a victory he didn’t earn. Kelis flexes his claws, baring his teeth in a smug grin that makes my stomach turn.
From the royal box, I watch it all with a growing sense of horror. The crowd’s cheers are deafening, their enthusiasm for the carnage sickening. My hands clench the edge of my seat, my knuckles white. I glance at Raif, who is standing with a satisfied expression, soaking in the crowd’s fervor. He watches the chaos below as if it’s a work of art, a masterpiece he’s orchestrated.
The roar of the crowd rises again, their voices a tidal wave of sound that drowns out my thoughts. The fighters begin to retreat to their corners, their bodies battered but still standing. I sit frozen, my stomach churning with dread.
This is only the first wave.
What’s coming next?
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