Navaris couldn’t stop.
The sound of his head slamming into the wall echoed across the arena like a gunshot. The crowd, cheering so loud just moments before, fell utterly silent as the spotted man flopped to the ground, immobile. Whether dead or merely unconscious, no one could tell. Regardless, the match had abruptly come to an end.
A most unsatisfying end.
Bodok flashed a quick look at Maureen then shut out the rest of the arena’s occupants from his senses as he turned and walked back toward the tunnel. No yells of triumph. No gestures of victory. He just put one foot in front of the other, walking away, calmly, quietly, and unbloodied.
The announcer felt the electric surge of disappointed anger in the air. These people had come for a show and been let down, but then were given a second ray of hope when he threw weapons into the mix, only to watch the man they were cheering for lose in a most dramatic, anticlimactic, and humiliating manner.
And a lot of them had undoubtedly just lost a fair amount of money. A crowd like that could get very out of hand.
“Friends!” he called out over the angry cacophony, urging them to silence. “Friends, I hear you and I feel your anger. Bodok’s cowardly display was an affront to us all. But do not fear. This was not a true win. And you all know what that means.”
“He fights again!” a woman yelled out, drawing a cheer from the crowd.
“Yes, that’s right! He fights again, and this very evening. Bodok the coward will return in a later round, facing a true contender, and I assure you, he will not get off so easily.”
The crowd went wild, but this time with a far more positive vibe. There would be no riot, and they would have their blood, only a bit later than they expected.
Maureen felt dizzy. Her knees had locked, her stomach tightened up in a knot the entire time. When he had won she’d breathed a sigh of relief, but now Bodok was once more in jeopardy, and she was going to be forced to watch it all over again.
Mistress Tormik saw her servant processing all of that information, a malicious gleam in her eyes.
“You know he will not be so lucky next time,” she said. “The later rounds are far more difficult. And they are to the death.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
Maureen’s stomach was a mess of emotions as the night wore on. If she’d had her way, she would have sat down with a bottle of ginger ale and done her best to take her mind off of what worried her so. Unfortunately, she was an indentured servant on an alien planet, and her sadistic boss would never in a million years let that happen.
She was to serve food and drink but not partake. To stand quietly by and do her masters’ bidding, never sitting, never leaning, but standing. The prior tournament visit had been relatively brief, but this one was taking hours, and her feet and knees were beginning to ache even with the added support of her newly acquired runes.
But that wasn’t what worried her.
Bodok had gotten lucky and dodged a bullet—or, more accurately, a club-wielding psychopath—and survived his bout unharmed. But he had drawn the ire of pretty much the entire arena in the process and as a result was now about to face a far greater challenge.
She heard others in the stands placing wagers against the blue-skinned man, laughing at the easy money and how no one fought twice in a night, even if this one didn’t really wear himself out. It was no matter.
A contender was being hurried to the arena. A bonus fight that no one had expected. It would be a brutal exhibition. A bloodbath. And the crowd would love every second of it.
“Refill!” Mistress Tormik hissed, snapping Maureen from her daze.
“Yes. Sorry.”
“Pay attention. You are not here to daydream,” she replied with an acid stare.
“Yes, Mistress,” Maureen replied, her gaze aimed at the cup she was filling.
She stepped back and placed the pitcher on the low table then took her position once more, standing quietly, waiting for the event she wished with all her heart she did not have to see.
“Friends, guests, visitors from afar, it is finally time for what you’ve been waiting for.”
The crowd erupted, knowing full well what he was talking about.
“Yes, that’s right. A bonus event! Straight from the elite training grounds, here on a moment’s notice for your evening’s entertainment, I present to you the up and coming, the undefeated, Jarsuvius!”
Maureen watched in horror, unable to look away as a massive man with deep-purple skin and thick, wiry black stubble for hair, jogged out of the tunnel. He was one hell of a specimen, all muscle and mass. But it was more than his beefiness that caught her attention.
Shirtless, ready for battle, his secondary set of arms were plainly visible, crossed in front of him at his waist. They were smaller than the two enormous limbs where arms normally should be, but they still seemed more than adequate to cause harm. Where hands were concerned, he had a four to two advantage.
