The expectation in the air was thick enough to choke on. The scent of sweat, alcohol, and anticipation mixed with the metallic tang of blood still lingering from the fight.
“Ah,” Ciro continued, his tone light, almost jovial. “I must say, it’s quite a sight to see everyone cleaned up so nicely. Who knew this many murderers, thieves, and cutthroats could be sopresentable?”
Those who appreciated the Wraith Lord’s dark humor chuckled, though most remained wary, unwilling to let down their guard even for a moment.
Ciro’s voice cut through the ambient murmurs. “Let’s not waste any more time,” he said with a flourish, turning to face the contestants seated at the edge of the stage. His eyes, dark pits of unspoken malice, glittered as he beckoned them forward. “I know exactly what you’ve all been waiting for.”
The contestants moved hesitantly. Only two of them this year—a pathetic turnout compared to previous years. I watched them closely as they shuffled onto the stage, shoulders hunched, eyes wide with fear. Two men. Neither of them looked like they had a chance. They both had that desperate gleam in their eyes of someone who thought this was their one ticket out of whatever hellhole they’d crawled from.
A gaunt, lifeless creature handed Ciro an envelope, then scuttled back into the shadows. The Wraith Lord held up the envelope, savoring the tension crackling through the air.
“Now,” he said in a hushed whisper that somehow carried through the hall, “let’s see what cruel game we’ve devised for our contestants this year.”
He tore open the envelope with a dramatic flair, his skeletal fingers moving with surprising grace. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as he extracted a single piece of parchment. He unfolded it slowly, relishing every second of the anticipation. Finally, he began to read:
“I am light in the dark, and dark in the light,
I thrive in the chaos between day and night.
Seek me not, for I cannot be held,
Yet all who find me have stories to tell.
What am I?”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. I could practically taste their excitement and curiosity. The contestants, however, were a different story.
The Wraith Lord turned back to the contestants, a malicious smile spreading across his lips. “For those of you who haven’t fainted just yet,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, “let me remind you of what’s at stake.”
He turned to the crowd, gesturing grandly with one skeletal arm. “Should anyone manage to solve this riddle, they will walk away not only with the combined entry fees—a tidy sum of over a million dollars—but also with an exclusive position, serving directly under one of the mafia lords of The Below.”
The crowd cheered, and I could see the contestants’ eyes widen at the reminder of such a prize. The fools. Did they truly think it was that simple? That they could buy their way into power with a riddle and a handful of gold?
Ciro’s voice grew colder, sharper, as he turned back to the two trembling contestants. “But if you fail... if you dare submit an incorrect answer...” His grin widened, showing teeth that were unnaturally white. “Well, you all know the rules by now. The penalty is death. Immediate. No appeals. No second chances.”
I watched as the contestants squirmed, eyes darting to the exits as if they were only now realizing the severity of the game they’d entered. I could see the panic setting in, their breaths coming faster, sweat beading on their brows.
“The contestants turned in their final guesses yesterday,” Ciro explained. “Now, all that’s left to do is read the answer and determine who, if any, will win this year.”
Ciro turned the slip of parchment in his bony fingers with a dramatic flourish, his skeletal grin spreading wider as he addressed the audience. “And now, the answer you’ve all been waiting for…” His voice dropped to a hushed whisper, drawing the crowd in like moths to a flame. Even the usual cacophony of drunken voices and raucous laughter had stilled into an eager silence.
“The answer is,” Ciro continued, “The Phoenix Talisman.”
The crowd erupted into murmurs and gasps, a ripple of excitement coursing through the sea of onlookers. The Phoenix Talisman. A powerful amulet said to be able to resurrect the dead, but only at the cost of another life. I had heard of it, of course. Who in The Below hadn’t? It was coveted, feared, and whispered about in dark corners. That kind of artifact could tip the balance of power... if one was willing to pay its bloody price.
I narrowed my eyes and focused on the two contestants, watching their reactions closely. The moment Ciro revealed the answer, one of them erupted into ecstatic cheers, his face alight with disbelief and relief. But the other contestant wasn’t celebrating. The young man, barely more than a boy, stoodrooted to the spot, his face ashen, his hands shaking at his sides.There it is.The corner of my mouth twitched into a cruel smile.
Ciro, ever the showman, placed a hand over his heart and sighed theatrically. “Ah, but I regret to inform you,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, “that one contestant got it wrong.” His eyes gleamed with malevolent delight as he glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand. “Will Davison, I’m afraid that not only have you failed, but you have failed spectacularly.”
The young man’s knees buckled. The crowd erupted in a mix of laughter and boos, their bloodlust ignited at the prospect of what was to come. My shadows shifted, almost quivering in anticipation. I remained where I was, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over my chest, hidden behind my cloak of darkness. This was where the real entertainment began.
Ciro waved toward the far side of the stage. The heavy iron doors creaked open, and from the darkness emerged a hulking figure draped in black robes, a hood pulled low over his face. The executioner. He carried an axe so massive it looked like it could cleave a man in two with a single swing. I had to admit, they had outdone themselves this year. There was always something perversely fascinating about how they chose to execute the losers.
The young man, Will, staggered back, his eyes wide with terror. Just as the executioner took a step forward, raising that monstrous axe, a scream tore through the air.
“No! Please, no!” A woman burst through the crowd, shoving her way onto the stage with a frantic, desperate energy. She threw herself in front of the trembling boy, arms outstretched, her body shielding his. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.
I straightened, my eyes narrowing.Well, well, well.
