Gasps rang out.
“Shit,” I muttered, glaring at the black tendril that was about as hidden as a solar eclipse.
“Black smoke,” someone hissed in the demon tongue.
Oyx Wehy. That was me, just your friendly backyard demon. Among other things. And nix the friendly part.
Prior to being dragged to this realm, I would’ve imagined the home of demons to be dark and grimy and scorching—like Hell or something, but the demon realm was a literal smoke rainbow. If demons hadn’t otherwise lived up to my assumptions, then sixteen-year-old me might’ve dared to laugh. But sixteen-year-old me had soon realized that rainbows didn’t include the color black.
No black smoke. No black scales. Noblack. In theentiredemon realm.
How did I survive at sixteen?
One devastating reason that I’d love nothing more than to forget.
So I was Oyx Wehy.Irritatingly identifiable in a realm where I did not wish to be known. Being Oyx Wehy was overrated for many, many reasons, but the title didn’t even sound fearsome.Oyxwas a mix betweenoiandox, andWehywas likewaywith more saliva and a little hiss.
As growls from above accompanied the surrounding gasps and mutters of “Oyx wehy,”the orange demon in front of me stopped. I narrowly avoided a collision with her. The demon’s back was tense. She didn’t dare move with a predator behind her. Well, sheassumedI was a predator, but no one in this realm really knew what a demon with black scales meant.
The line had stopped, and I could imagine the reason.
Demons craned to see me, pushing back down the stairs. Gazes dropped to my father’s blade. Louder growls and hisses—my father’s blade had that effect. Which might have something to do with him being the previous demon king.
Would they start walking again, or should I say something threatening? Drop a joke to lighten the mood? We were going to be flat mates for another three weeks. Not that I planned to be here except on game day.
I snorted, and a small scream escaped the orange demon in front.
My humor faded as the demons’ shock of discovering me in their midst faded into a deeper tension, a gathering intent that I felt under my ribs.
They were deciding whether to kill me now.
I blinked through the warnings of my body, then spoke in the demon tongue. “Would you like to fight here or in the arena?”
Here might not be too bad given the narrow confines. They could only come at me a few at a time. Though, could I beat hundreds of demons at once? Absolutely not.
The yellows dotted up the stairs were first to look away from my challenge. The oranges were next, then the group of greens and blues at the far corner. The three purples within my eyesight exchanged long looks, communicating devious plans before they, too, looked away. The reds? I couldn’t see any from here, but I imagined they were forming a frantic plan to murder me.
Those at the front resumed their trek, and I shuffled forward with the others. The reds had decided that this wasn’t the place to kill me. Good for them.
I could expect a group attack from purples in the arena, and the reds would join.
I would have liked to avoid this in week one.
We must have been close to the top. The chambers were huge and decorated with bed hangings, towels, and rugs. Complete luxury in comparison to the rooms I’d climbed from.
Light flared at the end of the hall as the ground leveled out. The line of demons slowed, and I squinted at the bottleneck.
I knew this part from afar, which was proving a different reality altogether.
The line edged forward at a grating pace. The light flared brighter, and eventually, I stood at the very top of the Pinnacle.
I looked out at three hundred feet of thin air. All that interrupted that thin air was an almost equally thin, crumbling walkway. Three barely there pillars extended from the very distant ground to prop up the walkway.
A fucking mountain goat would run from this.
The strongest players had already wobbled across the walkway to our actual destination—the Crave Arena. I inhaled and took in the enormous arena that cast a huge shadow over the walkway and the much smaller Pinnacle… that I’d discovered was actually massive.
Why did I get the sinking feeling that my memories and onlooker perspective of the arena were as warped?
