The smell of iron is poignant here. Broad men with tight knuckles and loud voices chant as they raise their fists into the air. It feels like stepping into a heartbeat, loud, fast and thrumming with danger. A hundred men, fuelled by anger and violence, gather together. Twisted grins taint their faces as they chant in symphony around something, though the thing that holds their attention is hidden behind their sweaty bodies.
My feet take another step closer, edging with trepidation, and I squeeze myself through the sea of men to get closer to the front. The pitchers in their hands filled with sweet ale splash and jostle onto me as I duck under their arms and wind around their frames. I can see now. The deep crimson patches tarnishing the grey stone beneath my feet suddenly make sense.
A sunken pit is carved into the stone, lit by crude overhead lights that buzz and flicker like they are ready to burn out. Two men are locked in brutal combat below, fists coated in blood, teeth bared like animals. The cheers grow louder when one of them stumbles, already half dead, his face a swollen ruin, hisposture bending for just a moment, only a couple of seconds, but more than enough to warrant an advantage for his opponent.
The man jumps onto him, unloading a rage of hard hits and lastly cracks his neck slowly in the nook of his elbow.
No one steps in.
No one moves to stop it.
There’s no bell, no referee, just the sick thrill of violence.
With one last crack, the man limps into the fatal headlock, his head lolled to the side at an unnatural angle. The crowd erupts, coins fly, hands clap, and bets are exchanged with laughter and blood clinging to their lips. The sight sobers me as the man lies bloodied and defeated on the stone.
If you lose a fight in this place, you will not live to fight again.
I feel numb. My limbs are not my own. I cannot control them as I stumble back out of the crowd, my skin a sickly white as I try to wipe the bloodied thoughts from my mind. I don’t know how long I have been down here, but I have already witnessed two people die. And the worst thing is that those deaths are not mourned. They are not even acknowledged. Their bodies lie on the streets, looted and trodden on. Souls condemned to linger down here like the smoke that heavies our lungs.
“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” I gasp as a grimy finger cradles my chin. My hand repels his as I take a step back from him. He looks at me with a hunger in his eyes, but his brown, plaque-stained teeth are the only things I truly notice. And the smell that protrudes from them makes my eyes water.
“Thanks, but I’m not interested,” I say simply and carry on past him. His grip stops me, those grimy fingers strangling the veins in my wrist. “Get the fuck off of me.” I yank my hand back, but his grip stays.
“That’s no way to talk to a respectable gentleman.” He scoffs whilst flaunting a gold coin in his grip. Did he really think he could buy me?
I refuse his request, but his hand still wraps around my wrist.
“There’s nothing respectable about you. Pig. ” I spit at him through gritted teeth, but he just licks his lips, the hunger in his eyes increasing like my refusal only made him want me more. I resist his grasp, but he pulls me in close to his chest, dragging me towards a dark alley. His scent repulses me and instils a cough out of me. I know there is no use in screaming; suffering is but an ambient noise down here. He corners me against the cold wall, and my breath hitches in my throat.
“You think you can refuse me?” His words shake me to my core. “Lets see you try and refuse me with my cock in your mouth.”
A deep, menacing chuckle escapes his lips, but all I can think about is cutting his manhood off. I tread the heel of my boot as hard as I can into his foot, making him yelp and unsheathe my dagger from the holster on my thigh. As he bends in half, consoling his foot in his grasp, my dagger sinks into the gristly flesh between his groin. Crimson gushes through the fabric of his stained trousers as the pain strikes slowly, contorting his features one by one. His knees first, they weaken and crash against the stone floor, then a scream erupts from his mouth. His suffering is just another grain of sand in a desert of agony.
“You won’t be putting your cock anywhere but the fucking ground.” I spit on him as the blood drains from him, his face reddening with pain. And in my mind, I cheer just like the men who encouraged the bloodshed before, retrieving the gold coin he wafted in my face moments earlier from his pocket.
There’s something about this place, the way the darkness has a way of consuming everything it touches. As I watch the man hyperventilate, a waste of the oxygen ration down here, I realise that maybe it is consuming me too.
“Shit, Asha, I told you to stay with me,” Ryder says, with a picture of worry. I jump back, a little startled at his presence. His eyes wander down to the paling man on the ground.
“Are you okay?” He asks, his eyes locking with mine. I don’t even register his question, just pull him into a fast embrace. I know our contact could trigger a revolt inside of him, but here, in this moment, this place is more wicked than he could ever be.
“Thank the Gods you’re here!” I mumble into his chest and take in his familiar scent. He pulls away to assess me, holding my forearms.
“Are you okay?” He reinstates.
I nod my head, glancing back down at the man who is now unmoving. My eyes widen.
“Is—is he dead?” I question aloud, my heart racing. I only meant to teach him a lesson, not kill him. Though this place is probably better off without one more pig tarnishing it.
Ryder leans down and checks his pulse, his expression speaking for him. Yep. He’s dead.
“Erm, I can bring him back,” I say, walking towards his lifeless body, but Ryder stops me.
“No, you won’t, not here.” He commands, and I stop in my tracks, my breath quickening with panic. “You gonna tell me what happened?”
“All you need to know is that he deserved it,” I mutter under my breath and pace a few steps away from the dead man staring relentlessly at me. He did deserve it. Though my kill was not intentional, I have to rationalise it in some way. He was going to do much worse things to me.
“I’m sure he did,” Ryder comments as he catches up to me. “But you’re supposed to be keeping your head down.” He grips my arm and halts me. “My rules, remember.”
