The crowd erupted.
Two individuals clad in robes entered the pit and dragged the god away.
“Who has what it takes to come down and face the night’s long-standing champion of the Pit?” the voice continued in a persuasive, marketer’s pitch.
Acacius’s smirk widened.
Finally.
After all the years of watching from afar, permeating mayhem to break out in the fights, he was finally entering the ring. It was something he’d avoided doing, to keep the attention away. Inserting himself among the calamity never ended well.
He pushed off the wall and fabricated at the entrance of the ring. “I’ll give it a go.”
A goddess with bright green hair stationed in front of the caged door gave him an unimpressed once over, popping her bubblegum. “All bets are on. You lose, you take nothing home. Got it?”
Acacius peeled out of his damp coat and tossed it aside. “I’ll gladly win then.” He stepped up to the caged door, adjusted theturtleneck collar of his shirt, and started rolling a sleeve up to his elbow.
She popped open the lock. “First one down loses.” She swung the door open. “Good luck, bud.”
Acacius sent her a cheeky smile. “Don’t need it.” And he stepped through.
He took position where the previous god had stood, assessing the High Goddess before him as he worked up his other sleeve.
She kept her fists elevated, blocking the bottom portion of her face, but Acacius could spot the fractures in her expression. It appeared centuries of being forced to watch her during duels had not gone to waste. There was tension around her eyes, dark and pooling with visible signs of emotion, the way water collected in a ravine. This was new for her.
Acacius planned to bleed her dry of it.
She scrutinized him, contempt so easily detected upon her face.
The High Goddess looked at him the same way she had looked at the idiot she’d nearly just put through the wall. All without the recognition of who he really was.
The irony pulled his lips into a wolfish grin. Adrenaline sparked in his veins, sending a tremor to his marrow.
Back in the Land of the Dead, the High Goddess had been too occupied with betraying him to realize his mask had fallen off during her hit. By the end of it, she’d killed her father and disappeared, just as he had—with Ruelle.
The High Goddess still did not know what his face looked like. Just as she did not know that retribution was right in front of her.
The palms of his hands broke out in a cold sweat. Pure, sweet indulgence.
He lifted his chin, acknowledging her with a sly head tilt. He was eager to bait her, to see her levelheaded demeanor fall into discomposure once she realized who stood before her.
Over the knuckles of her drawn fists, her gaze sharpened, solidifying some of the softness that now lived inside of it.
The crowd stomped their feet in a brutal beat.
Acacius’s heart rate pounded erratically against his ribcage.
The bell rang and the crowd roared.
The High Goddess made the first move, her body distorting and reappearing to the right—further away, then close again. A trick of the eye to cause distraction. He relied on the feel of her energy, like a compass following the heavy current of her aura.
Acacius ripped his head sideways.
She materialized to his left and reared her arm out. Acacius dipped his head to dodge her hit. Her fist soared inches from his jaw, the air around her enclosed palm enveloped by her divine power stinging his skin.
He matched her speed, ducking and swerving to evade her attacks. Her aim was precise, locking in for his nose, his ribcage, his throat. However, this was the most he’d ever seen from her. During the duels he’d witnessed, her nightrazers always did the work.
Acacius peeked over his shoulder, measuring the distance from his back to the wall.
