Turning away from Arwyn, I focused on the danger ahead of me. It didn’t matter that I was given a second chance at life if I couldn’t survive until the end of the day.
“Hector, please,” Arwyn called, the harsh pleading of his tone cutting me to the core. “Look at me.”
It hurt to ignore him, but soon enough the choice to reply was taken away from me as a groaning sound filled the stadium. A rumbling sent ripples up through my legs as if a demonic beast was lurking beneath the ground, waiting to be released. Perhaps that would be the first trial, much like The Culling, but instead of us all killing each other, Bahmet would send a monster out to complete the task.
My frantic mind raced through all my knowledge of the Witch Trials, trying to find a hint as to what was about to happen. But as I scanned the arena again, noticing that the majority of the contestants were humans, I knew this would be like nothing that had happened before.
Me, Romy, Kai, Arwyn and Verena were the only magic users. Tomin was immortal for reasons I still didn’t comprehend. And then there were the Hunters, at least thirty of them.
Only one could survive until the end and win the trials to become Bahmet’s vessel…
I looked back to Tomin who smiled to himself, looking the most at ease out of everyone. And I’d just worked out why.
Tomin Hopkin couldn’t die, which put him at an advantage. Whether he passed fairly, or failed and came back to life, Tomin’s curse had secured his place in the finale without the need to do anything.
“You already think you’ve won,” I said.
Tomin knew exactly who I was talking to, and spared me a quick side-eye. “We will see.”
A growl ruptured out of my throat. “Oh, we will.”
A fierce crackling sound cut over the stadium, silencing the obscene things I wanted to say to him. There was a pop and spit of electric, a static charge so loud it felt as though an athame had been driven into my eardrum over and over—Ghostface style.
I scanned the empty seats, searching for what could be making the noise. There were no speakers set into the ancient stone walls, nothing to suggest that the noise should’ve been possible. Then again, we were about to fight to the death; no doubt anything was possible in Bahmet’s demonic realm.
“Ladies and gentlemen…”
Talk of the devil.
Bahmet’s recognisable, overly exaggerated voice washed over the crowd. He spoke with the same cadence those men in top hats and white gloves used when you were about to ride on a roller coaster at a theme park.
And I fuckinghatedroller coasters.
“Are you ready for some fun?” Bahmet asked.
The stadium was completely silent, all besides the slight rasped chuckle of Tomin Hopkin. If I wasn’t so busy looking for whoever was speaking to us, I might’ve spared him another glance, just enough time to spit at his feet. But alas, I was preoccupied.
“Now, now,” Bahmet continued. “Do not overdo yourselves down there! Conserve your energy for the excitement ahead. And boy do we have some fun to have.”
Out the corner of my eye, high up in the bleachers of the stadium, I caught a puff of obsidian smoke. I fixed my eyes on it just as a figure stepped out from the shadows.
“Bahmet,” I hissed, drinking in the goat-headed creature wearing a pristine suit.
Bahmet, as I’d last seen the demon in this form, wore a tailored ensemble made from the finest black silk, the white shirt beneath crisp in contrast. In his gloved hands he held an old-style microphone which he held up to his animalistic face, the cord close to getting tangled in his curled horns.
I was aware of the gasps of the other contestants, but there was nothing in this world or the next that would make me take my eyes off the demon lord.
“Welcome, one and all, witch and Hunter,” Bahmet called out, one arm stretched out in greeting as his voice rang out across us. I felt his blood-red eyes scan us, drinking me in longer than the rest of those around me. “It is not custom for me to greet all of my potential hosts until the victor is named, but considering this round of the Witch Trials is highly unconventional, I thought it best to introduce myself from the beginning. I am sure many of you are confused as to what is happening, some may even be frightened.” Bahmet paused long enough for a light chuckle to catch in his microphone. “But I have a feeling this will be a contest that will go down in the history books as monumental. Perhaps even the last of its kind.”
A snap of power flooded every inch of my body, making the very tips of my fingers and toes tingle. It was not old magic, butdarkmagic that shard of Bahmet that responded to the attention the demon continued to give me.
“I intend it to be the last,” I whispered, knowing that Bahmet would hear me no matter if I thought it or spoke the words aloud.
“For the sake of those who never knew the Witch Trials existed before… well, five minutes ago, allow me to explain the rules.” I blinked, and Bahmet vanished. He materialised at the other side of the stadium in a puff of that dark smoke again,closer this time. So close in fact that when he took a step, I heard the faint click of hooves against stone.
“The Witch Trials, which name seems almost redundant now that we have so manypowerlessmortals in our midst, is a series of games. Trials, if you will. The competition of competitions…”
In the dark of my mind I saw the blood, the death. These were no games. Games suggested an element of fun, and that was far from the truth. At least for those partaking. To Bahmet, this was the most entertaining part of his sorry existence.
