“Do not forget our little arrangement.” Sigvid hisses once the others are out of earshot.
“Don’t worry, Beast.” Godwyn guides him down the first row of cages filled with wild animals and the Assessment Room.
Once they reach the open gate leading up to the Arena, he is unshackled, and his blackwood-handled axes are returned to his grip.
“Good luck.” Godwyn stands back as the portcullis rattles to a close, securing him on the bloody ramp winding up to the final gate.
Sigvid’s rune-tattooed knuckles whiten at each step closer to the ring. Directly across the expanse of dust, mud, and dried blood, he can see Grim bouncing behind his portcullis to ready himself.
The Salt Prince spins his axes, relishing in their perfect balance, almost as if they were crafted for his hands.
Of all the battles he has fought, he is least ready for this one. He has come to consider Grim as a friend, and the thought of killing someone like him for the sole source of greed infuriates him.
Life as a warrior means disposing of an enemy who wants to destroy you first. Or crosses a line and deserves death. Here, he has become a puppet on a string, dancing for the amusement of weaker souls.
The gates creek open, and both men stride slowly out to the middle of the field.
“This will hurt, Grim, but I will try to make it quick.” Sigvid’s usual bravado shifts to something bitter.
“I am not going to make it easy on you.” Grim smirks, scratching the back of his head of coarse locks.
He shoves Sigvid backward, taking the Salt Prince by surprise when he swings at his neck. Sigvid blocks the attack but is struck in the stomach by his fist.
Sigvid stumbles away, clutching his abdomen. He recovers enough to drop the butt of his axe onto Grim’s foot, who yowls in pain.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Sigvid rolls out of the way as another blow narrowly misses his face. He recovers to leap into the air, kicking him in the back of both knees.
Grim drops to the ground, allowing Sigvid to lay his axe blade on his neck, but Grim splits his cheek open before he can react.
“Fuck!” Sigvid steps away, clutching his face. “Nice hit.”
Back on his feet, Grim charges, but Sigvid dives to the side. He slices a nasty gash on his friend’s bicep, tearing his tunic and drawing blood.
“Okay, you got me back.” Grim grimaces.
They fling their axes simultaneously, only for the blades to collide midair and fly out of reach. Sigvid swings his other axe, but Grim catches his arm, knocking away his other weapon.
Grim’s breathing comes in gasps. “You do put up a good fight, Beast, I’ll give you that.”
“You are my first real fight in here, my friend.” He rips his arm back and grins just before he tackles him, raising a dust cloud around the duo.
He manages to stay atop Grim as they roll in the dust, trading blows with each other. Finally, Grim grabs him by the neck and hurls him off. “Nice try, Beast.”
Grim punts him in the chest with his boot, knocking the air out of his lungs.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Grim taunts as his elbow collides with Sigvid’s mouth while he gasps for breath.
Pain radiates through Sigvid’s chest from their brawl. He stumbles backward and trips over one of his axes.
Ignoring the ache in his side, he wraps his hand around the handle. Before he makes another move, his hand dives into his pocket to secure the one item he needs. He grips the small vial tightly and charges into Grim’s gangly figure.
Sigvid slides between Grim’s legs and jabs the vial into the back of his thigh. Champ’s movements grow slower until he collapses to his knees.
Grim’s breathing grows ragged. “No need to live with so much hate. Get out of here.” Grim smiles weakly as his eyes darken and crumbles at Sigvid’s feet.
Distantly, he hears the roar of the crowd but ignores them all.
Fuck them.
