Rosalind
LOSING MY RELIGION - BELLSAINT ?
The breeze feels heavy, like I'm sucking through a straw and breathing air as thick as milk. The world moves in slow motion as we walk into the colosseum. The impish murmur all around Steve and I, the crowd parting as we walk. There are looks of awe, stares of hate, and above all else,hope. Red petals appear at our feet, a path of damnation or love, tossed before us from passerby as we follow the swelling crowd.
We enter the same corridor as the previous time, the blood long since scrubbed from the stone. Steve's hand was so bloodied that day. I adjust my neck at the memory of the guard's skull being crushed. Each crack of it splintering, ricocheting down my spine.
We spoke all night of how we could end the Emperor, well, I spoke, and Steve listened, chipping in occasionally with decidedly unhelpful ideas,bless him. Apparently, silver bullets would be hard to come by and given that he's not a hellhound, he would be hurt but not killed. I can't say I remember any fables of the underworld back when I had to read classic literature. Surprisingly, there is no mention of Hell when Mr Darcy is chasing after Lizzie. I am, by definition, flying blind when it comes to imps and how to kill them. Steve didn't make me wait too long, though, shrugging his shoulders as he watched me pace.
“Beheading is your best bet.”
Excuse me… what!
And from that, the plan was formed. Get close to the Emperor and cut his head off. Easy peasy. Just the thought of it makes me sweat. My main problem, and one we couldn’t figure out, was how to get close enough to Bellator to unlock the collar. That is going to require more creativity, but one I'm willing to do anything for. So essentially, we’re about to watch the other part of my soul, battle some unknown creature, try to get close to him, then try to get close to the Emperor, carry out a simple beheading and then be on our merry way. I can't see a single issue with it…we’re fucked, absolutely fucked. Which is probably why I'm sweating like a pig.
The horn blows,its sound echoing across the arena. The crowd that fell background to my,what the hell are we going to do, haze,falls silent. A single chime ringsout, one so high pitched it causes me to flinch as I feel it tremor through my body, but that’s not what has my attention. The Emperor has arrived. Last time he lurked in the shadows, waiting for an outcome that never eventuated. He looks straight at me, a slow smirk spreading across his face before he closes his eyes and tilts his head back, basking in the deafening silence of the colosseum.
Control.
Power.
Fear.
All of these things he relishes in, the angst in the air feeding him somehow. He looks like he’s vibrating, faint wisps of something blurring the atmosphere immediately surrounding him.
What the…
He opens his eyes, and I swear they flash red, but it must be the reflection of something in the crowd. Searching his face a little longer—nothing. His robes sway in the breeze, the wisps having disappeared as he steps into the bright light of the sun. The privilege he displays while his people starve is abhorrent. Bowls of ripe fruit overflow behind him, while silken linens float from the ceiling. A number of gold chalices scattered around, filled to the brim. Picking up the one closest to him. He guzzles back the liquid, red wine spilling over, dribbling down his chin and neck. His head is dipped, but his eyes never leave mine as his lips peel back, sneering, revealing stained teeth.Aggressively, he wipes his forearm across his mouth, cleaning off the spilled drink, his sneer morphing into a smug grin.
“Begin”
A single word said. And for me, the beginning of the end.
The large wooden doors at the far end begin to groan under the strain of being pushed open, a black hole left behind. The sun’s light does not reach the cavity, and we are forced to wait for a sign of life.Bellator. I would expect there to be a warm up round or some sort of early bird show, but the stilted gait of Bellator steps from the doorways' ebony depths, into the blaring light.
Hushed conversations fill the colosseum. Everyone bearing witness to the unthinkable. Bellator stands tall, gripping his side as bright blue blood falls from his body into the parched ground. He is covered in wounds. His body bruised and beaten.
“He will heal,” Steve growls in my ear. My heart clenches and beats so fast in my chest, I want to cry and sob, but I can barely move. Steve's hands pull me in front of him so I'm pressed against the balustrade. We both stare as Bellator stumbles forward, and I bite down on my bottom lip until the sharp tang of copper fills my mouth. His legs buckle under him, and he falls, both knees smashing into the dry dirt with a thud.
“He will heal.” Steve breathes the words, fear laced in each one.
Bellator’s head hangs low, resting against his chin. His hands now dropped to his side, a deep gashexposed, torn into his ribs. For several seconds, there is no movement. My fingers digging into Steve’s hands as his arms encase me. Water drips on my hands, and I swipe it away, but more falls. It's not until I look up and feel my tears roll down my neck that I realise I'm crying. Silent tears as my gaze flickers between Bellator and the Emperor— hate spewing from him.
Metal grating against metal slices the silence of the arena, a large door sliding open. The largest beast I've ever seen bows as it passes the threshold, stepping into the light. Its skin is covered in sharp, jagged spears that catch in the light; it looks like obsidian stone from the way it shimmers. Two horns sit on either side of its head, like a crown of damnation as small sparks of fire fall from it. Its thick arms are too long for its body with veins of fire flickering beneath its skin. Large glowing orange eyes complete a face closer to a dog with a snout full of jagged teeth. But that’s not the part that has me crying out. That has me desperately needing Bellator to stand and be ready to fight. A large gaping hole sits in the middle of its chest, opening from the bottom of its neck to where its belly button would be. Thousands of interlocking teeth move left and right in opposing directions like a saw. It is the first real creature of Hell I've seen, and it's one that has me fighting every instinct screaming at me to run and hide.
“No,” Steve gasps.
“No, what?” I panic.
“A beherit… I forgot… that day at the Gate… no,” he breaths.
“No, what!” I say louder, turning to grip onto his shirt, trying to get him to look at me.
“A beherit. One of the few species that can battle with an orc and win. It would be an equal fight if Bellator were in peak condition… but.”
He's not.
The words are not spoken, the silence of everything unsaid hanging between us.
