The crowd hisses in outrage.
At least they’re on my side, sort of.
And I begin to understand the game. Why I’ve been chosen. Why Robin’s been chosen.
It’s a show of Victoran might. Victoran soldiers against all odds, keeping law and order in the city. No wonder they want their most experienced player on it. And their hottest new star.
I can’t do this alone. Even if I wanted to.
I slip the small key into my mouth for safekeeping, then stoop, grasping a dismembered arm from the corpse.
The sharp, reptilian eyes fix on it. The thing moves, like any beast of prey, intent only on food.
With its attention locked, I throw the arm to the left, and it lunges, distracted enough for me to circle out into the open, behind one of the huge crosses, and there I see it. High up, right behind the heart of each restrained man, is a lock. But how the fuck am I supposed to get up there?
The audience is screaming my name, and although I wouldn’t have thought it possible to be even more on edge, I suddenly am. They want me to know something’s coming. And just as soon as the thought occurs to me, out of nowhere, a wiry, worn, vicious face comes at me, a meat cleaver swinging so near my neck he almost takes me out in one blow.
For all their sympathy in alerting me to my attacker, the sound that breaks out of the audience proves that’s where it stops. This is what they’ve come for. Blood. Anyone’s blood.
I dive, sand ripping into my skin as I hit it hard, but I’ve dodged the next blow, and the cleaver slices into the ground an inch from my leg. I roll, my thigh coming down on top of the blade, holding it in the sand, my other knee coming up, smashing the air out of my opponent.
The speaker trills, “Of course, if our prisoners can defeat our own Deathball captain, if they can survive the fearsome Lacretes Metus, should we not give them the opportunity to throw themselves on the Emperor’s mercy?”
The crowd roars their agreement to the suggestion.
So that’s it. These men have every incentive to kill me and Robin. And right now, it sounds like they outnumber us.
A sickening wail breaks out next to me. A splash of blood paints both me and the man trying to kill me as the next of the victims is snapped down into the beast’s jaws.
Robin’s next in line.
I land two hard and dizzying punches on my assailant’s cheek, flinging him down into the dirt. “They won’t free you,” I yell at him, some part of me hoping he’ll have the sense to work with me to slay this creature. “They won’t ever free you.”
But he’s crazed from who knows how many years in that dungeon, where men either never come out, or they come out without a trace of humanity left in them. He doesn’t even answer, only dives for my neck with his long, snapped and sharp, dirty nails, eyes empty, desperate. I cross my wrists and smash them upwards, flinging his arms wide. Then I roll to the side, snatching up the cleaver.
There’s no other choice but to take him out. But as there’s no Deathball yet, I can’t take the risk of killing him.
Concentrating all my strength into my biceps, I smash the blade down fast, just below his knee. The bottom half of his leg cracks loose with one blow. His screams are drowned out by the crowd, then by the roar of the creature, scenting fresh blood.
It spins, its desperate jaw snapping within an inch of me as it pushes between Robin’s pillar and the one with the carcass still half hanging, disemboweled.
There’s a flinch, just enough time for me to stumble back, as its wide belly lodges between the posts. Another thrust, and its jaw slops open on its prey, filling the arena with the man’s screams.
As it devours him alive, I dash through the gap on the other side of Robin. He’s up so high, the creature’s flesh hard against his post. The wood is smooth, nowhere to grip. It’s going to take me far too long to climb. Unless…
My eyes move irresistibly along the ridge of the lizard’s back, which reaches halfway up the cross, the distance from there to Robin… roughly my height.
There’s only one thing for it.
Pretty sure I’ve actually gone mad at this point, I dash over the great haunches of the beast, up onto its back. It rears backward, head thrashing around so it almost knocks Robin from the post, his feet slipping from the small stand that held them. He wraps his hands around the chains that hold him in place, arms straining as his body weight pulls down to fight against his muscles.
A gush of blood spits out of the flesh of the beast as I slice the cleaver into its side for purchase. It rears back the other way, slamming its body between the posts, trying to get free.
Pushing up against the metal handle, I find some footing again and claw my way over the scaly skin. Splinters slip into my hands when I finally grasp the post, hauling myself up to my full height. One leap, and I’ve sprung off the lizard’s back, arm smashing down on the crossbeam, legs wrapping around the center post and around Robin. “It’s me!”
“I know it’s you, Marco!” he shouts back.
Fine. Be like that.
