The entrance was guarded, but the guards knew me. Knew my reputation. They stepped aside without a word, and I walked into the dim interior, my eyes adjusting to the gloom.
Arsoko was standing near the center of the pit, his massive Kaelaks frame making the space feel smaller. He looked up as I approached, and his expression shifted from boredom to shock in the space of a heartbeat.
"Ahrick." His voice was a low rumble, disbelief coloring every syllable. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"I want to sign up," I said flatly.
He stared at me. "For the fights?"
"Yes."
"I thought—" He paused, his green brow furrowing. "I thought you didn't fight. Not in the pits. Not anymore."
"I don't," I said. The words came out harder than I intended.
When I'd first arrived on Palaydium, the pits had been my refuge. My escape. I'd thrown myself into the violence with a kind of desperate hunger, trying to bury everything I'd left behind in blood and broken bones. Every fight had been a chance to stop thinking, stop feeling, stop being anything except fists and fury and the primal satisfaction of survival.
I'd been good at it. Too good.
But the killing had sickened me. Each life I took in that pit had felt like another piece of myself dying, another layer of of mysoul stripped away until all that remained was the weapon the Alliance had made me.
That was when I'd left. Walked away from the city, from the crowds, from the credits and the reputation. I'd settled in the wastelands where the only thing I had to kill was time, where I could pretend to be something other than what I was.
"Things change."
Arsoko studied me, his gaze sharp and assessing. "What changed?"
I let some of the rage I'd been holding back bleed into my expression. "The Duke's spoiled brat of a son got off this rock. I didn't. It pissed me off. Figured I might as well make some credits while I'm stuck here."
It was the story I'd been using to cover my presence in Fange City—bitter, resentful, drinking away my anger at being left behind. Arsoko had heard it before, had probably half-believed it. Now I was selling it harder, letting him see the violence simmering beneath my skin.
"Plus," I added, keeping my tone casual, "I heard Persico has a new prize. Thought it might be worth the effort."
Arsoko's expression shifted—understanding dawning, followed by something that might have been respect. "The human female."
"Yeah."
He was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. Six fights. You win all six, the prize is yours for twenty-four hours. You lose even one—"
"I won't lose."
The certainty in my voice made him pause. Then he smiled, showing too many teeth. "No. I don't suppose you will."
He pulled out a datapad, his claws clicking against the screen. "I'll put you on the roster. First fight is tomorrow night. You sure about this?"
I thought about the female I'd seen through the barred window. Thought about her standing in Persico's throne room, surrounded by monsters. Thought about what would happen to her if someone else won those fights.
"I'm sure."
Arsoko nodded and made the entry. "Welcome back to the pits, Ahrick. Try not to die."
I turned and walked back toward the entrance, my mind already calculating. Six fights. Six opponents between me and keeping her safe for a night. Six chances for something to go wrong.
I'd win all six.
I'd win six hundred if that's what it took.
Because the alternative—letting her fall into the hands of whatever monster came out on top—wasn't something I could live with.
