Page 44 of Gladiator Moon

I noticed.

Will probably rouse Baltazar from sleep or send a horde of demons after us.

Then let’s hurry and find this Devil Killer.

I agree.

So, there’s no hiding from the Dark One?

Not within the arena or palace.

We will be going into the pit?

Yes.

Is this a trap?

Never! You have my allegiance.

But you have the Dark One’s magic.

I believe your mind control trumps it.

Very well. Where do we go after we drop into the pit?

All the way down to the bottom. There will be a door there. The door to the armory is next to it.

Would it have been easier to avoid this step altogether?

Yes, but there are more guards on the ground floor during the Games.

You’d think the royal residence would have more.

Yes and no. Outside the actual residence, very much so. But alas, this is the only way to the pit.

Which takes us down near the armory.

Exactly.

There is definitely a different vibe up here. Less Colosseum and more palace-like. I hear running footsteps coming from the right; luckily, Azul points to the left. I dash off running, then leap up onto my wings, still hauling the prince and the wizard along with me.

I fly low and fast through the palace corridor, my dark wings beating softly above and behind me, my boots never quite touching the polished floor, while the booted toes of my captives just barely skim the polished tiles.

The place looks as though Julius Caesar himself might stroll around the corner at any moment, complete with open-toed sandals and ready to utter, “Et tu Dark One?”

Massive columns line both sides of the hallway, each seemingly carved from a single block of white stone veined with shimmering threads of blue that pulse faintly beneath the surface, as if the rock itself possesses a heartbeat. Maybe it does. The Dark One’s heartbeat. So weird. Then again, I doubt devils from any universe have heartbeats.

Anyway.

Marble statues stand in alcoves between the columns, though these are decidedly not Roman. Some depict winged creatures with four arms and elongated heads. Others show warriors in armor holding weapons that resemble spears fashioned from crystals.

The ceiling arches forty feet overhead, painted with scenes of stars, planets, and unfamiliar constellations (not that I am any expert). Tiny lights embedded within the ceiling’s artwork twinkle softly, giving the impression that an actual night sky hovers overhead. Pretty cool. Occasionally, one of the stars drifts slowly across the ceiling before fading from sight. An actual shooting star.

Okay, that is seriously cool.

Then again, I have always been easily impressed.

Huge metal receptacles or drums burn at regular intervals, though their flames glow silver instead of red or orange and give off no heat. Strange flowering living vines wrap themselves around the columns, their blossoms opening and closing as I pass, apparently responding to movement (certainly not body heat). One bloom emits a pleasant chime as I languidly fly by.