My eyes darted to my wife’s stomach. Kisa laughed a single watery laugh. She covered my hand with her own, just as our baby kicked again.
Leaning forward, Kisa pressed her lips to mine. When she pulled back and I saw the love she had for me written on her stunning face, I knew I had to remedy the Arziani problem quickly.
I had two months until our child came into this world.
What that world would look like depended on me.
A world free from any threat to our lives.
That meant Arziani dead.
His guards slaughtered.
And the Blood Pit burned to ash.
4
901
Stoically, I sat in my cell as I waited for my turn. I could hear the faint roar of the crowd and the stomping of feet coming from the pit. The first round had come and gone, as had the second and the third. The better matches were happening now, then my match would follow.
The main event.
I rolled my neck from side to side as I spun my beloved Kindjals in my hands. The handles were warm. My eyes stared straight ahead as I envisioned how this fight would go. I had no idea whom I was fighting. Master no longer informed me. He wanted me unprepared, going in blind to my opponent’s weapon of choice and level of skill.
He wanted a fucking show.
A show he would never get from me.
The sound of cell doors clattering against the walls came from down the hallway, and I knew it would be a Wraith for me. My cell was at the end of the champions’ quarter. It offered a bed, basin, and flush toilet. Master gave his champion the best accommodations. With this cell came more privacy. It was the only thing I really appreciated about this prison. I liked to be alone. I didn’t want a connection with anyone else. Liking, or even tolerating, another fighter made you weak. I never even took a mona when they were sent to me. I wouldn’t fuck a female, even though I wanted to. They were forced into fucking as much as I was forced into killing. I didn’t have any sympathy for them, but neither would I use them. I’d seen too many fighters brought down by becoming attached to a gifted female. They’d grown so attached that it had messed with their fighting skills.
Females were a distraction from the most important thing in this place: staying alive.
Suddenly, my cell door opened and a guard walked in, gun in hand. He was dressed in a black uniform, the match night uniform. Master was nothing if not a showman for his investors.
“Up,” the guard ordered.
I obeyed and walked to where he stood. The guard looked up at me and said, “Master has ordered you to draw out the kill. To let your opponent get in a few strikes against you. He said you are to allow the Chinese investors’ fighter to believe he is winning, to ensure a rise in the stakes for your next match.”
Disgust at participating in such a pathetic show flooded through me. I wouldn’t do it. Master knew it, but he ordered it just the same. He lived for the day when he mastered me completely. It wouldn’t ever happen.
“You understand?” the guard checked. Instead of snapping his neck to shut his whining mouth, I pushed past him and pounded down the hallway. As with every match, the sound of the spectators increased in volume. And, as always, I broke into a slow, steady run, my feet kicking up sand with every stride.
When I neared the end of the tunnel, I concentrated on the pit. I could see a huge man circling the sand, a spear in each fist. My lips curled up in excitement. This male actually looked like he could contend.
We would see.
Picking up speed, I burst through the mouth of the tunnel and charged at the male now standing at the center of the pit. Obviously expecting me to act quickly, the male stuck out his spear. My right Kindjal immediately struck the wooden handle, splintering the weapon in two. The blurred calls from the crowd rose in volume as I plunged my blade straight through the heart of my opponent. As I forced my blade farther into his flesh, I watched his eyes widen and blood spill from his mouth.
Leaning back, I lifted my foot and pushed against his chest, forcing his lifeless corpse off my blade. As he dropped to the floor, the crowd cheered. I towered over the dead male, breathing faster but barely having even broken a sweat.
Then the crowd grew silent. I turned to face Master’s seat. The moment I looked up at him in the stands, I could see the rage simmering in his eyes. Of course, his always perfect public persona remained firmly in place. But I knew better. Inside, Master was erupting at my blatant disrespect of his orders.
Then, as Master stood to address me, my eyes moved to the female sitting on the floor at his feet. I swallowed hard. It was the High Mona.
The most beautiful female I had ever seen.
“901,” Master’s firm voice suddenly called out, snapping me from staring at the mona dressed in blue, whose eyes were focused on the floor. “Another victory,” Master complimented. But I caught the venom in his words. I fought back a satisfied smirk.
As Master was about to speak again, a male sitting a few seats to his left stated coldly, “You told me this match would be a good fight. Your animal just slaughtered mine in ten seconds flat.” The male stared Master right in the eye. He continued, “You had seen my fighter; therefore, you knew his skill level.” The male then looked to me and curled his lips. “This fighter far exceeded him in skill, which leads me to question your honor, Arziani.”
At that, the crowd began talking in hushed whispers. Arziani’s cheek twitched, betraying his rage at being questioned in his own house. No one questioned Arziani in this arena. So whoever this male was, he must have been important enough for Master not to order his immediate execution.