35. Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Five
Nikolai Volkov
T he crowd was wild. Electric. They screamed and cheered, eager for the next fight to begin.
It was the night after I’d seen my father in his cell deep beneath the Arena. The second fight of the Games was set to commence in ten minutes, the first having been concluded this morning.
According to the schedule I glimpsed, there were two fights set for each day. A morning match and an evening match. That meant that—every day—four people left the Arena alive, and four people left dead.
The first match up had been an ex-army ranger and an MMA fighter versus a boxer and a martial artist. Their images, along with their stats—name, age, height, weight, strengths, weaknesses and list of skills—all appeared on a massive jumbotron that hung suspended in the air above the oval, right over their heads.
At first, both teams had refused to fight, even going as far as to beg and plead with the crowd to help them. When that didn’t work, they turned to anger, yelling and screaming what heartless bastards we all were.
Once the crowd started to boo, that was when Talon stepped in.
He had appeared on the jumbotron in a $50,000 tux with a martini glass in his hand and a bright, beaming smile on his face.
It was the kind of smile that made it glaringly obvious he had veneers.
I think he would have been a handsome man, if he hadn’t been jamming botox into his face.
He had that look, that “I’ve had hundreds of plastic surgery operations so I don’t look as old as I am” look.
Talon had given the fighters a choice. They could either fight or die, right where they stood. That kicked things right into gear. There was nothing more motivating than the threat of impending death to really get things moving.
The fight had been brutal. They were fighting on the sand terrain and, despite being united at the beginning, things quickly turned into a massive free-for-all.
Both teams dove for the weapons that were laid out, trying to get the upper hand.
Knives cut. Axes swung. Bats smashed. It was the epitome of blood and violence.
In the end, only one team remained victorious, moving onto the next round.
The ex-army ranger, Samuel Marlon and the MMA fighter, Jessica Clifford.
Once it was over, Jessica had curled up into a ball and wailed, covered in blood.
Samuel seemed to handle it a bit better.
I suspected it might not have been the first time the man had taken a life.
The fight had been broadcast to the other prisoners in their cells via a bunch of cameras spread out throughout the oval. That same footage was also displayed on the jumbotron so everyone in the Arena could see what was going on, no matter where they sat.
It was an arena style seating. The wealthiest had box seats at the very top, and the least wealthy had to stand at the bottom. I’d tried to get a glimpse of the people up there but they were too far away.
As one of the lower-level soldiers in Talon’s employ, I was stuck on the ground floor, doing crowd control along with Ryan, Luke, John and a bunch of others.
The bright side was that I did have a front row seat to the fights.
“Are we ready for Round Two of the Til Death Games?!” A voice blared out through the speakers.
The crowd roared . Everybody jumped to their feet, screaming and clapping as the Arena darkened and the jumbotron displayed the first set of fighters.
“We have a special treat for you tonight, ladies and gentleman!
A truly special, special treat. Let's meet our first team!” A spotlight shone into the oval, revealing a tall, athletic woman and a strong, muscular man.
They both held a hand up to shield their eyes from the glaring light of the spotlight, walking further into the oval with dazed expressions.
“Lily Nicole is a Master Sergeant in the Marines with over thirty-three confirmed kills.” The camera zoomed in on Lily, following her every move as the announcer continued to introduce her.
A photo of her appeared next to the live feed with her stats.
“Weighing in at only ninety pounds, she might seem small and unthreatening, but she is anything but! Her skills guarantee a good fight!”
The crowd cheered again. The camera panned to the man next.
“Roger Ward is someone to watch, folks! President of a vicious motorcycle gang in Las Vegas, he’s dangerous, ruthless and has no qualms getting a little blood on his hands!”
The announcer continued to talk Lily and Roger up, getting the crowd more and more excited with each passing second.
They seemed like worthy opponents. Their only weakness would be Lily's morality. She was a Marine. She’d have a clear cut line between right and wrong.
She could struggle with killing someone for blood sport.
I didn’t think Roger would have that same problem though. He might be a bit dazed by the whole situation, but he was a stone-cold killer, most likely thanks to his occupation.
The Arena darkened again. “Alright! Time to meet their opponents!” the announcer yelled out. “I have a feeling you guys are gonna love these ones! That’s right! It’s the duo we know you’ve all been dying to see!”
The spotlight shone on the next two people, and my whole body ran cold.
No .
Dimitri Volkov stood in the oval, his expression dark and murderous.
Like the fighters before him, his collar was gone, and he just stood there bare-chested, staring out into the crowd with cold, dead eyes.
That look on his face…that wasn’t my father out there.
No. My father was somewhere else, locked away in his mind.
The person out there was the Bratva Butcher.
The woman came into view, walking up to his side. They stood together, a united front. Contradicting, considering how I’d seen them in the cell the night before. They must have put their differences aside for the fight.
“The Bratva Butcher and The Crimson Death!” the announcer roared.
The crowd went wild, the screaming and cheering so loud, I had to cover my ears.
She was the Crimson Death? She was rumoured to be one of the deadliest assassins on the planet.
I was beyond shocked. I’d grown up hearing stories about her.
Her identity had always been a secret, but the few glimpses of blazing red hair had been what had given her the moniker of the Crimson Death, because that was all her marks saw of her before they met their end.
Her skills were renowned. Fast. Efficient.
Resourceful. Intelligent. Incredible hand-to-hand combat. Expert marksmanship.
No wonder the crowd was going so fucking crazy. Individually, my father and this woman were legends. But together? Together, they were a powerhouse couple.
Father was a pro at hiding his emotions.
However, the moment the announcer revealed the woman’s identity, even he couldn’t hide the flicker of surprise that went through his eyes.
He looked down at her and she smiled up at him brightly, full of cheekiness.
Like they weren’t about to fight for their lives or anything.
The crowd was still going berserk, cheering and chanting for the Deadly Duo. The announcer couldn’t even finish introducing them because they were screaming so loud, impatient for the fight to begin.
“Alright! I see everyone is eager to get the night going! So, why don’t we get to it?! Ladies and gentleman, Round Two of the Til Death Games!”
Tense, nervous energy filled me when the oval flooded with light and the cameras panned in on the fighters.
I had complete faith in my father and his skills, but there was something truly sickening about watching someone you love in a dangerous situation, regardless of how good they were, and not being able to do a damn thing to stop it.
Anything could happen. And I would just have to stand there and watch it.
Music came on in the background, something dark and bassy to fit with the event of the night.
Father and Autumn (that was the name next to her image on the jumbotron) spread out, sizing up their targets.
She took Lily and he took Roger, clearly having come up with some sort of attack plan prior to the fight.
They stayed close enough so that they’d be able to reach each other if need be, but far enough away to be able to fight unhindered.
I continued my lap around the Arena ground floor, making out like I was doing my job, monitoring the crowd, when really my entire focus was down there in the oval.
They were in the grass terrain and small obstacles had been placed throughout it: rocks, boulders, logs. There was even a small stream running from one side to the other, separating the two teams.
There were only two weapons that I could see accessible—an axe and a machete—which would mean it would be a fight to get to them first. They seemed to be placed at an equal distance from each team, so it would all come down to who was faster.
There was no countdown. No ticking clock for when the fight was to begin. Both teams just stared at each other from across the field.
Then everything snapped into action.
They ran for each other, leaping over whatever obstacle was in their way as they sprinted towards the weapons.
Father was quick, despite his big size. So was Roger.
They reached the axe at the same time and both chose to leave it and engage in hand-to-hand combat rather than risk bending down to pick it up.
Father front-kicked and Roger leapt to the left, dodging it.
Father swung a reverse elbow and then pivoted quickly to jab at Roger’s abdomen.
He groaned at the blow but recovered fast, lashing out with his own strike.
They exchanged blows, neither one holding anything back as they punched and kicked, using all of their quickness and strength to try to catch the other off guard.