Chapter 2
Ironically after two months of preparation, I made an impulse choice.
As the gate opened, I slipped under to enter the Crave Arena first. I’d turned this over in my head for two months.
Being first into the arena made me super visible to the crowd and the demon king.
It also separated me from the other players, and the longer I waited before making my kill for the week, the longer a hunting pack of contestants would have to take me out.
But by entering first, I wouldn’t be murdered before even setting foot into the arena.
The other players knew who I was, and that would come with consequences.
I had to make it home each night. I’d promised him.
I blurred to put distance between me and the gate.
The thunderous roar and jeer of the crowd attacked my senses.
Thousands perused my movement like we were in ancient Rome, yet the arena floor was nothing like the smooth, sandy arena in Gladiators.
Sharp, jutting rocks tipped with dried blood added a lethal edge to the Crave Arena.
Between the jutting rocks, the stone ground was slippery from hundreds of years of use.
A sprinkle of bone-dry sand on top only made the slipperiness worse.
I darted behind the nearest protruding stone that stood between me and where the demon king watched from his throne. Please be sleeping.
I lurked in the shadows in a partial crouch to watch the gate.
The reds were through. They let the purples through unharmed, and the two colors formed a funnel like those I’d associate with cheerleaders clapping their team onto the field.
Yellows and oranges exploded from the tunnel in a strategic burst—forced ahead of the more powerful blues and greens still hiding in the tunnels.
The screams of oranges and yellows were barely audible over the shrieks of the crowd.
The weakest demons met their ends with only a few making it through by sheer luck.
Arcs of blood splattered stone and dirt.
Damn, blood could travel far.
“Get moving,” I said in Demon. I had to kill someone and head to the checkpoint.
Those were the two rules of Tiers. Kill or be killed.
Get to the checkpoint or don’t. Those were the only ways to get out of the arena alive.
I could choose to take as many contestants out as possible, but I wasn’t here for a blood bath, unlike the reds and purples.
I’d only take what was needed to get to the next round.
The tricky part was how to kill an opponent without the crowd realizing who I was. If they did, then their king would hear their commotion. I couldn’t get through the entire month of Tiers undetected, but one or two rounds could make all the difference.
A yellow demon sprinted past my hiding spot, shrieking at the top of his lungs.
Yikes. Part of me felt terrible as I slipped after him, dodging between rocks.
I leaned into my demon nature and embraced as much bloodthirstiness as possible.
I had to kill someone, and that kill stood between me and the future lives of those I loved.
If I could get to the guy before the purples and reds found me, then—
My gut twinged.
I slowed at the sight of a stone circle ahead.
My gut twinged again, and I knew—in the same way I knew about many yet-to-happen events—that I shouldn’t enter that circle. The yellow demon had stopped dead in the center and continued to shriek his head off. His eyes moved furtively. There wasn’t nearly enough fear in them.
A trap.
The little fucker was setting me up. Probably in exchange for his life.
Purple flashed between jutting stones. A hint of red ahead.
My executioners.
I blew out a breath.
If I were them, I’d get rid of me too.
Game time.
I left my father’s blade in its sheath and slid my two daggers free.
I’d brought these for the first fight because they weren’t infused with any power.
Any infused weapon would leak my black smoke, and my father’s blade would also leak crimson smoke each time I used it.
Every demon in the realm knew the blade.
I’d circle around.
I turned back to retrace my steps, then stopped at the row of purples approaching from behind.
Dammit.
I stepped off the path into a tighter matrix of stone.
The reds must have portaled ahead of me, and some of the purples too.
Entering Tiers as late as possible and avoiding the Pinnacle in the first week had served me, but it meant that the other players had practiced in the arena all week. They knew the layout.
I broke into a run, giving the stone circle a wide berth.
My gut twinged.
I pressed my back against a rock as a red demon launched over my head and landed six feet away.
The dullness and single hue of his scales exposed him as a weaker red. Which didn’t mean much considering reds were near the top of the food chain.
“You will be first to die,” he hissed.
I replied, “What about those at the gate? I must be the thirtieth at least.”
Slight confusion entered his gaze. Scale color was not a sign of intelligence. In fact, I found yellows and oranges could be the most conniving due to their weaker magic.
The demon didn’t have many gaps in his scales, which was why he’d inserted himself into a beautifully stained and very tiny loincloth for today’s fight. Show off. But there was a gap at the front of his armpit. I wouldn’t reach his heart from there with these weapons.
I sliced my dagger against the red’s scales instead. As expected, the attack had no effect. Worth a try. My strategy for the first fight had centered around encountering a yellow or orange whose scales I could saw through with these feeble daggers.
“Fuck,” I said calmly.
Red smoke erupted from his body. I dodged away, though only drawn-out exposure to red smoke would kill me. It would fucking hurt in the meantime, and I’d had enough pain in my life, thank you very much.
“The rumors are false,” he taunted, stalking down the stone path after me, shrouded in his smoke. “Black Scales is never prepared for battle.”
The guy was calling me weak, and I’d been here long enough to feel the insult for what it was.
Being called unprepared for battle was like singing your heart out on a talent show, only to realize your mother had lied to you about your skill level since birth.
To be fair to his assumption, demons with white scales really were weak, so I could follow the logic.
Was Oyx Wehy badass or a weakling? Only one person knew the answer, other than me.
This red scale had guessed, but unfortunately for him, he’d guessed dead wrong.
Emphasis on the dead part.
He was really pouring out the smoke. A foolish amount, and a volume that told me that despite his taunting words, the demon really wasn’t sure of my power.
The other purples and reds had to be close. Or watching. Or surrounding me as I deliberated whether to run or fight.
Even if I ran, I’d have to fight one of them.
So much for keeping under the radar in the first week. Things couldn’t have just gone fucking easily.
The despair around my heart unfurled to fill me. This was it, then. Once the demon king saw me, there would be no return to the refuge I’d carved from nothing. Everyone I held dear could be ripped away because of my decision to take the biggest gamble of my life.
“Just keep your royal eyes closed, asshole,” I muttered.
I sheathed my two daggers and drew my father’s sword.
The red smoke cleared, and before the demon’s eyes had fully widened, I’d driven the blade under his ribs.
Working quickly to limit how much of my black smoke escaped, I slid the crimson smoking blade free and kicked the demon back, sending him sprawling face-first across the ground.
He wasn’t quite dead. Ugh.
Giving the reins over to my demon side—and certainly my demon morality—I leaped forward and landed behind the maimed demon.
Spinning, I brought the blade down executioner style.
There were a few ways to kill a demon. Some delightfully creative and repulsive.
Decapitation was usually the quickest method.
I didn’t bother cleaning the blade. I’d made my kill, but there was another rule to uphold before this week’s game ended for me.
I had to make it to the checkpoint.
Sheathing my father’s blade, I ran across the uneven and slippery ground, moving far faster than was wise considering the spikes and bodies littering the way.
I made it all of twenty feet before my gut twinged again. I slowed, blinking through the feeling of doom warning me not to continue on my current path.
They are surrounding you. The knowledge drifted to me, and I had learned to listen to that voice very carefully.
The hunting pack was still gunning for me.
I peered to the left. According to my gut—my sight—that direction was my best bet. Of course, that way led me on the longer route to the checkpoint. Because life was never simple.
I launched in that direction and kicked off a rock to my right to sail through stinging purple smoke.
Ouch. Rolling across smooth stone, I evaded the crushing blow of a spiked club from a red.
More converged on me, but a few were slinking away, hoping to avoid a fight with serious risk now they had glimpsed my skill.
Popping up, I broke into a zig-zagging sprint, operating entirely on the instincts of my sight. I didn’t pause as demons collapsed in on me, but my ears picked up a chant that filled me with dread.
“Black scale! Black scale!” The chant was low and booming. Really loud.
“Black scale, black scale!”
“Shit.” I sped up.
But their chant was designed to bait one person and one person alone, and the crowd wouldn’t rest until they succeeded.
I had to make the checkpoint.