8. Chapter eight
Chapter eight
Kieran
I ’ve never been to an actual Pit fight before, but living in this poor excuse of a world after society went to shit, you’re bound to see some fucked-up things.
Even with my mom keeping me shut away in our apartment most of the time, I still saw enough to learn the nature of men… and it’s not always pretty.
I’m not a queasy guy. I can handle gore, blood. Hell, I wouldn’t be patching up my colleagues if I couldn’t stomach it. But this? This is something else entirely.
The crowd roars, stamping and howling like the animals they are, and I can only fucking stare wide-eyed as the Walker that was chewing on the chest of a man just seconds ago gets yanked back behind the gate by four Watchers in full protective gear.
The man’s body is still twitching, chest spasming like it’s trying to keep a grip on life, but the light’s already gone.
His final breath rattles out, eaten by the noise of the crowd as he stills.
A real human being. Gone. And for what? Some stupid crime? I think he was stealing food, skimming coin. Whatever it was… I don’t think that’s worth dying for. But apparently, that’s the Pit and the life on Ibitha.
“What a loser. I mean, shit, he only had one Walker. That’s hardly a fucking challenge,” Tass supplies helpfully, munching on some strawberries she must’ve bartered for. Her legs kicked out, ankles crossed on the ledge, lounging like this is her idea of a relaxing night out.
Sami’s on her other side, leaned forward with his elbows on the stone, face resting in his hands. His expression is somewhere between bored and tired, brown eyes hooded, like he’s seen this exact shit too many times to count.
We’re in the front row, left of the council. Tass said they’re always seated here every fight night, which happens once a month. A neat little schedule for blood and spectacle.
That’s why they locked Max away for six days—waiting for his turn. Waiting for judgment.
Six nerve-wrecking days of half-assed research, unanswered questions, and nights without him. I slept like shit, knowing he wasn’t there watching over me. Maybe it’s pathetic… but I don’t really care anymore.
At least we’re finally here, in the old amphitheater carved into the cliffs, just before sunset.
The heat of the day still clings to the stone, radiating up through the seats.
Half of them are jagged rock ledges, the rest a scatter of cracked plastic chairs bolted in at odd angles.
The sky above is bruising purple, shadows stretching long across the Pit, but the air is still heavy, warm, thick enough to choke on.
Every inch of me has been itching to go to him all week, but Tass said they wouldn’t let me enter. Shit, he’d probably just laugh in my face if I’d tried. That harsh, unhinged cackle of his. The one that rattles through my ribs like it shouldn’t feel good, but somehow does.
I asked Tass once what he whispered before they dragged him away.
She said he told them to stick with me because he didn’t trust those guys that stirred trouble.
To make sure I wasn’t alone. And they did.
One or the other crashed in my room every night that week, like it was nothing.
Like Max had ordered it, and they’d obeyed without question.
I know he’s their leader, but it’s still eerie… watching the way they fall in line. Not just out of respect, it’s something deeper. An unshakable kind of loyalty. The kind you can’t buy, can’t fake.
“It’s so weird they just… go back to their regular life after this,” I mutter, voice thin, eyes locked on the Pit floor, still slick with blood, still wet from the last poor bastard who got ripped apart.
Sami snorts without looking at me, arms now entirely folded across the rail, head resting heavily on his forearms. “Only if you survive.”
Three went before Max, Two stumbled out alive, dragged half-dead but breathing under the roar of the crowd. The last one… he died screaming, torn open like paper while the masses howled like it was entertainment.
All of them had only one Walker.
Not Max. He’s going to have nine. And he’s last, for maximum effect. For impact. For blood.
My fists ball tight in my lap, nails biting half-moons into my palms, nerves sparking like live wires under my skin as the gate to the prison suddenly opens—rusted iron screaming louder than the crowd—and there he is.
My Max.
They shove him forward and he stumbles into the light.
My heart almost fucking implodes at the sight because Max never fucking stumbles.
“Oh, fuck.” My stomach bottoms out. Something’s wrong. His shirt’s gone, ribs a mess of purple and black bruises like someone took a hammer to him. One eye’s half-shut, swelling fast, his jaw stiff with pain.
Despite that, he smirks. Of course he does. He takes another step, another stagger, like defiance alone can hold him upright.
“Oh no, they didn’t.” Tass’s voice cuts sharply beside me, no trace of her lazy lounging now. She’s bolt upright, strawberries forgotten, eyes locked on him.
My heart falters, cold panic flooding my chest. “Did they…?”
“Torture him?” she snaps. “Weakened him so he’d lose?” Her fingers clamp the railing so hard her knuckles turn bone-white.
“That’s not fair,” I choke out, hating how weak I sound. “Are they even allowed to—”
“Of fucking course not. But it’s not like anyone will confess,” his best friend spits, her voice like steel. “This has Noura written all over it. Joyeus maybe.”
My gaze goes upward before I can stop it, snagging on the balcony above the Walker’s gate.
She’s there. Magistrate El-Amin, wrapped in red like blood itself, eight companions at her side like she’s sitting on a throne.
Her eyes glitter, her mouth curving into a smile just as Max hobbles into the center.
“How can the rest approve this?” My voice shakes. The answer’s already twisting my gut. “Isn’t this against the laws?”
“It is,” Tass says, venom dripping from every word. “For any changes in law or regulation, they need approval from all Nine. That’s why I know Max may use a weapon today. Roe would never vote against it.”
My eyes drift to the tawny-skinned man seated on Noura’s right. Big. Broad. His black beard trimmed close, eyebrows dragged together in a frown. A red beret sits heavy on his head instead of a cloak, the mark of his authority. Dark curls peek out under the edge.
Commander Roe. Head of the Military and Defense department. The man who runs the Watchers, who sends them where they’re needed. He’s staring down into the Pit with a storm behind his eyes, and he looks angry, furious even.
“And why wouldn’t he vote against her?” I ask as I focus on Tass again. “Doesn’t the entire council hate Max?”
“No. They don’t.” Her words are clipped. Then her sharp green eyes cut toward me, narrowing. “Wait. What? You don’t know? Max didn’t tell you?” She’s frowning at me like I’m the dumbest bastard on the island.
I blink. “What didn’t he tell me?”
She rubs her forehead like I’ve given her a headache, sighs to the skies, then mutters, “Dear Gods, help me. Why is he such a fucking tool?”
“Who? Max?”
“Yes. Max .” She waves a hand toward the Pit, toward him, sauntering forward, bruised and bloody and still smirking like a lunatic.
“Mister dangerous and mysterious. What the hell do you two do all day besides stare at each other like lovesick idiots? Exchange some more meaningful looks? Play eye-fuck for hours on end?”
My cheeks heat instantly, fire crawling up my neck. “We talk,” I mutter, defensive as hell. “Sometimes.”
Tass barks out a laugh. “Then he should’ve told you. Roe isn’t just our commander. At least not for me and Max.”
My gaze jerks back to the man who somehow wormed his way into every corner of my head. Max. He’s rolling his shoulders now, neck cracking as he walks up before the dais, the arrogance and confidence oozing off him like he bleeds it. Even broken and bruised, he looks untouchable.
“Then what is he exactly? To you and Max?” I press.
“Well… I call him Dad in private.”
My head whips her way so fast my neck protests. “Wait, what? Dad ? He’s your father ?”
A short shake of her head. “Not biologically. You know we were in the orphanage together, right? Roe adopted me when I was seven. Max was nine at the time and already a fucking menace.” She snorts, like the memory is equal parts fond and exasperated.
“Picking fights with older boys twice his size, scaling the wall like he was born feral, getting punishment more than the actual troublemakers. But somehow, we became close, and I didn’t want to leave without him.
We were a package deal, still are. And Roe…
Well, no one could contain Max, not really, but he still took him in. Adopted him too.”
I can only fucking blink.
She glances at me like I’m the fool here. “I mean, it’s basic knowledge. I assumed you knew.”
My wide eyes snap back to Max, who now stands tall before the Nine, framed in the light of the setting sun and starting shadows like he was born for this stage.
The crowd surges, voices colliding into one deafening chant— Max. Max. Max. It rolls through the arena like thunder, stamping feet and clapping hands shaking the stone beneath me.
He never told me about Roe. But she’s right… we don’t really talk. Not about the deep stuff. We’re not at that part in our… let’s call it a relationship.
Not yet.
I want to be. Gods, I want to learn everything about this enigma of a man, the way he can be nothing but steel and violence to the world and somehow soft and almost gentle with me.
I want to know him, really know him. And know more about Roe too.
The man who’s apparently like a father to him, the man who rules the Watchers…
“But it makes little sense,” I say, processing this information out loud. “The Watchers are guarding the prison. How can they do this to Max? Torture him? Disobey Roe’s orders and do this to his adoptive son?”