38. XXXVIII
XXXVIII
Echo
S pencer and I traced the corridors towards the Ludus Maximus arena, the atmosphere thick with sin and utter desolation. I could smell the malice in the air, taste the savagery on my tongue, hear the crowds deafening roars building in my ears.
The passageways were packed with the pathetic leeches who believed themselves the rulers of Junction City. Most were enjoying some form of debauchery, openly fornicating, fighting or betting. Although I recognised some, I didn’t stay long enough to invite proposition. We had a mission to complete, and the faster I could get my girl out of there, the better.
Spencer remained steadfast at my side, quiet for the first time since we’d entered the underground, chewing on her favourite gum, which she got from who knew where. Her constant bitching about her dust-stained dress frayed my nerves enough to promise a whole new closet full of all the designer shit she could ever want. Her smug air had remained ever since.
She rested one hand in the crook of my arm while the other held a beady-eyed Fran to her chest. Despite the chaotic environment, it was the most settled I’d ever seen him. I don’t know whether that was a good or bad thing, but I was sure the fiend would find the most inopportune moment to unleash his feral nature.
We approached the VIP admission with an arrogant air, the tickets easy enough to pickpocket with the sea of available idiots on hand. Upon entry, Spencer was knocked off balance by a staggering drunkard with messy, pale silver hair.
Lightning-fast, Fran growled and bit into his shoulder.
“ FUCKKK,” he shrieked. As he pulled away, stark red seeped through his white dress shirt. To be frank, it only added to the aesthetic of his dishevelled state.
Is that a black smear stain on his cuff? I barely held back a sneer. Saints, have some decorum, man.
Spencer’s giggle cut through my disgust as she stroked Fran’s head for being a good boy.
“That rabies-infested mutt is about to be put down, pretty. Hand him over,” the stranger said, his inebriated eyes settling on the growling chihuahua.
Spencer blew and popped an obnoxious bubble in his face. “You’re lucky he didn’t rip away your flesh, peasant .”
His back snapped straight, but before he could retaliate, I pivoted Spencer behind me, my chest hitting his. “ Move. The. Fuck. On.”
Tension brewed between us as his expression darkened. His volatile aura escalated as his gaze flipped from my hardened features to Spencer's mocking smirk.
My muscles flexed in retaliation, preparing for his assault, when a firm hand dropped onto his uninjured shoulder.
We both jolted out of our stalemate to take in his doppelganger, who saddled up beside him. The newcomer, I could appreciate. Expensive taste with refined elegance. He was prim and proper, although not any less dangerous. His cold demeanour grew impossibly severe when assessing the scene before him.
I didn’t care if there were two or if, between them, they were giving off some serious serial killer vibes (join the club). That would just make the inevitable fight more interesting. I was ready to throw the fuck down when the new arrival with inky black hair turned to address his scruffy mirror image. “We haven’t got time. Go and clean yourself up, I’ll meet you in there.”
Clone one huffed, shoved his brother off and stormed away. Clone two barely twitched, the only motion coming from his silver earring that dangled from one ear and his critical brown stare that narrowed on Fran—which flashed with recognition before icing over once more.
Before I could say anything, he was already walking away, his posture rigid.
Shaking off the strange interaction, I took Spencer's hand to guide her forward. With the other, I reached to pat Fran’s tiny head before the aggressive shit tried to sink his teeth into me, too.
I sighed. Some things never changed.
I rapidly assessed the underground colosseum with a critical eye. Platformed tiers raised high over the arena, each location providing ample view of the complete massacre displayed below.
Spencer and I looked down on the grotesque scene with a sense of trepidation. It was fucking mental. Located on the exclusive first level, we were close enough that pieces of body matter squashed beneath our feet and the metallic tart smell of blood clogged our sinuses.
Gannicus stood centre stage, wearing a loincloth and gladiator sandals. His skin shone with a thick layer of sweat as his face remained vigilant and hard, concentrated on the sole purpose of survival. The floor was riddled with countless corpses, both animal and human alike. I had seen a lot in the trenches of Junction City—not all innocent. But this display of power was singularly barbaric, glorifying a particular type of cruelty only the rich, privileged and famous sought to find.
Gannicus was a walking contradiction—all bulk, huge stature, a mean mug. Yet, his motions were graceful, movement fluid and beautiful to behold. As if we were watching a work of art come to life before our eyes—which was ironic, due to the ruthlessness he had to impart to destroy his fellow opponents.
It was unfortunate to see how far the warrior prince had fallen from grace. Gannicus, heir to the Ludus Maximus, Docture of the gladiators and nephew to the Kingpin Maximus himself. Now sequestered and bound as an involuntary participant, fighting for his life against all manner of beasts.
And the spectators? Yeah, they were lapping that shit up like starving heathens, impatiently snapping their jaws to feast on the dead. The crowd was an overzealous anthill, the insects of JC jacking off to the violent bloodbath only the Ludus could provide. I knew all too well that nothing would ever satiate their unquenching thirst for more.
The show came to an impasse when Gannicus sliced a knife across the throat of his last remaining adversary. Then, as if in slow motion, he raised the blood-stained blade up to the main podium that sat opposite us, stating a clear challenge.
A stagnant hush fell over the oval stadium when movement caught in the shadowed platform. Then, a formidable figure stood from an ornate throne, sporting a full-length toga held together by a decorative gold clasp over one muscular shoulder. One step led to another until he leant on the stone railing in front of him, the Roman royal looking down on his kin like a god.
It had been many years since I had seen Maximus in the flesh, and he looked like shit. Based on his ragged appearance, he required a good fuck, long shower or restful sleep—hell, probably all three. However, if everything went to plan, we could at least provide the latter.
Maximus tilted his head with a savage smile gracing his lips, almost deformed. I assessed him with fervour, picking up on a subtle, unhinged quality. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly. Whether it was a certain gleam in his eye or wrinkle in his expression. Either way, his aura was even more intimidating than when he was in his prime. Which was a warning in itself. We’d have to tread carefully if the takeover was going to go smoothly.
The two males continued their soundless standoff, unrelenting pressure thickening throughout the entire amphitheatre when Maximus lifted a hand with a come hither motion. The distinct sound of chains violently clanged as various doors lining the fighting pit raised and countless Ludus soldiers spilt out over the gory battlefield.
Gannicus released a ferocious growl, opening his arms wide to encompass the newcomers ordered to bring forth his ruin. “ Fuck. You. Uncle! You’re sending all these men to their deaths, for what!? Some ill-perceived slight?” Maximus sneered, and Gannicus broke eye contact for the first time.
Instead, he spun, sparing his sole attention to each member in turn. “These are loyal men. They do not deserve this! They’ve pledged to the Ludus, killed for the Ludus, are prepared to die for the fucking Ludus!” Gannicus turned to pinpoint Maximus with his glare once more. “You’ve run this organisation into the fucking ground. I won’t let you destroy us further. Face me yourself, COWARD!” His roar stretched far and wide, ensuring each and every person heard his plea.
His tirade caught like an infectious disease, the Ludus soldiers faltered under his words, knowing he spoke the truth. Their loyalties tested between their unreliable leader vs the promise of a brighter future. It also helped that Gannicus trained or knew most of them on a personal level, garnering respect through his years of servitude.
Maximus was visibly shaking, knuckles white, his grip tightening over the stone railing. As he geared up to spit his own venom, he was interrupted.
A Ludus soldier equipped with shield, spear and helmet stepped forward from the throngs. All eyes tracked his surefooted approach towards Gannicus, who stood guard, ready to slay any threat that ventured close.
He didn’t have to. The sole gladiator dropped a knee, simultaneously pushing the metal headgear off his head. Midnight blue hair glimmered beneath the stark lights, and a collective gasp ran through the masses.
Psycho raised his head to look up into Gannicus’ shocked face, then thumped his left fist against his right pec. “For you, brother,” he said in a casual tone. Yet, those three words rang with immense power, the enormous shift causing the arena to shake with vital promise and intensity. He continued to mutter some words, too quiet to hear, but from Gannicus’ guilty expression and Psycho’s accusing one—I was certain the former was getting cussed the fuck out. If we all survived, I was sure that’d be the least of his worries.
A thunderous growl rumbled from the main podium, and all eyes laid upon Maximus. His mask cracked, then cracked some more until all that remained was a husk of pure animosity and unbridled enmity. Then, he elevated his renowned weapon of choice, the spiked head of his morning star swinging before him like a talisman that sought the skulls of his enemies.
Without further preamble, Maximus vaulted over the railing, his bulk flawlessly catapulting to the arena battleground as he caught himself in a well-composed crouch. The old fool may be certifiable, but his fighting background was nothing to scoff at. He was an intimidating opponent, and one to be taken seriously. The distinction was further stressed by his ferocious gaze that narrowed on Gannicus, now on the same playing field.
The stage had been set, and a tremendous fight was about to ensue, the victor initiated as the undisputed ruler of The Caverns and bestowed the honourable role of Ludus leader.
Remaining fighters appeared sceptical, unsure on how to proceed, whether to let the scenario play out or not.
Maximus quaked with rage, the mace of his weapon swinging above his head with frightening intent. “Traitors! All of you! TRAITORS!” We all watched on as he began carving into his own soldiers with single-minded rapture, the spiked ball concaving heads and puncturing chests with no discrimination.
And when Gannicus went to advance, a clear distinct whistle keened from the elevated podium from which Maximus had just come, interrupting the confrontation.
“KHAOS REIGNS!” yelled a high feminine voice. When my eyes swung to the perpetrator, an immediate chill blistered up my spine in alarm.
Brittle ice fractured every neuron in my brain as I tried to process the astonishment of that new development. My jaw dropped, and my Variant sparked in my throat, ready to annihilate the one target I had searched for so long.
A petite, brown-eyed, soul-destroying succubus with god-awful lime green hair.
Camilla.
My Variant spiked and roiled in my veins, ready to deliver the one blow that would exterminate that absolute filth from my lingering past.
But when I opened my mouth to let those soundwaves loose, the whole fucking underground imploded.