Chapter Nine
Ryder and I stand shoulder to shoulder, making our ascent up the dark elevator.
The air feels thick with anxiety, and the floor keeps creaking every time I move.
The bile in the back of my throat feels like a permanent fixture.
I know we have faced demons before, but this feels like a whole different ball game.
In order to save Ryder and fix the sun, we need to somehow obtain a murderous gem, but not before proclaiming ourselves half dead to get to it.
If somehow we make it through the forest, there’s a chance the gem will laugh at our accomplishment and paralyse us out of spite.
“Say something that will make me feel better about all of this.” I plead to Ryder, looking to cling on to him like a lifeboat, the elevator jolts for a moment, shifting my whole body weight into him. He steadies me.
“The world out there is going to shit either way.” He shrugs his shoulders. “So I say lets just enjoy the ride.” The corners of his lips rise into a small half smirk, distracting my mind from the sense of impending doom for a moment, but the screeching of the elevator torments my nerve endings.
“Enjoy the ride. I can do that.” I whisper back as a sort of sigh of relief. But if it is anything like this hazardous elevator ride, we may not reach the end of it.
Finally, the doors begin to open, but we are not met by fresh air; the dusty back streets of the shadow realm steal my oxygen and roll my stomach.
I know why they say that the only reason people come down to this place is when they are running from something, because I could not imagine choosing this life willingly.
“Come on, lets get out of here,” Ryder says, taking a step out onto the cobbled pavement, his hood overcasting his features in the dim light of the alley. I don’t hesitate; the thought of getting out of this place is like ecstasy.
As we make our way towards the street lights and vendors, a tall man approaches, his shoulder barging forcefully into Ryder’s.
“Watch where you’re going!” The man spits, and I know it is taking all of Ryder’s strength not to retaliate.
“My bad, I didn’t see you there.” Ryder bites his tongue, but his knuckles are balled into fists.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” The man asks, his demeanour changed, now looking at Ryder a little too intensely.
“No,” Ryder responds quickly, taking my wrist and walking me briskly away. The man pauses for a moment as if he is deep in thought before saying aloud.
“Venom?”
“RUN.” Ryder orders, his hand already cupped around my wrist, taking me through the sea of people on the main street.
My legs struggle to keep up with his, and my lungs crave more than just smoke to fill them, but the man is chasing us, and now there are more of them.
Something tells me these are the Smokies Psy was talking about.
Ryder’s grip on my wrist tightens as he leads us towards the end of another dark alley.
“If it isn’t the Venom.” Three men emerge from around the corner before my mind can tell my feet that they are there, and my chest slams hard into one of them. Ryder grabs my hand and runs back the way we came, but the men from before block the path.
Shit. We are cornered.
“You stole something from me.” The broadest man steps forward, his hand cradling a crowbar, the dim lights shine off of his bald head and the leather jacket, much too tight for his heavy frame, mimics the glow.
“Come on, Fang… that was years ago…no hard feelings.” Ryder shrugs his shoulders with boyish charm and lets out a small chuckle.
“You know the rules. You owe me, you pay the price in blood.” Fang’s teeth tether together as he talks, his lips snarling like an angry dog. The men around him treading the distance in between us, each grasping various weapons tightly.
“Ryder?” I mutter anxiously, and he shoots me a sorry look.
“Fuck you. Fang.” Ryder taunts, pushing me hard into the wall of the alley out of the way. A sinister laugh escapes Fang’s lips as he signals his men to collect the price.
Each one of them strides towards Ryder with sadistic smirks on their faces, like they are excited by the thrill of the hunt.
A large man weaponises a hammer, the head of it transforming into a sharp dagger—he must have Xoro’s Gift—before lunging it at him like he is a chopping block, but Ryder ducks fast and instinctively grabs the man’s forearm, stiffening his mobility.
Before I can even blink, Ryder has landed two heavy punches on the man’s jaw and knocked the wind clean out of him.
The dagger, lonely on the floor, is now fair game.
Ryder snatches it with his shadows and clasps it tightly in his hand, landing two spiteful blows into the man’s skull. It makes a sickening ‘crack’ sound, and blood runs like a red river through the cobblestones.
Another man steps forward as tribute, taking off his leather jacket and revealing his large, muscly frame—this one looking meaner than the last—his chest rises and lowers dramatically with heavy, angered breaths as he taps a metal baseball bat into the palm of his hands.
The man comes in fast, swinging for Ryder’s head with a vengeance. Ryder reacts, taking a swift step backwards, then charging into the man’s torso, running him into the wall. The man’s head makes harsh contact with the brick, leaving him dazed.
Ryder doesn’t waste anytime; his knuckles tighten as his hits gain strength and momentum, pounding the man’s head repeatedly into the wall.
A tall man comes up behind him and throws him onto the floor, but he doesn’t stay down for long.
He is ready for more, and he looks like he is enjoying it.
The tall man armed with knuckle dusters circles Ryder, waiting for the chance to strike.
He takes it.
He lands a quick hit to Ryder’s face, but it barely makes contact.
Ryder shakes it off, spitting a small pool of blood from his mouth.
His shadows ebb out of him now, wrapping around the man’s torso and squeezing tightly.
The man writhes and struggles to escape the shadows’ relentless grip, but his breaths soon become slower, and he lands onto the floor with a thud when Ryder lets go.
“Okay, okay.” Fang steps in. “Look, I’m willing to give you a chance to earn back the money. A chance to wipe the slate clean.” He holds his hands out as if he is trying to tame a beast.
“Or I could just finish what I started,” Ryder says, his fists clenched tightly, desperately wanting to make contact with Fang’s face.
“You don’t wanna do that, boy. My people will never stop coming.” Fang smirks as more bodies start to fill up the alley. All wearing the same leather jacket and look of loyalty and vengeance.
Ryder still looks ready to fight, but he knows this is an unfair battle.
“I’m listening.” Ryder snarls in agitation.
“You can still fight like you used to. How bout one more go in the ring for old times’ sake?” He smiles too widely, which unsettles my stomach.
“I don’t fight for money anymore.” Ryder scowls, wiping the blood and grime off his knuckles.
“Just one. You do this, and I’ll tell my boys to stand down.” Fang says, lighting a cigar and taking a large inhale. Ryder looks apprehensive and pauses for a moment before looking at me with regret.
“Just one,” Ryder confirms, and the bile creeps back up my throat. I’ve seen how they fight here; it’s not just a game, it’s a match to the death.
***
Rage bites at the air, taking chunks of my sanity with it.
My torso is squeezed tightly between the bodies of two sweaty men laughing obnoxiously and cheering with their arms raised in the air.
They smirk and jeer with imperfect smiles, missing teeth and bulbous gums. The thought of the ale that slugs down their throats, forced to make contact with their cavities, repulses me.
Come on, Ryder.
Just win this fight so we can get the fuck out of here.
Fang stands on the sidelines around the sunken pit with another cigar between his thumb and forefinger. He takes another long lug, and a chesty cough escapes his mouth, the smoke emanating out of him like the fire-breathing bunnies.
Ryder stands next to him, his hood now nothing but a pile on the stone below.
He wraps his knuckles tightly with an off-white bandage; small crimson spots seep through—a self-inflicted injury from the damage he caused to the three men before.
My mouth goes dry watching him, my tongue sticking to the roof of it in desire. Gods, he’s so perfect.
His white vest top hugs his frame, accentuating his muscles, and the hum of danger in the air is intoxicating.
Don’t get me wrong, I want this to be over, and a small part of me is worried that he may lose this fight, but that part is truly minuscule.
I’ve learned not to underestimate him; he is arrogant for a reason, and he could probably take a hundred hits and still get back up.
I shuffle my way to the front through the bodies, and his eyes meet mine, an ocean of caramel my heart longs to swim in.
He can sense the change in my demeanour, the way my eyes linger over every aspect of his body, drinking him in.
The corners of his mouth rise to a small smirk, and he sends me a wink.
My knees weaken instantly, and for a moment, I feel as if I have sunken into the pit with him. He drives me wild.
“Give it up for Venom!” Fang shouts, but the reaction that disperses from the crowd is not one I expected.
Men spit, hiss, and boo at Ryder wasting their precious ale on him, throwing the bitter liquid up in the air so that it drenches him.
Ryder’s white vest, now wet with booze, sticks to him, which only makes him look more appealing.
The response from the crowd does not trigger Ryder, instead he encourages it, gesturing for the crowd to shout louder.
Gods, what is he doing to me?