Chapter 17 Hector #2
Tomin Hopkin couldn’t die, which put him at an advantage. Whether he passed fairly, or failed and came back to life, Tomin’s curse had secured his place in the finale without the need to do anything.
“You already think you’ve won,” I said.
Tomin knew exactly who I was talking to, and spared me a quick side-eye. “We will see.”
A growl ruptured out of my throat. “Oh, we will.”
A fierce crackling sound cut over the stadium, silencing the obscene things I wanted to say to him. There was a pop and spit of electric, a static charge so loud it felt as though an athame had been driven into my eardrum over and over—Ghostface style.
I scanned the empty seats, searching for what could be making the noise. There were no speakers set into the ancient stone walls, nothing to suggest that the noise should’ve been possible. Then again, we were about to fight to the death; no doubt anything was possible in Bahmet’s demonic realm.
“Ladies and gentlemen…”
Talk of the devil.
Bahmet’s recognisable, overly exaggerated voice washed over the crowd. He spoke with the same cadence those men in top hats and white gloves used when you were about to ride on a roller coaster at a theme park.
And I fucking hated roller coasters.
“Are you ready for some fun?” Bahmet asked.
The stadium was completely silent, all besides the slight rasped chuckle of Tomin Hopkin. If I wasn’t so busy looking for whoever was speaking to us, I might’ve spared him another glance, just enough time to spit at his feet. But alas, I was preoccupied.
“Now, now,” Bahmet continued. “Do not overdo yourselves down there! Conserve your energy for the excitement ahead. And boy do we have some fun to have.”
Out the corner of my eye, high up in the bleachers of the stadium, I caught a puff of obsidian smoke. I fixed my eyes on it just as a figure stepped out from the shadows.
“Bahmet,” I hissed, drinking in the goat-headed creature wearing a pristine suit.
Bahmet, as I’d last seen the demon in this form, wore a tailored ensemble made from the finest black silk, the white shirt beneath crisp in contrast. In his gloved hands he held an old-style microphone which he held up to his animalistic face, the cord close to getting tangled in his curled horns.
I was aware of the gasps of the other contestants, but there was nothing in this world or the next that would make me take my eyes off the demon lord.
“Welcome, one and all, witch and Hunter,” Bahmet called out, one arm stretched out in greeting as his voice rang out across us.
I felt his blood-red eyes scan us, drinking me in longer than the rest of those around me.
“It is not custom for me to greet all of my potential hosts until the victor is named, but considering this round of the Witch Trials is highly unconventional, I thought it best to introduce myself from the beginning. I am sure many of you are confused as to what is happening, some may even be frightened.” Bahmet paused long enough for a light chuckle to catch in his microphone.
“But I have a feeling this will be a contest that will go down in the history books as monumental. Perhaps even the last of its kind.”
A snap of power flooded every inch of my body, making the very tips of my fingers and toes tingle. It was not old magic, but dark magic that shard of Bahmet that responded to the attention the demon continued to give me.
“I intend it to be the last,” I whispered, knowing that Bahmet would hear me no matter if I thought it or spoke the words aloud.
“For the sake of those who never knew the Witch Trials existed before… well, five minutes ago, allow me to explain the rules.” I blinked, and Bahmet vanished.
He materialised at the other side of the stadium in a puff of that dark smoke again, closer this time.
So close in fact that when he took a step, I heard the faint click of hooves against stone.
“The Witch Trials, which name seems almost redundant now that we have so many powerless mortals in our midst, is a series of games. Trials, if you will. The competition of competitions…”
In the dark of my mind I saw the blood, the death. These were no games. Games suggested an element of fun, and that was far from the truth. At least for those partaking. To Bahmet, this was the most entertaining part of his sorry existence.
“You will face a total of four challenges, each one different from the other. And the aim is… stay alive. Simple, isn’t it?”
Not a single person responded. On the faint breeze I caught the smell of hot piss, and noticed one of the Hunters had a spreading wet patch across his crotch; even the sand beneath his feet had stained a darker colour.
“Normally, I would not give my contestants any information into what trial they were about to face. I left that to the will of the previous Grand High, to weave secrets into the Witch Trials, but since my last victor evicted me in such a rush, there was no chance to arrange this properly. However, as I am kind and fair, I will visit you before each trial and give you a single hint. This is to assist with those who are at a power disadvantage more so than the handful of witches amongst us.” Bahmet took his time to eye each one of us.
“Survive until the end of the four trials, prove yourself to me, and I will give you access to power unlike anything you could ever imagine. I can make your deepest desires come true. Whether you intended to take part in my trials, there will be something you each want. Perhaps to see someone you’ve lost again, or to obtain access to magic that no other could dream of.
Have the power to lay curses… or break them. ”
Bahmet disappeared again, this time reappearing in the middle of the sand ahead of us. His sudden proximity made the desire to attack him too great to ignore. Like a needle of a compass pointing north, that darkness inside of me jolted in Bahmet’s direction.
No doubt that was exactly what Bahmet wanted. My leg shifted, the sands hissing beneath my boot as I lifted it, prepared to step closer.
Before I dropped my boot out onto the exploding sands, Arwyn shouted my name.
“Hector, stop!”
His command flooded out across the stadium, repeating over and over until it faded into a whisper. The desperation and panic was enough for me to regain control of my body, to stop myself from leaving this safe space and dying.
My eyes fixed to his, noticing how he panted, his hand outstretched for me as if he would’ve risked himself to save me. I had no doubt that that was exactly what he would’ve done if I hadn’t listened.
“You really are a spoil-sport,” Bahmet moaned, “Arwyn Hopkin.”
I settled my foot back on safe ground, and fixed my eyes to the demon ahead of me. “And you really are a prick in my arse,” I shouted, fingers flexing at my sides. “How about you come a little closer.”
Bahmet took a moment to study me with violent red eyes, a deep wet rasp building in the back of his throat. I could practically feel the demon’s desire to taunt me before the crowd, but to my surprise, Bahmet lifted the microphone back to his goat-mouth and spoke, not to me, but to everyone.
“Contestants. Are. You. Ready?”
If Bahmet expected cheers of excitement, he was met with nothing but the gentle hush of sand blowing over sand.
“Perhaps a little hint will get you all excited, huh? Okay then, tough crowd.” Bahmet spun around, taking his time to drink every one of us in. “I will offer one of you a golden ticket, per se. A way of you skipping the next two trials and securing your place in the finale. Would you like that?”
For the first time, a handful of murmured voices echoed back to the demon. I watched the wet, horrid lips of the demon quirk upwards.
Who would’ve thought a goat could smile. Even I was impressed, to be honest. That was until Bahmet spoke his next words, a single finger pointed directly to where I stood.
“What do we need to do?” a Hunter asked, voice shaking as violently as his hands.
Bahmet’s voice dropped as he replied. “The first person to kill Hector Briar will be given said ‘golden ticket’.”
Every single eye snapped to me. Not a pair spared. My skin prickled beneath the attention, beads of sweat prickling over my brow. I made sure I looked into every one of their eyes, not skipping a single person. If they thought for a second I would be killed easily, they would be sorely mistaken.
“That side quest, as you could call it, will extend past this trial, if no one is successful. Kill Hector, and you will be rewarded. During a trial, or outside of them, it really does not matter. I want him dead.”
The panting of heavy breathing sounded beside me. I turned to Arwyn and found that he was the only person not looking in my direction. His taut body was turned towards Bahmet, fists balled, natural magic spoiling the air around him.
Arwyn didn’t say anything, but I sensed his unspoken threats.
No one would get close enough to me, not when he was near.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, it is time for the first trial to begin!” Bahmet practically sang, voice returning to that taunting fairground tone.
“Since this is such a unique event, I have personally created the following four trials myself. Each one is unique and has never occurred before. This puts each of you on an equal footing. Now, enough from me. I look forwards to seeing which of you make it through to the next round, and which of you do not.”
Bahmet referred to me without the need to use my name, or look at me.
“May the first trial commence! Good luck, and welcome to…” Bahmet disappeared in a wave of shadow, although his voice still rang out across the stadium. “The Drowning.”