Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Nina
The blood, sweat and rot filling my nose told me I wasn't in the Heart of Hell any longer.
Rocky walls surrounded me, and the steady drip, drip, drip of water echoed through the tunnel.
Growls rose from somewhere below, hollow sounds that drifted up from the depths of the domain.
Woven between them came the bloodcurdling screams of the damned.
As I followed the tunnel towards a dim red light, the heat became more intense, and beads of sweat trickled down my face.
The tunnel led into a vast circular pit that reminded me of an arena.
The structure rose ten levels high, ringed with benches and an open top exposing the blood-stained sky.
Behind the stands, cages lined the walls, where souls wailed, bound and broken, their cries joining the endless symphony of agony that filled this domain.
Some souls were still whole, bodies intact. Others were not.
In the stands sat an audience of monstrous spectators. Where skin should have been, the bodies oozed a black, oily substance, and their faces were blank, eyeless, dominated by gaping mouths with razor-edged teeth that could rip flesh apart.
One of them slithered towards me from a side tunnel, a rolling mass of tar that barely held shape. Its mouth curled into a sneer as it held out a blade, and the rows of pointed coppery teeth attracted my attention.
I hesitated before taking the weapon. The creature hissed, its breath reeking of sulphur.
I already carried blades hidden in the folds of my clothes, small comforts against what waited in Torment.
Ronan’s instruction had been concise: I’d need plenty of weapons to stay alive.
Was I to face demons? Monsters? Something worse?
The blade was unexpectedly heavy, and the creature gave a wet, wheezing snicker as I struggled to lift it. With a gesture of its black, tar-dripping claws, it pointed to a metal enclosure on the outskirts of the arena that appeared full of frightened people.
I strolled over, dragging my sword, and stepped inside. The oily creature slammed the gate behind me.
The souls I’d joined each clutched a single weapon. I knew I was in the right place when I saw three familiar faces among them – Selene, Felix and Amabel.
“What have I missed?” I said.
“We’ve been in here for hours,” Selene huffed. “I wonder if the Torment trial is surviving boredom, because this is extremely dull.”
A soul of Torment scoffed beside us, and shuffled to the other side of the cage.
Apparently, we were being rude.
“How are things in Fear?” I asked.
“You won’t believe it,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice, “but I managed to win the relic just before coming here.”
“Congratulations.” I smiled at her. “I knew you could.”
"Thanks," she muttered, her cheeks flushing. "Means a lot, Nina."
My heart warmed at the thought I had made a friend in Hell.
Of all the places . . .
Another oily thing emerged from one of the tunnels, its long, dripping arms wrapped around a struggling human.
Dominik.
He jerked free angrily and marched towards our enclosure. The gate magically creaked open for him, and he reluctantly stepped inside.
He approached me and gave us Champions a quick nod before turning his attention to the arena. Up close, I noticed a tremble in his hands. He looked as frightened as I felt.
Before I could reach for him, the stands erupted. The creatures chanted together, their voices rising into a thundering chorus that shook the arena.
Across the arena, a cracked dais of grey stone rose above the pit. Figures appeared and took their seats, and at their centre, seated like a judge, was the Demon of Torment, watching with cold amusement.
I had no doubts that she was the demon who ruled this monstrous domain.
Her bone-like face reminded me of a skeleton.
With high cheekbones and sunken features, she looked almost translucent.
Her long limbs were draped in flowing red silks that pooled around her feet.
A crown of bone sat atop her head, and her jet-black hair fell over her shoulders, matching her eyes, which were rimmed in heavy charcoal.
Ronan stood alert beside her throne, arms behind his back, and cracked a grin as he assessed us in the cage.
The demon rose from her throne, and silence fell over the pit. She descended the sweeping steps, her gown trailing behind her, and only when she reached the base of the stairs did her eyes fall to the cage.
Madalena’s eyes swept over both the assembled Champions and her bound souls with the same curiosity as a butcher sizing up meat before the slaughter. “Welcome to Torment, Champions. You’re here to experience my domain just like my bound souls.”
A shudder ran through me, and I forced my face to stay blank. I couldn’t show my fear. Not here.
“Lorkin, call my Magpies.”
Madalena lifted a hand, and our cage around us shuddered. An opening split in the bars, and one of the bound souls lurched forward, dragged by an invisible force.
A wiry man dressed in a red cloak – Lorkin, I realised – stepped onto the dais. He lifted a hammer and swung it against an enormous metal gong. The impact sent a bone-rattling vibration through my chest, echoing like a war cry. The monstrous crowd roared as black forms plummeted from the sky.
The Magpies.
Three colossal beasts landed with a deafening thunderclap, their gigantic wings flaring behind them before tucking against their bodies.
Their limbs ended in long, curved talons, ready to tear through flesh.
Despite their monstrous features, their broad chests and sculpted torsos were human-like, although their strength likely surpassed that of ordinary souls.
Madalena approached them, stroking the first across the wing, and murmured commands in a hushed voice.
The black beasts shuddered in response. Feathers retracted, limbs twisted inward, and compressed with a cracking, echoing noise.
Those monstrous shapes disappeared until the three were no longer beasts.
They were warriors, tall, lethal and battle-ready.
Clad in brown fighting leathers, they struck me as men who had lived and breathed combat for years.
The oldest among them carried a sword sheathed across his back.
The tallest gripped a bow while the fresh-faced warrior carried a spear.
I wondered if the nickname Magpie had come from their collection of weapons as much as their appearance.
Their similarity stood out. It wasn’t so much the matching appearance Tobias and I shared, but there was a striking resemblance in how the three men carried themselves.
Arms slightly lifted in a fighting stance, all sporting a rough nine o’clock shadow, and keeping their sun-kissed hair cropped short.
The soul stumbled to the centre of the arena, leaving the sword swinging at his side. The Magpies dispersed. Two of them strode to the outskirts, while one remained, the youngest, and he aimed his spear at the bound soul.
The gong sounded, and the Magpie charged.
I blinked, and it was over.
The soul fell to his knees. He’d been struck in the chest, and blood seeped into a pool around him.
A heartbeat later, the ground split open beside the man, and black tentacles claimed him as an earsplitting screech tore from the depths.
I gripped the cage bars. My heart was in my mouth, and I knew that it had been the end for that soul. They had been destroyed, and whatever remained had been consumed by a hell-bent creature of Torment.
Madalena grinned in delight and clapped her hands together. The cage creaked, and an opening appeared in the bars. That invisible force yanked the next soul, a blonde-haired woman covered in blood and dirt, forward, and all I could do was watch in disbelief.
The tallest Magpie had entered the arena, pointing his bow and arrow at the soul. But she was prepared for it. The woman dodged the first arrow by an inch and skidded on the ground.
I gripped the bars tighter. “Come on,” I whispered.
But she dropped her sword, and the second it touched the ground, it disintegrated into dust. She spun around, scrambling across the ground looking for the weapon. But she was never going to find it, because it was gone.
“Come on,” Felix yelled. “That’s cheating!”
Ronan had told me to bring weapons, and now I knew why. One measly sword wasn’t enough against a Magpie. And I couldn’t trust Torment’s weapon. So, I needed a backup. Eight backups, in fact.
The Magpie’s second arrow hit its mark. The soul collapsed to the ground, and a second later, the ancient, wicked thing from the depths of Torment reached up and yanked her away.
“How are we meant to protect ourselves if our weapons just disappear?” Felix yelled.
“Madalena makes her own rules,” muttered a man covered in scars.
I glanced at him and examined his face. It was marked by exhaustion and fine wrinkles. He appeared twice my age. A thin layer of sweat beaded across his skin, and his leathers were well-aged and torn, exposing bare arms that were covered in scars. Was he a long-time fighter in the arena?
The next soul was pulled from the cage and fought against the third Magpie, who used a sword like a knight. This soul lasted longer, but he still fell to a final, sweeping strike.
We watched on together as the next soul was bested, and the next, and the next. And every single time, that thing clawed its way up from the depths, a horror larger than anything I’d ever seen, and claimed the fallen souls.
“We both know you’re not going to win,” Dominik whispered. “So you need to win in other ways.”
Well, that’s harsh.
“I’m stronger than I look.”
“And they’re Magpies,” he nodded to the arena. “They’re warriors, and have been training for decades, if not centuries. You haven’t got a chance against them.”
Fair enough.
“How is anyone meant to win?”
“They’ll win the fight every single time, but if we win over Madalena, we might just survive.”