Chapter 6
Ahrick
I saw her the moment they brought her out.
The cage hung above Persico's box like a trophy, and inside it stood a human female dressed in strips of fabric that barely qualified as clothing.
Chains held the sheer material together, leaving almost nothing to the imagination—her legs, her stomach, the curve of her spine all exposed to thousands of hungry eyes.
Rage hit me first. Hot and immediate.
They'd dressed her like a whore. Like something to be used and discarded. The fabric was so thin it might as well have been nonexistent, and the way it moved with each trembling breath she took made my jaw clench hard enough to hurt.
But beneath the anger, something else stirred.
She was beautiful.
Even terrified, even dressed like that, even standing in a cage waiting to be won by whatever monster proved strongest—she was stunning. Dark hair that caught the harsh arena lights. Skin that looked too pale, too fragile for this place. And a face that held something I hadn't expected to see.
Defiance.
Her head was high. Shoulders back. She stood like a warrior even though I noticed how badly she trembled. She was terrified—anyone with eyes saw that—but she wasn't broken.
Not yet.
Her eyes swept over the crowd of fighters and I saw the moment she found me.
Something flickered across her face—hope, maybe, or desperation—but we were too far apart to tell for sure.
The distance between the pit floor and Persico's elevated box was too great for real connection, too great for her to read the promise I was trying to send with my gaze.
I'll protect you. I'll win. You're safe.
I didn't know if she understood. Didn't know if she saw past the monsters surrounding me, all of them staring at her like she was their next meal.
Persico rose from his chair, and the crowd's roar intensified until it was a physical thing, a wall of sound that pressed against my eardrums and made my teeth ache.
"Beings of Fange City!" His voice boomed through the arena, amplified by speakers that crackled with age and poor maintenance. "Tonight we have a special prize!"
The crowd screamed louder.
"A human female!" Persico gestured toward the cage, and the lights focused on her, making her pale skin glow, and the chains on her dress glitter. "Fresh from an Alliance ship. Untouched. Unclaimed."
"Thirty fighters will compete!" Persico's grin was all fangs. "Six rounds of combat. The last one standing wins the prize!"
The fighters around me shifted, muscles tensing, claws extending. I could smell their anticipation, their hunger. Saw it in their eyes as they looked up at her.
They wanted to hurt her. Wanted to break her. Wanted to take everything she was and destroy it.
I was going to kill every single one of them if I had to.
The horn sounded.
My fights blurred together in a haze of blood and violence.
Around me, the arena descended into chaos. Thirty fighters became a writhing mass of teeth and claws and desperate violence. The weaker ones—the ones who'd been thrown in to pad the numbers, to make the spectacle last longer—they went down fast.
A Krevathi with scales like rusted metal took down two fighters in the span of a breath.
The first he gutted with a casual swipe of his claws, spilling intestines onto the arena floor.
The second tried to run, but the Krevathi caught him by the throat and squeezed until something crunched.
He held the body up for the crowd to see, shaking it like a trophy while they screamed their approval.
The sound of breaking bone echoed through the arena, wet and final.
He was grinning. Actually grinning, his forked tongue flicking out to taste the blood in the air.
Across the arena, a massive Thurok female was making her own path of destruction.
She moved with brutal efficiency, crushing skulls between her hands like they were overripe fruit.
Three fighters lay at her feet in various states of consciousness—one still twitching, another making a wet gurgling sound that meant his lungs were filling with blood.
She stepped on his chest as she moved past, and the gurgling stopped.
The crowd ate it up. Every crack of bone, every spray of blood, every scream cut short—they roared for it, demanded more of it.
But none of them came for me.
Not yet.
I saw them glance my way, saw the calculation in their eyes as they weighed their options.
They knew who I was. Knew my reputation.
In Fange City's fighting pits, I'd built a name on broken bodies and quick victories.
The smart ones, the ones who'd survived this long by being careful, they gave me a wide berth.
They'd take their chances with each other first. Thin the herd. Hope that someone else would weaken me before they had to face me themselves.
Only the confident ones would come for me directly. The ones who thought their skill was enough. The ones who wanted to prove something by taking down Ahrick the Undefeated.
I counted bodies as they fell. Watched the chaos sort itself into patterns. Saw which fighters were dangerous, which were desperate, which were already dead and just didn't know it yet.
And through it all, I kept one eye on the cage above. On her. Making sure she was still there, still safe, still watching.
Still mine to protect.
My first fight was an Ardesian—tall, gangly, all sharp angles and overconfidence. He charged at me with his claws extended, roaring something that might have been a battle cry. The crowd loved it, their cheers rising to meet his bravado.
He made it three steps before his own feet tangled beneath him.
The stumble was almost comical—his forward momentum carrying him into an ungainly sprawl that sent him skidding across the blood-slicked arena floor. He tried to catch himself, arms windmilling, but only succeeded in face-planting hard enough that I heard the impact over the crowd noise.
I didn't give him time to recover. Didn't give him the chance to realize what had happened or feel the embarrassment that would come later.
I was on him in two strides, grabbing a fistful of his hair and slamming his head into the ground once, twice. The second impact did it. His body went limp, consciousness fleeing.
The crowd booed. They'd wanted a show, wanted blood and struggle and drawn-out violence.
Too bad.
I wasn't here to entertain them. I was here to win, and the fastest path to victory was the one I'd take every time. I stepped over the Ardesian's unconscious form and moved toward the center of the arena, scanning for the next threat.
One down.
The second opponent lumbered into view—a Dhurlok, massive and grotesque. Four arms sprouted from its torso, each ending in serrated claws easily the length of my forearm that looked like they could gut me in a single swipe.
But the body was all wrong.
Too heavy. Too ungainly. Its torso was barrel-shaped and awkward, legs too short for its mass. Every step was a lurching commitment, momentum carrying it forward whether it wanted to go or not.
I could work with that.
The Dhurlok came at me with all four arms spread wide, trying to corner me, force me into a position where those claws could do their work. The crowd roared approval.
I waited. Let it close the distance. Watched its center of gravity shift as it prepared to strike.
Then I moved.
I drove my fist into its kidney—or what I hoped was its kidney. The Dhurlok bellowed, the sound reverberating through the arena. It swung wildly, all four arms thrashing, but I was already moving, staying close where its size worked against it.
Another strike, this time to the back of its knee. The joint buckled and the Dhurlok staggered, fighting to stay upright. Its arms windmilled for balance, claws slicing empty air.
I circled behind it, fast, and kicked the back of its other knee. This time it went down hard, crashing to the arena floor with enough force to shake the ground beneath my feet. Dust and old blood puffed up around its fallen form.
The Dhurlok tried to push itself up, all four arms working to lever its bulk off the ground. I grabbed one of those arms, twisted it at an angle that made the joint scream in protest, and used my body weight to keep it pinned. I shifted my grip, got my arm around its thick neck, and squeezed.
Finally—finally—its movements slowed. Weakened. The massive body went slack beneath me.
Two down.
A Kryll came at me fast—four arms, mandibles dripping venom.
He thought speed would win. I let his momentum carry him past me and drove my elbow into the back of his skull where the chitin was thinnest. The crunch was satisfying.
When he tried to recover, I locked my arm around his throat from behind and squeezed until his struggles weakened.
His mandibles snapped inches from my face, spraying venom that burned through my vest and into my shoulder.
The pain was sharp and immediate but I held on until he went slack.
Three down.
I looked up at the cage. She was watching, hands gripping the bars, gaze fixed on me. For a heartbeat, the roar of the crowd fell away. I saw her fear—raw and honest—but beneath it, something else. A question. Can you win? Can you save me?
I held her gaze and sent her the only answer I had by way of a faint nod.
Yes.
She straightened slightly. Lifted her chin. The fear didn't disappear, but something in her shifted. She'd made a choice to believe me.
Now I had to earn it.
The fourth fighter was a Vorgath—scales like armor, tail that could break bones. He circled me, calculating, reading my weaknesses. The way I favored my left side where the venom burn was worst. I gave him what he wanted to see, dropped my guard just enough.
He took the bait.