Chapter 34
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The moment Tilda says daycare, something in my chest locks into place so hard it feels like a physical click.
Everything else falls away.
The arena.
The cameras.
The screaming crowd.
The prize money.
None of it matters.
Only one thing does.
Jesse.
“Stay behind me,” I tell her, already moving.
She doesn’t argue, which is how I know she’s just as scared as I am.
We sprint across broken terrain, boots pounding over fractured steel and churned dirt, weaving through debris and fleeing contestants. The air is thick with dust and the acrid bite of burning circuitry, each breath scraping the back of my throat.
Ahead of us, the proto-beast tears through another section of the arena wall.
It’s closer to the compound now.
Too close.
The ground shakes with every step it takes, each impact sending ripples through the arena floor like a drumbeat of destruction.
“Tilda,” I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop behind a half-collapsed barrier.
“What—”
“Go.”
Her eyes flash. “No.”
“Go,” I repeat, sharper. “Get to the compound. Make sure Jesse’s out.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You’re not leaving me,” I snap. “You’re getting our son out of here.”
Another roar splits the air.
The beast turns its massive head, scanning the terrain.
Scanning for movement.
For targets.
“Tilda,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “Listen to me.”
Her jaw tightens.
“If that thing reaches the daycare before security gets everyone out—”
“I know,” she cuts in, voice shaking.
“Then go.”
For a second I think she’s going to argue again.
Then she grabs the front of my shirt and yanks me down into a hard, desperate kiss.
“Don’t die,” she breathes against my mouth.
“Not planning on it.”
“You don’t get to be heroic and stupid at the same time.”
“I contain multitudes.”
She almost smiles.
Then she shoves me back.
“Draw it away,” she says. “Buy them time.”
“Always my favorite hobby.”
“Bron.”
I meet her eyes.
Something unspoken passes between us.
Everything we didn’t say.
Everything we don’t have time to say.
“Go,” I tell her softly.
She goes.
No hesitation.
No looking back.
Good.
Because if she looks back, I might follow.
And I can’t.
I turn toward the beast.
It’s massive up close.
Bigger than anything that should exist outside of nightmares and bad decisions. Its scales are dark and ridged, overlapping like armor plates, each one catching the harsh stadium light. Its jaws flex open and shut as it scents the air, long teeth glistening with something viscous and unpleasant.
“Well,” I mutter. “That’s a problem.”
It hasn’t locked onto me yet.
That’s my job.
I glance around quickly, scanning for anything I can use.
The arena’s wrecked, but not useless.
There.
A heavy loader rig—one of the mechanical transport units used to reset terrain modules between rounds—sits half-buried under debris near the edge of the path.
Perfect.
I sprint toward it.
The ground bucks under my feet as the beast slams into another structure, sending a rain of metal fragments clattering across the arena floor.
“Hey!” I shout as I run, grabbing a chunk of debris and hurling it toward the creature.
It bounces harmlessly off its flank.
“Yeah, I know,” I mutter. “That was more symbolic.”
The beast’s head turns.
Its eyes lock onto me.
Oh.
There it is.
Predatory focus.
Cold.
Sharp.
Hungry.
“Hi,” I call out, spreading my arms. “You’re going to want me. I’m very dramatic.”
It roars.
The sound hits like a shockwave.
“Yep,” I say. “That got your attention.”
It charges.
Fast.
Too fast.
“Okay,” I mutter, sprinting the last few meters to the loader. “We’re doing this now.”
I vault onto the machine, slam my hand against the control panel, and pray to every questionable deity that the thing still works.
The panel flickers.
Come on.
Come on—
It roars to life.
“Beautiful,” I breathe.
The engine kicks in with a heavy, grinding growl as I wrench the controls forward. The loader lurches into motion just as the beast barrels toward me.
I swing the machine sideways, slamming its reinforced arm into a stack of debris and sending it cascading into the creature’s path.
The beast plows straight through it.
Of course it does.
“Right,” I mutter. “Plan B.”
I gun the engine and drive straight at it.
“Hey!” I shout. “Over here!”
The loader’s arm swings out as I activate the hydraulic extension, slamming into the creature’s shoulder with enough force to dent the metal plating.
The beast recoils slightly.
Not much.
But enough.
“Yeah,” I say, grinning despite myself. “You felt that.”
It snaps its jaws at the machine.
I yank the controls, swerving just out of reach as its teeth slam shut inches from the cab.
The sound of those jaws closing—
Gods.
That would have been me.
“Okay,” I say breathlessly. “We’re not doing that again.”
The beast roars and lunges again.
I reverse hard, dragging the loader backward and baiting it away from the compound.
“Come on,” I mutter. “Follow me. Big, angry, terrible life choices—this way.”
It follows.
Good.
Good.
Behind me, I catch glimpses of movement near the arena’s edge.
Security forces.
Finally.
They’re pouring into the compound perimeter, shouting orders, herding contestants and staff toward evacuation routes.
I see flashes of emergency lights.
Hear distant alarms.
They’re getting people out.
“Keep moving,” I whisper. “Just keep moving.”
The beast surges forward again.
I slam the loader into a pivot, swinging its arm low and clipping one of the creature’s front legs just enough to throw off its stride.
It stumbles.
The ground shakes.
“Ha!” I bark. “Clumsy.”
It recovers instantly.
Of course it does.
“Right. Regeneration. Fantastic.”
It charges again.
I push the loader harder, the engine whining in protest as I steer it toward a cluster of unstable terrain modules.
If I can collapse that section—
The beast lunges.
Too fast.
Its tail whips around.
I see it coming a split second too late.
“Sh—”
The impact hits the loader like a bomb.
Metal screams.
The entire machine flips sideways, throwing me out of the cab and into the dirt.
I hit hard.
Air slams out of my lungs.
For a second, everything goes white.
Then sound crashes back in.
The roar.
The grinding of metal.
My own heartbeat hammering in my ears.
I roll instinctively just as the beast’s foot slams down where I’d been lying.
The ground craters under the impact.
“Oh hell,” I gasp, scrambling to my feet.
The loader lies wrecked behind me, its frame twisted and smoking.
“Well,” I mutter, “that was short-lived.”
The beast turns toward me again.
Still interested.
Good.
I stagger backward, grabbing a length of broken metal pipe from the debris.
Not that it’ll help much.
But it feels better than empty hands.
“Come on,” I say under my breath. “Stay with me.”
It advances.
Slow this time.
Deliberate.
Hunting.
I backpedal toward the unstable terrain modules I spotted earlier.
If I can trigger them—
The ground shifts beneath my feet.
One of the modules starts to give.
“Perfect,” I whisper.
The beast lunges.
I dive sideways, slamming the pipe into the control junction of the nearest module as I hit the ground.
Sparks explode.
The system overloads.
The terrain collapses.
A section of the arena drops out beneath the creature’s front legs, sending it crashing forward into a cloud of dust and debris.
The impact shakes the entire arena.
I cough, pushing myself up as the dust cloud billows around me.
“Stay down,” I mutter. “Just stay down for five seconds.”
It doesn’t.
Of course it doesn’t.
The beast roars again, dragging itself upright through the wreckage.
“Yeah,” I say, breathless. “I figured.”
Behind it, I see more movement.
Security teams.
Evacuation lines.
People getting out.
Good.
That’s all that matters.
The beast shakes off debris and turns back toward me.
Still focused.
Still coming.
I tighten my grip on the broken pipe.
“Alright,” I mutter. “Round two.”
Because if it’s chasing me—
It’s not chasing them.