Irina was a wonder in the ring. Corporal Simon had warned her harshly before the first match that her fly-high stunt from the night before would not be repeated, unless she wanted a permanent desk job somewhere in the bowels of Base Alpha. But Irina still sailed and sliced right through every opponent put in front of her. Daimona watched in pure amazement as Irina carefully cut through muscles and tendons, disabling her challengers with the grace of a trained chef.
When Daimona fought, it was instinct, a bludgeoning thunder that moved through her like a relentless river. When Irina did, it was an art. The crowd screamed their praise for her as she spun on her heel, her kindjal a shattered stream forming in her hand just as the distance between her and her enemy closed. A long red gash trailed across the ape-like man’s chest, blood spurting from the wound across the front of Irina’s tank top. He reached towards her with meaty hands, but she spun again, bending her body backwards to bridge the gap with her boot. He tumbled backwards and fell against the mesh cage.
“And there she goes folks, the Blond Bullet! Let’s hear it for our gauntlet bride!!”
Irina raised both hands, counting up her victories and holding up nine fingers. She grinned at Daimona, who returned the display with two thumbs up. The attendants carried the unconscious man out of the ring, each carrying an arm and dragging his body along the mat. Through the same entrance, the next challenger was ushered through, and a hush fell over the crowd.
The announcer’s voice came out low, as though he was sharing a secret with the audience. “Now entering the ring is our final challenger of the night…”
Once the door shut behind the figure, the attendants quickly sealed it off, strands of light knitting a barrier between the entrance and themselves. The strands spun around the perimeter of the cage, braiding around the existing mesh and disappearing into it with soft green glow. The figure dropped his hood, revealing a tall, bony teenage boy no older than Norok. His chest was bare, grimy with dried blood and dirt, bruises of various shades of purple covering his arms and waist. His pants were ragged, hanging off his body and cutting short above his clawed feet. Protruding from his greasy, tangled locks were two canine ears, the one on the left missing the pointed tip. Daimona looked at his hands, realizing with some confusion that unlike the other challengers, he had come in unbound. She quickly realized why as he raised his head towards the spotlight.
As ratty waves of black hair fell out of his face, a sharp metal muzzle came into view. The forged snout of a wolf extended over his nose and mouth, covering them completely. Daimona could see from the blood-broken skin around the edges that the device was cutting into his face. A system of latches clicked on both sides and released the lower jaw with an ear-splitting hiss.
Stolen story; please report.
“The Black Death approaches!” The announcer shouted grimly. This time, no one booed Irina’s opponent. Daimona looked around her, startled by the sudden change in tension. Everyone seemed to be watching his every breath while holding their own. Daimona returned her attention to the ring with a nauseous rumble.
The Black Death rolled his shoulders, flexing his clawed fingers slowly. Irina kept her gaze trained on his. He regarded her with an indifferent glance. For the first time since coming into the arena, Daimona found herself unnerved by the state of the challenging stranger in the ring. Why was everyone so motionless around her? The boy looked like he had been thrown into a tornado headfirst. He couldn’t be that much trouble.
The announcer called the last round for bets, and then the bell was rung. In the blink of an eye Irina darted across the ring, the fully formed kindjal wielded by her right hand. She pulled it across his throat diagonally. Before she could move back, the Black Death reached up and caught the kindjal with his hand, holding it where the hilt met the blade between them. Irina struggled against his strength. She spat at him, a wad of white foam landing on just below his left eye and running down the length of his jaw. He let out a low, dry chuckle. Then, a black, tar-like substance spilled from the muzzle, a torrentious downpour of mud pouring between them. Irina leapt up, screwing both of her hands around the hilt of her kindjal and kicking him in the chest with both boots. The Black Death released his hold, and with an exaggerated stumble, his back hit the mesh cage. His body exploded into a splatter of mud, a ripple of green light emanating from the place of impact. It dripped down into a puddle of filth at the edge of the ring.
Irina recovered from her jump, her feet landing below her with a graceful thud. Her eyes darted around the ring wildly. Daimona followed her movements, flicking between the growing puddles of murky black spooling down the center. As Irina pivoted back, an arm emerged from the splatter and caught her by the ankle. The Black Death used her to stand, dragging her to the mat and pulling himself out of the mud. Irina tried to kick herself out of his grasp, but another hand formed from the puddle and restrained her. This one, while less solid than the Black Death himself, still managed to yank Irina’s flailing ankle down hard enough for a resounding crack to echo out to the audience. There were gasps and murmurs, but nothing of surprise, Daimona noticed.
The Black Death fell over Irina’s body, splattering over her torso in a wave of mud. More hands emerged to keep her pinned down. She screamed, her kindjal shattering out of her grasp and becoming shards floating in the air, razing the hands of mud faster than Daimona’s eyes could keep up. But the hands oozed and formed over the scars, trapping the kindjal’s shards inside them. Once every shard was caught, the Black Death rose. His lower half was still somewhere hidden in the pools around the ring. He leaned over Irina with only his upper half, muzzle pressing into her forehead as his hands reached up and twisted her neck with a snap. She fell limp under him.
Then, Daimona’s vision went black.
