by Lucy Auburn
They're hoping to give the thing flesh so it leaves them alone.
To feed my friends, my misfits, to its gaping maw.
I can't watch, but I also can't look away.
One of the three warriors thrusts his spear into the arena sands and gets the dead body the jaguar killed onto the tip of it. Running the dead challenger through, he plants the end of the spear into the arena sand and leaves his body waving in the air. It's a gruesome sight, the dead godblood's guts trailing towards the ground, his broken body hanging from the haft of the spear. I've seen far worse, but even I feel a little disgusted by how unsportsmanlike it is.
But it buys the warriors time. The bear roars at the dead body, swipes his paws at it, tips his antlers down and rushes through him like he's so much meat. Clearly something about blood and guts activates him; he has a look in his eyes, a hunger for it. Must be something the gods bred into the thing.
"That's the Meat Bear," Selah says, reminding me with her voice that she's still sitting beside me. "Or at least we call it that. If you get injured and bleed enough, it shows up—as long as it can see you, that is. Doesn't have great eyesight. If it weren't for that body there, it would probably go for that blonde girl in the sand. That's if she isn't already dead. It prefers living flesh."
Nausea churns in my gut. "He looked pretty dead when they ran that spear through him."
"That was one of Kratos's sons. The bastards usually live longer than they should while injured. Don't know if it's a blessing or a curse."
Sounds like the latter to me. I've seen plenty of injured soldiers die on the battlefield, and most pray for the release of death. I'm there to give it to them—to take their pain away as I drain their life force and watch the light fade from their eyes. By then, my mother and I are something they beg for, instead of the dark ending they avoid thinking about.
It's obvious when the poor bastard on the spear finally dies. His body was already limp and bruised, destroyed beyond recognition. The sign of his death doesn't come from him—it comes from the bear, the Meat Bear, of all things. It sniffs him once and loses interest.
By the time it has, the warriors have gotten to my friends.
Sasha is trying to pull Leo up and get him to safety, while Yoric is standing protectively in front of Garnet and the twins, his darkness powers at the ready. But they've backed up towards the center of the sands; the light overhead is too strong. Yoric can't seem to gather enough shadows to make the darkness that'll force them to disappear. He conjures a little shadow-creature instead, something that rises from the sands to rush at the warriors and nip their calves, but one of them just kicks it until it falls back into shadows again.
In a loud voice, the strongest-looking warrior, a female godblood, calls out so we can all hear her: "You're nothing but offerings for the beasts. We all know it. So just hand over your injured and this'll all be over."
The bear is lumbering towards them, its nose in the air, looking for them. Slow, confused, and half-blind as it is, it'll take a while to make it to them—but it's clear the warriors will have overwhelmed the misfits by then. They'll turn Garnet and Leo into meat for the bear, and if Yoric and Sasha are lucky, they'll get to survive. If.
My stomach knots; it didn't occur to me that it might go this way, challenger versus challenger, godbloods actually slicing each other open as offerings for a beast. Something about it is ignoble. It's one thing when we fight each other—there's honor in that. This is debasement in every way.
If the way the gods and godbloods are leaning eagerly over the railing of their viewing box is any indication, though, they're loving it. Bloodsport for its own sake. No doubt Ares' sons are feeding on the conflict and blood unfurling in front of them, just like I feed on death. I'd hate them more if I didn't see so much of myself in them.
Watching Yoric face off against the three warriors, a grim look on his face, I feel a kind of regret inside me. I never should've gotten close to the misfits, never should've let myself actually start to care. As Yoric pulls a move I taught him, ducking the tip of his opponent's spear and stepping in to throat-punch him, I feel a little cheer of excitement.
Then one of the other warriors punches Yoric in the ribs. Knocks him down. Pulls a long sword and savagely slices him open from shoulder to hip. Garnet screams, her useless wooden club in one hand, Leo and Sasha behind her, the twin still trying to keep her brother up. As the warriors grab their spears and brace themselves, I can see what'll happen next: they'll be skewered, destroyed, held up as offerings to the bear, and the savages who did it will count themselves the victors.
I forgot about another player on the board.
So did the warriors. But not the bear. As it grumbles and approaches the fight in the sand, it suddenly stops, tilting its nose up, scenting the air.
Behind it, unseen by all of us, quiet and unnoticed, Portia has gathered up the once-useless quiver of arrows and a longbow nearly as tall as she is. With a grace I didn't know she had, she tosses her bloodied ponytail over one shoulder, forced her bruised body into position, and draws an arrow on the string.
The first of her shots gets the bear in its back knee.
It roars in anger, turning towards her, the crown of antlers at its head swinging.
She doesn't move in the face of its fury as it begins to bound across the sand towards her, closing the distance between them impossibly fast. One bound from the bear; another arrow in Portia's fingers. It roars again; she draws the bow. As it grows nearer, she loosens at her target, again and again.
An arrow hits its broad shoulder. Another skims its cheek and tears through its ear. One fortuitous arrows thuds into its chest. Around us, the crowd roars with excitement, ready to see either Portia or the bear fall.
The beast grows so near that I'm certain she'll die. But she plants her legs and doesn't move, every inch of her radiating confidence and wealth. Her eyes are flinty and her golden hair shines like a crown around her head.
Her last arrow lands in the bear's mouth as it roars, piercing its top jaw, the sharp arrowhead jutting out of its head. It stumbles, shudders, and groans. Then, like a tree falling after a storm, it topples to the ground, antlers digging into the sand, sides heaving.
Portia drags the short sword she had out of a belt at her side, brandishes the blade, and leaps up onto the bear's huge frame. Without a word of preamble or a shout of victory, she plunges the sword into its side, twists it, and forces her weight down until the bear ceases to breathe. Then she draws the sword out, the thing bloodied and gory, and turns to the viewing box.
After a mute moment, the Ares' son with the gong hammer leaps out onto the sands, runs to the middle of the arena, and calls for an end to the match.
Just in time; as he finishes speaking, Portia collapses to the ground. I glance to the others to see how they're doing—and feel my heart freeze. While Portia was drawing eyes with her battle, one of the warriors ran his spear through one of the misfits.
Leo's blood is splattered across the ground, Sasha holding him on her lap, her grief clear. Yoric sways on his feet; one of the warriors lies on the ground, groaning, savaged by a creature made of shadows and darkness. The others look confused, uncertain how the victory was taken from them, angry about the gong calling to an end of the bloodiness.
As it all drains out of me, and I wonder how many of my new friends just received a killing blow, Selah leans towards me. Her voice is empty of rancor as she asks, "How do you feel about escaping Godblood Prison now?"
I don't answer. She wouldn't understand what I'm thinking right now. Watching as the medics run into the arena and put various victims on the stretcher, all I can think about is other battlefields, moments from long ago.
My mother made me. I tried to strip her influence from deep within. But it's still there, just like the hunger. Despite myself, there's only one thing I want right now, one place I want to be.
The only thing I wish is that I had Aleksander at my side again, the glory of battle at
our backs, blood pumping through our veins. This—this is nothing like true battle. Nothing like war.
There's no glory in dying underground, deep in the bowels of Godblood Prison. Not for anyone.
Chapter Seventeen
I don't want to stick around for another bloody round of this. It's too strange and sad and cruel. Leaning towards the end of the aisle, I call out to one of the guards.
"Can I use the restroom?"
She glares over at me, clearly irritated, then sighs. "Fine. But you get five minutes, max. I want to be back in time for the next round—it's Jasper's team versus Vesuvius, and we all know what that means."
That they savagely beat each other like monsters in the sand? I don't look forward to it, even though at least they'll be evenly matched. The challengers had no chance against the beasts—though clearly that was part of the appeal. Now the arena sands will be bloodied and fresh for more fighting, more maiming, even more deaths.
As the guard leads me through the wide corridors towards the restrooms, she warns me again, "Five minutes."
I nod and try not to roll my eyes. At least these new guards don't seem likely to beat us; Damien seems to have gotten the ones who used their batons on me transferred or reassigned somewhere. All I know is that I haven't seen them since, and I never want to again.
In the restroom, I quickly check that the other stalls are empty, lock myself in one, and drain just enough power from the cuff I've loosened before to remove it for a moment. All I need is a moment—that's it. Putting my free hand against my stomach, I take a deep breath, and let a pulse of power leave my palm.
It's been years since I did this.
But I can feel it work right away.
On me this time.
I never knew before how much this hurt.
Skin clammy, I quickly place the cuff back on. Then I stumble out of the stall—no acting needed for this next moment—push my head through the restroom door, and vomit blood all over the ground.
"Fuck!" The guard leaps back, her face twisted in disgust. "Ares' balls. Now I have to take you to the medic. C'mon—this way, and keep the rest of it inside your cursed body, you godblood idiot."
As I wipe the red blood off my mouth, keeping my head down and breathing slowly to still my stomach, I take care not to smile or look overjoyed.
The medic. Right where I wanted to go next.
For better or worse, I'll be there when my friends die.
* * *
Portia is laid out on the stretcher, face impossibly pale. Her golden hair fans out behind her head like a perversion of a crown. I find myself wondering what she looks like without Ares gold trapping her godblood down. I'm willing to bet she glows, golden and beautiful, like the morning son.
"This one has a stomach bug," the guard says as she pushes me into the med-bay, where the old retired doctor and two nurses I haven't met are working on the patients. "She's low priority."
"I'll decide that." The doctor jerks his chin. "Leave her here. This room is for patients only."
She's game enough to leave, though I wonder at the steel in the doctor's voice. He may be old, but I think I underestimated him when we first met. Clearly he knows the guards are full of shit, and is willing to tell them off if it means protecting his patients. I'm just glad he seems to consider us godbloods his patients and not merely half-immortal nuisances.
It's hard to take in all the chaos and bloodshed in the med-bay. One of the nurses has me sit down on a bed to wait for my examination, but I know that I'm fine; what I did to myself will fade, though it cost me some of the life force I fed from Vesuvius. No, it's the others I'm worried about as they're lifted onto the stretchers around me.
Moaning Yoric, whose shoulder doesn't seem to be sitting right inside the socket. Crying Sasha, hands slicked with blood. Her brother Leo, who lays there on the hospital bed, basically unresponsive, barely breathing. Garnet with her bruises and a bloodied nose, though at least her eyes are open, even though she clutches the sheets beneath her with pain.
And of course Portia. As the doctor examines her, eyes flicking briefly to Leo then dismissing him—no doubt he's considered a goner by now—I feel a strange kind of fear. It's been so long since I cared about someone enough to give a shit whether they live or die. Maybe my cold heart is thawing, or maybe I'm just full of self-interest, too scared that my new cellmate will suck.
While the doctor and his nurses are busy treating Portia, helping Yoric, getting an IV into Garnet, and calming Sasha down, I slip to Leo's bed without being noticed or stopped. Getting down on my knees beside him, I feel for his life force, and know that death is near.
My mother may not be here to witness this—there's far too much death in this world for her to concern herself with a single weak godblood's passing—but he won't die alone. His death will go to some use.
It will feed me.
"Mora." I startle as my name leaves his lips, which are flecked with blood. Sasha moans, and the nurse gives her a sedative; she's on the bed next to Leo, head turned to stare at him, hands reaching out to grasp at the empty air between him. But the dying son of Gemini has only eyes for me, because he feels his own death coming for him. He asks me, "Do you really grant last wishes?"
"I do," I tell him, taking his hands. I leave out the fact that it's rare for someone's life force to pass with so much power, as well as so much regret and longing, to make a wish truly possible for them. "You don't have to worry, Leo. It'll all be over with soon."
As he breathes in unsteadily, fighting for more words, his eyes roaming the ceiling above him, I lean in and taste his life force on the air. It pulses with pain and fear, his injuries making it shiver bright red, despite the morphine dripping into his blood from the IV the nurses gave him as a small act of mercy.
Until his life force has been halved, maybe more, the pain and fear will dodge him. So I breathe him in. This close to death, his energy leaks out around them. Of all the injured misfits, his is the life force I feel in the air around me. I know he won't make it; his death lingers.
It occurs to me, briefly, that I could force his soul back into his body. I could do for him what I did for Omar. If I have the strength. The courage. The power. If I didn't have my Ares gold on me, and witnesses in this room.
Maybe I'm a coward. But I lean forward anyway, and in a low voice, as I pull on Leo's life force until he's calm and still, I dare to ask him, "Do you want to live, or die?"
"Live free?"
"No. In here."
He shakes his head once. "Die."
On the bed beside him, Sasha lets out a low whimper. The nurses have left her bedside to help Yoric and Garnet; a third nurse has joined, the one who helped me, and she's beside Portia's bed with the doctor. No one is paying attention to the small one act play going on between the twins.
"I can help you," I tell Leo. "Your death will be faster, smoother. And... it'll help me too. Maybe your sister." Scrambling to come up with a reason why that doesn't include admitting I'll be devouring his death, feeding off his life force, I tell him, "Your last wish. If it's powerful enough, maybe I can..."
"Free her." There's determination in his voice, even through the weakness, the cloud of morphine, all the blood loss. "Yes."
Sasha moans. "No. Leo, I want you here. If you can live—please, Mora, if there's anything you can do—"
I hate myself for it, but I shake my head. "I can't save lives."
But I can.
Can't I?
I just don't know if I can save this one.
Better not to give them hope. Especially since he wants to die. And even if I could... even if godblood lives are like mortal lives, with the life force slipping back into them... it would mean emptying myself out, revealing myself to the doctors and nurses, which will no doubt lead to it getting back to the god hunters and eventually Ares himself.
Selfishly, I don't want to. Which is why I'm glad Leo doesn't seem to want to survive, either. This is his way out. I just don't
know if his twin sister will survive saying goodbye.
Glancing to her, I tell him, "Whatever last message you have for her, I'll be able to feel it as you die. Okay? So just... think about that. And your regrets. Your biggest wishes and desires. I'll do the rest."
He nods once. Sasha slips out of bed, tugging the IV drip behind her, and kneels on the other side of her brother. His breathing becomes labored; the electrodes they attached to his chest sense his blood pressure rising, pulse racing.
I lean forward and hover my mouth above his face.
Then, as his eyes slip closed, his grip on my hands weakening, I place my lips on his forehead.
"I love you, Leo." Sasha openly sobs, grabbing onto his limp hands, pushing her fingers through his red-orange hair. "I hope I'll see you on the other side. And I promise to keep fighting... for you."
As Leo's life force bursts from his skin, I taste it in the air, take it into myself and feel more strength than I thought possible fill me.
Along with his dying energy, I get another sense, as the life force of a dying godblood fills my mind with his thoughts and memories.
He has so many regrets.
Regrets that he wasn't stronger. That he couldn't protect his sister, first from being imprisoned, then from witnessing his death. They were caught because of him; he revealed himself to the wrong mortal, risked too much, gambled with their lives.
She could've run—in the moment they were caught. But Sasha stayed by Leo's side. She paid the ultimate price for it. Or so he thought. Now he's paying the price that's bigger than any other.
I didn't realize how strong he was. There's a duality in him, just like in his twin, no doubt. A sun to go with the moon. Two sides of a coin, one dark, one light. He didn't have much power in the arena, but without his Ares gold on, Leo is a kind of shapeshifter.
He had the ability to turn into another version of himself, a dark-haired version, a trickster in the shadows. Sasha shares this ability. They chose to come here as their redheaded selves, but when he wore that other side, Leo slipped through shadows and did, at times, unspeakable things.