by E B Rose
“What did you just...”
Beast’s sentence was interrupted by the last sound he’d have expected to hear in this place; another man’s voice.
“What the fuck is going on?” A man squealed behind him. “What the Farhome is this place?”
Beast recognized his voice before he saw the man’s face. The earrings glimmered in the light of Keder’s cage. Vadithas’s man turned around, his head snapping from side to side, trying to make out his surroundings.
“Beast, meet Lidren,” the demon introduced. He sounded tired.
The man named Lidren flinched back. He slipped and fell under the water, and splashed until his feet found the ground again. His eyes widened when he saw Beast. “What the...” He licked his lips. “What kind of a nightmare is this?”
“What’s going on?” Beast whispered.
“This is my present to you,” Keder whispered back. “Let’s make peace.”
When Lidren noticed the cage and the black mist looming behind Beast’s shoulders, he took a step back and almost slipped again. “What the Farhome is that thing?”
“Is this one of your tricks?” Beast snapped impatiently.
“No.”
“What...” Lidren ran his hands over his face. His breathing fastened as he studied his surroundings from between his fingers. He was getting overwhelmed with shock. The fear he expressed could not simply be the demon’s trick.
“Is this real?” Beast asked. His cheek twitched with the hint of a smile.
“It’s real enough. He’ll feel everything.”
“And when he wakes up? Is he going to remember?”
Demon made a grinding sound that was his chuckle. “He won’t wake up.”
“I wanna get out of here,” Lidren whimpered. “I wanna wake up. Wake up, wake up.” He closed his eyes and slapped himself.
Beast’s hands curled into fists. His lips pulled back to reveal a snarl. He allowed himself to remember that room where he was chained. Lidren’s voice and his touch. White hot fury washed all over him. He lunged.
The man yelped. He half swam, half ran away from Beast, though there was nowhere to go. Beast grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, turned him around, and punched his face. Lidren fell into the waist-high water. Beast held him by the front of his shirt and pulled him out. His fist pounded Lidren’s face over and over again. The man swung his arm, trying to hit back. Beast avoided the blows and buried his knee in the man’s stomach.
The water had lessened the impact. Lidren held Beast’s leg and pulled it up, causing the slave to fall. They tumbled under the water together, their hands wrapped around each other’s throats. Beast pulled Lidren under him, grabbed his face and slammed his head against the muddy ground. It hardly seemed to have any effect. Beast’s lungs burnt with the desire for air, so he untangled himself from the man and stood up.
As soon as Lidren’s head appeared over the water, Beast slammed his forehead against the man’s nose. Blood trickled into the water and dissolved in the blackness. Beast grabbed Lidren from behind, hooked his elbow around his neck, and punched his back.
He wished there was an easier way to do this. He wished he had the tools to tie him up and inflict more pain than his fists could do.
He spotted a movement in the shadows of the ceiling. He jumped back just in time to avoid the black arms that stretched down from above.
Arms?
Beast opened his mouth, but couldn’t make any sound. He watched as half a dozen long, arm-like strings dove into the water after Lidren. They looked shiny and wet. Tentacles was the word he was searching for. They grasped Lidren’s arms and legs and pulled him out of the water. Stretching his limbs to the sides, they held him spreadeagle in the air, just above the water level.
Beast looked up. Two large, and a dozen small, red eyes blinked at him amongst the shadows. He remembered this monster - those black arms reaching down from the shadows of the ceiling, holding him still - from the night of the coup.
He did his best to disguise the fear of his voice as he confronted the Demon Lord.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m not doing anything,” Keder said, though the innocence in his voice couldn’t fool Beast. “Your wish is their command.”
“Their?”
Ferocious snarls filled the cave, echoing through the walls. At first, all Beast could see was flying sparks and liquid fire in the air. As the demon hounds approached him, Beast was able to make out their wide shoulders, sharp teeth, molten eyes, and four thick legs that disappeared into the water. They resembled fiery, monstrous, misshapen dogs.
He remembered seeing one of those as well, on the night of the coup. He’d also heard them the first time he’d met the Demon Lord. The demon hounds circled him.
There were four of them. The largest left the group and approached Beast. Liquid fire dripped down from his teeth. Beast didn’t step back and calmly watched the creature’s burning eyes. Its skin was covered with a wet, black fur, though it was slashed here and there. Fire leaked from all its cuts and from its joints. Water hissed and steamed around it.
The demon hound stopped right in front of Beast. It lowered its head so its gleaming teeth were only inches away from Beast’s face. Beast’s chest rose and fell rapidly, but he stood his ground. A tongue made out of wet fire rolled out of the hound’s mouth. Warm breath and the stench of decaying carcass caressed Beast’s face.
Beast turned his gaze in Lidren’s direction.
The demon hound mimicked him and a deep growl rose from its throat.
Lidren made an inaudible noise and started crying. Beast picked out pleads and the Twelve’s names here and there. His stomach churned with hatred. When he suffered his treatment that night, his pleads had gone unanswered. He wasn’t even permitted to talk. He wanted the man to feel the same.
The demon hound charged forward.
Lidren opened his mouth to scream. The hound’s mouth clamped over his and ripped a chunk of the man’s jaw, along with his tongue, out. The other hounds joined him. They started biting, slashing and ripping Lidren’s stretched body. Lidren’s wordless screams echoed in the flooded cave.
Beast’s grin faltered. Feelings of satisfaction and guilt collided inside of him, left a bitter aftertaste. His moral sense was a severely disfigured being. It was never fully developed, yet it was screaming how wrong this should feel. Beast didn’t agree. He felt nothing but pleasure watching the man who had raped, hurt, and mocked him get mauled by demons. If anything, he was a little disappointed because Lidren was about to pass out.
“Slow down,” Beast muttered and the demons obeyed. They licked Lidren’s injuries with their flaming tongues, burnt and seared the bleeding wounds. The largest one took Lidren’s hand between his teeth and started chewing lazily. Slowly. Lidren’s head wobbled back and forth, he moaned his misery.
One of the hounds’ teeth came too close to the tentacle that held Lidren. The creature in the ceiling hissed and pulled its tentacle back. When Beast glanced up, the red, beady eyes blinked and their angry protests quietened. Beast left himself to float in the water again. He closed his eyes and listened to Lidren’s muffled screams.
Just a few minutes ago, he was staring at the blackness above, seeking peace. He’d finally found it.
*
The preparation room was almost as vast and well-equipped as the one underneath Switchblade Arena. Cabinets and wooden racks held sets of armour and weapons. There was an empty space for the slave to stretch and warm up, which Beast finished doing a few minutes ago.
Two freeborn slaves hustled around him, wiping his sweat with towels and rubbing powdered sand in his palms, to improve his grip. Beast raised his arms to allow them to put a long tunic over his head. They slipped bracers on his forearms and greaves on legs.
Beast’s eyes kept darting to the tall, iron rack that stood on the left side of the room. It presented the headgear he was supposed to wear in the battle. Beast clenched his jaws in an effort to su
ppress a shudder.
Valnar stood near him, biting his nails. His eyes didn’t stray far from the headgear as well, though his expression was halfway between pissed and worried. “Are you sure you don’t want me to use your Kill Word?” he asked for the tenth time.
Beast inhaled. “I need to be able to think. Owner.”
“Yeah, but...” Valnar scratched the back of his neck. Shaking his head, he walked over to the armour rack and picked up an iron cuirass.
“No,” Beast said. “I’ll need agility.”
Valnar scowled. “You need protection. You’ll be fighting against fully armoured and mounted men.”
“That’s why I’ll need agility.”
Valnar sighed. He put the cuirass down and browsed for a lighter armour.
“Leather,” Beast requested.
Valnar picked up a studded leather armour, then he grabbed a chain shirt too. “Here, at least wear this underneath. It won’t slow you down.”
Beast nodded and let Valnar pull the chain shirt over his head. He wore the studded leather over it. He hadn’t worn any form of armour since his last battle at Switchblade. He already felt safer, protected. Maybe even less worried.
When he glanced at the helmet again, all those good feelings vanished.
“Weapon?” Valnar asked, walking over to the weapon display. “Long spear would give you advantage against horsemen.”
“No,” Beast refused again. He looked through the various types and length of swords until he found what he wanted. The weapon had a short hilt and its blade curved backwards.
“Lor’Kas?” Valnar said with uncertainty. “You sure it’s a good choice for this battle?”
“Yes.” Beast sheathed the familiar weapon and picked a long dagger as well. “I’m ready,” he declared.
The slaves left the two of them alone. Valnar crossed his arms and nodded. His face darkened. His nails drifted towards his mouth, but he forced them back down. He drew a troubled breath.
“Look, if we’d known how this fight was designed, Lygor would...”
“I would still say, yes,” Lygor said from the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. His eyebrows met in a harsh angle. “Because I know he can - he will - win.”
Beast stood tall, brought his hands together in front of him and lowered his head. His heart fell into the pit of his stomach when he saw Lygor. He hadn’t seen the prince since that day. Not even from a distance. He experienced painful feelings that he failed to label.
“You’re right,” Valnar agreed. “He’ll win. We’ll win.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Valnar’s gaze travelled between Beast and Lygor. He shuffled his feet, scratched his chin, thinking of something to say to break the silence. He opened his mouth, but Lygor spoke first.
“Valnar, please leave us alone.”
The request made both Beast and Valnar equally uncomfortable. Beast didn’t want him to leave, but Valnar couldn’t find any excuse to stay. “I’ll be right outside,” he said as he closed the door behind him.
Beast stood as still as a statue. He kept his eyes on the clean, tile floors. He heard Lygor dragging his feet towards the centre of the room. “So...” the prince started awkwardly. “Did you have a good rest?”
Beast’s reply was no louder than the rustle of leaves against a gentle breeze. “Yes, Master.”
“Good.” Lygor took another hesitant step forward. He slipped his hands in his pockets. “After you win this, we’ll leave for Euroad in a couple of days.”
Beast didn’t hear any question, so he chose to remain silent. He stiffened when Lygor took another step towards him. Part of him was glad Lygor came to see him, but the other part wanted the prince to hurt and die. He couldn’t stop recalling the sight of Lygor’s back, as he turned deaf to Beast’s pleads and walked away.
“I...” Lygor sighed. “I came because, you once told me my father visited you before every major fight and put your mask on.”
Lygor took a metal piece out of his pocket. It was a half mask, shaped like a lion’s face. It looked similar to what King Leonis had for his beloved Lion of Zarall.
“I know you’re not allowed to wear any other headgear,” Lygor said apologetically. He glanced at the intimidating helmet on the tall rack. “So, I’ll hold on to this for now. I don’t wanna reveal your identity yet anyway.”
Still no question. Beast kept his silence. He waited without knowing what he was waiting for. He wanted the prince to say something else, but he didn’t know what he wanted to hear. Lygor slid the mask back into his pocket. He returned Beast’s silence with his own.
Frustration twisted Beast’s mouth into a snarl. He held onto that one, because the rest of his feelings were all in a jumble he couldn’t decipher.
Lygor ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, good luck,” he muttered.
Beast breathed through his nose. When Lygor turned his back to leave, Beast took a step forward. He hated seeing Lygor walking away again. He wanted to throw things at him. He wanted to grab him and shake him and yell at his face. He wanted to ask him; how could he have done that? How could he let Vadithas do those things to him? Beast trusted Lygor. He thought the prince was different. He thought Lygor cared.
Lygor didn’t care.
Beast wanted Lygor to care.
He wanted someone, anyone to care.
“Lion of Zarall shall not fall,” Beast spoke.
Lygor paused mid-step. He glanced back over his shoulder. “What was that?”
Beast returned his gaze down. His hands dropped on both sides; his fingers curling into fists, then relaxing. “Lion of Zarall shall not fall,” he almost whispered. “That’s what King Leonis used to say to me before every important fight.”
Lygor didn’t move for what felt like an hour. He slowly turned and approached Beast. Hesitantly, he put his hands on Beast’s shoulders, like Leonis did many times before, and said: “Lion of Zarall shall not fall.”
All hair on Beast’s arms stood up. He nodded while still staring down at Lygor’s expensive leather boots.
Lygor pulled him to his chest and hugged him. This was something Leonis never did before.
Beast’s arms rested at his sides as he received the hug. Hatred still raged inside of him. It scorched his chest. He breathed hard. Lygor didn’t release him. He still hadn’t said what Beast really wanted to hear, but the hug said it for him. Although Lygor would never admit it out loud, Beast knew he was sorry.
Lygor cared. In his own way.
Beast relaxed his chin on Lygor’s shoulder and savoured the feeling of safety.
Valnar slipped into the room quietly. He cleared his throat. “It’s almost time.”
Lygor let the embrace last for another second or two, then parted from Beast. He squeezed the slave’s arm reassuringly. “He’s ready.”
Valnar walked over to the rack, which presented the helmet. He screwed up his nose at the smell. He grabbed a pair of hard leather gloves before picking up the headgear.
“Let me do that,” Lygor said. He slid his hands into the gloves and took the helmet off the rack.
The iron headgear was shaped like a bull’s head. A pair of large horns curled upwards. The bull’s mouth was wide open, to reveal the wearers eyes, nose, and mouth. It was covered in two layers of cloth and leather, soaked in glistening oil and animal fat.
Lygor carried the helmet by the horns. Oil dripped, leaving a trail on the floor as the prince brought it to Beast. It looked even more threatening than when it stood on the rack. Beast swallowed hard. Doing his best to hide his reluctance, he lowered his head down so Lygor could put the helmet on.
The sharp smell of oil made Beast gag. He couldn’t breathe. The helmet didn’t sit right either; one of his ears was folded inside. He raised his hands to adjust it.
“No, no,” Lygor said, pushing his hands down. “Don’t touch it.”
Beast imagined his hands being covered in oil, and his sword slipping from his
fingers right in the midst of the battle. He shuddered. Lygor held the helmet by the horns while Beast moved his head until it sat comfortably. He bent over, his hands on his knees, and breathed through the thick smell of oil and fat. He coughed a few times and almost vomited, until he got used to the smell enough to tolerate it.
“Are you okay?” Lygor asked. He masked a grimace.
Beast nodded and stood up again. The smell still bothered him, but he was certain he would forget all about it once the fight started.
“Then, let’s go.”
Ink was waiting outside the door. He paled when he saw the oil-soaked helmet on Beast’s head. Even Valnar looked sick. Lygor was the only one who appeared overly confident that this wasn’t going to end in disaster.
Lygor lead the way while Ink and Valnar walked on either side of Beast. It reminded Beast of the many times he followed Master Badimar’s steps through the sandy hallways beneath Switchblade Arena while being protected by Leonis’s house guards. The familiarity gave him a sense of peace. He forgot all about the smell and the growing dread inside him. He kept his eyes on Lygor’s back as he followed his prince.
Part of him reminded him this was exactly how Lygor’s back looked like that day at Vadithas’s manor, when the prince sacrificed him to gain an ally and ignored his pleads as he walked away.
By the time they reached the room, the dread had returned. Lygor stood aside. He slapped Beast’s arm with encouragement. “Win this for me,” he said. It sounded like an order.
Beast nodded. He didn’t intend to lose it. Not when he was this close to Twilight of Infinity.
Ink shook his hand and wished him good luck. The Kaldorian seemed like he wanted to say more, but he bit his lips and remained quiet.
Valnar walked inside the room with Beast. They closed the door behind them and were alone. The room was empty; not even a bench or a stool. Two oil lamps on both sides barely gave enough light to see the double doors that led into the arena.