The Veil

by Stuart Meczes

  The Pitguards took a step towards us in unison, narrowing the gaps at our side. “March,” they all said together. One by one the Chosen walked across the threshold and into the arena. Trying to control my ragged breath, I followed at the back of the line.

  As soon as I had passed through the doors, I realised that they had somehow made the arena bigger. It was as if the space had swollen outwards to allow for a bigger fighting pit, more seating and higher walls. There were at least a hundred thousand spectators in the stand – well over double the amount there had been before. This arena is alterable...it has to be. It was so much bigger and more imposing, that had it not been for the tell-tale balcony with its four thrones and the blackened stone where the spectator section had burned, I would have thought we had been taken to a different colosseum entirely.

  Once every Guardian was inside the arena, the doors were closed and barred behind us. The bright desert suns bore down on us, making the wig on my head itch like crawling insects. I stared around and saw a small army of guards ringing the entire arena at the lowest point of the stands before the walls. They had serious weaponry on them and looked ready to use it at a moment’s notice. I glanced at Peter and he gave me a quick glance back, not revealing anything in his expression.

  How the hell do we do this?

  Two Pitguards near the empty throne area put long black trumpets to their lips and let out a low blast. In an instant the frenzied crowd had fallen into complete and palpable silence.

  “Guardians, form a line!” ordered a Pitguard from somewhere above us. We all moved side by side – me squeezing between Peter and Troy – and clutching our weapons tightly. I looked down the ranks and counted five male and six female Chosen in addition to us, ranging in age from mid-twenties to late thirties. Out of everyone, Peter was the oldest and the only one wearing specialist armour. Does that also mean he’s been here the longest?

  Everyone stayed silent for some time. Eventually I could hear the sounds of heavy feet climbing stairs. “Bow, smile and then don’t move a muscle,” whispered Peter. Like a wave, the Spectators all sank to one knee, bowing their heads in reverence. The footsteps grew louder and then a hulking figure appeared from hidden steps behind the thrones, walking towards the edge of the balcony. I had heard the stories and the rumours, heard the name whispered under hushed breath. But now, for the first time, I saw the face behind the horror.

  Hades.

  The Demon King was at least eight feet tall, with leathery crimson scales and shimmering black eyes. Twin sets of vast wings sprouted from his back, and two arching horns protruded from his head – wrapped in ceremonial jewellery and fronting a spiked crown made from adamantine. His face was long and lined with small horns that ran down from his temples to a sharp, pointed jaw. From the neck down he wore metal armour. Sharp edges and spikes lined every part of the outfit, which itself had been designed to resembled the physique of a powerful warrior, with a metallic six-pack and contoured muscles. A cape made from Skinshifter fur hung to the Demon King’s knees and the thick belt he wore was covered with the skinned faces of Elves, Pixies and Goblins – their mouths still wide open with their dying screams.

  He was terrifying.

  We all bowed deeply and then stared up at the Demon King, with fake smiles plastered on our faces. Hades smiled down at us in response, revealing black gums and canine teeth. When he spoke, it was in a voice that was the vocal equivalent of thunder. “Chosen,” he bellowed in Enochian, the royal Umbra language. “Be still. Let me look at you.” Everybody became statues as Hades poured his dark eyes over each and every one of us. His gaze lingered on me for a long time and his smile widened before he moved on. “Acceptable. They will do,” he said when he was done, and it felt like the entire arena breathed a sigh of relief. He gestured a jewel-covered hand to the Populace. “Rise, cretins.”

  All of the crowd slowly climbed from their knees and took their seats, still not daring to make a single sound. It was so quiet that I could actually hear the breeze scattering the sand across the arena.

  “Chosen you are most fortunate,” Hades said. “Today you have the honour of fighting for my entertainment. A boon that any of the servile creatures I rule over would kill for a chance to do.”

  He is every bit the narcissistic bastard that he was rumoured to be.

  “Do make sure I am entertained, Chosen, or I will take your heads.” His smile widened. “And whilst you entertain, I shall enjoy watching you bleed.” He turned away from us – his fur cloak sweeping out behind him – and raised a nonchalant hand. “Begin.”

  The crowd erupted like a volcano, cheering and shouting with the frenzied energy of dogs released from their leash.

  Peter was carrying an adamantine chain equivalent of a cat o’ nine tails. “Listen to me,” he shouted to everyone over the roaring crowd as he uncoiled it from his shoulder. “Today we escape. Fight with everything you have, and when the time comes, do as I say!”

  It was clear that he commanded a lot of respect among the other Chosen, because they agreed to his words without question, some of them even calling him by his Deathbreaker title. They’ve probably been waiting for this moment for a long time.

  The doors at the far end of the arena started to inch open and a shuddering roar came from beyond. Moments later something butted impatiently against them.

  BANG!

  “Damn, I’d recognise that roar anywhere. We’re dealing with an Ironhead Behemoth!” yelled Peter.

  My stomach knotted. I’d read about Ironheads before, as well as the report of the ten Guardians that had taken one down in China.

  Only two had made it back alive.

  BANG!

  “Its most vulnerable spot is its face, which it only reveals when it attacks with its mouth. Split into three groups,” ordered Peter in a tone that was now all Deathbreaker. “Two at the sides to flank and distract.”

  BANG!

  He pointed at me, then Troy, and then finally a female in her late thirties with a short blonde wig. “You three form the third group with me. We attack the face when it reveals.” He glanced at me. “I hope you two can fight.”

  My knuckles tightened over the Blood Brothers. “You have no idea.”

  Everyone split into their respective groups without another word. “No fire Pyromancers, unless you want the have the flame bounce back and burn you alive!” shouted Peter.

  BANG!

  The word Pyromancer reminded me of Grey and I felt a twinge of sadness, which I quickly changed into determination. Don’t get distracted. Do what needs to be done, and get the hell out of here, so you can get revenge. That way his death won’t be in vain.

  “Get ready!”

  BANG!

  The doors burst open and a copper scaled creature charged into the arena like a raged bull. It was the size of a house and had rounded, bear-like shoulders with a shaggy black mane. In addition, a twin set of horizontal bladed horns curved out and back from the sides of its head. The creature had dozens of broken spears and swords embedded into its hide, and rusting chains wrapped around its body – clearly from a battle previously lost by its enemies. In addition, two chain tails with arching blades had been surgically attached to the creature, and it seemed to have full control over them, swishing them around his body as if they were its own. But by far the most sinister aspect of the huge Fera was its face, which was covered by two bone plates that ran from the eyes downwards and joined in the centre, creating a shield. That has got to be ten inches of solid bone, easily.

  The Behemoth turned in a slow circle – analysing the threat – and then gave a guttural roar that shuddered through the entire stadium, earning a cheering response from the bloodthirsty crowd.

  Peter started swinging the chain around his head like helicopter blades as he walked towards the Ironhead. I clutched the Blood Brothers in both hands, following behind him with Troy and Blondie. In return, the Behemoth stalked towards us, its clawed feet slowly lifting and stamping down as it clos
ed the gap.

  “Oi!” shouted a dark skinned Chosen with three fingers missing who was standing with the group to the right of the creature. The Behemoth shifted its huge head towards the Chosen, and he threw the axe he was holding at the creature; the weapon sank deep into the Ironhead’s hide and it let out a roar of pain. In response it jerked its body to the side, whipping out both chain tails with incredible speed. My heart was in my mouth as they arced towards the Chosen, but they all managed to jump and backflip out of the way. At the same time, the other Chosen rushed in from the opposite side, hacking and slashing at the creature’s tough hide with their weapons before slipping away again. The Behemoth bellowed and spun around with shocking speed, swiping out with its claws and scattering all five Chosen like loose change. Four of them survived, but the fifth – a tall man with light brown hair – had his guts ripped right out of his stomach. I closed my eyes for a moment against the horror of the sight and then shut that part of myself down. The rest of the Chosen groaned as they climbed back to their feet, enduring the jeering taunts of the crowd and the unimpressed stares of Hades.

  “Come on, reveal your face you bastard!” growled Peter, as we continued to pace forward, his whirring blades spinning over our heads.

  The two groups of Chosen kept attacking from the sides, trying to provoke the Ironhead into revealing its vulnerable spot. And the Behemoth fought back with everything it had. The Chosen with the missing fingers went in with his second axe. Before he could even get close the Ironhead turned with incredible speed and rammed him off his feet. Winded and separated from the others, the Chosen could only watch as the Behemoth dipped forward and sent its chain tail arching over its own back and stabbing down into the man’s chest. No one could get to the Chosen in time to help. The Behemoth lifted him up with his unnatural tail and then slammed him back into the ground. By the time he landed, there wasn’t much left.

  This time I didn’t react.

  The Chosen went crazy then, attacking like the possessed – hacking and slashing at the Behemoth anywhere they could reach. A middle-eastern looking woman launched herself up with a boost from a badly scarred Chosen and landed on Ironhead, stabbing a katana down into the back of its head. The creature roared and reared upwards, throwing her off. She landed hard on her side and was picked up by two Guardians, who dragged her out of the way of a deadly tail swipe just in time.

  “This isn’t working. Gabriella, bait its front!” ordered Peter. “But be careful of its mouth!”

  “Okay!” I shouted and sprinted away from the group towards the gargantuan Fera. It spun around swiping and thrashing its tail at the constantly attacking Chosen. They ducked, jumped and rolled away from all of its attacks, then went back at it like hyenas on a wounded gazelle.

  My boots kicked up sand as I sprinted straight towards the Ironhead, Blood Brothers poised and ready to attack. The arena shuddered from the roars of the crowd as I rushed closer, reverberating all of the way through me. The Behemoth’s head was turned away from me, its bladed horns trying to swipe at a short Chosen with a mace, who was waving it towards him in an effort at distraction. I waited until the shadow of the great creature swallowed the sunlight as it towered over me, and then jumped, both blades raised above my head.

  The Behemoth sensed me – as I hoped it would – and jerked its head around to face me as I hit the peak of my arc and started to descend. My blades sank into the meat of the Fera’s left eye, bursting the sack with their sharp tips and sending slimy ichor spilling over my hands and down my arms. My blades wedged into the Ironhead’s eye socket and I smacked into the bone plate covering its face, letting out a gasp as I felt some ribs crack. The creature let out a tortured roar and then shook its head, throwing me off like a ragdoll. A female Chosen with red hair caught me as I landed, spinning us both around and deflecting the momentum as we both tumbled to the ground.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yes!” I breathed.

  “Then go!” she shouted and shoved me up to my feet.

  I ran back towards Peter, Troy and Blondie, who were drawing ever closer to the Ironhead, feeling the sticky gore of the creature’s eye seep down my arm. The beast was roaring and still shaking its head from side to side in pain as the remains of its eyeball dripped down the bone plate.

  “Well done!” shouted Peter. “Now get ready!”

  Ready for what?

  I got my answer a moment later.

  There was a grinding sound like old cogs as the Behemoth’s bone plates opened like spreading wings. A lion-like face – if lions had scales – appeared, with intimidating maxillary canines that hung down to its massive jaw like conical knives. It glared at me with its single eye, which glistened with hatred.

  “Watch out!” warned Peter as he pivoted to the side.

  The Behemoth retched and a spear-like bone shot out of its mouth towards us. I side-flipped out of the way and Troy ducked, but Blondie wasn’t so lucky. The spike stabbed deep into her chest. The Chosen took a few stumbling steps backwards and then fell, her body pinned upright like a piece of skewered meat as the bone dug into the dirt. I turned and looked at her, our gaze connecting for a brief moment before death took her.

  The Behemoth thundered two more spikes from its great maw and we scattered like mice. Peter sprinted forward, the chains whirling over his head. He got close to the Behemoth and then jumped, corkscrewing in the air and casting out the chain towards the Fera. There was a mist of blood as all of the blades embedded themselves deep into the creature’s face. Peter landed, and hooked an arm around the chain, squaring his stance and tugging at the Ironhead. It screamed and reared backwards, the snagged chain dragging him forwards. I ran to him and grabbed hold of a section of the chain, pulling as hard as I could. Troy joined us, snatching a piece of the weapon further up and helping to tug against it. The creature’s head jerked downwards and it stumbled forward a few steps. A guttural growl burst from its lungs and then it lurched backwards, pulling us on sliding boots across the sandy floor.

  “Everyone, help us!” shouted Peter.

  The remaining Chosen ran over, grabbing sections of the long chain and pulling against the powerful creature. I kept heaving with all of my strength, feeling sweat pour over my face from the exertion. The Ironhead was strong.

  The Behemoth kept tugging against us, the embedded blades snagging on the bones of its face and keeping both sides connected. All around us, the crowd was going wild as we played tug of war with the vicious beast. I dug my heels into the arena floor, but still I could feel them sliding on the sand as the creature pulled away, thick blood seeping down its ruined face. It tried to close the bone plates, but they snagged against the thick chain, leaving a large gap.

  We reached a stalemate. For every foot we dragged the creature towards us in an effort to bring its exposed head down to our level, we were dragged backwards by its incredible strength.

  We need to end this.

  Before I knew what I was going to do, my body was already doing it. I let go of the chain and jumped onto it, running like an expert tightrope walker all the way towards the Behemoth. I could hear the confused shouts of the Chosen behind me, and the roars of the crowds around me as I focused, lifting my blades up. I reached the creature just as it opened its mouth wide and fired a spike. I jumped – flipping over the projectile – and landed on its head. The creature jerked from side to side, trying to throw me off, but the other Chosen pulled as hard as they could against the chain, forcing it to stay in place.

  I pivoted around and drove the Blood Brothers down into its other eye, blinding it. The creature bellowed and jumped backwards, dragging all of the Chosen into a heap. I clenched one of my daggers between my teeth and used my free hand to grip the Behemoth’s bone plate as it started to buck up and down like a frenzied bull, trying to launch me off.

  As I was tossed around like a coin in a tumble dryer, the Chosen recovered, scrambling to their feet and yanking the chain hard against the wounded creatu
re. They pulled it right off its feet and sent it crashing down to the arena floor. It let out a pitiful moan as it tried to climb up, despite its grievous wounds. Seizing the window of opportunity, I bought my blades down, stabbing hard, over and over and over again into the gap between the plates. Rich red blood sprayed up in thick jets as I kept stabbing like I was psychotic, losing all sense of where I was and what was happening. A scream escaped my throat as I attacked. A scream for what had happened to Grey. A scream for not knowing where Alex was, or any of my friends. A scream for all of the things the people in this place had made me do, and for what they had done to me. A scream for what they had taken from me. Blood soaked my arms, face and uniform as I kept attacking with every ounce of strength I had, feeling my muscles throb and chest heave with exertion.

  I just kept stabbing and screaming.

  It was only when I felt a set of arms wrap around me and I was pulled down from the creature that I realised it had been dead for some time, its head slumped to the ground, and blood oozing from its face.

  “It’s okay,” said Peter. “It’s dead. You killed it.”

  The crowd was on their feet, cheering and clapping. Hades was on his feet too, his gauntleted hands wrapped around the balustrade of the balcony, watching me in silence and wearing a malevolent smile.

  As I came back to my senses, my fury turned to sympathy. The Behemoth looked so forlorn in death, its wounded, broken face lying in a pool of its own blood. It didn’t ask to be taken from its home and forced to fight in an arena for the bloodlust entertainment of the Umbra crowds. It didn’t ask to be kept locked up after every battle that it survived, only to be bought back out every time its captors decided to use it for a Spectacle Event. This poor creature was as much of a prisoner as we are. I glared up at the smirking Hades. I hate him. I hate him with every single fucking part of me.