Red Sky: Rising

by Ben Archer

  It starts slow and steady…

  Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom

  Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom

  … building to a frantic pace.

  All across the coliseum feet pound with the pulsating beat. Large chunks of drywall are falling off the worn down ceiling of my cramped prison cell.

  Hateful energy visibly leaks from the pores of every person out there. It reaches new heights of disgust when the towers explode into a massive display of fireworks, flames, and shredding guitars. New spotlights shine on the two men ruthlessly banging out the ear-piercing rock chords. Their spectacle helps build the crowd into an even deadlier frenzy. I don’t know what to call these people… they’re not monsters. As cruel as my monster is, these things are a different kind of beast.

  Pure evil lives here.

  Chapter 14: Rockin’ A Hard Place

  Outrageously dressed hunters begin making flamboyant entrances throughout the arena. Each one brings their own distinct version of hyping up the already fanatical crowd. Some do it by beating their chest like rampaging gorillas, one drags claws down the dirty glass walls, while others flip and tumble to show off their incredible athleticism.

  And it works to a scary degree. Every face in the crowd has the same unmistakable lust for violence. They pound fists and stomp feet; smash into one another. The kids even hold up hand-painted signs with the name of their favorite hunter. These aren’t killers to them, they’re heroes.

  After the showboating ends, the lights outside the castle disappear. This leaves only the glass prison to shine in the bleak night. The glowing floors flash with the beat of the music. One at a time, the hunters begin entering the maze through hidden portals. The pounding heartbeat slows as each go in.

  Boom Boom Boom Boom

  Boom Boom Boom Boom ….Beeeeep.

  The eerie flat line is the official start of the hunt. The killers instantly scatter throughout the see-through behemoth in search of prey. Some are ghosts, slipping silently into hidden cracks, while others slam into walls and generally raise every kind of hell. There are many different ways to die descending on Quinn’s family all at once.

  The young man tries to move in front of the pack as they leave the first room. This, of course, starts a brief argument between the two men. As fathers are apt to do, he eventually wins and the son agrees to move to the back of the group. And that’s how they’ll begin the game, men surrounding the ladies, with none of them standing a chance.

  The first couple of rooms are uneventful. They merely serve to take them deeper into the maze. It’s not until the first of the giant towers that they encounter one of the hunters. He doesn’t show himself at first, instead waiting up top for a concealed door to snap shut. It traps the family at the bottom of a very tall, but extremely narrow box. It’s so skinny that they can barely stand next to each other or even turn around. Because the family is busy scrambling to pry the door open, they never see the man perched high above them.

  Planted on a small ledge is a thin figure hidden in the deep shadows. His jet black hair is pulled back into a tight bun that accentuates the laser-like focus he keeps on his prey. When he shifts, the back of his long black coat drops over the edge like hanging Eutherian wings. An eager grumble rises from the impatient crowd as he drops in silently behind them. His intimidating coat spreads across the floor in a perfect circle from the landing.

  The audience stands with the hunter when he makes his first bold move. They hold their collective breath as the assassin calmly strolls up behind the unaware father. A gasp sounds out when the chrome sword is finally released from the sleeve on his back. He drops the tip of the razor-sharp blade to the ground and drags it along next to him. Every deliberate step builds the expectations of the anxious crowd. And all this happens while the family is still painfully unaware the killer is even in the same room as them!

  Finally, like a shot in the dark, a piercing scream cuts across the arena to alert the family. The bound, but not helpless, Quinn was able to find enough voice to warn them through several walls of thick glass! Unfortunately, it comes a fraction of a second too late. The ninja was able to make a single slice before the father even had a chance to turn around. The blade sinks into the widest part of his stretched calf, and just as quickly, the assassin’s gone.

  In the brief amount of time it takes the man to hit to the ground, the silent killer is swallowed by shadows. The crowd roars with excitement. The entire arena crazy chants in one loud voice,

  “RINSHI! RINSHI! RINSHI! RINSHI!”

  The assassin was never going for a kill. It’s too soon in the game for that. His job was merely to draw out the family’s torment for the fans. And it works; they’re practically rioting in their seats for the would-be killer.

  The doors spring open to release the stunned family before they can even comprehend what’s happened. Father is still helpless on the ground and only Mother seems to know why. The rest never even saw it happen! Mom’s busy putting pressure on the wound, while screaming for the young man. He’s hastily ripping off the bottom of his shirt without yet knowing why. She then wraps the cloth tight enough to force the gashed flaps of skin closed. Although, from the serious amount of blood still spurting around the bandage, it must have been far deeper than I thought.

  Dad doesn’t let any of this slow him down. He’s already struggled back up to his feet by using mom as a make-shift crutch. Their only change is that the brother has now moved into the lead position.

  But why?

  Why keep moving?

  Why not hunker down and fight instead of playing their sick game? Is it a real maze with a finish line to reach? I have no idea, but they sure move like it!

  They continue going from room to room with some kind of goal in mind. The young man moves quickly, albeit a bit more cautiously now. He makes sure to survey every room before letting the rest in. The little girl has been so sandwiched by the group that she really isn’t visible anymore. Five rooms later, the young man abruptly abandons the family to run down a different passage. Waiting at the end is a stubby dagger mounted in a well-marked sleeve on the wall. It’s been painted orange to draw even more attention to it.

  So that’s why they keep going! There are minor weapons hidden throughout! Probably nothing that could actually help defend against the supercharged murderers, just little slivers of hope to keep them playing along!

  The young man’s swell of pride is, unfortunately, short lived. He suddenly finds himself stuck between a rock and twin hard places. Specifically, the cramped walls and two maniacs tumbling toward him.

  The twins are frighteningly identical in every single way, except one wears a jade green vest, while the other’s dark blue. They resemble circus monkeys with entire velvet outfits matching their ridiculous vests. Both are covered in the same scraggly red hair and lengthy beards. One of the only things not covered by the ginger straw are their piss colored teeth and eyes.

  The boy begins shouting franticly for his family to head back down the hall. Although, with the dad hobbled so badly, they’re cut off before they even begin. The brutish cavemen tumble around the group like lions circling a wounded elk. The green one smashes off the glass in a show of strength or (depending on your point of view) insanity. His shoulder leaves a spider-web of shattered glass in its wake. Then the other unleashes a roar that would shame King Kong.

  Together they succeed in herding the family into the middle of the empty room. The bewildered people huddle together for some kind of protection from the snarling beasts. Only the young man remains standing and he’s trying to blindly slash with that stubby dagger of his. Eventually, he manages to land a lucky cut across the blue gorilla’s forearm. It appears to be a pretty serious wound that runs the entire length of his hairy arm.

  That’s when the young man makes the mistake of letting a smirk of confidence bleed onto his face. He feels as if he’s really accomplished something here, except the wild man doesn't even blink. He simply pauses before
using a long, deliberate motion to drag his tongue across the split flesh. Watching the beast enjoy the taste of his own blood is like watching a starving man relish every bite of a gluttonous next meal. The animal returns with cheeks smeared with crimson joy. At the end, he turns to give the kid a deliciously crooked smile with teeth freshly painted in the gore of the boy’s failed efforts.

  Damn.

  Cold chills slither down my spine from this gruesome act of bravado. The crowd, however, LOSE THEIR DAMN MINDS.

  They erupt in an earthquake of applause that shakes the very foundations of the arena. The overflowing malevolence has grown men fighting in the stands. Anything not bolted down, and some that are, are tossed into the center of the ring. Whatever it takes to release their pent-up wrath is fair game. The beastly men feed off the crowd chanting their name, “Wild Bunch” endlessly. It fuels their extended torment of the young man. They spit at his feet and pound the ground to destroy the last bit of his youthful swagger. The roaring crowd and circling gorillas have left him a trembling shell.

  That’s when the boy defies logic to pitch his only protection, the small dagger, back to his father. He bolts down the hall leaving the wild men as startled as the rest of us. Either the kid has lost his mind or there’s some kind of genius plan in the works. I’m leaning towards the former.

  The confused twins pause for a brief moment before storming after him. Everyone howls for the chase and upcoming kill. The Wild Bunch stomp down the hall, although speed is obviously not their strong suit. It allows the much faster kid to get some space before he ducks into a particularly harsh shadow. It’s so deep that it must have been intended for the hunters to use.

  The wolves split up to surround their separated sheep. The first one to arrive is the green twin, and he refuses to wait any longer for this victory, this kill. The entire arena is on their feet as the lumbering brute strides confidently into the shadow hiding the young man. Not a sound is made while they eagerly listen for the impending death cry.

  Except it doesn't come.

  The frustrated giant steps from the dark like he’s gotten lost. The look on his face is one of pure, total, and utter confusion. Even I have to admit being completely clueless where the kid might have gone. I mean, we all saw him go in the shadows.

  Soft hisses trickle from the fickle crowd. The brute dives back in to continue his search and (again) comes back out empty handed. He looks visibly shaken as the disapproving fans increase their ridicule. He angrily thrashes around in the dark puddle with no reward. Just then, the young man drops from the ceiling to catch the wild man completely off guard! He falls from the murky ceiling just as the hunter looks up and drives a steel bolt directly through his forehead!

  Chapter 15: Bad Blood

  The “POP” of the breaking skull echoes across the entire silent arena. It drops every jaw in utter shock ─except mine. "HELL YEAH KID!!!" I bark to the scrappy little fighter. Everyone turns their attention to the shouting man up in the little cell. This causes me to yell, scream, and even slam my cot against the wall just to see what kind of horrible noises it will make. Then I send Shepherd a look that will hopefully haunt him in the quiet moments of life.

  Back over in the castle, the young man isn’t celebrating, he’s rushing to escape the corridor before the other twin can track him down. What he doesn’t know is that the blue Gorilla isn’t even interested in him anymore. He’s thrown himself over his brother’s corpse like a wet wool blanket. His raspy sobbing is easy to hear throughout the hushed arena. Even now the fans show no mercy by taunting their distraught killer. Apparently there’s no pity for either side.

  The game makers immediately dim the lights to that section of the castle. They obviously want to save their player from further humiliation by the cruel crowd. It doesn’t work. They continue heckling the beast mourning the loss of his brother until the young man finally stumbles into a new hunter.

  The fans erupt in unanimous cheer as the kid (literally) runs into a mountain of a man. He’s a seven foot tall reminder that this game is far from over. In fact, his small victory will surely make it worse for the entire family by the time this is over. But for now, he just has to worry about the mountain of flesh and bone waiting for him with clinched fists.

  The speedy kid rounded the corner and bounced off his big gut like a rubber ball. A collective “awwwweeee” rises from the crowd when the young man barely misses bashing his head against a set of metal spikes. The collision is hard enough to keep the kid on the ground for an extended time. By the time he’s up and ready to go, both exits are blocked. One by the Mountain, the other by a nasty looking freak in a filthy clown suit.

  Did I mention I hate clowns?

  No, seriously… I REALLY HATE clowns.

  Maybe this is why? I instinctively knew this day would come. The kid must feel the same way because he goes after the hulking giant instead of the much smaller clown.

  It must take the mountain 20 minutes to spread his huge arms, but they stretch wall to wall when they finally get up. While he’s a pretty convincing barrier up high, down low is a different story. The kid is able to easily slide through the sizable gap between his legs without much effort. Everything the giant does is so sluggish he appears to be on a time delay. The kid’s already down the hallway by the time he reacts, and then it’s only to awkwardly into the wall fall from his own shifting weight!

  Just as things are starting to look up, a new player’s inserted into the game. It’s probably no accident that he happens to be put in the exact same room as the family. This new killer is encased in a snow white exoskeleton. Every inch of him is covered by a slippery looking pearl armor. Not even his face is visible underneath the mirror-like visor.

  His weapons of choice are smooth blades running along both forearms that end in sharp spikes pointing over angry fists. Then I notice some of the more subtle tricks hiding up his sleeve. As he moves, light reflects off the skinny razors embedded in each fingertip. Even his boots have been sharpened down to a lethally sharp point. If Apple built a killing machine, this would be it. Beautiful, elegant, and coldly terrifying.

  Everything about him screams death.

  Slow.

  Painful.

  Bloody.

  Death.

  His first move is to point at the wounded father like a ball player calling his shot. This helps to get the fading crowd back into it. They roar as he drags those bladed fingertips across the wall leading up to him. The shrill scraping is too close to the sound of a screaming Eutherian for comfort.

  His movements are as accurate as the hands of a finely tuned Swiss watch. There’s nothing wasted, just deadly precision with a purpose. He effortlessly strolls up, scoops the father around the ankle and lifts him high into the air. There’s absolutely no sign of strain while stringing a full grown man up like a fish. Mom tries to interfere and is shoved aside easily. This leaves the little girl exposed for the first time. Even though she’s completely alone, for whatever reason, the great white hunter wants nothing to do with either of them. His focus remains locked on the man dangling in midair.

  He’s too busy running his ivory glove up the father’s chest. He relishes in the deliberate process of working along, slowly slicing into the shirt and top layer of skin. The poor man is barely clinging to consciousness by the time he makes it to the bandage around his calf. One smooth stroke is all it takes to sheer that cloth off too. After that, the blood is free to drizzle down his leg in long sheets. Then the sick bastard uses his sharp fingertip to dig into the gaping wound. My stomach churns as the flesh peels even further away.

  It’s hard to imagine there has ever been a more anguish-filled scream in the history of mankind. It’s saturated with such unimaginable pain and suffering that it turns my heart inside out. His entire body quivers from the finger slipping further into the meat. Relief comes only when the wounded man finally passes out. Without any more torment to enjoy, the assassin drops the limp body and uses the fresh blood to d
raw a war mark down his visor. The crowd roars as he does.

  "HEY DICKHEAD!!!"

  A voice spits out from behind the killer. Unbelievably, it’s the fearless son barreling straight at the snow white hunter! The silent man extends his blade with buttery smooth fluidity. At the same time, he plants his feet, and guides the spike directly towards the boy’s face. I look up to Quinn’s chair as she fights the guards holding her head straight. There will be no escaping the sight of their revenge.

  The audience emits a wave of happiness that shatters several windows along the bleachers. All the destruction pushes them closer to the salivating edge of insanity. They literally jump for joy as the blade inches closer to the boy’s cheek. At the last possible second, so close that the spear nips the end of his nose, the young man plummets straight to the ground. Not at the killer, or under him, just straight down.

  Now, karma is usually a slow moving lady. She likes to take her time while delivering her syrupy sweet vengeance.

  Not this time.

  This time the blood-thirsty crowd gets to watch as the mountain of man stands impaled on the pale killer’s blade. The spear sliced through his ribcage like a hot knife through butter, and his own weighty momentum helped propel it all the way through his thick body. You can see the very tip of it sticking out right below his shoulder blade.

  This time, Karma was an instant, stone cold bitch.

  My level of happiness should honestly be illegal. I can’t stop myself from screaming at the disgusting crowd. Not a single one of them even looks back this time. They’re still glued to the (formerly) white assassin wiping red splatter off his visor.

  The dying colossus collapses. He gasps for air when the long blade is pulled from his pierced chest. Blood coats the entire room as his trembling fingers reach for help. They manage to touch the tip of the spear, right before it’s driven through the dead center of his forehead. As gruesome as it looks, this is the first bit of mercy I’ve witnessed here. You know, when you’re in a place where someone being stabbed in the face is an act of kindness, you should really re-evaluate life.