Claimed by the Alien Gladiator, page 22
Okros turns to face me. He bellows back, a roar not as loud or resonant as mine, but with an unpleasant shriek that overlays his Ditakian voice. A light gladiator runs past him, probably thinking the monster is distracted. Okros casually reaches out and grabs the Smaragdine by the neck with one hand and tears the male’s throat out with the other, the Smaragdine’s tail thrashing fruitlessly before his body sags and is discarded.
In that moment I have another chance to size up my opponent. He is not quite as tall as me, nor are his horns and crest as large as mine. In fact, one of his horns looks withered. His muscles and claws, however, are impressive. His yellowish-white skin and plates are sickly looking, and I could swear there’s a shimmer in the edges of the air around him. Okros’ eyes are a sickly yellow as well.
With only a loincloth on him, it’s easy to see all the scars on his body. Many look surgical rather than accidental combat wounds, and not just the big one on his chest. I don’t know how this creature has survived everything the Synexian scientists have done to him. And they certainly could have made all his scars disappear with their medical technology. Maybe his hideous looks garner more coin from the audience and more credits in the high-level wagering between wealthy Serontians.
Boxy shadows coast over the sand, the platforms of the judges, and maybe even Sideran himself on his stage. Let him get close enough, and I will kill him. I’m sure it was his idea to put Emlee in jeopardy. He probably stripped her naked himself …
Before I can work myself into a rage, harsh cries and heavy wingbeats fill the air above us. I look up just in time to see Skaldean raptors. Those shadows were not the judges, who are nowhere in sight. The platforms were carrying cages that let another round of chaos loose in the ring.
The adults of this species are large enough to kill and eat a full-grown Ditakian. And the ones up there are all huge. Several are swooping around Emlee’s cage, and I have no doubt their large beaks can chew through the wooden bars easily. She doesn’t stand a chance up there.
Okros laughs, the same ugly laugh when he killed B’avur. Then he leaps impossibly high, aiming at a low-flying raptor. He pulls it down, ignoring the beast’s heavy wings trying to beat at him, and twists its neck. Tossing the raptor aside, he makes an exaggerated shrug at me, and then turns and lopes toward Emlee.
D’jhago is yelling himself hoarse from behind his gate, but I can’t stay in the wedge formation any longer. My mate needs me. I race after that murderous monster, barely able to force myself to retain my shield and sword.
I race over the bloody remnants of the fight, some still struggling for life. Buildings frequently obstruct my view. My senses strain to detect the field of combat, of where obstacles and opponents might lay in my path. Meanwhile, Emlee’s danger pulls me forward like a tether lodged in my soul.
A sand cat rounds a building as I run by, and I just smack it aside with my shield. A Smaragdine hangs out the window of another building and attempts to stab me with his trident, and I just reflexively slap it away with my tail. All the training with Suriat has really paid off.
Up ahead there’s a rumble, and I’m just in time to see a Mogrim facing off with Okros. How did he move that fast? Why did he move to the center of the ring where the danger is highest? I thought Slaga might be smart enough to avoid close combat with this monster, but maybe I overestimated his intelligence.
Slaga carries a sword and a large shield. He stands in a pathway between two buildings, at the edge of the artificial plaza where the tower rears up. His stance is falsely casual, and he rests his sword on his shoulder as if he’s going to ask Okros to drink with him.
Meanwhile, two raptors are hovering over the cage, where Emlee cowers away from their beaks. The sounds of fighting are echoing between the buildings, as clearly there are still many gladiators and beasts still alive and able to continue the combat.
“You will not have that female. She is not to be wasted on the likes of you,” the Mogrim rumbles in his most threatening voice.
Of course. Slaga has always wanted Emlee for himself. Doesn’t he know that she’s already my mate, that we are properly Espoused? No one will touch her besides me.
Okros throws back his head and laughs that grating laugh again. “You think an earthworm can stop me? I’ll have her until she dies.” He turns his head just a bit, clearly aware of my presence. “I hear she’s a tasty little morsel. Soft and tight.”
I dash forward blindly with my shield in front … and crash into Slaga. Okros has leaped again, onto the top of a building. His obnoxious laughter echoes through the arena. The crowd roars out, some booing, some chanting “Okros, the Pale Death” in several languages.
Then he’s attacked by several raptors, and it takes him a few moments to wrangle them down by their legs or wings, where he can kill them by twisting their necks.
Slaga pushes me up and away. Before I can react, he shouts, “Go slay that one, iron fool, and get your mate.” Perhaps I misjudged him. He holds out a beefy hand, and I pull him to his feet. We clasp hands, and then he lumbers away while readjusting his goggles, to take down a heavy Ditakian beelining for us.
Okros has finished killing the raptors that attacked him. He gives me a toothy grin and then jumps to another building, then lands on the ground at the base of the tower. I race to meet him with my shield, but he edges around to the other side. As I race around the side of the tower, I notice the walls are completely smooth some distance up, making it difficult to climb.
Raptors have settled on the top, probably on or next to Emlee’s cage. I hear her shouting, panic in her voice, the trembling that vibrates into my entire body and makes me fill with rage. Then a raptor flops onto the ground next to me with a wound in its breast. I kick it aside. Another raptor falls, its wing damaged, with a small spear through it. I recognize this object: it’s the shaft of Arvassa’s parasol.
My mate is bravely defending herself, but she’s lost her weapon. I have no time to ponder why a spear would be concealed in a parasol, but I thank the Ancestors for this unexpected blessing.
I round the tower base again, only to see that Okros has jumped on top of the nearest building. He then leaps straight for the middle of the tower where there are openings in the wall. And he makes another incredible leap, one that should be impossible even for the most athletic Ditakian.
The structure leans a bit under his weight. He had better not harm Emlee by damaging the flimsy, temporary construction. I race to the opposite side, mark a building, and climb to its roof. A few steps backward and I’m leaping at the tower, with a power in my legs I’ve never felt before.
Still, I hit the smooth part of the wall. Only the sharpness of my claws allows me to find purchase by stabbing into the material, some carbon composite. As I haul myself up, hand by hand, along with whatever Okros is doing, I can feel the tower shaking and shifting.
When I reach an opening, I haul myself up with frenzied strength. Pale yellow Ditakian feet disappear up the winding metal stairs that shake under heavy weight.
I push in to follow. A moment later the stairs are thrown down, and I narrowly avoid being hit in the head with a pile of collapsing metal.
33
Chapter 31
Emily
There are wounded people all around the ring, crying out in agony and fear, but I can’t do anything in this stupid cage. It’s like being at the scene of a mass shooting while it’s still going on and unable to help anybody, much less myself.
When Leefa took me away, I thought I’d be on the House Oloran stage again with Pylus. Instead, the guards used a flying platform to transport me to the center of the pit, where they tore my gown off and locked me in a wooden cage. I was on top of a tower, surrounded by small buildings. It was like a small town had been built in the ring practically overnight, and I was the naked main attraction.
Judging by the rising noise of the crowd, the arena is filling up with aliens who are excited to see a lot of death play out on the sand. Gadu’s announcements intersperse with commercials for all sorts of things, including snacks and beverages for the audience. Sounds like the assholes out there will be thoroughly refreshed while being entertained.
I’m allowed to keep the parasol. Even with it spread out over my head, the bright sun makes it hard for me to make out the figures on the stages. But I’m pretty sure Pylus is there, sitting impassively. And Sideran is on his big stage, looking pissy. Is this my punishment for rejecting him?
I’ve been stuck up here for hours while the audience filed in, judging by the growing crowd noise. Somebody could have put a roof on top of the cage, at the very least, because even the parasol can only do so much.
I couldn’t see him, but somehow I knew Viktor was at one of the gates, ready to rescue me. My joy at seeing him was ruined when the insanity and bloodshed erupted all around – unarmed people being slaughtered, animals running in fear, gladiators running toward the center but being cut down by other gladiators. And from the largest gate, a strange yellowish Ditakian strode out. Okros.
The only comfort I could take is that none of the animals could reach me. Probably. Seeing a few of the buildings fall apart doesn’t give me confidence in the general construction quality of this fake town.
At least Viktor was maintaining his spot at the head of House Oloran, behind his shield. From this angle I could see the triangle formation from above, with Gerakos bouncing on his feet in the middle like he’s on a pogo stick. As long as the team stayed together, they’d be okay.
They’ll do it. They’ll make it here without any casualties, Viktor will get me out of this cage, and maybe I can tend to a few wounded people before we try to escape.
Viktor is following D’jhago’s plan, staying with the team … until he sees Okros heading toward my location. He breaks off, and so does Slaga. Suriat yells fruitlessly at them and pushes a younger Ditakian to the front of the wedge. The team continues shuffling in my direction, but slowly.
Now I can only hope that Viktor gets to me before Okros does. I’d prefer to not be irradiated or assaulted.
While Viktor moves with some caution, Slaga walks at a faster clip than I’ve ever seen him move before. He rounds a corner on a surprised Ditakian, knocks him down with one strike, and takes the stunned gladiator’s sword and shield.
Some blessed shade passes over me, and I assume it’s the refs or maybe Sideran looking to taunt Viktor … but instead, giant ugly bird-dinosaur vulture things pile out in an explosion of harsh cries. Oh, great.
I get a good view of them when two hover over me, clearly checking me out as a potential meal. Although I can’t break out of this wooden cage myself, the beaks on these vultures would surely bite through the material like a knife through bread.
The cage shifts. Is the tower moving? Off in the distance I see one of the shorter buildings fall over, and I wonder how sturdy my tower is. This was all probably thrown together by drugged-out Raxu.
The vultures land on my cage and peck at each other and the bars. I shrink as small as I can, so they can’t stab me with their vicious strikes. They give off a rank smell, like rotten meat plus funky dandruff, but my fear overcomes my nausea.
Can Viktor get up here before the birds eat me, Okros climbs up, or the whole tower falls over and I’m crushed?
Okay, Emily, think. What can I do? The only things I have are my shoes and the parasol, which I’ve dropped on the cage floor.
I pick up the parasol, close it, and jab the end at one of the birds. The creature catches the fabric easily with its beak and tears at it. I won’t let this bastard buzzard take my only weapon, so I hold on for dear life. The fabric is completely ripped off, and the bird pulls on the wooden shaft. Something comes off, and I drop to the ground, curled in a ball, still gripping the handle.
The end of the shaft is pointy and tipped with metal. Why did Arvassa give me a parasol that converts to a spear, like a walking cane that turns into a sword?
Buzzard A, as I decided to call the parasol-eating bird, is pushing its gaping beak between wooden slats that are stretching under its fury. The other one is tearing at the roof of the cage. And the tower feels like it’s shifting, one way and then the other. I’ve been in a tall building in southern California during a mild earthquake, where the swaying was part of the design, but I don’t think this tower is up to code.
I stab the spear in Buzzard A’s chest, hard. It squawks out a horrible grating cry. With difficulty I wrench the shaft back. The vulture flops and falls off the side of the tower, which continues to move.
Now Buzzard B has gotten its head into the top of the cage. I lie on my back and stab the spear up, using my feet to brace against the slats. The frenetically clacking beak makes it impossible to get a good hit in, and it almost catches my weapon a few times. Desperately, I stab up through the top of the cage a few times and catch it in the upper wing. It flaps up and takes the spear with it, then falls off to the side. Hopefully Buzzard B is no longer in the game, because all I have left to fight with are small fangs and slightly thicker nails. I don’t want to try and bury my mouth in a nasty bird’s neck.
The point is moot because the tower is shaking underneath me, and there’s a metallic crashing noise. Have I survived this much bullshit just to die from shoddy construction?
Please, Viktor, please save me, I whisper, with my eyes closed tight.
“Female,” an unpleasant voice says.
I flatten myself against the opposite side of the cage from Okros. Somehow he’s climbed up and over the top of the tower. He’s a Ditakian for sure, but a strange-looking one with a sickly pale yellow color and a nasty face. Instead of the usual shoulder armor and kilt, he’s only got on a big white loincloth, like some barbarian in a fantasy movie.
He stops to wave out at the audience. No doubt the giant screens are showing it, because there’s a mix of cheering and booing.
“Should I take her now?”
The crowd grows louder. Um, excuse me? I am not going to be raped by a potentially radioactive barbarian in front of thousands of aliens. Not if I have anything to say about it.
Where is Viktor? I look around frantically and notice a few pieces of wood chewed loose from the cage by the buzzards. Pulling at them, I fail to get a good enough purchase to pull anything loose, either to make a hole big enough to escape through, or to get a long-enough splinter I could use as a weapon.
The tower shakes again. Okros turns, and I see gray hands with blue claws at the ledge of the tower. Viktor hauls himself up, glances at me with his fierce, flaming eyes, and bellows at Okros.
“Viktor! Your shield!” It’s Slaga’s voice calling up from the ground. A moment later, the heavy shield hurtles up in the air, and Viktor catches it neatly. He stalks forward with the shield in front of him, putting himself between Okros and my cage.
“You think that flimsy piece of metal will protect you?” the asshole sneers.
There’s a clicking sound and then the shield expands at the sides, making it even bigger around than it was before. “It will protect my mate,” he says, and crouches, getting as much of his huge muscular body as possible behind the shield.
Okros stretches his arms out wide, and his chest pushes out. A greenish-yellow beam, barely visible at first and then brightening, emerges right out of the seam in the center of his chest. What in the ever-loving fuck is he doing?
“Don’t move, Emlee,” Viktor says over his shoulder and charges forward. He bashes into Okros with his shield. The asshole falls backwards over the edge of the tower, eyes wide in surprise, and Viktor jumps down after him.
34
Chapter 32
Viktor
Okros has plummeted to the ground on his back. I’ll join him, because the shaky tower will be safer for Emlee without my weight on it. I pray to the Great Ancestors that the tower stays up long enough for me to finish this fight.
I jump off the tower and fall heavily on my feet. A month ago, a fall from this height would have left me with broken bones. I feel no cracking, no pain. Adrenaline may be playing a part, but it seems that Reversion has given me resilience well above the normal Ditakian. My tail helps with my balance too.
The beast is somehow not dead. He groans, sits up, and brushes sand off himself. I creep closer with my shield held around me, hoping it’s blocking his passive radiation.
“Are you ready to die by my hand, just like B’avur did?” He sneers.
I have to ask him why he did it. “Why did you kill him? We were only finishing up the Exhibition. You didn’t need to come out early and kill him.”
Okros gets to his feet. “Our masters struck a deal. Some of the Houses bet heavily on a wager that a gold Ditakian would die that day, and I made it happen. I didn’t charge extra for the bloody show.”
This hits me like a punch to the gut. Pylos set B’avur up to die? For money that he must’ve pissed away as fast as he got it.
Okros takes a step forward. “I hear that his widow is in debt. If Sideran bought her for me …”
I’m tired of hearing this shitty excuse for a Ditakian male make threats against the females I care about. He’s not going to get them. He’s not going to kill any more females ever again.
Okros steps forward again and swings a fist lazily at my head. I crouch behind the shield and block his blow.
“You realize, of course, that just being in proximity to me will kill you eventually.” Another blow hits my shield. “Even a Ditakian can’t take this level of radiation.” Then he strikes out with an open claw.
“If I die, I die.” I want Emlee to be safe and happy, the same for Leefa and her children. If I don’t live long after this, at least I’ve done my best for them.
