I rocked on my feet in agitation. That fuck should not be able to get away with this. 152 looked up when 667 began grunting in anger, waiting for his opponent. She stared at the champion, then tracked his gaze to the back of the stands. I watched as her eyes widened and her mouth dropped in shock. Then, as I hoped she would, she looked to the cage that held me. I could see the plea in her eyes.

She wanted me to do as Master demanded. She wanted me to live.

The sound of feet running up the tunnel drew my attention. 667 held his daggers in hand and took the first blow of his opponent’s spiked club. With his shoulder beaded by tens and tens of holes from the spikes, I knew he was doing as Master commanded.

He was giving the people a show.

I moved closer to the bars as 667 turned on the fighter. But just as he did, the fighter swung his club at 667’s head. It happened almost in slow motion before my eyes. 667, instinctively defending himself from the blow, ducked and struck out his daggers. Both long blades slipped like butter through the chest of his opponent.

667’s face blanched as he turned to watch the male fall, headfirst to the sand. The once excited crowd now groaned in disappointment. 667 turned his body to the stands just in time to see Master flick his wrist to the guard holding 667’s mona. A loud, pained roar left 667’s mouth as the guard, with no time to lose, sliced his blade across 667’s mona’s throat. Blood immediately burst free from the blond female’s neck and her eyes widened in a mixture of fear and shock.

The guard threw her crumbling body to the ground, leaning down to wipe his blade on her quickly soiling dress. My attention fixed back on 667 just as he jerked forward, a war cry wailing from his mouth. With only one focus in his eyes, he leapt into the lower levels of the stands, slaying anyone in his path as he fought to reach Master’s seat.

The crowd began to rush from their seats when, from the tunnel, 140 came sprinting out, axes held high. He charged across the bloodied sand, jumping over the slain fighter’s corpse.

My heart thudded in excitement at seeing the spectators running for the exits, my brothers spilling blood as they raced toward Master. Needing to help them, wanting to join them in taking the fucker down, I began roaring out in frustration. I turned and slammed my shoulder against the cell door. It didn’t move, and guards ran past my metal prison. Running toward the pit. Turning to face the bars showcasing the pit, I hit them with my blades. “Get me out!” I demanded, and looked up. When I did, fear wrapped around me. 667 was staggering, still rows from where Master sat … where he held 152 before him like a shield. A gunshot sounded. I realized that 667 had already been shot and was fighting to stay alive.

140, however, was still charging toward Master, the guards’ bullets missing his every move.

“No!” I screamed, seeing Master holding 152 toward where 140 approached. I was wild as I charged against the bars, sparks flying as metal clashed against metal. I wanted to take Master down. I wanted to punish him for using my female as a shield and for slaying 667’s mona.

667 staggered to his feet, riddled with bullets. But just as he did, a guard moved behind him and sent a bullet straight through his head. 140 never heard the shot that came for him. He raised his weapon, ready to strike Master, when another guard fired a bullet into the back of his skull. 140’s body stiffened as his skull splintered, and his body collapsed on the row of chairs beneath him.

The cacophony of fearful voices and the crowd’s screams were nothing compared to the roars pouring from my throat. The guards moved quickly, rounding up the crowd. Master’s spectators were forced back toward their seats. The head guard appeared seconds later with a mass of chiri. He hit them with batons as he commanded them to retrieve the slain bodies and remove them from the ring.

But my eyes stayed locked on Master as he released 152 to dust off his jacket like nothing had even happened. 152 was shaking, white in pallor as she swayed faintly on the spot.

Rushing down to the middle of the pit, Master held up his hands as his guards raised their guns high and forced the shaken crowd to listen. When they did, Master spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for that small accident.” He forced a smile that I could see straight through and said, “This is the Blood Pit. It is a death ring. Occasionally the fighters forget their place.”

He tried to speak again, but I clanged my blades louder on the bars, pacing back and forth as I shouted to let me the fuck out. Master didn’t look back at me. He continued talking, informing the crowd there would be a slight break before the final match: mine.

Movement from behind me made me turn, and I saw several guards at the cell door. “Shut the hell up!” one snarled, but that only poured fuel on my fury.

Clutching my blades, I charged the door. The guards jumped back, their guns held high. One of them held an unfamiliar gun toward my chest. When I backed away to charge again, something shot out from the gun and lodged inside my chest. I looked down to see that a small pellet had hit my skin. I looked back up, incensed at being shot. I moved my feet so I could lean and strike out at the guard, but my legs were suddenly leaden and my vision began to blur.

“Direct hit!” one of them shouted, as the world flipped to the side and I staggered until I hit the wall of the cell. I heard the sound of the lock sliding open. I saw the blur of several guards dressed in black filling the cell. Hands grabbed at my arms and dragged me from the cell and out into the hallway. My feet tried to find purchase on the sand beneath me, but my muscles struggled to work.

The guards dropped me to the floor. I hit the floor with a thud and blinked my eyes. My vision cleared some, but my movements were delayed, my limbs moving a second later than when I’d ordered them to.

The guards circled me, guns raised. I managed to push myself to a sitting position, just as two feet came into view. Two feet wearing black shoes.

It belatedly sank into my mind who those feet belonged to, as they struck out, slamming into my ribs. I fell to the sand, the coarse grains flicking inside my mouth. I spat out the sand and tried to sit up, but as I did, those feet kicked across my face. The taste of blood burst onto my tongue.

“You pathetic pieces of shit!” a voice snarled down to where I lay. It was Master’s voice. Fingers gripped my hair and ripped back my head. Master’s face swam in and out of focus as he glared at my face. “You all thought you could revolt?” he snapped lowly. “You thought you could best me in my own fucking pit?”

I tried to tell him to fuck off. That he dared hurt 152, dared put her in his fucking way, but nothing came out. Master’s hands let go of my head. It wanted to flop to the floor, but I fought to keep it held high. Master laughed down at where I lay, drugged and losing strength. “You think you can fight?” he asked sardonically. Master then looked at the guards. “Get the chiri to finish cleaning the stands and pit quickly.” He kicked me on the ground, then said, “Then get him into the tunnel. He will fight. And tonight, he will finally die.”

Master walked away and I lay on the hard sandy floor replaying his words in my head. Then get him into the tunnel. He will fight. And tonight, he will finally die … 152’s terrified face blasted to the front of my mind. Even drugged, I pushed my hands onto the floor and forced myself to sit up. My arms shook with the strain, but I held on as I saw 152 screaming when Master pushed her in front of him as 667 and 140 charged. Anger swirled in my stomach. I reached out my hands, feeling my blades lying beside me. Wrapping my hands around the handles, I felt better knowing I held cold steel in my hands. I had fought with these Kindjals for so long that I prayed my body would remember how to fight.

I had to make it to the final. I had to live for 152.

Moving my legs, I managed to push myself to stand, swaying as my legs almost gave way. I gritted my teeth as my head swam. Snickering and laugher rang out around me. The guards jeered as I stood, their voices sounding like tinny bells in my ears.

A whistle sounded from somewhere far away, and a hand was pushing me forward as I stumbled until I reached a tunnel. The tunnel was dark. My vision pulsed and shimmered with black spots when the light at the end scalded my eyes.

“Go!” a voice commanded. I kept my female’s face in my mind as I pushed my leaden feet forward. My shoulders banged off the walls as I staggered into the pit. The crowd was quiet when I walked through. I lifted my head, but the spectators were a blurred line in the darkness.