Page 49 of Faithless
“Quit trying to be a good guy,” I muttered. “There’s no way for both of you to leave the pit alive. You want to be merciful, end it quickly for him.”
With blood pouring down his face and a look of malice that wasn’t there before, the ax wielder recovered and swung again. He was wild and uncoordinated now, sloppy. The swordsman dodged his friend’s attacks easily, the hurt and anger in his eyes morphing into a grim determination. He waited until the axes finished another wide, lateral swing, then drove his sword through the other man’s ribs.
The swordsman had clearly aimed for the heart in a valiant attempt to make his friend’s death quick and painless. But he was off by several inches, and the man at the business end of his weapon would remain very much alive for a few minutes.
All the gladiators watched with grim silence as the two men crumpled to the sand together. One dying and being cradled in his killer’s arms, the other with his head bent low and probably whispering all manners of regrets and apologies. We’d all seen it before. This was the consequence of getting attached to anyone.
The swordsman pulled his weapon free and, with a shaking hand, stabbed his friend again to end his suffering. My respect for him went up even higher as I watched the ax wielder finally go limp. Most wanted to hold on, to prolong their final moments with loved ones for as long as possible. He gave his friend one final kindness and sent him to a quick death.
A rough pat on my shoulder came from the Ghost. “You’re up next, Butcher boy. Carve us up some steaks.”
“Yeah.” I shrugged his hand off and rolled my shoulders, then my neck.
While waiting for pitmasters to carry off the body and escort the last fighter from the sands, I pulled my machetes from their sheaths and rotated my wrists around to warm them up. Tezca rubbed the length of his body against my legs, circling me tightly. He usually came out to fight with me, mostly because no one wanted to deal with trying to corral the jaguar who’d killed a dozen of us. Every pitmaster that attempted to got a nasty bite or a scratch. One even got a bad infection in his hand and had to stop working.
The jaguar got free rein of the colosseum, a privilege even most of the employees didn’t have.
Outside under the floodlights, the crowd had quieted down to a murmur. They were probably still reeling over the shock of the Animal’s death. By the next fight though, they’ll have moved on and picked a new favorite. We were expendable like that, going up and down in value like my grandfather’s baseball cards.
Once the fighters were gone and the bloody sand had been quickly raked over, the gates in front of me swung open, and the audience exploded with new life.
The noise was deafening, even down where I was. I raised one machete in the air, turning around so everyone got a chance to see my face. Maybe I smiled, I didn’t know. Putting on the act of a crowd-pleasing entertainer had worn thin for me. I was on autopilot for this shit. My singular focus was getting through this fight to live another day.
For what, I didn’t know exactly. Tezca said change was coming, and I had to believe him. The talking jaguar god had been at my side for months. Despite more of the same since his arrival, I had to believe him. If I didn’t, what else did I have to live for?
As I hit the center of the sand pit, I lowered my eyes from the stadium seats to the VIP boxes on the ground level. These were the resort guests who dropped a year’s salary at my old job to get the best views.
The VIP boxes were protected by a half-wall barrier, armed pitmasters, and tempered glass windows. Gladiators weren’t allowed guns, but it wouldn’t surprise me if that glass was also bulletproof.
My eyes stopped on a woman behind the glass. Short, blonde hair in soft waves hit the edge of her jaw, showing off a graceful neck and slender shoulders. It was the same woman from the elevator, the one who had a personal appointment with me in a couple of days.
She sat a few feet away from her male companion, who I still wasn’t convinced was her husband. They weren’t talking or looking at each other, just staring blankly out at the sand. That honestly wasn’t unusual with many of the resort guests. Many of the couples seemed to only tolerate each other, at best.
The woman’s eyes caught mine, and our stares locked for a single, electrifying moment. She moved first, raising her glass a few inches as she mouthed, Good luck.
I jerked my chin down in a quick nod before turning to face the gates my opponents would come out of. By now, she must have heard other guests talking about me, or more specifically, my skills that had nothing to do with fighting. If she were anything like the others, she probably hoped I’d live through this fight just so our session wouldn’t be canceled. These elite types all thought they were gods, after all. Everything on earth existed to serve them.
But damn. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to miss that appointment either. Just like when I first saw her come down the elevator, I got a different feel than the other guests. Some buried part of me dared to wonder if our time together would be different too, if even fun.
God knew I was fucking tired of the same old shit. Both on the sands and in bed with the guests.
The far gate lifted slowly, and I gave another quick swing of my wrists to make my machetes dance. I never knew ahead of time what would come out of that dungeon. No one did, except the pitmasters scheduling the fight.
My heart sank at the sound of low growls and then a series of barks. I fucking hated killing animals in here. At least gladiators understood what they were getting into. These were likely stray dogs that had been rounded up, starving and aggressive out of pure necessity.
The pack shot out in a streamlined formation, running until they formed a circle around me and Tezca. These pups were hungry alright—their ribs on display and bodies scarred from previous fights.
Tezca and I faced opposite ends of the circle. I knew his back was arched and heard his feline warning growl over the dogs. He’d take care of a few while I carved up the rest.
What a fucking waste.
The first dog lunged for my leg, and I swung low. As the two halves of its body separated and the top half went rolling across the sand, another dog jumped, its teeth aiming for my neck. I swung the machete in my opposite hand, sending the dog’s head flying like a soccer ball across a field.
It was a brutal dance of carnage, one that I hated with every fiber of my being. But the crowd loved it, and it was partly because of their passion that I continued to live. They stood from their seats, chanting,“But-cher! But-cher! But-cher!”
When I was finished, dogs lay slaughtered in pieces all around me andonme. I would have done anything for a private moment to throw up and take a shower, but I had more fighting to do.
I had barely caught my breath when the gate opened again, and a huge beast of a man came running straight for me. He wore a helmet that looked like something those medieval knights wore and spiked armor from his wrists to his shoulder. To complete the medieval getup, his weapons were two spiked maces. The man was pale, filthy, and I didn’t have to speak to him to know he was half-crazed.
