Page 117 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
“The rules are simple! Two fighters. One survivor.
Forty warriors will enter the arena. That gives us twenty matchups. Twenty chances for each of you to strike it rich!”
He pauses, letting the tension rise.
“And to spice things up a bit, we’ve installed a weapons rack at the center of the arena. Curved blades, daggers, clubs, light axes… Each fighter may choose his preferred tool before the duel begins. It’s up to him to make the best use of what’s available. Bets start at one hundred credits per pair. But if you bet on a kill with the first blow… your payout is tripled!”
I’m being eaten alive by worry for Ayden.
I saw most of the warriors in the hangar—but not all. A guard had said that anyone eliminated before tonight’s event would be replaced.
From my seat, I spot the Penubian—relaxed as ever, like he’s about to join a leisure match. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about what’s to come.
“And now,” Danuk declares grandly, “let me show you tonight’s reward for the last survivor of the arena!”
Two guards grab me roughly by the arms and force me to stand, turning me toward the crowd.
“At the end of the fight, the winner will enjoy this lovely Human!”
My heart clenches. My throat tightens.
I freeze, arms pinned by the guards, displayed like some trophy.
“You’re disgusting,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“You’ll change your mind. Maybe you didn’t notice—but the winner only gets you for one night. After that… I’ve decided to keep you for myself a little longer. You’ll enjoy it, you’ll see.”
I shut him out. His vile words. His smug face. Because the random draw has begun.
Names start flashing on the screen suspended over the arena.
Cries of excitement erupt in the stands.
The betting starts.
The first fight kicks off. Two men, mismatched in size—but apparently that doesn’t matter here.
The bigger one grabs a hatchet. His opponent chooses a long knife.
Without waiting, the brute charges, pumped by the cheers. He throws his weapon with full force. The hatchet spins through the air and sinks hard into the other man’s chest. He collapses backwards.
The crowd roars… only to groan when the man stumbles back up, still alive. The second blow finishes him. Winners cheer and cash in.
I clench my teeth, sick to my stomach and terrified for Ayden.
His name is called next. My breath catches in my throat as I see who he’s up against. Ralf. Donald’s sidekick. He rushes to pick his weapon first—a long-bladed dagger—and grins, clearlypleased. Ayden grabs a knife, then looks up at me with a calm, steady gaze, like he’s trying to reassure me.
The fight begins with Ralf lunging in. Ayden dodges and counters, slicing a clean line across Ralf’s forearm. I can’t watch. I turn away, heart pounding.
The crowd leaps to its feet. One of them is down.
“Ah, looks like your favorite made it through,” Danuk comments smugly.
I sag in my chair with relief.
In the arena, Ayden calmly wipes his blade before returning it to the table. Then he rejoins the other fighters.
I can’t take my eyes off him. Eventually, he looks up at me too, concern written all over his face.
