Page 97 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
I try to memorize our path, but this place is a maze. Every corridor looks the same. Except the one we’re in now.
One side of the hallway is lined with a translucent wall behind which rows of hydroponic crops grow. Hundreds of identical plants with glowing pink leaves bask under harsh artificial light.
“Nice!” I smirk. “Your boss doesn’t strike me as a vegan, but judging by all this lettuce, he’s hiding it well!”
One of the guards glances at me but doesn’t slow down.
“Keep joking. We’ll see if you’re still funny after you spit your teeth out in the Arena.”
We stop in front of a heavy composite door. One guard places his palm on a biometric reader. A beep, and the opaque surface dissolves into a shimmering field, revealing a vast training hall.
Inside, fighters are spread out. Some pound on suspended polymer dummies; others practice combos. The air is thick with sweat, tension, and silence—punctuated only by grunts and punches.
“Here’s your playground,” the guard says. “Fights start in four days. But hey, no promises you’ll make it that long. We pulled one corpse out just this morning.”
He gives me a light shove, inviting me to dive into the fun.
Some heads turn toward me. I instantly notice the variety of species—Humans, yes, but also Neroots, Varnaks, and even a Penubian.
I have no idea how the fights are set up, but I hope there’s at least some fairness. That skinny Neroot doesn’t stand a chance against the Srebat sitting alone in the back, silently observing.
Wait… a Srebat? My instincts tug me toward him.
He doesn’t move, but his gaze tracks me—piercing, predatory. Then I see them: his polar blue irises. Famous.
I freeze in front of him.
“Your name,” I snap.
He stands slowly, a nasty grin on his face.
“I’m the guy who’s going to feed you your own teeth,” he replies coolly.
He steps forward, his gait heavy, but there’s a slight limp—an injury he’s still recovering from. It’s him. No doubt. The Gekkar Creek medic said Nov was still healing a leg injury.
“You’re Noviosk,” I growl.
“The one and only. And you are?”
My brain short-circuits. I’m staring at the monster who caused Logan’s death—the former kingpin of Vagantu’s slave trade. I hate him with every atom in my body.
“My name’s Ayden,” I snarl as I launch myself at him.
I leap, fist cocked, rage pulsing in my veins. But Noviosk isn’t surprised. He sidesteps, grabs my arm, and slams me to the ground with brutal efficiency.
I lose my breath but roll and scramble back up.
Around us, the other fighters pause, caught off guard by the sudden clash.
“I don’t want to kill you,” he says.
“I don’t believe you! You let Logan die!”
He sighs, sounding genuinely weary.
“I didn’t kill him myself. But I didn’t stop it either. If you want a fight, I understand. But you’ll die. And I’d rather not add to Sam’s grief.”
My chest tightens. He knows Sam.
