Page 69 of Hell's Secret Omega

On Cyrus’s other side, the scarred demon roars with laughter. “The rat has teeth.”

“Don’t call me that,” Cyrus hisses.

“Come on, now. You’reourlittle rat. Even though you got Sabinus killed.”

“Sabinus was an arrogant idiot.” The first demon licks the smear of ichor off his hand. “The rest of us earned our place by cutting throats, not sneaking around. How do we know the rat isn’t spying on us, too?”

“I say we give him a chance.”

“Isay we make him prove himself.”

Cyrus stiffens.So this is it.His eyes seek out Claudius. But he’s not a fool. Claudius isn’t the leader of the Grey Company any more than Sabinus was—if enough of them want him dead, or left on the wayside, Claudius won’t help him.

But surely they’ll let Ekko go free.

The demon with the scar leans in. “You want some of your own back, rat? Or would you rather scuttle back into the cracks like your namesake?”

“Fine!” Cyrus squares his shoulders. Exhausted at being treated as lesser-than, and his rage bubbles up into words before he can stop it. “You want me to prove myself? Name your terms.”

The second demon bursts into laughter again, and they both grab him by the arms.

“Oh, it’s not me who’ll be talking terms,” says the scarred one. “We got our challenge, Claudius!”

Claudius looks back. Cyrus stiffens, waiting for him to say something.

“Well, good,” is all Claudius says. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 39

CYRUS

Sickness sloshesaround Cyrus’s stomach. His words were pure bravado. He doesn’t want to prove himself. He’s sick to death of proving himself.

He’s never challenged anyone. Tokillsomeone, to send their soul into the void—even in the tournament of souls, when his very existence depended on it, he couldn’t bring himself to kill. He survived by hiding, sneaking, watching.

The coward’s way.

Even now, could he kill to save himself? Fight for his very life, slice open someone’s neck and let their ichor pour onto the stone?

No,the voice of doubt whispers.Please, no.

They reach the mid-levels. The grand doors to the training yard open, and Cyrus’s stomach drops. On the far side of the yard, bound and furious, is Magnus himself.

“Time to get your revenge,” says the demon on his right, the one who wanted to give him a chance.

He marches Cyrus into the middle of the yard. Grey daylight suffuses everything, flattening the scene like the veil of a dream. Cyrus’s ichor slows to a sluggish crawl in his veins. Demonsfrom the Grey Company step into the yard, a lot more than there seemed to be on the trip here.

Claudius and another demon drag Magnus forward. Claudius’s expression is grim.

“Weapons are your choice,” he says to Cyrus, curt.

“But I’m the challenger,” Cyrus says dumbly, his mouth working before his brain can catch up.

Claudius gives him a pitying look. “I said they’re your choice, Lieutenant Cyrianus.”

What can he choose? A sword will only give Magnus an advantage—Cyrus has never held a sword in his life. A mace is heavier than a hunk of rock—he’d barely be able to lift it. A pike will leave him lethally unbalanced.

“Bow,” he says at last, and Claudius scowls.

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