Page 174 of Bloodguard

These creatures don’t eat their prey. They mutilate it. They hunt larger animals, and they win. And instead of killing what they catch, they use the spikes on their hooves to shred the body alive.

As their prey squirts hot blood, they slurp with their long tongues until the body is dried.

Their victims die crying, begging, or screaming—usually a combination of all three—maniacal laughter the last sound they hear. Well, maybe it’s wrong to say that. In all fairness, they’re not really laughing. That’s just their deeply disturbing whinny.

Most are female. Males only appear to mate and are devoured by the females the moment they dismount.

Damn it, why can’t I face cave boas or wraithions? Even giant leeches would be preferable tothis.

It’s best not to focus on that, so I don’t, my attention falling to the ground. That’s when it hits me. It’s the arena floor that’s different.

That sickly brown color from years of blood soaking through the sand is gone. But more than that, the sand lies and feels different, too. It’s groomed flat with a pattern to it, starting from the crates and radiating inward toward the center of the circle.

The ground feels deeper than before, my feet sinking slightly with every step. What else? My attention drops to the grooves in the sand, searching for anything I can use to my advantage. The harsh sunlight makes it difficult to see, but what I do make out is significant.

Between the crates, thick lines stretch to the perimeter of the circle. They’re hiding something down there to use against me. It’s why they needed more sand.

I look up to Maeve in the stands and flash her a wink. I don’t want her scared, even though I can see the fear in her taut features from here.

But fear aside, if I win, I’m going to bring this whole establishment down.

I came here of my own free will. There will be no help today. No collusion with Maeve ahead of time to assist me. No hints or warnings. Today, I’ll rise or fall by my own merit, and the thought strengthens me.

I cannot fail. I must win.

For myself.

For Maeve.

For Arrow.

I think of the gladiators in the barracks, the poor people in parts of this city who suffer because of Soro and the abusive royals who serve him.

It’s time for change.

And that change begins with me.

A smile as slick as poison cuts across Soro’s face as the music changes tempo. The lord behind him—Ugeen, I think—is dressed head-to-toe in pink, his bald head providing the finishing touch on his dick costume. He clears his throat and takes over speech duty. Soro leans forward in his seat as if he can’t wait to see what happens next.

The underling begins, his voice as loud as Soro’s, puffed-up chest suggesting a twisted sense of pride in his role in today’s proceedings. “The Bloodguard match today is unlike anything Old Erth has ever seen. Created specifically for this ultimate battle and engineered by thebestin the land, this is a test of power, agility, and wit.” He smiles and puffs himself up even further, feigning importance beyond his station. “In each crate, a different opponent awaits. Will the gladiator win or fall?”

“Fall!” the crowd in the Noble Ring shouts. They cheer as if I’m not standing right here. To them, I’m merely an insect to dispose of, incapable of escaping a spider’s web. But the spider is just another pest—like Soro—that I’m more than capable of squashing.

The lord shifts his weight. The crowd ceases their chatter, permitting him to speak. “The entirety of this match will take place within the red ring at the center of our arena. Once the match begins, the gladiator will not survive any attempts to leave it. He will circle the inner perimeter, moving to the speed of the music.”

This really is a sick fucking game to them.

The sunbeams stretching across the light-blue sky have intensified, heating the sand at my feet. Sweat dribbles down Ugeen’s forehead. “When the music stops, the gladiator must also stop. Whichever crate he stands before is the one he’s to open and face the contents of. The gladiator may not stop in front of a previously opened crate or an empty space. It’s only during combat that the gladiator has free rein in the circle and the musical requirement does not apply. Some will be easy kills…” He clears his throat. “Others will not. The decision falls to the gladiator. Choose life as a victor or death in disgrace.”

Stop in front of crate, open crate, kill contents of crate.Not too complicated.

Soro grins like a spoiled child, as if the contents of these crates were a gift to him personally.

“Should the music stop while the gladiator remains between crates, he’ll die a miserable death and maggots will feast on his flesh.”

What the hell is this shit?

“You may fell your enemies in whichever order you desire”—Ugeen glares down at me now—“and as befits the generosity of our revered kingdom, the gladiator may choose whether or not to engage the opponent or opponents within his final crate.”

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