Page 44 of Forging Darkness

If I thought the roar of the crowd was loud before, it’s deafening now. The intensity slams into my chest like a physical blow, forcing me back. Silver shoves me forward, and I catch myself on a carved, waist-high railing. When I lift my gaze, terror shoots through me in a hot flash. I’m on a balcony in a coliseum, surrounded by hundreds, maybe thousands of enemies. They litter the multiple tiers that ring an oval-shaped pit in the middle.

The shred of hope I’ve clung to dissolves into nothing.

Silver slides next to me, unbothered by the sun’s rays. A small smile lifts the corners of her blood-leeched lips. She turns her head slowly to me, and her fangs elongate as her smile turns into a chilling, Joker-like grin.

“Welcome to Whitehold,” she says evenly. “Let the games begin.”

Chapter Fourteen

The arena below is empty, but the black blood staining the white sand floor suggests it hasn’t been that way for long. My mind whirls with possible scenarios of what goes on down there—none of them anything less than horrifying.

“What is this?”

“Are you daft? I just told you—games. We’ve made it just in time for the best part.”

I can only hear her because the crowd has simmered down.

The sly look in Silver’s eyes does nothing to calm me. She’s anticipating my reaction to whatever is yet to come, which makes me more than a little leery.

I jump when horns blare, creating angry waves in the air that sweep across the coliseum in broad strokes. The creatures renew their shrieks and roars. I cringe, which I’m sure makes Silver happy.

The atmosphere is a blur too messy to see through until there’s a clang of metal striking metal. A detonation in the middle of the arena below throws a gust of wind outward in all directions, blowing my hair back and clearing the static from the spectrum air, despite the ruckus.

A lone figure appears in the center of the arena, clad from head to toe in silver armor that gleams in the midday light. He stands tall while the mass of creatures in the tiered seats goes wild.

A slight glow of an aura surrounds him. It’s weak, so I squint my eyes, straining to make sense of the hazy image below. I’ve never seen an aura like it. It carries the white glow of an angel-born, but is mixed with veins of darkness. Light and dark pulsate at different intervals, battling each other. Forsaken don’t have auras and humans can’t phase into the spectrum world, so I can’t wrap my brain around what I’m seeing.

A sliver of trepidation takes root and anchors in my gut as the minutes tick by and the Forsaken whip into a frenzy. They pound on their seats while jumping up and down, letting loose awful, ear-bleeding screams.

My fingers tighten on the cold stone beneath my hands. Snow has collected on my hair and shoulders, and my breath fogs in front of my face after every exhale. Terrified I’m about to watch an execution, gladiator-style, my gaze stays glued to the unmoving figure and his warring aura.

A soft drum-beat starts up, thumping rhythmically, and it isn’t long before all the Forsaken are stomping along. Their blows shake the whole structure. The vibrations travel up my legs and rush down my arms. The rhythm pounds in my chest as the drumming becomes so furious there aren’t any pauses between beats. And then as if a switch is flipped, everything stops. It’s utterly silent.

The Forsaken have frozen and seem to be holding their collective breath. The crowd is motionless. I search for movement to make sure I haven’t stepped into a time-stalled reality. The purple snowflakes lazily dropping from the sky are the only indication that the world is still moving forward. Even Silver has gone eerily immobile next to me.

Chains rub against each other as gates around the periphery of the arena floor rise. I can see six from where I’m standing, though I’d guess there are eight in total. The clank of each link booms around the coliseum.

The tunnels yawn open, black holes that devour the light.

Dark gray mist slithers out, making short work of gobbling up the white sand floor.

Too busy watching the fog creep across the arena to notice movement from the tunnel, I’m caught unaware when the crowd roars back to life. Releasing a yip of surprise, I stumble away from the balcony railing.

Silver’s gaze flicks in my direction before she looks skyward, shaking her head. I scurry back to the overlook.

Eight gray-skinned beings—both male and female—stride toward the man in the middle of the arena. They’re easily a foot taller than the warrior they march toward, and even from this distance, I can tell the fighter in the silver armor is no shorty.

The dark fog churning below drips off these creatures like water off melting icicles.

Their only armor is hardened leather shells that cover their chests, leaving their arms bare save the weapons and shields some of them carry. Thick capes drag behind them at odd angles.

Wait—those aren’t capes.

My breath catches as my eyes widen.

Wingsflow from each of the creature’s backs, skimming the ground behind them as they advance. The feathers range in hue from muddy brown to pitch black.

Snapping my gaze up, I scan the coliseum, noticing other winged creatures dotted in the crowd among the Forsaken.

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