Page 100 of A Dagger in the Ivy

He turns from me to the crowd, and the noise is ear-splitting. With his jaw rigid, Torbin lifts the potion into the air for everyone to see and then brings the vial to his lips. As he tips back the potion into his mouth, the tension in the air crackles with dark energy. Torbin bends forward with a gasp, and then his form begins to shift and contort, his muscles bulging. The carnoraxis around us seem to sense the change, their manic movements escalating into a frenzy of flailing limbs and unearthly wails.

My heart pounds erratically, the edges of my vision blur, and I struggle to swallow the lump forming in my throat. My hands tremble, fingers twitching involuntarily, as a cold sweat breaks out across my skin. It feels like the ground beneath me might give way at any moment, and I’m rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from Torbin.

It’s a scene straight out of a nightmare, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurks within the shadows. And as I watch, a sense of foreboding settles over me like a heavy cloak, whispering of dangers yet to come. The men under Torbin’s command drum the ends of their spears against the ground, creating a thunderous rumbling to fill the space.

Torbin is handed a whip, which he loops in one hand. He then leaps into the pit with a terrifying agility, his eyes locked on to his prisoners. The potion’s effects are evident in the way his muscles ripple with unnatural strength. He stands tall, his expression menacing. “Fight!”

The whip cracks, and the men in the pit regard each other with trepidation. When neither of them moves, Torbin pitches his arm, andthe whip snaps hard against the back of one of the men. He cries out, but his eyes lock on Torbin’s threatening form.

The men immediately shift into fighting stances, having no choice but to take part in Torbin’s sick challenge.

The fight begins with a flurry of punches and kicks. The first man, who is tall and bald, attempts to land blows with all the strength and speed he can probably muster. For a moment, it seems he might hold his own. He ducks and weaves, landing a solid punch to the other man, who is a half a head shorter and has a dirty-blond mullet.

The blond man shakes off the punch, readjusting his footing, and then lunges forward with surprising agility, driving his shoulder into the taller man’s midsection. The force sends the bald man stumbling back, his breath knocked out of him. He struggles to regain his balance, his chest heaving as he gasps for air. But the blond man doesn’t give him a chance to recover. With a fierce determination in his eyes, he follows up with a quick, brutal kick to the side of the bald man’s knee, sending him crashing to the ground with a pained grunt.

The crowd around the pit erupts in jeers and shouts, but I can hardly hear them over the pounding of my heart. My eyes are locked on the two men, their movements becoming more desperate, more savage, as they fight for their lives. The bald man, now on his knees, swings wildly, trying to fend off the relentless attack. His punches lack the power they had moments ago, each one weaker than the last as the blond man easily dodges or blocks them.

The blond man’s face twists into a grimace of determination, and he seizes the opportunity, driving his fist into the bald man’s jaw with a sickening crack. The taller man crumples to the ground, dazed and struggling to lift his head. The blond man stands over him, breathing heavily, his knuckles bloodied and raw.

Torbin’s voice cuts through the chaos, cold and commanding. “Finish it!”

The bald man’s cheeks are stained with blood and tears, his shoulders sagging in defeat as he waits for the final blow.

But the blond man takes two steps back, heaving for breath. And heglares at Torbin with clenched teeth. “No.”

Torbin’s jaw twitches. “Think carefully about what you say.”

“I won’t do it. I… can’t.”

The bald man glances up at Torbin with a glimmer of hope, desperation etched into every line of his face.

Torbin lashes out with his whip. The crack is so loud, I fear my eardrums have burst. Just when I think my ears have recovered, the whip cracks again. And again.

Torbin stands over the man, whose wounds shine in the firelight. The whip’s leather is soaked.

“I said,finish him!” Torbin kicks the man in his abdomen.

The man is bent in half, his hands pressed to his ribs. But Torbin doesn’t seem to care. He throws down the whip and pounces, moving with the speed and power of a carnoraxis. His fists fly, and his strikes land with bone-crushing force. The man stumbles, his resolve faltering as Torbin’s blows rain down on him.

But Torbin’s laughter rings out, cold and mocking. He backs away from the bloodied man, his fists dripping crimson. “If you want it to stop, you will obey.”

The blond man struggles to his feet, surely driven by sheer terror of another attack from Torbin.

I watch in horror, my heart pounding in my chest. The bald man rises, and I think perhaps he’s gained a second wind, that the beating the blond man endured motivated him to carry on.

The blond man hesitates for only a fraction of a second, then his expression hardens. He raises his fist, preparing to finish the job. My stomach churns with dread as I watch, powerless to stop what’s about to happen, and the weight of the situation crashes over me like a wave.

When the blond man flies toward him, punching, the bald man’s efforts become more desperate. But he’s too weak. The blond man’s relentless assault takes its toll. With a final, devastating blow, the blond man sends the bald man sprawling to the ground, bloodied and broken.

But not dead. And Torbin wants him dead.

Torbin stands over the fallen opponent, his chest heaving withexertion. He bares his teeth and a growl of a cry fills the air as he lifts his leg and smashes his foot down on the bald man’s head. As the force hits the man’s skull, it shatters with a loud, crisp crack, sending chunks of matter flying in all directions. The inner flesh bursts open, a vibrant explosion of deep red and pink, spilling out in a thick, wet splatter. The bright-red blood sprays outward, glistening in moonlight as it soaks into the ground. Pieces of bone are flung out with the chunks, dotting the mess like small, scattered pebbles.

The onlookers shrink back in terror, their hope extinguished. I can feel the bile rise in my throat, my fists clenched in helpless rage. Dante stands beside me, weak but conscious, his jaw tight with fury.

A triumphant grin spreads across Torbin’s face. “This is the fate that awaits any who resist to join me,” he announces, his voice echoing in the night. He turns to the blond man. “Succumb to the transformation, or face the same fate as this wretch.”

On the side of the pit, two of Torbin’s men lower a wooden ladder into the pit. Torbin pulls the blond man up by his arm, and I swear he’s going to tear it out of its socket.

---