Page 2 of Hooded

KLYNN

The Varangy expires with a rattle. I pull my sword out of his guts with a soggy metallic sound and wipe the blade on his clothing.

Killing is the one thing which makes my life bearable, not just because I enjoy it but because it is a balm to the memories I repress.

The enjoyment used to be secondary. It isn’t any longer. It is what drives me. Except, on this occasion, with a dome filled with enemies I could be slaughtering, instead I’m stalking the undercroft looking for…something.

If I get to kill while I’m searching, it’s a bonus.

I’m good with bonuses. All the other gladiators took theirs with a sneer of distaste, but I reveled in the kills I was paid for, the more inventive the better. I was always happy to offer advice if my patrons were unsure how to have their enemy dispatched.

And I was one of the gladiators most sought out for my skills. Not for me the soft bed with a female paying for my time. I lift my lips with a snarl at the very thought. Mating is not in my lexicon. Females are not creatures I have any interest in.

I helped my fellow gladiator and his mate out of a misplaced sense of duty which I still can’t shake. But Maxym will be able todo whatever he needs to do without me. In the meantime, I will find as many Varangy and Bogarok as I can to dispose of.

The dome is done, I know it in my bones. My singular ability to cause death in all manner of ways will not likely be appreciated elsewhere. Which means I need to kill until I’m killed this day. I always knew I was due to die here, even if I expected it to be on the arena floor. It is no matter. I will die anywhere.

But I will die.

And I will take as many others with me as I can.

A skittering in the dark captures my attention. From the smell, there is a Bogarok close by.

Give. Up.

Its words drop into my head in a way which makes the pain flare to the point I’m not sure I can move. It was bad enough when they first arrived, the agony rendering me unconscious in the arena until the next thing I knew I opened my eyes down here with a lump on my head the size of a pikrat.

Maxym’s work, no doubt. Although since then, the searing pain has disappeared unless one of the foul creatures attempts to communicate.

“Make me,” I growl into the darkness.

Another death will be welcome in this continuous march of destruction towards my inevitable ending.

The thing leaps at me, one leg glancing over my chest, ripping at the flesh. It’s nothing. I’ve had far worse and carried on in the dome until my blood had nearly run out. I shake my feathers and spin my sword in my hand. One of us will not survive this encounter.

It comes for me again, all legs and snapping jaws. I appreciate the species doesn’t rely on weaponry other than their size and limbs they use like spears, along with the venom and their crushing mandibles. Not many fight in this way.

Perhaps it’s time for me to follow suit.

I throw the sword away, and it rings out, metal on stone as it disappears into the gloom. I unsheathe my claws, which I’ve always kept deliberately long even if they occasionally impede my ability to use some weaponry in the dome.

If this is going to be my final fight, it will be a good one. It will be the best of the best.

I hear it coming for me before I see it. The elegant tapping of the spindly feet belie the damage they can cause…and have already caused. My blood is hot on my chest, dripping on the floor as I open my wings, beating down but not lifting off the ground.

The Bogarok descends on me, but I take out two of its legs as the jaws sear my shoulder. It totters, ungainly, before spinning with a dull roar, regaining its footing while the two legs are useless.

I have one more chance or it will kill me. One more chance to add another body to the litany of my kills.

It rushes at me, now more angry than calculating, and it is an error which it won’t make again. I duck down, and it is unable to stop its progress as I rake my claws through the soft part of its abdomen as it barrels over me. Sticky fluids drop, warm and stinking, as I roll out, no longer caring for my feathers.

Whether they work or not is immaterial. I am not flying today.

The Bogarok staggers on for a few more paces, lifting its head in a vain attempt to stay in the world of the living, but it’s no use. I know my enemy and that was a killing blow. The Bogarok slumps to the floor, legs collapsing under it as its innards leak towards me.

I am not dying here and now. My time is not yet up. I collect my sword and wipe it on my pants in a reflex action. The blade fizzes with the Bogarok venom.

Looks like there is still time to dispose of more before I have to hand over my sword permanently.

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