Page 22 of The Ballad of a Bard

“You know his name!” Zion called to them all. “You know his colour!” Once again, that three syllable cheer began up anew.

Red Lyric.

Crimson Bard, West thought.

Red Lyric.

The rose petals began to fall again, as red as the fresh blood that had been split here tonight, as red as the more to come would be.

Red Lyric.

A twenty something year old girl, trying to survive in a cruel world that dealt her a shit hand from the get go. That was pity for her, deep down. For the girl that never truly enjoyed a childhood, that had to give away her life by the day for someone that should have been a brother, a sibling,nota son.

Red Lyric.

“Are you ready to witness another fast round?”

The crowd deafeningly screamed in answer, multiple versions of the same confirmation over and over again, until nothing else could be heard over it.

“Are you ready to see his one hundredth match?”

The yelling was abhorrent, loud and a parallel to a head wrecking ruckus that West had never heard before in his entire, immortal life.One hundredrounds, though. If he was correct about Crimson and her secret identity, that meant thatshe’dfought, and won, one hundred different rounds in the arena.

He couldn’t deny that he was mildly impressed.

He couldn’t even deny that she was more than decently attractive. Gorgeous, he even dared to think to himself. But that sort of interest wasn’t something he’d ever pursued, no matter how distractingly stunning the mortals were. Even half Saints, it wouldn’t end well.

So he never bothered to try.

Never wanted to try.

“I give you,RED LYRIC!” The announcer cried out and whipped his hand towards the closed entrance. The gate rumbled open to reveal her small figure standing there, already palming both of her deadly knives.

West kept his eye on her, focusing as he slipped past a handful of people and into the gate before it had the chance to shut andtrap him out. The metal bars swung shut and he watched from the inside of the darkened hallway as she started the round.

As quick as lightning, Red Lyric struck.

The clash of metal filled the stadium with cheers rising up every now and then as they fought. She dodged a well placed swipe from her opponent, who was at least a foot taller than she was. The man was monstrous in size, and for a moment, West became concerned that she might not walk out of this round alive.

His hands came up to the bars, grasping them lightly as she jumped back. Her footwork was incredible, almost as if she’d studied under the Warrior himself. Even the way she rode the breeze seemed to be stolen from the Saint. Red Lyric added a slice to her opponent’s face, a growl erupting from his vermillion mouth as he charged for her like a raging bull.

He almost cracked his large head on the guarding rail as she avoided his attack. Her legs moved and she was like a leaf in the wind, switching positions within a matter of seconds. The man stopped just inches before the wall, fumbling to brace himself before spinning around and hurdling for her once more. Anticipation was heavy in the thick air, reeking of sweat and mead as she hit his crossed axes. Her toned arms shook with something that wasn’t quite restraint but she managed to push him back a couple of feet with a thrust and a grunt.

A sound that was high for a man.

No one else seemed to notice, though.

West didn’t notice that he gripped the bars even tighter now. This match was taking longer than the previous one.

Was she struggling?

Why hadn’t she taken him down yet?

There had been several openings that she could have, if she wanted to. He watched as she fell to her knees and rolled, just asher opponent tried to lop off her pretty head with a swing of his axe.

Lyric’s scarlet hood seemed to waiver with the motion, nearly coming off. She kicked the back of his ankle and he went down, losing his grip on both of his axes. She rose behind him like a stealthy panther. The black cowl only added to that fascinating illusion. He didn’t see her coming, must not have heard the footsteps as she approached him.

Fifteen minutes had gone by, and she still hadn’t finished the match. Money was being passed around faster than he could count, last minute bets landing on the massive male that scrambled to find his weapons. His fingers happened across the handles, and then it was all over for him. She leaped into the air, flipping her right knife around until it plunged straight into his back.

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