Page 69 of Tricked By the Alien Prince

The grandstands erupt in screams. Winged creatures swoop down at the crowds, some spectators ducking while others draw weapons that glitter in the bright lights.

“Next time someone asks to go on an adventure, I’m going to say no,” Melvall gasps as he tries to catch his breath at my side.

“I think this is my fault,” I mutter. My hack worked a little too well—I’d only meant to open our cell doors, but I must have triggered every electronic lock in the facility. I’m no longer freezing in terror, but my stomach twists with guilt at the pandemonium I’ve caused.

“It’s not your fault,” Zoran replies, throwing his arms in the air. As if mimicking him, each one of the birds attached to his body also flaps their wings, sending him reeling. I have to hand it to him, I’ve never seen someone fight while covered in birds that are using him as their personal perch. “It’s clearly all Melvall’s!”

“Mine?” Melvall asks, eyes darting around the arena, the blue spikes along his arms bristling.

“You kept insisting there had to be an easier way to get medicine!” Zoran reminds him as he bats off an overly excited rock bird. The creature’s wings scrape against his skin with a sound like sandpaper on stone. “I said we should just fight, but no… you wanted to go stalking about in dark tunnels like a… a stalker!”

My lungs feel like they are on fire, each breath scraping against my throat. The dusty scent of the arena sand, acrid and sharp, fills my nostrils as I drag in deep breaths. The last few days of continuous running are really starting to catch up with me. I’m definitely making my friends sign up with me for some sort of fitness class after this. “Maybe we should deal with your bird situation, Zoran?”

“Oh,” Zoran looks down at himself. He gives a little shake. None of his passengers budge. “Turns out they’ve got quite the strong grip.”

“I told you not to touch them, but did you listen to me? No,” Melvall shakes his head. The blue fins across his body stand upright, sharp edges bristling. “Just like you never listen to me about how it’s not a good idea to charge into a battle pit head first!”

Behind us, shrieks echo from the tunnel we’ve just emerged from. The sound sends vibrations rippling through my chest. I don’t have to look to know what’s chasing us—the shreem bear. A fluffy, cuddly-looking thing, bright as cotton candy, but nowhere near as sweet. It’s absolute nightmare fuel.

“Don’t you two ever stop bickering?” I ask with a rueful twist of my lips. I’m about to die, and I’m with companions who somehow are more focused on making digs at each other than their looming deaths. “We really should be having this discussion later. You know, like, when we aren’t being chased and there’s not a bear about to eat us?”

The ground literally trembles beneath my feet as if to emphasize my point. Small pebbles dance across the sand like tiny jumping beans. The arena wall above us casts a shadow, blocking some of the glare from the overhead lights. At least I can clearly see the massive gates that line the pit’s walls, and how each is now open wide, spilling all manner of creatures into the arena.

What a pleasant view; just what I’ve always wanted to see.

“Right,” Zoran declares, coming to attention. At least, as much attention as one can when covered in birds. “Time to fight our way out of here.”

I grit my teeth. “I don’t suppose you’ve gotten any ideas? Preferably one where we don’t all die?”

“I mean, I do usually just charge in,” Zoran says, his green cheeks darkening, “and it mostly works out.”

“Mostly?” Melvall scoffs. Then his eyes go wide. “I don’t think we are going to get much of a choice in this matter...”

I turn, stomach sinking to my toes. Across the other side of the fighting pits, a large gate screeches open. The heavy metal bars are being pushed by something large, the sound of metal grinding against stone setting my teeth on edge.

“Oh come on, just get it over with already!” I wheeze at the gate as it swings open, tauntingly slow. The damn thing is mocking my already strung nerves. Could it honestly go any faster? It’s like being stuck behind a hover car on the freeway going 60.

The ground rumbles. From behind the other side of the gate, a singular, long tentacle emerges. It lands upon the ground and unfolds with a sickening squelch. Hundreds of tiny little tentacles fan out from the main one, spreading across the ground like roots from a tree, but slick with mucus that glistens under the arena lights.

“Oh, gross,” I say. I mean, what else can be said? I’m beyond terrified now. Fear is just a dull hum at the back of my mind, persistent but no longer paralyzing. I’m beyond that point now.

And then a second tentacle appears. Then another. The appendages drag a massive worm-like body forward, tearing up the ground and sand in the process. The stench hits me—something between rotting meat and stagnant water, making my eyes water. Between each inching crawl forward, its fleshy body pulsates with sick, wet sounds.

The creature opens its mouth—and yes, those tentacles all emerge from it—revealing rows upon rows of teeth. Just thinking about those jaws closing around me makes my stomach heave. My mind instantly flashes to Volan’s warnings about the Tangler—this is what he feared, what he tried to describe. It’s so much worse than I imagined.

The birds that have held onto Zoran finally take off in a flutter of stone-colored wings. They scatter around us, heading for the highest points of the arena. At least someone has the right idea.

“Options?” I ask weakly.

“Run?” Melvall suggests.

“Fight,” Zoran growls, cracking his knuckles. “Together we might actually stand a chance.”

The tangler sways its massive head in the air, as if scenting for its prey. And, because the universe hates me, its eyeless face turns directly toward us. I don’t see any eyes or nose, but it’s a freaking giant worm thing. Who cares. It’s here to eat me, not admire my hair or clothing.

My brain keeps getting fixated on one thing: the gunk hanging between its teeth. I refuse to think of it as anything other than gunk. It’s definitely not a chunk of leather armor or something from some poor soul.

“I’m going to die,” I say aloud to the universe. “I’m going to die to a creature with more tentacles than I can poke a sword at, and it hasn’t even learned to use said sword to floss.”

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