Page 56 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
And then Valkotha latched onto Jesir’s right horn, and with a vicious yank, tore it off.
Jesir howled, and blood erupted from his scalp. The champion for Spiritu Malignos licked the blood from the horn and then hooked it into his belt before turning back. Jesir, whimpering, crawled away in the dirt and a cruel laugh erupted from the demon who stepped forward and gripped his second horn before tearing it, too, from his head.
The crowd was now overwhelmed with shouts and cries of delight. Who cared what kingdom one was from when there was violence and suffering to be seen?
Jesir cried out, his hands came up to his wounds, horror reflected in his gaze as the scarlet dribbled down the other side of his face. He collapsed, his body trembling.
“And now we have the great and formidable Tigon Shatterhand of Kingdom Terra Monstrum.”
An enormous creature stomped forward. Muscles filled his frame, and the half-giant stood twice as high as any other demon in the arena. Aryana had only seen a full sized giant once before and it hadn’t been a pleasant occasion. He marched out with Neri following. Her hands were bound, her head held low as if she hoped he’d forget about her. Aryana’s heart twisted. Neri was only a human. She had nobody to protect her. Her body wasn’t as sturdy, nor as enduring as a demon’s. What would be done to her?
Fear leaked off of the human, her scent more potent than the demon fear that radiated around the arena. Aryana hated how her instincts roused. Her mouth began to water and her incisors dropped out. She was a monster just as much as any of these others. She wanted Neri to be okay, but she also wanted her blood.
Tigon set Neri in front of him and drew a knife. Aryana’s hands squeezed the bars. Gods, what did he have planned? She trembled but had to see. The demon reached down and ran the blade softly over Neri’s cheek. Neri shook, and a tear leaked out of her eye, landing on the knife’s tip. Tigon lifted the knife and licked it clean. A satisfied grin spread across his lips, and then he lowered his hand and dug the end of his blade into the corner of Neri’s eye.
And pried it up.
The screams that followed rattled the arena and went straight to Aryana’s bones.
Oh gods, oh gods. Someone had tostopthis. Someone needed to stop thisnow.
The crowd surged with wild energy unlike anything before. When the eye pulled free, Neri crumpled to the ground, her hands covering her bloodied face, her cries mixing with the roar of the spectators. The half-giant held up her eyeball, blood running down his arm and gave a roar of triumph. “Tigon will be your king!”
He popped Neri’s eyeball into his mouth. And swallowed.
As if the arena hadn’t seen enough terror and agony, the cage next to Aryana swung open.
“Going to be hard to top that! Let’s see what our next champion, Xaphoron, the Weightless Dagger has in store for us!”
Out stepped an abaddon demon, the second contestant from house Aeria, with Pohan. The sirin’s wings were tied behind him, so that they were touching. It looked painful. Shackles bound his hands and feet, in the same manner as Aryana’s.
Xaphoron raised his arms, then put a finger to his lips. The crowd actually quieted. He walked over to the formicidra and bowed, holding out a hand. “May I?” he asked, nodding to Jesir’s horns on his belt. Valkotha lifted an eyebrow, but even Aryana saw the curiosity in his posture. He nodded and lifted one horn from where he wore it, handing it over. Xaphoron stepped up to his kalator and rammed the appendage into his wings. Pohan roared, but the abaddon was ruthless, ramming his wings again and again, tearingit through the sensitive flesh. The onlookers went wild, and the formicidra clapped his hands in glee.
“Xaphoron always knows how to put on a show.”
Aryana flinched upon hearing Zarathos’s voice. Only now did she register the faint sound of the door at the far end of the room opening and closing moments before. He paused, as if momentarily thrown off by something, but she didn’t care. She was shaking, trembling from head to toe. What else could she do in the face of such relentless violence?
No. She forced the fear down. Whatever the demon king had planned for her, she’d endure it.
“Come to torture me, Zarathos?”
“I warned you, Aryana.” He sighed and stepped up to her, thrusting a small vial filled with a dark green liquid at her. “Take this.”
She peered at it and then at him distrustfully. Another potion. But this one she hadn’t seen before. “What is it?”
“You’re surprisingly resistant to fear. Though, I’ve just discovered, not entirely.” His gaze lingered on her, something taut in his voice. “Still, if we’re going to pull this off, I’ll need you in a heightened state.”
“And that potion makes me afraid?”
“Drought of Corruption renders you open to suggestion.”
She glanced out to where Xaphoron continued to shred Pohan’s wings. The abaddon tossed the horn aside and drew his knife. He pinned Pohan against the ground, against his shredded wings. With a cruel glint in his eye, Xaphoron forced Pohan’s mouth wide and reached in. The sickness inside Aryana twisted with a horriblerealization. The Aeria contestant was going to cut out his kalator’s tongue.
She averted her gaze. But that didn’t hide the sounds of struggle and pain issuing out from those in the arena, nor the scent of urine and fear, or Pohan’s helpless roars of protest.
She watched the undulating, raging crowd. “I will suck your cock.”
Zarathos froze, the potion still held out to her. “What?”
