Page 109 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
I step forward, slow, deliberate.
“Let’s settle this. Here. Now. Just us.”
He laughs.
“Dueling privileges? You forfeited those, Noviosk.”
He signals the guards.
“Tie these traitors in the arena. Let them soak up some sun. It might clear their heads.”
We’re dragged through metal corridors. Gates open with a heavy rumble.
The arena is a brutal circle of scorched steel. No dome. No filters. Just space overhead—and a merciless sun.
They bind us to charred posts. Arms wrenched back. Cables tight. A strap across my chest pins me in place. Another around my neck forces my face upward into the blaze.
Danuk strolls forward, smug.
“Feel that, Noviosk? It’s not artificial. It’s real solar heat. But you? You should be able to take it.”
I squint against the light.
“I can. But could you?”
He stops inches away.
“I’m not the one in chains. Think it over. Maybe one of you will share something useful.”
He turns away.
“Hey,” Ayden calls, deadpan. “You wouldn’t happen to have any sunscreen? I burn easy.”
Danuk pauses. Then walks on.
Silence falls.
Heavy. Blistering. Deadly.
26-Ayden
Vacation, huh? I should’ve let Vlad take this one and stayed the hell out of it. He might’ve even found this fun. Because me? I’m not exactly having the time of my life. I’m chained up likea dog, my muscles are on fire, my skin’s burnt to a crisp, and I’m soaked in sweat. Those bastards didn’t even offer us a lousy cocktail. Next time Vlad volunteers, I’m keeping my mouth shut and letting him go.
Unless... maybe Sam would’ve given him her body? No, scratch that—sunburns and cramps are manageable.
Still, it’d be nice if the cavalry showed up about now. I have no clue where they’re at or if the rescue plan is even happening, but I’m seriously starting to doubt my odds of making it till morning. Danuk seems the type to wear us down before throwing us into a fight. Facing off against two traitors in front of a crowd? That’d be the ultimate power move.
I glance over at the Srebat sharing my fate. He looks worse than I do. His fur’s matted with sweat.
“So, Noviosk... on a scale of one to ‘we’re definitely dying horribly tonight,’ where are you right now?”
He blinks slowly and turns his head toward me.
“You still have energy to joke?”
“Aw, you’re finally noticing my charm? I’m flattered. That’s what’s keeping me alive, you know.”
He shoots me a withering look. Srebats must be born without humor glands.
