Page 88 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

And survive I did.”

Santiago

Location unknown, United States

Santiago, 9 years old

A powerful hit sends me flying backward, my back slamming into a wall, and I still a groan between my lips, quickly straightening up and wiping away the blood on my forehead.

Assuming the fighting position again, I smirk at Gary, who jumps back and forth, his muscled body soaked with sweat, as he seethes, “Still not enough, fucker?” He raises his arms to the chanting crowd who laugh right along with him, cheering him on to finish this fight while guzzling their alcohol. “What should I do?” he asks them, and their words fill my ears, as they shout loudly.

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

The harsh light streaming above hurts my eyes as my vision blurs a bit from my various wounds, but I don’t let it stop me, watching him carefully.

He’s three times bigger than me and around twice my age. His bulky physique scares most men occupying their seats while his owner lifts his glass high to Andreas, who sits on his fucking throne above us on the balcony in this makeshift arena that he built recently.

He believes he is the king of the world, and we’re nothing but entertainment, participating in their games.

Deadly games, because the only way to survive the game is to win it.

Gary might be bigger than me, but he lacks stamina; more importantly though, he gets off on all the attention given to him by the public, basks in it for far too long and dismisses his opponents as not worthy of his time.

Mistake, such a big mistake.

Never underestimate your enemy, because they’ll show you their true strength and surprise you with their actions when you least expect it.

Gary lunges after me, extending his fist, ready to deliver his next blow, but I duck at the last moment, slamming my fist into his gallbladder instead, and he bends in two, groaning painfully. Before he can regroup, I run toward my sword lying on the mat and pick it up, aiming it straight at his back, slashing it through him until the tip is visible on the other side.

He arches up, sinking to his knees and choking on the blood pouring from his mouth as I slowly walk around him.

The crowd goes quiet, and I look straight at Andreas whose happiness shines brightly on his face as Gary’s boss pales, probably already counting how much this loss will cost him. “I won.”

“Amazing, Santiago,” he calls, but I ignore him, prowling through the crowds with two guards by my side, walking me toward the back room leading to the basement where a fucking cell already waits for me.

Once the doors close behind me, I go to the sink, grabbing soap and scrubbing my hands so hard my skin reddens and hurts like a bitch, traces of blood appearing, but I pay no attention to it and continue to scrub.

I’ll fucking do it until I feel clean again and won’t think about what I’ve just done.

I killed a person.

Again.

Putting my hands on the sink’s sides and gripping it tightly, I will all my courage before gazing at my refection in the mirror, seeing a boy with bruised lips, various wounds on his forehead and nose, deep bruises on his neck that still hold Gary’s fingertips as he tried to choke him to death.

The mirror doesn’t show the other wounds on my body I’ve got in the last two years.

Like several broken ribs, nose, arms.

Imprints from burning cigarettes and a branding iron when they marked us like cows so no one would confuse whose products belong to whom.

In this world that I’ve been living in lately, all the kids who are trapped in here with me aren’t considered human—oh no.

We’re just products, stock they acquired and invest in various deeds in order to get money.

Although according to Andreas, I’m his perfect genes-in-the-making, which means I must survive under the most despicable circumstances.

Only this kind will do for his grandkids.

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