The large doors—the same banded ones the lich had emerged from—creaked again. This time, I knew it wasn't just another horror or a traditional challenge waiting behind them.
Of course, my mind spun with questions, but honestly? I didn't care much about the why behind what had happened to the royals.
Sure, they had always seemed close to demi-gods in my eyes because of their status—but realistically, and truthfully, I'd always known they were just people. Just very rich and lucky people. I held little loyalty to them beyond what they could offer me.
With them dead and only the princess remaining, I wasn't about to try and prove anything—especially not by killing my oldest friend. My mind spun as I searched desperately for a way to get Kushim out of here.
As I struggled with my thoughts, the doors opened enough for a small congregation to move onto the sand. At the front were two figures clad in steel armor, wielding impressive halberds. Behind them came four soldiers dressed in bronze, carrying the standard-issue spear and shield common to their rank.
In the center of the group was Kushim. His legs were bound with bronze bands, chained together to limit his walking speed. His arms were similarly restrained, hindering his dexterity. I also noticed something off about his gait—it looked like his hip was bothering him greatly.
I waited, my mind still racing to come up with a plan. I could vivitly feel the seconds grag by as i forced every part of my mind and whatever other parts got grafted into it to work overtime. It felt like my skull was going to imploud from the pressure and my teeth felt painful in my jaw from the clenching i was doing.
Nothing other than brute force came to mind as a solution. The only issue was that I had no idea how to leave this place after killing the guards. I wasn't permitted to move freely about the colosseum, let alone the city beyond its walls. No—for the majority of my life, this place had been my entire world. I couldn't say I knew how to escape, especially while carrying someone injured.
The group reached the center of the arena, and a small slave boy ran out, holding a wooden block used to catch the blade after it severed the executed head. He ran with a serious sense of purpose, but something seemed off. He was carrying something else as well.
After he placed the block, one of the bronze-clad guards smacked him across the face and chastised him for taking too long. Bowing, the boy muttered some apology, then moved toward me. While I wasn't about to thank the boy for being slow and giving me more time to think even if it was unintentional i still felt more warm to him so when he near me i gave him a small joyless smile.
"Yes, boy? What reason would you have to speak with me at this time?"
I felt he must have something from Thorne, perhaps. I knew Thorne had authority and was also an ally to Kushim, so I hoped he had something helpful for me.
"Sire Champion! I bring something from the princess!"
He raised his hands above his head in a deep bow. In his grasp was a letter, slightly bulging.
"From the princess…?"
I glanced up at the viewing box for just a moment and found her looking directly at me. Her eyes held nothing—like the lightless pools of the dead. She looked hollow, or close to it.
I shuddered slightly, quickly turning my gaze back to the boy while remaining aware that I was being watched. Carefully, I reached out and took the letter, keeping Kushim within my peripheral vision.
I opened the letter to find nothing inside except a mound of hair, bound with the same color of twine that Heather used. In fact, the color of the hair matched hers as well. I felt pale and weak in the knees as beneath the hair I noticed two words written in some kind of reddish-brown ink:
"or else."
"Edric…"
I looked at who spoke, and my jaw hurt even more. Kushim looked weak—so weak. I had never seen him like this. Something was seriously wrong. It took me a moment to figure out what: one of his eyes wasn't dilated the same as the other, and he swayed unsteadily while standing still.
The guards moved him closer to the stump and forced him down onto his knees. He leaned forward, letting out soft groans after each painful movement. It made my heart ache even more deeply.
"Edric…"
He called out to me again, and instinctively I moved toward him, only to find one of the soldiers stepping forward to block me.
"Champion is just a title—don't let it get to your head, slave. Stand back and wait until we address you for the honor of cleaning up this filth."
He spat on the ground at my feet.
With speed I hadn't possessed even a day before, I grabbed him by his mouth. His eyes widened in panic as I felt a tooth shift under the tightening grip of my hand.
"Don't address me so casually. Right here, right now, I'm not just a champion—I'm an executioner, and I see more than one head near my block. Now, fuck off and let me speak to the only person here who interests me."
I released him with a light push, causing him to stumble back, his steel armor clanking as he did. Fear filled his expression; I didn't realize it at the time, but my wings had spread out behind me, blocking out much of the sunlight. And, unbeknownst to me, my eyes glowed with a fierce yellowish-white light as I spoke.
I moved closer to Kushim, using my wings to give us at least a small bit of privacy. I felt slightly more comfortable using them, though not enough yet for anything beyond simple movements like this. Flight was still beyond me, as frustrating as that was.
"Kushim… Look, this isn't good, but don't worry—I…I think we can still salvage this. But I need your mind here. The princess…she threatened Heather, or at least I think she did…"
I looked at my mentor, desperately hoping he had some kind of plan. He always had before.
Slowly, he turned his head toward me.
"Don't, Edric… Just live for me, okay?"
He sounded so…pathetic. It was wrong—this wasn't the Kushim I knew. Anger and panic surged through me, and I grabbed his shoulder, shaking him slightly.
"Hey! Are you really my brother? You have his skin, but not his heart. Tell me, 'Kushim,' what right do you have to tell me to give up on you? Now wake up and use that mind of yours—we really don't have much time."
He smiled weakly at me, then slowly shook his head.
"Edric… They hit me in the hips. I felt something crack. They hit my head, too—enough for me to know something isn't right. My vision's blotchy, and I feel tired. As much as I hate to say it…just don't bother. This isn't your fault."
I stared at him, nothing coming to mind. Like a still lake, I had nothing left. No plans, no solutions—I didn't know what to do. His hip injury was one thing, but the head wound was serious. It needed treatment soon, and if we were on the run, there would be no chance of that.
He gave me another smile.
"You looked cool out there, you know? I felt so proud of you. I'm glad that it'll be you who lets me rest—and even more glad that you're using my blade—no, your blade—to do it. So, Edric, it's okay. Just promise me you'll get revenge on her, and that you'll live long enough to be happy with Heather."
My vision blurred as tears rolled down my face. I nodded slowly.
"I will. And don't worry, I know you didn't do it… I—I promise I'll give you a clean cut. Goodbye, brother."
I embraced him tightly, feeling his head rest heavily on my shoulder. We stayed that way until the guards moved forward to separate us. I could sense their nervousness—they probably expected me to do something reckless. And to be fair, I wanted to…
But like Kushim said, it was just pointless.
"Took you long enough. Watching that made me feel gross," one of the bronze-clad guards said, making a vomiting noise that drew laughter from the others.
I raised my blade slowly, pointing its tip directly at him and holding the position, making the others nervously tighten their grips on their weapons. Letting out a low chuckle, I fixed my gaze on him and joked,
"Try not to piss yourself—we have an audience. Now step back, or I really might get confused for a moment… and wouldn't that be a shame?"
My smile did nothing to conceal the hatred seething beneath it.
They took my threat seriously, stepping back and giving Kushim and me a wide berth. Steeling my heart as best as I could, I turned back to Kushim. He seemed…happy? Or at least calm. If I wanted this to be quick, I knew I needed to mirror him—to let the pain come later.
Noticing his hair obscuring his neck, I moved closer, gently maneuvering his head onto the block and carefully shifting his hair above his head. He didn't fight me, instead moving easily with my touch. It was clear the head injury was worse than he'd admitted; he seemed drunk, barely conscious. Another pang of sorrow hit my chest as I stepped back, raising my blade into position.
The announcer began speaking worthless words about justice or something similar, but I didn't care. I waited only for the signal. My arms strained as I forced blood into them, preparing to use all of my strength. I needed this cut to be clean and painless—for my brother.
Soon it was time. The announcer was done, and there wasn't anything left to buy more time before this happened.
Feeling the sand shift under my foot, the warm air that was ever-present in this hellhole, and the oppressive silence of the crowd—louder than when they cheered—all of it made the little giggling from behind me hit harder.
I pushed past it.
Looking at Kushim, I mouthed the words "I promise," and swung down.
The air hissed as I cut through it, and the wood split.
His head wasn't even allowed to touch the ground—as soon as I finished the deed, I dropped my blade and caught his head.
I held it, feeling the warm liquid pool onto my lap.
I looked at his eyes. For a moment, they still held life… and then, as I watched them dim, I moved my hand over the little flame of his soul.
I embraced it.
Letting it be purified within me. I heard the announcer begin to speak—Then the side of the coliseum exploded near the top, hurling debris into the crowd. It wasn't until the bells began to ring—one after another that I realized. The city was under attack.