Chapter 14 – The Champion' Mask
The holding cell for the finalists was a cut above the pens. It had actual benches, a water dispenser, and a medical droid that sealed their worst wounds with painful laser cauterization. The silent Golem stood motionless in a corner. The massive Brute—a creature of rock-like hide named Gronk—paced like a caged animal, glaring at Skodar.
"Little blue maggot," Gronk spat. "You don't belong here. Luck runs out. I will crush you into paste in the final. Make a good show for the masters."
Skodar ignored him, focusing inward. He was close. So close. The final championship was a three-way battle royal. The last one standing would ascend to the royal podium, kneel before the War Masters, and receive the Genes Amplifier Liquid.
That was his moment. The only moment when the vault's prize, the masters, and the victorious slave would converge.
But he couldn't just win. He had to win in a way that left him positioned to act. He needed a distraction. He needed the War Masters off-balance.
The medical droid finished with him and turned to Gronk. Skodar saw his chance. As the droid leaned in, Skodar, with a flick of his wrist too fast for the Brute to see but slow enough to be "slave-quick," used a sliver of energy to subtly disrupt the droid's calibration laser.
The droid's searing beam, meant to close a wound, flashed at a harmful frequency directly into Gronk's eyes.
The Brute roared in agony, clutching his face. "MY EYES! IT BLINDED ME!"
Guards rushed in. The droid was declared faulty and deactivated. Gronk was injected with painkillers and a combat stim. "You fight anyway," a handler sneered. "The crowd wants to see the monster in pain."
Gronk was now blinded, enraged, and pumped full of drugs. A wildly unpredictable element. Perfect.
The Golem watched it all, its red eye lens focusing on Skodar for a long, silent moment. It understood. It had calculated the odds. It gave a single, slight nod. An alliance of convenience was offered. Skodar gave a minute nod back. The Golem would deal with the frenzied Gronk. Skodar would deal with the Golem. A clean, dramatic finale.
The gates to the Arena opened for the final time. The roar was deafening, a physical pressure. The sand was raked clean, but the air still stank of blood.
The three finalists walked out. Gronk, bellowing and swinging his arms wildly. The Golem, marching with mechanical precision. And Skodar, the battered, blue underdog.
The fight began. As predicted, the blinded Gronk charged the nearest sound—the Golem. The two titans clashed in a thunderous melee. The Golem was stronger, but Gronk's drug-fueled rage made him a berserker.
Skodar circled, letting them wear each other down. He played his part, darting in to slash at Gronk's legs, then leaping back as the Brute swung wildly. He was the annoying fly, the survivor.
The crowd ate it up. They chanted: "VA-KHAS! VA-KHAS!"
Finally, the Golem landed a crushing blow to Gronk's head, silencing the Brute. It turned its red eye to Skodar. The agreement was over. Now, it was the efficient machine against the lucky slave.
The Golem advanced. It was fast, its punches capable of shattering stone. Skodar dodged, rolled, and parried with his shank, which chipped against the Golem's alloy skin. He let himself be hit—a glancing blow that sent him spinning, a kick that cracked a rib (he let it crack, a real injury tosell the act). He coughed blue blood.
He was losing. The crowd's chant turned to a sympathetic groan. The story was reaching its end.
The Golem raised its fist for the final strike. Skodar lay prone, seemingly defeated.
In the royal podium, the crystalline War Master stood. "A satisfactory data stream. Terminate it."
This was it.
As the Golem's fist descended,Skodar moved.
He didn't roll away.He rolled into the Golem's legs, disrupting its balance. At the same time, he drove his shank not at the armored body, but into the joint of its knee actuator—a weakness he'd spotted during its fight with Gronk.
The shank, hardened by Vaktari's tech and guided by Skodar's hidden precision, pierced the hydraulic line. The Golem's leg seized. It stumbled.
Skodar scrambled up. He didn't use overwhelming force. He used leverage. He climbed the staggered Golem, wrapped his arms around its head, and with a desperate, screaming heave that seemed to draw on his last ounce of strength, he twisted.
With a screech of tearing metal, the Golem's head came off in a shower of sparks. Its body crashed to the sand.
Silence.
Then,an eruption of sound so immense it shook the Arena. The impossible had happened. The Vakhas slave was the Champion of the Hunting Games!
Skodar stood amidst the wreckage, chest heaving, covered in his own blue blood and black machine oil. He looked every bit the exhausted, miraculous victor.
He turned his eyes to the royal podium. To the War Masters. To the cryo-case beside them.
The path was clear.
The slave had won his prize.
Now,the ghost would take everything else.