Out of sight, out of mind.
If there's one person in the world I couldn't stand and respect at the same time, it's George Willingham. On the one hand, I despised him with every fiber of my being. On the other hand, I respected his formidable skills and influential connections. In a way, he must have felt similarly about me.
"Are you afraid?" he taunted.
"There's no one to save you," he continued with a sneer, "You're going to die here, in front of the pathetic maggots who were just waiting for this show. Tell me, are you getting scared?"
I sat up and yawned, deliberately nonchalant. Well, yes, no one knows better than me how to get Willingham's blood pressure up to the ceiling in a single moment. Okay, maybe Mazen, but he can do it just by existing, which is cheating. In any case, he was trying to maintain a semblance of calm because of the two guards beside him.
"The only one who's scared is you," I declared as I stretched languidly, "When I'm finished, you'll be the next to be hunted down."
His fingers clenched into fists, but other than that he didn't react.
"Take him to the stadium!" he filtered through his teeth and hurried away.
I chuckled. He would break soon, and then everyone would take their places.
(...)
The stadium was enormous, packed with a roaring crowd. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, a ravenous hunger for blood and violence. The announcer's voice boomed:
"Welcome, hunters, on the thousandth day of Acheron! Today's battle will be exceptional—a clash between two formidable monsters! First up, a rarity among mixed-bloods, a creature whose name perfectly describes him: Shaytan!"
Excited cries filled the tense air. I was shoved out of the iron bars and surveyed the crowd of hunters. With a mocking grin, I flipped them off. The iron bars opposite me opened, and another monster stepped into the arena.
"The mixed-blood faces the previously undefeated champion, a moon fae, the proud heir to the royal bloodline. Let's hear it for Zacharias!"
A deafening roar erupted. The fae wasted no time, reaching for the weapons at his side. I also moved to my designated spot. We both selected our weapons: he chose a sword, and I armed myself with two small daggers. We returned to our starting positions. The crowd was displeased with the wait.
"Let's have some fun, Shay," said the fae with a grin.
I curled my lips into a half-smile. The monster within me writhed, eager to break free and unleash its fury. It roared in my mind to taste that cheeky fae.
The next moment, the action blurred before the spectators. Zack was suddenly in front of me, but I anticipated the attack and deftly dodged it with one of my daggers.
I glanced toward the crowd.
Alex was fixated on the arena, his eyes filled with a mix of anxiety and anger. Even though I couldn't hear him, I could imagine the hoarse grunts escaping his lips. Rolo clutched the armrests of his seat, his hair obscuring his expression. Mica had pulled the hood of his cloak low over his face, only his lips visible, pressed into a tight line. A streak of blood trailed down his chin before he wiped it away with a quick gesture. Coffee had smashed one of the armrests into splinters, though her face remained a mask of stoicism.
Alice whispered something in an unfamiliar man's ear, eliciting a raised eyebrow from me but then Mose's nervous and worried look caught my eye. The eyes of the mage must have only been able to fully comprehend the moments when we had to stop and pause, as he bobbed his head from side to side while the crowd around him cheered.
"Zack," I called out, dodging another attack.
The blade of the sword slid screaming across the steel of the dagger.
"What?" he grunted as if I was spoiling his fun.
"I want George Willingham," I declared hurling a dagger at him.
He simply tilted his head to the side. Hmpft. A moment later, I crouched beside the dagger embedded in the ground. Zack swung his sword at me; I parried and retrieved my other dagger.
As I locked his sword with one dagger, I closed the distance between us and sprang up, stabbing. Of course, he jerked his head away again, so I only managed to cut off his blindfold. I was surprised, for his hidden eye was perfectly healthy, but then it clicked. Hmm, so you can't see as well in the dark as I can. Duly noted.
He laughed. He laughed as if he had never been so happy. He laughed with an eerie, unsettling glee, as though something inside him had snapped. From then on, he wielded his sword with just his left hand. The thrill of the fight seemed to consume him entirely.
The monster within me responded to Zack's maniacal grin with its own feral delight. It was a visceral, shared excitement, a hunger for the clash and the blood. Zack's reckless abandon only fueled the beast in me, making it harder to keep my instincts in check.
He was waving it around like an idiot, so I couldn't dodge every attack. Though my wounds healed quickly, I was a bloody sight. When I dodged an attack, he seized my shoulder and bit into me with a viciousness that felt almost primal.
The pain was sharp, searing through me, and the monster inside roared with both fury and excitement. The beast within me surged, its desire for retribution flaring up violently. It was as if the monster was infuriated by Zack's audacious act of biting and wanted to retaliate with unrestrained savagery. My control wavered, the beast's hunger for vengeance almost overpowering my will.
"That fucking hurt," I growled driving my dagger into his belly. "What are you, a fucking vampire?!"
He grinned, a maniacal smirk stretching across his face. I didn't like seeing my blood smeared on his lips. Ew, man. For some reason, I wished I wouldn't have avoided his vitals with my dagger.
"That was my payment for helping you," he declared, then shrugged, "Almost as good as vampire blood."
I had to restrain myself from shuddering in revulsion at his words.
"Now..." he began, dropping his sword.
He grabbed my wrist with both hands and hurled me away with a force that would make a vampire proud. I grinned, knowing I was moving inexorably towards George Willingham, who was seated in the front row. All according to plan.
Before I could reach him, I felt the spell curbing my momentum and trying with all its might to hold me back. With one hand, I quickly grabbed the railing before I started to fall. With the other, I reached for Willingham's throat. The movement seemed awfully slow compared to my usual speed. It felt as if I was trying to reach through some unbreakable veil that, though stretched like rubber, was only slowly giving way.
Willingham froze, unable to move. He stared at me in disbelieving horror, as if unable to believe what was happening. In the confusion, only one person noticed a tiny piece of material fall from the sleeve of my torn shirt.
Then the next moment Gregory almost cut my arm off, forcing me to pull it back. I winked at Tekla, then after a graceful display of somersaults, I began to fall.
Some guards had already started to drag Zack back to his cell. The fae was in such a good mood that he forgot to protest. I grabbed his eye patch and threw it at him. Without looking back, he raised his hand and caught it easily. He laughed up.
The guards had already come to get me, but there was one more thing I had to do before they would take me away. I raised my hand and pointed straight at the sky. Mose gasped for air. His vision was blurred by tears. He began to sob. I grinned.
(...)
I counted. One thousand minus seven? Nine hundred and ninety-three. Minus seven? Nine hundred and eighty-six. Nine hundred and seventy-nine. Nine hundred and seventy-two... I just counted, and when I reached the smallest positive number, I started again. Again, again and again. In a place where there are no sounds, no smells, and where there is no form in the darkness, there is nothing you can do to fight the madness.
If you stop counting for even a moment, you're gone. You lose yourself. Only discipline and counting can keep you sane. In solitary confinement, the brain starts to degrade slowly after just seventy-two hours—but in a place like this, less than half an hour is enough. And I had to stay sane. To do that, I counted. I counted non-stop.
Suddenly, an explosion shook the room, but as a prisoner of a concentrated solution, it felt like a faint tremor. Then, the next moment, the lights came on. I saw my surroundings in a strange, disgusting shade of green—the color of the liquid I was wasting away in.
Apart from its repulsive color, it had another quality I hated: it weakened me to the point where every tiny movement I made was unnervingly labored. The potion was trying to break down every bit of my body, all at once, in a barely perceptible way. It was like the stomach of a homunculus. Every drop of my strength was tied up in fighting it.
I would have moved, but my hands were firmly fixed above my head. They were simple handcuffs, which in normal conditions I could break in a moment, but because of the liquid, it seemed impossible.
I could see a dark, blurry figure in the room, and as it seemed to be getting bigger, I thought it was coming closer. Then I saw his blurry face. Mazen had finally come for me. Cracks ran down the glass cylinder, and then it gave in, vomiting out the greenish liquid I had been bathing in. I looked at Mazen, but my vision was still blurred. He pulled the air mask off my face.
"It'll be all right," he said, and I nodded slightly.
At the same time, the handcuffs opened around my wrists. I was unable to support my own weight, so I fell out of the remains of the glass cylinder. Mazen caught me and ripped the pins out of my wrists.
"It's going to be all right," he repeated.
His words blurred as my consciousness failed me. My last thought was that I had never been so happy to see my brother.
(...)
I opened my eyes wide, and it took me a few moments to realize that I was looking at the top of a canopy bed. I growled a few times. Every muscle burned, and every movement hurt. My mumbling managed to wake Mazen, who had been sleeping on the blanket.
"Good morning," he said.
"Hrrmmm." My throat was quite sore, and I had to clear it a few times to make any meaningful human sounds.
"What happened?" I finally asked.
"The hunters got you," he said, "I'm so sorry..."
"No," I said. "It's not your fault."
"I'm sorry," he continued, "I knew the dangers that a potential king could face, and yet I wasn't there for you. I was irresponsible and thought that I was the number one target in the sense of absolute primogeniture."
"Don't blame yourself," I begged. "The point is we both survived."
His lips had that soft smile I loved so much.
"You're too lenient with me."
I grinned. "Maybe."
My mind immediately went to my friends. "Mazen."
"Yes?"
"My friends... Alex, Rolo, Mica and the others. Are they safe?"
A shadow passed over Mazen's face. "They betrayed you, Shay. They were part of the plan to capture you. Don't you remember?"
"No, that can't be true," I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief.
"I'm afraid it is," Mazen said softly. "I'm so sorry."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Now that he mentioned it, memories started to resurface. I saw Alex and Rolo standing with the hunters, their faces twisted with determination and guilt. They had lured me into a trap, using our friendship to lower my guard. I remembered the shock and disbelief I felt as they stood aside while the hunters surrounded me, Mica's voice cold as he issued commands.
The betrayal was a dagger to my heart. The monster in me roared with fury. I felt a deep, gnawing pain that had nothing to do with my physical injuries. "I trusted them," I said, more to myself than to Mazen.
He sighed, his eyes filled with sympathy. "I know."
He slowly stood up. "I have to go, but I'll be back later," he said. "I'll send up some light food for you."
Although I would have preferred him to stay a little longer, I nodded. He headed for the door.
"Mazen," I started quickly so he stopped and turned back questioningly, "Thanks for staying with me."
He didn't answer but gave me one last look before he left the room. I couldn't quite stay awake, so I allowed myself a few minutes' rest. Just a few minutes, I told myself and fell asleep.
"Felicián," Mazen began, turning to the boy standing nearby, "Your job will be to look after him."
The boy looked up, stunned.
"Are you disobeying my orders?" the dark mage narrowed his eyes maliciously.
Felicián shook his head quickly. "No, of course not, my Lord. I'll take good care of him."
Mazen nodded, satisfied.
"Then what are you waiting for?" the man questioned, "Bring him some food."
Just as Mazen had said, a soft knock woke me shortly after he left. After I gave permission to enter, the door opened and a mage stepped through.
He wore a black cloak and a hood pulled over his face. He held a tray before him. He stepped over to my bed, bowed slightly—though I could tell he was doing it out of necessity—and then set the tray down on the bedside table and adjusted the pillows to a sitting position instead. After that, much to my surprise, he tried to feed me. I must say I didn't take too kindly to the idea.
"I can eat on my own," I mumbled.
He just smiled slightly. A little mockingly. "I'm sure, but the effects of the poison will remain very strong for a few days. I'm sure every movement will be painful."
I shrugged carelessly and held back a hiss.
"What kind of poison was in that tank?" I wondered.
"A mixture of a potion and holy water," he declared, "I could list the ingredients in vain; you wouldn't know many of them."
I grimaced, unable to decide whether he was mocking me or being cruelly honest. I didn't protest any further, nor did I ask. After the torture of eating, the mage bowed slightly and left.
I looked around the room: light walls, dark brown blackout curtains, and lace curtains in front of the huge window. An ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling and a few unremarkable pictures hung on the wall. Opposite was a desk, a little further away, some elaborately carved cupboards.
This is my room.
I knew it, though it felt as if something was missing, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what. In fact, every time I tried to think about it, my thoughts suddenly took a different direction. The harder I tried, the more my mind resisted as if it were a secret I must not find out.
I shook my head—it must have been the poison. As time passed, I was forgetting more and more of my old life—all without even noticing. I didn't even suspect anything at the time, so I finally closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep.