The traveling circus loomed large under the pale moonlight, its vibrant banners flapping against the wind's chill. Neon lights, powered by an array of humming, glowing contraptions, cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the surrounding wasteland. Its heart was a massive tent striped in deep crimson and gold, crowned with a mechanical spire that crackled with blue Veronic energy. The spire occasionally shot sparks into the sky, a beacon that could be seen for miles, luring travelers, merchants, and even nobility from across the Realms.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wines, and Veron-powered lamps that illuminated the enormous, circular arena. The audience—a mix of the various races living in Kervaris—chattered excitedly, their exotic garments and mechanical augmentations glinting under the electric light. From the feathered cloaks of Light Elves to the gleaming cybernetic limbs of Vecron engineers, the crowd was a tapestry of Kervaris's diversity.
Their attention, however, was riveted to the center ring, where an old man balanced precariously on a thin Veron-powered tightrope. Below him lay a pit filled with snarling, mechanical crocodiles, their metallic jaws snapping hungrily, sparks flying with each bite. With each step the man took, the audience gasped, hands flying to their faces.
The old man reached the end of the rope, balancing on one leg before flipping backward into a somersault and landing safely on the platform. The audience erupted into cheers and whistles as the crocodiles snapped their jaws in disappointment and retreating into their pit.
From the shadows emerged a tall, wiry man clad in an elaborate crimson suit adorned with golden embroidery. His face was hidden behind a white porcelain mask, except for his eyes, which gleamed with manic glee. He spread his arms wide, his voice booming across the tent with the fervor of a preacher.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Beings of light, shadow, and all that lies beyond! Welcome to the Wondrous Spectacle of Liverian!" He paused dramatically, letting the echo of his words ripple through the tent. "Where the unimaginable becomes real, the impossible is conquered, and your very souls tremble with awe!"
The crowd roared in approval, their cheers shaking the tent.
"Our circus is no mere sideshow, oh no! We do not stoop to repeating the past and it's boring acts!" He jabbed a finger skyward, as though pointing to the heavens. "We raise the stakes higher and higher, climbing the very peaks of danger and wonder until even the gods themselves marvel at our audacity!"
The crowd erupted again, fists pounding in excitement.
"But enough of me extolling our magnificence!" He clasped his hands together, leaning forward as though he were sharing a sacred secret. "For tonight, we bring you a spectacle that defies death itself!"
The audience hushed, leaning forward in anticipation.
"Behold!" he bellowed, voice dripping with exaggerated reverence, "the Unkillable Warrior!"
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"This boy," the announcer continued, pacing the ring like a zealot delivering a sermon, "has survived everything we have thrown at him—fire, steel, beasts! Yet he can not die!" He spun on his heel, throwing his arms wide. "And tonight, we raise the stakes once more! Last time, he faced one wolf. But tonight..." He paused, savoring the tension. "...three wolves will face him today!"
The crowd gasped in unison, their eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and horror.
Two burly guards dragged a boy into the ring. He was small and wiry, his bare arms and legs marred by old scars and fresh bruises. His black hair hung in unkempt strands over his face, but his dark eyes glinted with quiet defiance, a fire that refused to be extinguished. Around his neck, a black iron collar with glowing Veron-runes clinked with every step, its chain yanked cruelly by one of the guards.
Azter didn't shuffle or cower as they pulled him into the spotlight. His movements were stiff but steady, his shoulders squared despite his slight frame. Though his body bore the marks of years of abuse, there was a resilience in his posture, a determination that couldn't be ignored.
From another side of the ring, handlers wheeled in a large cage. Inside, three massive wolves growled and snapped, their golden eyes glowing unnaturally from some Veronic augmentation. Saliva dripped from their fangs as they lunged against the bars of the cage, desperate to be unleashed.
The announcer gestured to the cage, his voice rising to a crescendo. "Tonight, my friends, you shall witness the craziness of the impossible! Will the Unkillable Warrior triumph once more? Or will his luck finally run out?" He pointed dramatically to the boy. "Place your bets, folks! For this act... begins!"
With a theatrical flourish, the announcer disappeared into the shadows. The handlers released the cage door, and with a deafening roar, the three wolves lunged forward, their claws tearing into the dirt as they charged toward the boy.
Azter's fists clenched, his knuckles white with tension. His gaze locked onto the charging beasts, unflinching. Anger flared in his chest—not just at the wolves, but at the crowd, the chains, the circus. Every ounce of him screamed to fight, not for survival, but for freedom. This was not the end. This would never be the end.
.......
Several minutes later,
The arena was silent, heavy with the scent of blood and dirt. Azter lay crumpled in the center of the ring, his body riddled with wounds. A jagged gash stretched across his chest, oozing dark crimson onto the already stained ground. Around him were the corpses of three wolves, their necks twisted together in a grotesque knot of flesh and fur, their lifeless eyes wide with unnatural terror.
The crowd sat frozen, their cheers extinguished by the horrific spectacle. This was not the triumphant victory they had expected but something far more primal, something that made even seasoned spectators shift uneasily in their seats.
Then, breaking the silence, the announcer emerged once more. His vibrant crimson suit was immaculate, his posture tall and commanding as he swept into the center of the ring. His expression was unreadable, but his voice boomed with calculated charisma.
"Behold!" he thundered, raising his arms. "The Unkillable Child Warrior has defied death yet again! Even when the odds were tripled, even when the jaws of death snapped at his throat, he triumphed! Can you believe your eyes?!"
The crowd, hesitating for only a moment, erupted into cheers and applause, their unease transformed into fervent excitement. Coins and small treasures rained down into the ring, tokens of their macabre appreciation.
The announcer turned to Azter's motionless body, gesturing grandly. "This boy—this marvel—is a testament to our circus's promise! We push the limits, raise the stakes, and shatter expectations! And this is only the beginning of tonight's wonders!"
With a sharp wave of his hand, he signaled the guards. They stormed into the ring, dragging the limp wolves out first before roughly hoisting Azter's battered body. The boy didn't resist, his head lolling as darkness clawed at the edges of his vision.
The last thing he saw was the announcer, grinning wide and spreading his arms once again. The man's voice echoed faintly as he introduced the next act, the crowd roaring with approval. Then, Azter's world went black.
When Azter woke, the faint, acrid smell of oil and machinery filled his nose. He was lying on a barrel outside the performers' tents, its splintered surface digging into his back. The camp bustled with activity under the cold glow of Veronic lanterns, their bluish light casting long, ghostly shadows across the worn canvas and rusting metal. Circus workers moved with mechanical precision, hauling cages, tightening bolts on decrepit machinery, and avoiding eye contact with each other.
Azter stirred every movement a painful reminder of his wounds. A fresh set of bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, stark white against his grimy skin. His fingers brushed the cloth gingerly, and he turned his head to see the one responsible for patching him up.
Lucille.
She knelt beside him, her delicate hands deftly tying off the last bandage. Her dark hair fell loose around her face, her bright purple eyes focused intently on her work. She didn't look up when she spoke.
"You're lucky, you know," she said, her tone flat. "If you'd been out any longer, they might've just tossed you in with the trash."
"How long?" Azter rasped, his throat dry.
Lucille finished the bandage and sat back, finally meeting his eyes. "Long enough. You slept through two acts. They didn't even bother to check if you were dead."
Azter let out a low grunt, half in acknowledgment and half in pain. "Thanks for the bandages."
Lucille's expression hardened. "Don't thank me. If you keep letting them do this to you, it won't matter how many times I patch you up."
Azter tried to push himself up, but Lucille shoved him back down with surprising force. "Stop it," she snapped. "You're not going anywhere until I'm finished."
He scowled but stayed put, glaring at the stars faintly visible through the gaps in the tent roofs. "You act like you're my boss."
"Somebody has to be," she muttered, her tone softening. "You're not exactly doing a great job keeping yourself alive."
Azter turned his head to her, the anger in his eyes simmering. "Like I have a choice."
Lucille's shoulders slumped. She didn't respond right away, instead fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. "I know. I just…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "Never mind."
The silence between them was heavy, filled only by the clatter of chains and the low hum of machinery in the distance.
"You remember when we first got here?" Lucille asked suddenly, her voice quiet.
Azter's gaze shifted to her, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. You wouldn't stop crying."
Lucille smirked faintly. "And you wouldn't stop yelling at me to shut up."
"Because you were going to get us both in trouble," Azter said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the pain.
Lucille shrugged. "Worked out, didn't it? Now I'm stuck with you."
"It worked out for you. I got stuck taking care of a little girl." he puffed his chest out.
"Hey! Who's bandaging who up?" she feigned fake anger as she gently pushed his chest.
They both chuckled softly, the sound hollow but genuine.
"Lucille," Azter said after a moment, his voice low.
She looked at him, her purple eyes glinting in the dim light.
"Do you ever think we will get out here? Just… escaping all of this shit?"
Her expression hardened, her gaze flickering to the iron collar around his neck, then to the one around her own.
"Every day," she said simply.
Azter nodded, his fists clenching at his sides. "Me too."
Lucille reached out, resting a hand lightly on his arm. "One day," she whispered. "We'll figure it out. We'll escape this hell hole."
Azter's eyes met hers, the fire in them still burning despite everything. "One day," he echoed.
Azter sat slumped on the barrel, the faint ache in his chest growing worse with each passing second. His body protested every breath, but his mind was too restless to let him relax. Lucille was finishing the last of the bandages when the heavy footsteps of the circus strongman approached.
The man was a towering figure of muscle and bulk, his face weathered and perpetually sour. He stopped just short of the two, looming over them with an air of impatience.
"Hey, girl," he barked, his voice rough like gravel. "You're up. The final act's coming, and you don't get to skip it just 'cause you're playing nursemaid."
Lucille's hands stilled for a moment before she finished tying the last knot. She glanced up at him, her expression calm despite the rudeness. "I'll be there."
Azter narrowed his eyes at the strongman, his fists tightening at his sides. "She's not done here yet. You can wait."
The strongman let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "You don't get to make demands, kid. Neither of you do. She knows the rules, and so do you. So pipe down before I decide to teach you some manners."
Azter bristled, but Lucille's hand on his shoulder kept him from saying anything more. She rose to her feet, brushing off her skirt. "It's fine, Azter. I'll go."
He looked up at her, his anger barely restrained. "You don't have to—"
"I do," she interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind. She gave him a small, almost reassuring smile. "You know how it works. We don't get a say in this."
Azter's jaw tightened. "This is stupid."
Lucille's smile faltered for a moment before she forced it back. "Maybe it is. But wish me luck anyway."
She turned and walked off without waiting for a response, her steps steady even as the strongman followed close behind her. Azter watched them go, his hands trembling with frustration.
He clenched his teeth, his thoughts a storm of anger and despair. This life is a joke, he thought bitterly. Dragged around like animals, hurt for the crowd's amusement, treated like we're nothing.