A holo-screen flickered to life overhead, showing Riley larger than life. Cyprian snarled when he saw they forced her to strip out of her dress. Riley wasn’t entirely nude, but the tiny strips of violet fabric did little to cover her breasts and crotch.
Riley was locked in a dimly lit warren of tunnels, but the holo-screen showed her clearly as she moved through the cavern. Cyprian expected Riley to be traumatized, since she seemed perilously close to the edge, when the guards ushered her out of the gallery. Except that’s not what he saw. Riley had found herself a weapon. She swung the small ax once, then twice, testing its weight. Riley looked up, her eyes searching for the surveillance.
“Bring it on assholes,” she growled. Riley had decided to fight.
That’s my Little Manx.
The crowd cheered at her valiant display. The general admired her spirit, but she was still flesh and blood. Cyprian’s thoughts flashed to the image of June, bloodied after being attacked in the salvage yard. As wild as the colorful little human was, she was no match for the kind of male who could make it through the game that was about to ensue. It was his job to assure that didn’t happen.
I’m coming for you. Hang on.
“Let the competition begin, and may the best contestant enjoy the prize,” the tentacled Overseer bellowed from a prominent balcony.
A horn blared and Cyprian launched himself down the stairs, blade in hand. He wasted no time going for the opponent descending the nearest staircase. The lanky, yellow character jumped high in the air, doing a flip. Cyprian crouched low as the warrior soared over his head. The yellow bastard wielded a staff with a spiked ball on the end of a chain. Cyprian rolled, avoiding the mace, as it whipped toward his head. Cyprian grabbed the razor chain from the arsenal on his back, and launched it toward the male’s long gangly legs. The chain bit into the male, eliciting a bellow of pain and anger, as it wrapped around his ankles. The roar was short lived. A long spike burst through his chest, killing the warrior instantly.
Cyprian looked past the dead opponent to see his next foe. The male with long spikes protruding from his head and back, yanked another spine from his built-in armory, and launched it at Cyprian. Cyprian dodged right, while whipping his wrist to free his flail from the dead yellow male. As the chain came free, another sharp spike was flying toward him.
Cyprian barely grimaced as the nasty barb grazed his thigh. He swung the chain in a circle in front of him, using it like a moving shield. The metal links repelled the next few barbed projectiles. Cyprian grabbed a stiletto off his bandolier. Cyprian waited for an opening instead of throwing his weapons in rapid succession, like his opponent did. The spikey male used both hands to launch his built-in spears one after another. Just after the bastard released one spike and was reaching for the next, Cyprian threw his blade. The male’s eyes widened when the blade struck him in the neck, sending blood spraying.
As Cyprian fought his opponents he wisely kept one eye on the other competitors. Just as he suspected, Aculus was holding his own on the killing field. This was not the time to approach the armored male. Cyprian had been in enough battles that he knew not to expend his energy on this level. This stage of the contest was meant to cull the herd.
Out of the corner of his eye, the general noticed the doors along the perimeter of the arena begin to raise. Cyprian saw the warrior with the pincer claw rush toward one of the openings. The moment the male entered the portico, the passage sealed shut behind him. Cyprian did a quick head count of those still standing. It far outnumbered the doors that remained. Cyprian quickly disengaged from his competitor, and headed toward the nearest portal.
“You running in fear?” the gray beast gloated.
Cyprian ignored the dim-witted warrior as he ran for the opening. He spun when he heard heavy footfalls directly behind him.
“Not so fast. That’s my door,” the gray bastard snarled.
Cyprian dodged the knife coming toward him, as he grappled with the leathery creature. Cyprian punched the male in the face, then wrenched free of the warrior. As Cyprian turned, he caught sight of a pale worm body slithering through the nearest opening.
Son of a metcor. Where was that bastard hiding?
The portal slammed shut, forcing Cyprian to look for the next opening, a dozen yards away. Near the door, a rotund slimy warrior was fighting a male with a shell on his back. They were so caught up in their conflict that neither seemed to notice the fleeting opportunity nearby.
Cyprian’s ashen opponent also noticed the door, and started running toward it. The general was hot on his heels. He grabbed a blade and launched himself at the gray male. Cyprian dipped low, slashing the tendons at the back of the warrior’s knees, as he passed. The distracted fool dropped to the dirt, flailing his useless legs.