The soldier was fast.
Way too fast for something made of metal.
Rome barely got his knife up before the black blade crashed into it. The impact rattled his teeth. Shook his bones. Sent him skidding backward through the sand like he weighed nothing.
Holy shit.
That's not One-Star.
That's not even Two-Star.
What the hell IS that thing?
The soldier pressed forward. Another swing. Horizontal. Aimed at his midsection.
Rome threw himself sideways. The blade passed close enough to shave the threads off his jacket. He rolled. Came up. Backpedaled.
Think. Think think think.
It's stronger. It's faster. Its weapon is longer. Its armor is—
The soldier's boot caught him in the chest.
Rome flew.
Not metaphorically. Actually flew. Through the air. Across the arena. He hit the sand hard enough to see stars and taste copper.
Okay. Getting kicked hurts. Note to self.
He pushed himself up. Spat blood. The soldier was already closing the distance, that black sword raised for a killing blow.
MOVE.
Rome rolled right. The blade buried itself in the sand where his head had been a half-second earlier.
It's slow to recover. That swing, there's a delay before it can pull back.
That's something.
That's not much, but it's something.
He scrambled to his feet. Created distance. Circled.
The soldier tracked him. Those burning eyes never blinked. Never wavered.
Okay, genius. You've got a knife. It's got a sword. You've got a jacket. It's got armor. You've got twenty-one essence points and a community college education. It's got the power of ancient murder and zero sense of humor.
How do you win this?
The answer was simple.
You don't.
Not fair, anyway.
Good thing I've never fought fair in my life.
Rome's hand dropped to the sand. Scooped up a fistful. The soldier charged again.
Wait for it.
The sword came down.
Wait.
Rome could see his own death in that blade. The angle. The trajectory. The way it would split him from shoulder to hip.
NOW.
He threw the sand.
It caught the soldier in the face. In those burning eye-slits. The creature flinched. Just for a second. Just a twitch.
Rome was already inside its guard.
His knife punched into the gap between helmet and chestplate. The joint where metal met metal. Something gave. Something cracked.
The soldier made a sound. Not a scream. More like metal tearing.
Yes. YES. You can bleed, you piece of—
A gauntleted fist caught him in the jaw.
Rome's world went white.
When his vision cleared, he was on his back. The sky above was darkness. His knife was still in his hand, somehow. Blood filled his mouth. One of his teeth felt loose.
Okay. Punching back is also on the table. Good to know.
The soldier loomed over him. That black sword rose.
Rome kicked sand into its face again.
Same trick twice? Really?
The soldier didn't flinch this time. The blade came down.
Rome rolled. Felt the wind of it pass his ear. Heard it bite into the ground.
Shit shit shit—
He grabbed a handful of the soldier's cape. Yanked. Hard.
The creature stumbled. Lost its footing for just a moment.
Rome drove his knife into the back of its knee.
The joint buckled.
The soldier went down on one leg.
IT'S WORKING. HOLY SHIT, IT'S ACTUALLY—
The pommel of the sword cracked against his temple.
Blood. His blood. Running down his face. Into his eyes. Everything was red and spinning and wrong.
Get up.
He was on the ground again. When had he fallen?
GET UP.
His arms shook. His legs refused to cooperate. The soldier was rising. Its knee sparked and ground, damaged but functional.
Get up, Rome. Get up or die.
Calypso's waiting for you.
You promised you'd take her to that Korean BBQ place for her birthday.
You can't die before Korean BBQ.
He got up.
The soldier turned. Its movements were slower now. Uneven. The damage to its knee affected its gait.
It's hurt. It can be hurt. Which means it can be killed.
You just have to figure out how.
Rome's eyes swept the arena. Sand. Torches. Stone walls. Other hunters watching, too scared or too injured to help.
Useless. All of them useless.
No. Focus. What do you have? What can you use?
His knife. Half the blade was chipped now. Wouldn't last much longer.
His jacket. Already torn. Already bloody.
His body. Broken and bleeding and running on fumes.
That's it. That's all you've got.
So use it.
The soldier limped toward him. Sword dragging through the sand. Those burning eyes fixed on him with something that might have been rage.
Good. Be angry. Angry means sloppy.
"That all you got?" Rome spat blood. Grinned with red teeth. "I've had hangovers that hit harder than you."
The soldier's grip tightened on its sword.
Yeah. Definitely angry.
It charged.
Limping. Uneven. But still fast. Still deadly.
Rome didn't run.
This is gonna suck.
He met the charge head-on.
The sword came in low. A sweep aimed at his legs.
Rome jumped.
Not high. Not gracefully. Just enough to clear the blade.
He landed on it.
His weight drove the sword into the sand. Pinned it there. The soldier tried to yank it free but Rome was already moving, already climbing, using the creature's own arm as a ladder.
You want to kill me? Fine. But I'm taking you with me.
His knife found the gap in the helmet. The one he'd made earlier. He drove it in. Felt resistance. Felt something give.
The soldier screamed.
That horrible metal-on-stone sound. It echoed off the arena walls.
Rome twisted the blade.
"DIE ALREADY!"
The knife snapped.
Half the blade stayed in the creature's neck. The other half came away in Rome's hand. Useless.
No no no—
The soldier's hand closed around his arm.
Oh fuck.
It squeezed.
Pain. More pain than Rome had ever felt. More pain than he knew existed. His bones ground together. Something cracked. Something tore.
He screamed.
The soldier threw him.
Rome hit the arena wall. Slid down. Left a red smear on the stone.
Get up.
He couldn't feel his arm. Why couldn't he feel his arm?
GET UP.
The soldier was on its knees. Both hands at its throat. Trying to pull the broken blade free. Black ichor poured from the wound, hissing where it hit the sand.
It's dying. I hurt it. I actually—
GET UP AND FINISH IT.
Rome's legs moved. He didn't remember telling them to. His body operated on pure instinct now, survival overriding everything else.
The broken knife handle was still in his hand. Maybe two inches of jagged blade left.
Enough. It's enough.
It has to be enough.
The soldier looked up as he approached. Those burning eyes flickered. Dimmed.
"Tu..." Its voice was static. Broken. "...non potes..."
"I don't..." Rome's breath came in gasps. "...I don't speak... dead languages... asshole."
He drove what remained of his knife into the creature's eye.
The light went out.
The soldier slumped.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Dead. Actually dead.
Rome stood over it. Chest heaving. Blood dripping from his face, his hands, his everywhere.
He raised the broken knife above his head.
I won.
Holy shit, I actually won.
Screaming.
Someone was screaming.
Not cheering. Not celebration. Terror. Pure terror.
Kiona's voice.
"Rome! YOUR ARM!"
His arm?
He looked down.
Oh.
Oh.
Where his left arm should have been, there was nothing.
Just a ragged stump below the elbow.
Just bone and meat and blood pumping out in rhythmic spurts.
Huh.
That's... that's not great.
When did that happen?
Was that when it grabbed me? Must have been when it grabbed me.
I should probably be more concerned about this.
The world tilted sideways.
Rome's knees buckled.
He was falling. Had been falling for a while, maybe. Hard to tell. Time was doing something weird. Stretching and compressing like taffy.
He hit the sand.
Soft. That's nice.
The arena ceiling spun above him. Dark and distant and full of shadows.
A sound. Grinding. Stone on stone.
The archways.
The doors.
They were opening.
"THE EXITS!" Someone shouted. Not Reyes. One of the others. "THEY'RE OPEN! RUN!"
Movement. Footsteps. The thunder of boots on sand.
Rome turned his head. It took enormous effort. Like his skull weighed a thousand pounds.
Hunters ran for the exits. Eight of them. Maybe nine. Sprinting with everything they had.
One tripped over Patterson's body. Went down. Scrambled up. Kept running.
Another shoved past Kiona. Her broken leg twisted beneath her. She screamed.
They didn't stop.
They didn't look back.
They just ran.
Cowards.
Running while Kiona screams.
Running over the people who can't.
We were a team. We were supposed to be a team.
The first hunter reached an archway. Plunged into the darkness beyond.
A wet sound.
A thud.
Something rolled back out into the torchlight.
A head.
The second hunter tried to stop. Too late. He crossed the threshold.
Another wet sound.
Another thud.
Oh.
The doors weren't an exit.
They were a trap.
We were never meant to leave.
The knights emerged from the archways. Eight of them. One for each hunter who'd tried to run. Their black swords dripped red.
The remaining runners tried to turn back. Too late. Too slow.
Rome watched them die.
One by one.
Cut down like wheat.
Eight hunters who'd been alive thirty seconds ago. Eight people with families, with dreams, with reasons to fight.
Gone.
Ha.
The laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep. Somewhere broken.
Ha ha.
They're all gonna die.
We're all gonna die.
I cut off my own arm to kill one soldier and there's still twelve more plus that giant and we're all gonna die in this stupid hole.
This is so dumb.
This is so incredibly dumb.
I just wanted to buy Calypso a car.
His vision was going dark at the edges. The blood loss, probably. Hard to think about blood when so much of it was outside his body.
Kiona was crawling toward him. Dragging her broken leg. Tears on her face.
"Rome. Rome, stay with me. STAY WITH ME."
I'm trying.
I'm really trying.
But I'm so tired.
And the sand is so soft.
And Calypso's gonna be so mad at me.
The darkness crept closer.
The last thing Rome saw was Kiona's face above him. Those sharp eyes filled with something he'd never seen before.
Fear.
Not for herself.
For him.
Huh.
That's... that's kind of nice.
Dinner.
I still owe her dinner.
Can't die before...
Before...