To read from the beginning start here.
Ranckor and Icknor bracketed me, tongues flicking wildly in the air. I hear the raspy sounds of their forked tongues rather than see them because the darkness shrouds everything in inky blackness. It makes me shiver, heightening my fear, and spurring their fervor. They feast on the pheromones I’m putting out…Nothing sexy here. I’m fucking terrified.
God, how I hate feeding in to their perverse desires, but I can’t help it.
Ranckor did it. He pulled on the chain and you dropped. God, how my stomach churned, a lurching in my gut, wondering if you survived. A heartbreaking second later the thud of your fall reaches my ears. From here on out, I’m left only to imagine the battle below.
I know Him. I’ve seen Him. His prowess. His strength. The power of his muscles straining to reach me after each of his wins. I’ve even felt his callous touch, tempered only by the oversight of my captors who allowed Him the most minimal taste of my flesh.
Now, you face the brunt of that power head on. A fight for supremacy. A fight for life.
A battle yell shakes the stones. Him calling out his challenge. You are silent. Are you already dead?
The flicking of the damnable forked tongues accelerates with my involuntary shudder. I brace myself to face whatever outcome this contest yields.
Him or You.
Silence beneath me now.
Icknor leans forward to peer over the lip of the pit. He draws me forward with him.
A roar splits the air. Him? Or was that you? It sounded…different to my ears.
Blinded by the Deep Dark, I hate not knowing. Flesh smacks on flesh. Another body slam. Two massive warriors battling it out. At least now I know you still live. Deep breaths of desperation saw in and out of my lungs, and minutes pass with agonizing slowness.
A horrifying crunch, then terrible silence follows.
Icknor leans even further over the pit and releases me into Ranckor’s grip. I stumble away from the edge, terrified of the long fall.
Icknor tosses something that rattles on what I have come to learn is the wooden platform they use to raise and lower men into the pit.
“If you wish to be pulled out, shackle you wrists and climb on, Signal when you are ready to claim your prize.”
That would be me. The prize…to be viewed by You–your first win. Or raped by him–victory for his fifth and final contest.
I curl my shoulders inward, laden with fear and powerless to control my fate.
To read part VII click here…