“Elix, you're up,” the voice echoed through the doors of the cell.

I stood up and walked to the door to find the man staring back at me. He was a hard looking man Dorthynian man, with no hair, no teeth, and just one eye. He bore the scars of many battles in the pits. He'd told me that after claiming his hundredth victory, a number only a small handful had claimed, he'd earned his freedom. And yet, despite being freed, he'd chosen to stay with Dryx, the man who'd enslaved him all those years ago – albeit in a different capacity.

Now, Jurg was the Lothda – the captain of Dryx's gladiators. Jurg was a decent enough guy, though I'd never go so far as to call him kind. But, he looked out for us in his own way. Trained us. Made sure we got enough to eat and weren't mistreated. His care for us, no doubt informed by his own experience.

Dryx, as I learned, was a powerful man high up in the Syndicate's power structure. He had an obscene amount of wealth and connections high up within the USF, as well as local governmental bodies in countless systems. I'd somehow popped on his radar and given his wealth and power, all he had to do was snap his fingers, and I was suddenly one of his gladiators.

“You okay?” Jurg asked.

I stretched out my arms and shoulders as I tried to tamp down the knots in my belly. It was my first fight – a fight I didn't want to take on, but it had been made clear to me that if I refused, I would be killed. And not in a quick, clean way. Dryx was very clear that if I disappointed him by choosing not to fight, my death would be slow and agonizing. He said it was better to die in the pit with dignity and honor.

Like that son of a bitch would know the first thing about dignity and honor.

“Fine,” I replied.

He smirked as if he knew I was lying. “Nothing wrong with being nervous,” he said. “A lot at stake here.”

“Yeah, my life.”

“Exactly,” he said. “That's why you need to stay sharp. Focused.”

I tugged at my collar. The damn thing was not only uncomfortable, it was chaffing my skin and making me itch.

“The collar is going to be turned off when you step into the ring,” Jurg said. “But there are snipers and guards everywhere. You try running or busting your way out, you're going to end up dead.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I snapped.

“I'm just telling you, Elix,” he said, his voice gruff. “You want to get back to that woman you're in love with?”

“You know I do.”

“Then keep your head on straight and fight like her life depends upon it,” he said. “Fight for her, Elix. That's what I'm telling you. If you have something worth fighting for, your odds of coming out of the pits alive goes up.”

I stood in silence for a moment and let his words run through my mind. Fight for Kianna. Fight to get back to her. There were only two ways out of my current predicament – winning my freedom or in a body bag.

“What were you fighting for?” I turned to face him and asked.

A wry grin touched his lips. “A woman,” he said. “Like you.”

“And yet, you're still here.”

He let out a long, pained breath. “She moved on. Didn't wait for me,” he replied. “I had nothing better going for me anywhere else.”

Suddenly, a lot of things about Jurg started to make sense and I actually found myself pitying the man. That had to be a hard blow to take. I couldn't imagine – didn't want to imagine. I wanted to get back to Kianna, and I didn't want to have to win a hundred matches to do it.

I would fight for now, but I was going to plan. Eventually, I was going to have an opportunity. I would get my chance. And when I did, I was going to be ready.

“It's time,” Jurg said.

I let out a long breath and fought back the wave of nerves as he opened the gate. He walked with me down the hallway, passing on last-minute advice, tips on how to survive. He said the match wasn't going to be easy, but if I kept my focus, I'd be okay.

I really wanted to believe him.

Fighting in a battle as a soldier was one thing. It was impersonal. You fired from a safe distance and never really looked your enemy in the eye. This though – this was going to be different. No guns. Blades only. One-on-one combat. I was trained and I was strong, but I still had my doubts and fears.

As we drew near the gate that would lead me into the pits, the muffled sound of the crowd filtered through. There had to be hundreds of people out there. Thousands. All crammed into a stadium to watch people kill each other.

“Fucking ghouls,” I said.

Jurg nodded. “That they are,” he replied. “You'd do well to shut them out. Pretend they're not even there. All that matters right now, Elix, is that blade in your hand and the man in front of you.”

I nodded and blew out another long breath. I was about as ready as I was ever going to be. I heard an announcer shouting over a loudspeaker, his voice – like the crowd's – muffled through the thick blast doors that separated the waiting cages from the arena. A small jolt of electricity shot through me when I heard him call my name.

Slowly, the blast door in front of me was raised, creaking and groaning like some giant, wounded beast. Jurg patted me on the back and gave me a firm nod.

“I'll see you back here in a few minutes,” he said.

I nodded, walked out into the arena, and was immediately overwhelmed. High, thick walls ringed the pit and beyond that were bleachers filled with thousands of screaming people, all eagerly anticipating the sight of blood.

The door came down, closing me behind me, the thick steel plate clanking with a sound of finality. The hum of energy in the color around my neck stopped, making me pause. That sudden absence of feeling was somehow disconcerting. But, it meant that I was back at full strength – something that gave me great comfort.

I was sealed into the pit with a man on the other side of the arena who looked to be about my size. He was tall, broad-shouldered, thick through the chest and arms. He had pale violet skin and a wild shock of blood red hair that spilled down over his shoulders.

The man wore dark green and black armor on his chest and arms and carried a thick, long sword with a broad blade. The armor I wore on my chest and arms was blue and gold, and my sword was long, thin, and curved. Truthfully, I probably would have felt more comfortable with the bigger blade. It had more heft to it and I thought, would do more damage.

But, Jurg had selected my weapon for me, told me the pros and cons of it, and had given me some rudimentary instruction. Being that it was thin and light, I'd be able to move it faster than the other man would. I wouldn't have to invest as much energy swinging the heavy, bulky blade, but could slice and dance away before he got back around for another stroke.

The one thing he told me I couldn't do, was stand toe-to-toe and trade blows with the man. He was a seasoned pit fighter and one who was cunning. Jurg had told me to use my strengths to my best advantage – and to use my enhanced abilities when necessary.

Though, he did say that Dryx did not want me to make it so obvious that I had enhanced abilities. He wanted that kept as quiet as possible. Which, of course, told me that he was cheating. He was gaming the system and looking for unfair advantages to win a fight. Part of me wondered what his fellow Syndicate members would think of the deception – and what they would do to him if they found out.

But then, I didn't really care. My only focus was on staying alive and getting back to Kianna.

There was a low gong from one end of the arena, that sounded like somebody had struck a bell in some ancient temple. Given how absolutely insane the crowd went upon hearing the gong, I assumed it meant the match was on.

The man on the other side of the arena walked toward me, casually, as if he had all the time in the world. He waved to the crowd, urging them on, and the people responded, growing louder, chanting his name. The knots in my stomach tightened and my throat was suddenly dryer than the desert on Gorndyr.

He stopped about ten feet from me and banged his sword against his armored chest plate, an expression of pure malevolence upon his face. His grin was ghastly and only served to accentuate the scars that lined his face.

“Ready to die?” he snarled.

“Get on with it then,” I shot back.

He rushed forward, raising his sword above his head. He brought it down as I dodged to the side, the blade missing me by the proverbial mile. But, the man was quick. His foot lashed out and caught me in the midsection, knocking me backward and off my feet completely. I hit the ground, the air whooshing out of my lungs, and the frenzied crowd grew louder.

I didn't have time to recover though, as the man was bearing down on me again. His high overhead cut came screaming down, forcing me to roll to the side quickly. The blade slammed into the floor of the arena behind me, sending chips of concrete shooting outward. One small fragment knicked me across the cheek and I felt the blood slowly trickling down my face. I touched the wound and looked at the blood that coated my fingertips.

The man was bringing his sword to bear again as I quickly shot to my feet and lashed out. My boot caught him in the gut and he stumbled backward but didn't go down. Instead, he gave me a look that was feral and rushed me again. I sidestepped the murderous arc of his blade and when he tried to kick me again, I was ready for it. I sliced down with my blade, opening a gash on his calf. Blood poured from the wound, spilling out onto the ground. The sight of blood excited the crowd even more.

The man took a few steps back, his eyes never leaving mine as he moved. When he was out of range of my blade, he looked down and inspected the wound. I could tell it hurt. And I could also tell by the look on his face that he wasn't used to taking damage.

He turned his eyes back to me and his expression darkened. He was furious and had murder in his eyes. The man wanted to rip me limb from limb. I smiled at him.

Launching himself forward, the man swung his sword horizontally, trying to cut me clean in half. I got my blade up to deflected the blow, the ring of steel on steel somehow seeming louder than the roaring crowd around us.

Sweat rolled down my face and back as the man pressed his attack, hacking and slashing with a wild abandon. I parried every blow but knew if I missed just one, that was going to be the end of me. Forward he pressed and I danced back, parrying each and every cut he took.

I hadn't realized I'd moved back as far as I had until I bumped into the wall of the arena. My back was literally to the wall and the man kept hacking and slashing at me. The crowd was going crazy, building to a fever pitch, thinking they were about to witness the end of me.

The man swung his blade viciously and I managed to get my blade up in time to block it – though, just barely. He swung again and I blocked once more – only to have the blade on my sword snap clean in half. A jolt of fear surged through me as I saw the fanatical light in the man's eyes and the roar of the crowd grew deafening.

They all believed it was over. I had other plans.

Dropping the useless hilt, I quickly closed the distance between us. Reaching out, I gripped the man's throat. As I squeezed harder, the man's eyes grew wide and a wet, strangled, gurgling noise escaped his lips. I lifted him by his neck and sword hit the ground with a ringing clatter. A gasp echoed through the crowd. The man beat at my hands uselessly, kicking and swinging his fists, trying to find a way to loosen my hold on his throat.

“Ready to die?” I asked him, a dark glee coursing through my body.

I twisted my wrist and heard the sounds of the bones in his neck snapping and popping. A moment later, the stadium around me fell deathly silent as the man hung limp and lifeless in my hand. You could have heard the proverbial pin drop as the crowd stared in stunned disbelief. I tossed his body away and it hit the arena floor with a meaty thump, his eyes wide and unseeing.

I looked around at the suddenly silent arena, feeling the weight of thousands of eyes upon me. Slowly, the cheers and applause started in one corner of the arena, and slowly it spread until the whole arena was roaring in approval. Maybe it wasn't the death they'd all expected, but they got their death nonetheless.

As the blast doors opened and I walked back to the holding cage area, the crowd was showering me with applause, chanting out my name. Jurg was standing there nodding at me as I walked out of the arena, and patted me on the back as I passed.

“One down,” I said. “Ninety-nine to go.”

I just hoped and prayed to whoever was listening that I'd find a way out of there sooner, rather than later.