Set Me Free

An Even Stickier Situation

Year 3046

The Trenches (Previously New England)

Sofia Lewis

The taste of blood is potent on my tongue, like copper and iron swirling together into an abhorrent cocktail. I am dizzy, unable to move, unable to open my eyes, but my ears—they hear everything. And it is insanely loud.

There is cheering. Clapping. Whistles. Hoots, hollers, screams. I've a vague idea where I ended up after being captured. The woods had been my shelter, my safety from these monsters, and I'd foolishly disobeyed my brother, wandering off, blanketed by a false sense of security.

I'd run right into two of them. They'd laughed as they beat me into submission and dragged me back to their kingdom. I hadn't realized we were so close to one, and I grit my teeth now, worry for my older brother pinching my chest. Where the hell am I, though?

I try to move, still unsuccessful, but the floor beneath me is springy—not typical unforgiving concrete or wood. It's loud, still. So I'm around a crowd, then. Panic rises, my eyes springing open as adrenaline floods my system, giving me clarity. I am on a raised platform, and all around me are ropes—a ring. I'm in a boxing ring?

I drag my arm up, attempting to right myself, my cheek pressed pitifully onto the floor of the ring. The cheering hushes, and a garbled voice speaks, but my ears don't register the words; the pain near my temple tells me why I am struggling so badly. I've been concussed. My panic rises more, as does the cheering.

Before I can move another muscle or even think another thought, thick fingers curl around my ankle, and my limp body is dragged backwards. No, no, no. It all snaps together in that small span of time.

I can't be here.

There's no way.

The one who grabbed me flips me as though I weigh nothing more than a rag, and with a ringing clarity, I know my life is over. As I stare up into the livid, pale green eyes spiked through with gold, I know in my heart I am truly dead. With a sharp cry, I roll, trying to claw myself away from this massive beast of a monster, but it is all in vain. I sob as he flips me again, pinning me to the platform by my neck, his fingers thick, his palm wider than my entire throat.

I can't even make out any other distinguishable characteristics of this particular leech; just that he is insanely huge, and those eyes are so filled with rage that I want to vomit from fear. The crowd erupts in wild cheers, and the monster's eyes snap up, focusing in on something behind me, revealing his thick throat and dense black beard. His long, wild hair falls in tendrils to his shoulders, woven through with caramel.

His lip curls back into a malicious sneer, one that holds so much confidence—one that tells me whoever is approaching will also meet their end. He releases me, standing to his full impending height with me between his legs, slow and controlled, wearing nothing more than black pants that hug his muscles and end mid calf.

I have no other time to waste; I roll back onto my stomach, about to dart to the side, away from the adversaries. I've heard of the horrors of these fights, but simply knowing they exist—and knowing I am now part of one—is enough to spur me into action. I can't move, though, when the two beasts collide in a fight so magnificent that they somehow feel like ancient pagan gods warring over a mortal.

Which is precisely what is happening.

Whoever wins this fight will win a night with me.

For that is the way of this world, of this particular kingdom. How do I know this so well? The beast who'd grabbed me reels his fist back, connecting with the other one's temple, sending him stumbling into the ropes. I am lost, mesmerized, wondering if this was what she saw on her first night here—wondering how many fights she endured, how many champion's beds she warmed before she made the ultimate sacrifice and ended her own life.