Aureate Fates

5

               CRADLE IN A CASKET

                                   —MARISOL—

The underground arena was filled with the scent of copper.

Blood and sweat.

While Lavander Festival flowed on above ground, the hoodlums of Mid-Quarter gathered in a frenzy below. Marisol watched as Reese threw a swift jab to his opponent, knocking him to the ground. The crowd roared with hunger.

There were no lavender pins here.

"FINISH HIM!" the crowd chanted.

There was no particular bias, the crowd cheered for whoever had the upper hand. Losers and the underestimated were torn apart by the audience, spat on and shoved away. The thought worried Marisol, for her own fight.

Reese pinned his opponent to the mat within the war ring and delivered a fist to his mouth. Blue blood flew and the crowd continued their ear-splitting commentary. Reese had multiple cuts on his nose and knuckles—cherry red—but they'd heal later. Before Jaak could see them.

The boy was with Helena in their tin hut. Safe and warm, away from the disorderly sway of the crowd. Marisol was up close to the ring, where half the fighters were designated. The other half were on the opposite side of the ring, either watching Reese or putting in some final training.

Reese had offered her an elixir—he'd said it was something to keep her focused—and she'd accepted. As she felt a churning in her stomach, she wondered if accepting the drink was a sound idea after all, for she felt as if the ground was rocking beneath her.

Colors swirled and faces contorted in odd fashions. Perhaps it wasn't the elixir, it could have merely been her plain nerves. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw a man of a bulky build scour her with a lustful gaze.

Enemy opponent? No, it couldn't of been. He would've been closer to the ring.

She turned her head to take in his full form. He resembled a large pig, one without manners. Earlier, Marisol had seen him defile a displeased younger woman at entrance.

Oh, he was no man.

She smiled sweetly, and the man ran his tongue across his lips, eyes never leaving her. She waved him over, in the midst of the roaring crowd.

The man seemed like he didn't need further convincing. As he approached, she maneuvered out of Reese's line of sight, because if he saw them, she knew he'd grow concerned.

Their rent money relied on his win, she would not jeopardize that. However, that didn't mean she couldn't toy with the scummiest of men.

Anger simmered on the surface of her face as the man grabbed her by the waist, without any invitation to do so. "What's a gem like you doing here?," he grunted, tightening his grip. "It's a scary place for a pretty face."

Marisol looked into his black eyes and saw dullness, a blade that had not been sharpened in decades. Blood began to trickle out of those dreary eyes. Blood that looked black.

Marisol scrunched her brows together and released a sound of surprise. "Oh dear, are you okay?," she asked, stroking his cheek.

The man's grip on her slackened and he stumbled backwards, holding his head in his hands. He began to choke, sputtering on his blood.

Terror amassed in his expression at the foreign experience he was undergoing. When he fell to his knees, the crowd swallowed him. Claimed him in their mindless chanting.