The Mayaware's reign must end.
In a world of demonic beings with a hunger for human flesh and thirst for blood, Hesi Renen knows it well. When her siblings are taken to the harvesting farms, she must do everything she can to get them out, even if it...
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When she stepped into the ring, it was as though she was in the breeding farm again, only this time, they wouldn't eat her. They wanted entertainment. They wanted their primitive instincts sated by watching someone else get bashed around.
She spotted the weapons rack to her right. Various blades glinted against the hooks they hung from. A slab of wood held them in place. Her fingers itched for either the ancient knife hidden among her meager possessions or the huurshe dagger she won. It was too risky to wave it anywhere in Berheqt, so she chucked it under the bushes.
She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. Choose one. Anything. Her fingers snatched the only knife from the pile. It was lighter and flimsier than the ones she owned, but it would do. She didn't need long to bring a demon to its knees.
Then, hisses rose to a raucous cacophony when metal creaked and hinges whined. On the stadium's opposite opening, a gate swung open to reveal a gold-collared warrior stepping towards the sandy pit. It raised its spear to the sky, and the fizzing amplified.
The warrior turned to her. Its slitted irises trained to the small blade glinting on her hands. Mayaware features were as expressive as a block of ice, but she sensed a smug smirk flashing through its narrow eyes. The nerve.
She scanned the audience. Unlike the poison trial, the royals weren't here. The generals were complete, though. Along with Kharta. The latter watched her like a hawk, while the former, like a vulture searching for a carcass. She tore her gaze from the sea of beige, sienna, onyx, and ecru. Instead, she focused on the demon marching towards her.
Tall. Muscular. It didn't resemble the scrawny lizards she dealt with in the desert. This one appeared as though it trained all its life for a chance to step inside the arena. She dropped into a stance, running her eyes up and down, searching for a weakness. Something.
A flash of silver hurtled towards her before she finished. She ducked and whipped aside, slicing wide with her knife. The blade's tip caught flesh. It wasn't sharp enough to cut. The demon hasn't brought out its scales yet either.
She gritted her teeth and stumbled back, away from the influence of the spear tip the warrior carried. It was fast. Flexible. Thought on its feet. Just like her. In terms of guile, she must see how it held up.
She dashed forward, her blade poised left. The warrior met her, skewing its spear at an angle to pierce through her had she not seen through it. At her last step, she pivoted to the right; the sand crunched underneath her soles. Then, she closed the distance and lashed out. Her knee slammed into the fleshy bulk of the warrior's side.
Pain shot up her limb, jarring her to leap back. She leaned aside to avoid the spear, letting it thunk on the ground behind her head. She lashed out, wrapped her fingers around the spear's shaft, and slammed her knife against it. Wood thwacked. Splinters rained. She flipped back before the extended claws caught her hair or her neck.
