The Wrath of the Innocent

2. Reena

A woman with tawny skin and dark hair walks over to me as the fight ends, handing me my knives as I put my armor on. This won't be fun. I have a deal with General Mulligan; I fight in the Compound's arena, and she gets seventy percent of the money from bets in return for her working to open up a position as general for me. We get promotions by fighting for it, but even if we pass the trial, priority goes to the more experienced. I know I'll pass, but she'll ensure that I get the job.

"You're next."

"Yep. Can you hand me that dagger?" General Mulligan grabs a dagger from my locker and hands it to me. We take a knife from our opponents when we win, and now my locker is full of them.

"Your fights are getting a bit routined, don't you think? You win and leave. Play with your prey a little. Have some fun with them."

"Isn't that a bit arrogant?"

"If you think of it that way, sure, but this entertainment exists for a reason. People love gore, people love it when gladiators make the fight interesting. Show us something we've never seen before." General Mulligan elbows me in the ribs as I walk into the Arena.

There are banners stretched across the sandstone pillars, announcing that the Arena is open gladiator fights today. Metal doors on all sides let us in, and the grated floor is locked in place, the water below is drained, leaving a pit to be filled on challenge days. The boy that I'm fighting is about my size, with scars all over him and a sword pointed at me.

"Are you the warmup, or do I get an easy win?" he asks, smiling. This is definitely his first time.

"Oh, so you're new prey. Nice."

"Prey?"

"Don't you know? Losers go in the day's dinner. Maybe if you put up a damn good fight, they'll just take a limb."

"What? They never said anything abou-"

"You could say that losing costs you an arm and a leg." He doesn't appreciate the joke much. While he's off-guard, I hit him in the side with my sword. He jumps, reaching out to stab me. I grab his outstretched arm and turn around, flipping him over my shoulder. He lands hard on his back, the metal of his armor scraping against the steel of the floor. I step back, waiting for him to get up. General Mulligan said to make it interesting, I suppose I can do that. He scrambles to his feet, running at me once he regains his balance. He tries to knock me over, and I fall before gaining my footing again, slipping behind him and kicking him in the back of the knee. This time, pin him to the floor, my knee on his chest and a dagger at his throat. He struggles, but the dagger presses deeper into his throat the more he fights. He taps the floor three times, and I win.

"Into the soup you go," I smile. He does not. As soon as it's over, I help him up, and he glares at me.

"Good fight."

"Good fight."

After the day's fights, I go to the betting stands to collect this month's cut of the profits. After a few minutes of looking for friends, I find two of them sitting in the shade of a tree. Zyan has hickory skin, and a buzz cut. He's got two tattoos on his left arm; one of a wave that circles around his bicep, and one of a tree. He says the wave is because water is a big part of his culture, and he doesn't admit it, but the tree is for Keaton. Keaton is thin and pale and nearly invisible as they sit in the tree. Leaves are caught in their messy, strawberry blond hair. They tried to cut it by themselves a week ago, and now it's all messy and uneven, like they cut it blindfolded. Both Keaton and Zyan don the same navy blue and gold uniform that I do, same as everyone else in the army.

"Hey," Zyan waves, looking up at me from his spot under the tree. Keaton hangs above Zyan, upside down. They're holding a bucket filled with ice water, grinning. Keaton pours the water on Zyan and throws the pail off to the side to wait for Zyan's reaction, but he continues sitting there under the tree, unfazed.