Blood on Sand

VICTORY

Zoe fell to his knees. Every wheezing breath burned in his chest, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. It would all be over soon. The harsh glare from the spotlight made it hard to see anything beyond the blood-soaked sand in front of him, but it didn't matter. If he could endure only a few more seconds, a few more agonising breaths, it would all be over.

The cheering and booing turned into a buzzing sound and faded into the background. Spots swam before his eyes, and he could no longer see what was happening around him. It didn't matter. He'd done what he set out to do, and now he would die.

His opponent coughed and gasped behind him, still crawling around, but unable to get to his feet. He would live—if his master let him. Zoe lowered his wooden shield and broken spear, and waited for the strike to come. He kept his gaze down; he didn't need to see the top dog's face to know he was furious. His powerful claws were probably curled around the stone railing separating the spectators from the combatants at that very moment. The heavily muscled arms, or whatever they called their forelimbs, could snap his neck. He didn't think that would happen, though. Using his claws to rip Zoe's throat out would be far more entertaining—and people came here to be amused. Blood splatter would fly through the air, raining down on the viewers closest to him while he twitched and bled out on the arena floor. They would cheer in their growly way, and everyone would be happy with the result. Almost everyone. Even his hazy mind could sort out that the Alpha wouldn't be pleased.

He lowered his head and waited. Could he have done anything differently? It seemed like an awful lot of work just to get killed. He could have just cheated, stopped defending himself, but his pride wouldn't let him. This too was cheating in a way; fights were always to the death and he hadn't killed, nor had he been killed, yet. This felt more honourable in some way. Why he even cared, he didn't know.

The snarls coming from the first row of the tiered seating penetrated the buzzing in his head. He didn't understand these beasts in their changed forms, but he could sense their wrath.

What was taking them so long? It should be over by now. He'd forced their hand, and there was no other way out. They would have to kill him. If they didn't, they would lose face, and he knew they'd never let that happen. He would've smiled, if he'd been able to in his lizard form. But he wasn't, and it didn't matter anyway. It would soon be over. He would finally be free.

****

Wojtek's blood boiled. That fucking crawler. If the little maggot had thought he could play him, he was about to be sorely disappointed. Wojtek had no intention of losing his best warrior. Not like this. Not today.

All the lizardmen in his stable would pay for this disobedience. He would make sure they did, even if he had to do it himself. He didn't much like going down to the slave quarters, but for this he'd make an exception.

"Are you waiting for him to bleed to death all on his own? You have to kill him."

Wojtek glared at Satul, his second-in-command, his Beta. "No. He wants me to kill him. We'll punish them, all of them, and then we'll see how he enjoys the slave quarters once everyone figures out he's the reason they're being penalised."

"Oh, that sounds serious. Too bad you can't do it."

Wojtek growled. He hated when Satul's sarcastic voice echoed in his head. In human form he could pretend he didn't hear him; that was not an option when they were shifted. He hated when he interfered, hated that he had to listen to him... He didn't have to do as Satul said, but things usually turned out for the better if he did. He hated that the annoying little fucker was one of his best friends, and that he liked him even though he was an annoying little fucker.