Son of the Devil - Book I of The Higher Order

Chapter Three: Danger Zone

I stripped out of my formal wear. I'll be damned if I have to wear that in the competition, I thought. If my father thought that I would wear something formal just to be beaten he had another thing coming. I planned on winning or dying out there, no middle ground. I stuffed the clothes I'd been wearing into my locker and pulled out the armor I kept here. It was my favorite set and it would offer more protection than the other option could offer.

The armor had overlaying pieces—much like the scales of a Hellion—made of the hardest material Hell could offer protecting my most vulnerable parts. The joints, my entire chest, neck, head, and genitals. The other parts had tough overlaying armor that wasn't quite as thick but definitely as strong. It was flexible and I could move through a full range of motions in it and that was the most important part. I had tasked the most talented craftsman of Hell to make such an exquisite set.

I pulled on the breastplate pieces and buckled them together so that no inch of my chest was vulnerable. Then, I slid my arm through the armor that protected them and strapped those in place before pulling on my black leather gloves and stretching them by making a fist. Next, I gathered the leg pieces and put them in their proper place, buckling them securely. I secured the spiked shoulder pads on top of the junction between the breastplate and arming point. Finally, I grabbed the face plate and pressed it to the bridge of my nose before using my other hand to fit my helmet into place. The two pieces clicked into position and I let my power run through the iridescent black armor, securing anything that I couldn't. It was comfortably warm, I almost felt like I could relax but I knew better. Being the Prince of Hell, it was unwise for me to ever relax but especially not around potential enemies, because everyone who still remained in this locker room was a competitor, every single one of them, and this was Hell—I wouldn't be surprised if any of them played dirty.

There was one last piece of the ensemble that I needed, a weapon. The dagger I had earlier was good for ambush attacks but everyone in the arena was there to fight, as I looked around, almost everyone had a midrange weapon, a dagger was a close range weapon and would be utterly useless against any longer ranges. I turned to the weapons rack and skimmed my fingers over the weapons still unclaimed before finding the one that I decided upon. I grabbed the double-bladed detachable naginata off the rack and twirled it a few times in slow-moving arcs before stabbing it forward with expert skill, missing a competitor by mere inches though he seemed completely unbothered. I retracted the weapon and held it parallel to my body. Yes, it would do nicely.

The other nineteen fighters in the locker room waited with baited breath while I took the opportunity to sharpen the naginata blades, filling the silent room with the sharp rasp of the whetstone. One of the Crimson Guard members entered the locker room and the other competitors stood and saluted him. I didn't bother to, by the end of the day, I'd be a part of their ranks or dead. He pointed at me and the competitor I'd nearly stabbed and said, "You two will go first. Do you understand the rules for the first event?" I nodded my head, they were simple enough to understand. It appeared the other fighter didn't because the member explained, "This first event is to see the skill with which you fight with, you may not use magic or trickery of any kind, you are allowed only one weapon and your armor, using fists or other body parts is allowed. You are not allowed to kill each other . . . yet. Is this understood?"

"Aye," the fighter said, giving me a clue to his possible fighting style, only the people of the furthest reaches of Hell used 'aye' anymore. The people who lived on the boarders lived and fought by strength alone, figuring they didn't need finesse to kill a person. They tended to use more blunt weapons, like maces and clubs.

"Understood." I agreed, stopping the whetstone in its track, which suddenly filled the locker room with unbearable silence. "When do we start?"

The Crimson Guard member smiled menacingly, "Now." Then pointed to the door that would lead us to the arena. They couldn't see it, but I was smiling, I didn't necessarily like fighting like my older brother but it wasn't exactly optional learning when you're the son of the devil so I was quite good at it. I let the other fighter get to the door first, I couldn't turn my back on him, not now, not ever. The fighter flexed his bared hands and cracked every joint in his knuckles in a display of menace. I'm the Prince of Hell you'll have to do better than that to scare me, buddy, I thought as the door opened to an eager roaring crowd.