Will & Tessa \ Wessa

Captured \ 3

{This is Part 3 of a 4 part short story for Will and Tessa called Captured}

The captive men bore no visible chains, such was the warlock's great power.

The mark on each man could bring them to their knees from the pain she would give if she willed it.

Amongst her captives were fairies and young werewolves, unable to tap into their ability to transform.  All unable to flee.

The warlock had claimed an abandoned, crumbling castle in the midlands, surrounded by the Herefordshire countryside.  She referred to the very large courtyard in the castle grounds as the arena.

The first day she had led them all out and Will had taken in his surroundings, but it was hard to see beyond stone and trees, hard to make out exactly what surrounded them.

He couldn't imagine how they could escape the magic that bound them but he would have to try.  The fairies refused to speak to him and the werewolves eyed him suspiciously, the faded runes and scars across his body were stark evidence of who and what he really was.  Shadowhunter.

The warlock had handlers too, brute mundanes with the sight who did her bidding with savage vigor, relishing in inflicting pain while the prisoners were incapacitated by her spells.

As they grew in number they were kept in cages on the edges of the arena.

On the other side there were cages for females.

The warlock had fight parties, placing bets with affluent spectators and enjoying the battles for entertainment.  Vampires, warlocks and wealthy mundanes brought inexperienced fighters to throw in the arena.

More often than not it was a blood bath, their raucous laughter filling the air as each captive fought for their life.

It was Will's forth night in this forsaken place and a handler pointed at him. "You're next!"

Will sighed and stood up slowly.

"Good luck, Will."  Said John, one eye swollen shut, who was amazed that Will did not look more concerned.   He never did, and if he was he hid it well.  John had wondered about the strange runes that decorated Will's skin and he wondered if his new friend was something other than just a man.  They called Will 'angel' or 'Shadowhunter' and John didn't understand what that meant. At times they seemed afraid of Will and at times they gloated about the great prize that he was, about a time soon when he'd be used as a bargaining tool.

The warlock inflicted the most pain on him until at times he could barely stand.

"What's your weapon of choice?" The handler barked, "Make it quick!"

Will picked up a sword.  It was heavy and the blade was caked in dried blood, the edge looked blunt. "I may as well use my fists."  He remarked solemnly.

"You can try."  The handler laughed, taking in how lean Will was. His scarred and bruised body.

The arena was surrounded with spectators shouting and giddy for the fight and the sight of blood.  A captured Shadowhunter in their midst.  A Shadowhunter whose Angel runes no longer functioned.

Will swept the crowd, a crowd made up of men, women, downworlders...

There was a fever in the air that curbed suddenly when the warlock stepped forward, she was carrying a fan, her black dress was austere, her silver blonde hair swept up on top of her head.

"My fighter, my very own angel."  Her voice carried in the silence.  Will glared at her and she gestured for him to come closer and he felt the pain start to prickle in him.  He did not need any more pain if he was going fight and try to stay alive.