The pit stank of blood. The bodies of the other slaves lay in the dirt, torn apart, their deaths nothing more than fuel for the Legion's brutal spectacle. Snow stood among them, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts, her fists clenched around the crude dagger she had made from the Chaser's fang. Her arms were splattered with gore, her clothes tattered and hanging off her like rags. Behind her, the barbed wire fence loomed, streaked with the dark stains of failed escape attempts.
Only three Chasers remained.
One lunged.
Snow ducked, twisting to the side as the beast sailed past her, its momentum carrying it straight into the barbed wire. It hit with a yelp, its hide snagging on the cruel metal. The fence held, but the Chaser didn't come away unscathed—deep cuts tore into its flank, fresh blood welling up beneath the tangled steel. It stumbled away, whimpering, its snarls turning into something closer to a growl of frustration.
The other two were smarter. They didn't rush in blindly. Instead, they circled her, their sickly, white eyes locked on her every movement.
They were trying to box her in.
Snow adjusted her grip on the fang, her fingers slick with blood. She could feel her own heartbeat pounding through her limbs, her muscles coiled tight, ready to move. The Chasers, sensing their moment, leapt—both at once, from opposite sides.
She didn't run.
She surged forward instead, meeting one of the Chasers mid-air. As it came down, she planted her boots against its ribcage, using its own weight to propel herself up and onto its back.
It howled, thrashing beneath her, but Snow was already moving. She grabbed its matted fur for balance and drove her fang-knife down—once, twice, again and again, stabbing deep into the thick hide. The beast shrieked, its limbs jerking erratically as she tore into it, dark blood spraying with each strike.
She rode the Chaser's convulsions, holding on as it staggered and bucked, its cries filling the air. Then, as it swerved dangerously toward the barbed wire, she let go.
Snow hit the ground hard, rolling with the impact, coming up on one knee just in time to see the other two Chasers hesitate.
They smelled the blood.
The injured Chaser was still standing, barely, its movements jerky and pained. Its packmates, driven by hunger, turned on it instead.
They attacked with savage efficiency, their instincts overriding whatever strategy they'd had before. The wounded Chaser didn't even have time to yelp before their teeth sank into its exposed flesh, pulling it down in a flurry of claws and snapping jaws. Its screeches were cut short as they ripped into its throat, tearing muscle from bone.
Snow wasted no time.
As the beasts feasted, she sprang onto the remaining one, the one that had been wounded by the barbed wire. It barely had a chance to react before she plunged her fang-knife into its milky eye.
The creature screamed, thrashing violently as she twisted the blade, driving it deeper, feeling it puncture something soft and wet. Its movements turned erratic, then slowed.
Then stopped.
The body slumped beneath her.
Snow pushed herself up, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. She wiped a hand across her forehead, smearing sweat and blood through her white hair. Then she turned to the final Chaser.
The last one standing.
Unlike the others, this one didn't lunge.
It watched her.
Its movements were slower, more measured. It padded around her in a careful half-circle, sizing her up. It knew now that she wasn't an easy kill.
Snow didn't give it the chance to decide.
She took a step back, her eyes flickering to one of the dead slaves. His body was crumpled, his clothes still mostly intact.
She moved toward him, crouching down, tearing at the fabric of his shirt. The Chaser, sensing weakness, pounced—its maw stretching wide, teeth bared.
Snow twisted at the last second and flung the torn cloth straight at its face.
The fabric tangled around its head, momentarily blinding it. The beast jerked, shaking wildly, trying to rid itself of the obstruction.
That was all the time Snow needed.
She darted forward, her movements sharp and precise. With one swift motion, she rammed her fang-knife into its skull, driving it through the thin patch of bone just above its snout.
The Chaser let out a strangled gurgle. It convulsed once, twice—then collapsed.
Silence followed.
Then the cheering started.
The Legion roared in approval, their bloodlust sated, their fists pounding against the metal barricades that surrounded the pit. Some whistled, others howled like animals, reveling in the violence they had just witnessed.
Snow ignored them.
She turned instead toward the raised platform, her eyes locking onto Dominus.
He was watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read—half amusement, half intrigue. He leaned back, stroking his bearded chin, before raising a hand. The crowd quieted instantly.
"You are something else," he mused, his voice carrying over the pit. "I expected entertainment, but not this. You fight like a beast, yet think like a warrior. That's a rare thing in this world."
Snow spat onto the dirt. "Spare me the speech."
Dominus grinned. "I could use someone like you." He gestured vaguely. "The Crimson Legion rewards strength. Join me, and I will make you one of my lieutenants. You will be one of the rulers in this hell, like all of us. You will have power. Purpose. The part of something greater than this pitiful woman."
He tucked Rain, making her groan in pain. Snow bristled, her expression filled with rage for the man in front of her for insulting and hurting the woman she loved. She wiped the blood from her blade, her grip tightening around the makeshift weapon.
Then she lifted her head, and in a voice that carried over the pit, she said:
"I challenge you to a duel."
The words hit like a gunshot.
The cheering stopped. The crowd fell into an uneasy silence. Even the soldiers, hardened killers that they were, exchanged uncertain glances.
On the platform, Dominus stared at her. Then he threw his head back and laughed.
"You're bold," he said, still chuckling. "But tell me, girl—why would I waste my time fighting you myself?"
Snow tilted her head. "Because by your own words, the strong rule, the ruthless prevail. And if you refuse me, you show everyone here that you're afraid. That you're weak." She smirked, letting the insult settle. "That you're a coward."
That did it.
The Legion murmured among themselves, their excitement shifting into something else—anticipation.
Dominus's laughter faded. His smile remained, but it was tighter now, his eyes darker.
He stood.
And with the arrogance of a man who had never known fear, he said:
"Very well."
He turned to his men.
"Prepare my weapon."
Then he stepped down from the stage, leaving Rain with the Consul.
————————————————————————————————————————————
The Crimson Legion roared with excitement as Lord Dominus stepped into the blood-soaked pit, his heavy boots crunching against the dirt. He stood tall, clad in dark iron plates reinforced with old-world metal, his crimson cloak draped over one shoulder like the pelt of some great beast. His helmet, adorned with jagged spikes, obscured most of his face, but his mouth twisted into a grin, sharp and hungry, as he raised his weapon—a long trident, wickedly barbed at each prong, polished with the blood of past victims.
Across from him, Snow stood with her makeshift knife—a single Chaser fang still slick with gore—her stance relaxed but ready. She was barefoot, dressed in tattered rags, her body marred with old scars and fresh bruises. Yet there was no fear in her. If anything, there was an almost irritating calmness about her, as if the man before her wasn't worth the effort of concern.
The Legion's soldiers cheered wildly, banging weapons together, eager for the spectacle. Rain, still chained at the Consul's side, clenched her fists, her heart hammering in her chest. The Consul, for his part, remained silent, his face unreadable as he watched the pit with dark, calculating eyes.
Dominus rolled his shoulders, spinning the trident in one hand as if warming up. "I hope you savor this, girl," he called, his voice thick with amusement. "Because I'm going to enjoy breaking every bone in your body. And when you're nothing but a twitching sack of shattered limbs, I'll give your little pet here to my men." His eyes flicked to Rain, his grin widening at the way she tensed. "Let them have their fun before I put a blade through her throat."
Snow exhaled slowly, eyes flicking toward Rain for the briefest moment. Then she tilted her head back toward Dominus, her voice level.
"Then stop talking and try it."
The crowd howled in delight, but Dominus had already surged forward, driving his trident straight for her chest.
Snow twisted aside, narrowly avoiding the lethal thrust. The trident's prongs speared into the dirt where she had been standing, and before Dominus could yank it free, she darted in, her knife slashing across his side. The blade barely cut through his armor, but it left a thin gash along his exposed hip.
A minor wound. A scratch.
But Snow wasn't trying to kill him outright.
Dominus snarled, tearing the trident from the ground and slashing it toward her in a wide arc. Snow ducked under it, pivoted, and slashed again—this time at the back of his knee, where his armor was weakest. Another shallow wound, but she saw the way he flinched.
"You little—" He thrust again, faster this time, but Snow moved like water, slipping just out of reach, her knife flicking out with every dodge. Small cuts. Annoying wounds. Nothing that would kill him quickly, but enough to make him bleed.
Enough to wear him down.
Dominus wasn't used to this. He was used to fights ending quickly—used to overpowering his enemies with brute force, his men watching in awe as he crushed weaker foes.
But Snow wasn't a weaker foe.
She was a survivor.
Minutes passed, and the fight shifted. Dominus, once confident, was breathing heavier. His trident felt heavier in his hands. Sweat dripped down his brow, mingling with the blood seeping from a dozen small wounds. Snow, on the other hand, was untouched, still light on her feet, still moving with effortless precision.
And then, finally, he snapped.
"WHY WON'T YOU JUST DIE!?" Dominus bellowed, his voice raw with frustration.
Snow wiped a smudge of blood from her cheek, her grip steady on the knife. "Because I've fought for too long to die to someone like you," she said, her voice eerily calm. "I always fight tooth and nail to survive, alone in those wastes. Then, when she came into my life," She glanced at Rain, seeing her smiling weakly but hopeful "I fought for her sake too, harder than before even."
She then said coldly at him, like she addressing something normal, something unimportant. "You pretend to be strong, but you're afraid. You hide behind your men, behind your armor, behind these stupid games. You only fight when the odds are stacked in your favor. You're not a ruler. You're just an arrogant weakling."
The words hit harder than any of her attacks.
Dominus roared in fury and charged.
Snow stood her ground, waiting, watching.
Then, at the last second, she stepped aside.
Dominus barreled past her, straight into the barbed wire fence.
The impact was brutal. The fence buckled, but it didn't break—its twisted metal coils wrapping around him like a hungry beast. Spikes sank into his arms, his shoulders, his back, tearing through flesh and fabric alike. He thrashed, trying to wrench himself free, but every movement only drove the barbs deeper, slicing into muscle, shredding skin.
The Legion's soldiers, once deafening, had gone silent.
Dominus gasped, shuddering, his body tangled in a mess of wire and blood.
Snow approached slowly, her expression blank. She crouched beside him, tilting her head. "Had enough?"
Dominus's lips curled back in a bloody snarl. His pride wouldn't let him admit defeat—not like this. Instead, his eyes snapped up toward the soldiers beyond the pit.
"Kill her!" he barked, voice hoarse. "All of you! Kill her now!"
Silence.
The Legion hesitated.
They had spent years following this man, obeying him without question. But now, here he was—caught like a wounded animal, beaten by a lone woman with nothing but a fang for a knife. He had always preached strength, survival of the fittest.
And now he was begging for help.
No one moved.
Then the Consul did.
He stepped forward, his face still unreadable. Dominus turned toward him, desperation flickering in his eyes. "Consul—help me—"
The gunshot was quick.
One clean slug through the skull.
Dominus's head snapped back, a splatter of blood misting the fence behind him. His body sagged, twitching once, then fell still.
Snow exhaled, wiping blood from her cheek again. "Huh."
The Consul lowered his slugger, stepping over Dominus's corpse with barely a glance. "Such a waste," he murmured. Then he turned to the soldiers, his voice calm, commanding.
"The Crimson Legion is mine now."
Murmurs rippled through the ranks, but no one objected. His word carried an imposing aura, unlike Dominus before them.
He turned his gaze back to Snow.
"Arrest her."
Snow tensed. "Excuse me?"
The soldiers reacted, pouring into the pit and pointing their guns at her. Snow reached for her knife, but before she could react, one of the Consul's men pressed a gun to Rain's head.
The world went still.
Snow's breath hitched, her muscles locking. Rain met her eyes, shaking her head slightly.
The Consul smiled faintly. "I don't intend to kill you. Not yet, at least. But you will come with me."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"I need someone like you to pass the Steel Grave."