RILEY BRADY
Someone's gurgling on blood before I even lift my sword.
I tilt my head in search of the sound.
At the end of my line, a tall girl stands over her dying opponent with a slit in her throat, so deep blood sprays in the air like water.
Bloodied in the face, she glares down as she waits for the life to drain.
And the very moment the spasming stops, she wipes blood from her lips with the back of her hand and tilts her head at the rest of us.
Shiver runs down my spine at the wildness in her eyes. There's only one name for it. Blood-lust. Living under the rules of the demons for ten years has taught me to always expect even the worst from fellow humans. The demons didn't only take pleasure in physical torture, but also mentally, they liked to toy with the mind.
Have two or more demons in the room with you, and they'll push their limit and make you have thoughts that push you to hurt the person closest to you. Make you crave blood and laugh while you tore each other apart.
The way her eyes glow red like fresh blood tells me everything. This isn't her. One of them is playing with her, cheating, moving her body like a toy just to see what we will do.
Her chest rises once, breathing ragged. Then she screams, and swings her blade again. This time, it takes the head clean off the girl beside her.
The body staggers a few steps like a toddler, blood splattering everywhere before it drops with a loud thud.
Hell literally breaks loose.
"You're not supposed to do that!" a girl shrieks like a banshee.
"Are you mad?! Have you lost your mind?!" another wails, clutching her sword like it will save her.
A third is backing away from the line as her knees buckle, her eyes are wide with fear and her shoulders are trembling as she cries, "Stop! Please, stop!"
I can't breathe.
I don't move.
Girls scatter everywhere, screaming, tripping, slamming into each other.
The smell of blood fills the air and my chest locks so tight, it hurts. It was supposed to be one against one.
That's what we were told.
But she's feral and already chasing a screaming girl around the room.
Amidst the chaos, I hear the cackles of the bald woman, "Yes. That is it. Show me how bad you want to live!"
I don't look at the chase, but I hear the tall girl shrieking, and then, the scream of the running girl dies out.
Another body drops with a thud.
The opponent of the dead girl starts screaming. "You killed my sister!"
I'm breathing hard, rooted in my spot.
Her outcry confirms my suspicion that the two girls clutching each other before were family.
I don't look when she charges, but I can't block her voice out.
"You bitch! She didn't want this! She wouldn't hurt anyone, do you hear me?" Her sobs are ragged, her voice is hoarse, I hear sword swinging. "She just wanted to go home! She didn't even want to fight! She was all I had left and you—"
A single slash.
The words die out.
Blood gurgles in her throat.
Fourth, my mind whispers to me. Six left. Use your sword or die like the rest.
My stomach drops.
That didn't sound like my thoughts.
My sweaty hand tightens around my weapon.
There's so much anger in my chest, it nearly strangles me. And it's not at the wild girl, not even at the cackling baldress, but at the Dominuses who sit on their thrones, enjoying the bloodshed like it's entertaining.
Grey eyes meet mine when I lift my head.
Seneca's.
His head tips like he's mocking me. Like he's asking, "Are you going to stand there? Be a martyr? Sacrifice yourself?"
For a second, I swear I hear him in my head.
But I don't have the time to process the sudden ancient voice, while my thin opponent's screaming with her sword raised at me, trembling in her grip.
Instinct takes over.
I duck, the blade missing my face by inches. My knees slam the ground, the sword almost slipping from my hands. I try to push up but my legs are wobbling so bad.
"I don't want to hurt you!"
That doesn't stop her.
She screams she's sorry, but she's coming after me again. Sweat and tears glisten on her face, snorts from her nose, veins popping as she continuously tells me. "I'm sorry I'm just so scared! I'm so sorry!"
I jolt up from the floor before her next swing.
This time, the blade whistles past my ear.
I trip over a body when I weave it again, but I make sure not to fall.
I make sure not to look down at the blood, or the bodies, or the head that's laying somewhere by my right.
Blood everywhere, sticking to the sole of my feet, so putrid I can almost taste the metal at the back of my throat.
I keep forcing the bile from rising.
I keep trying to put space between me and my opponent.
The bald woman's laughing even harder. "Yes! That's it! Fear makes killers of you all! Show me your hunger to live!"
I keep ducking, rolling, stumbling over cold limbs. My sword feels heavy now, and my arms burn from the effort of holding it.
I can't let the blade slip.
If I cut myself, I die.
If I don't fight, I die.
The girl comes after me, screaming louder. "I don't want to die!" Panting, wheezing. "I'm so sorry! I'm just so scared!"
I want to beg her to stop, but my throat burns with lumps, and panic and anger. I catch her blade on mine, the metal screeching so loud it rattles my teeth.
Somewhere in the room, a shriek ends with a gurgle.
A body hits the ground.
"Six down to four," the voice hisses inside my head.
I freeze, my stomach twisting.
I don't even look, but I know it's true.
The bald woman cackles again. "Another one! How delicious! How weak you all are!"
The thin girl charges, her red eyes shining like madness itself. My legs tremble as I stumble back again, falling hard over another limp body.
I hear another scream cut short.
The voice inside me is louder now. "And there were three."
"Shut up!" I want to scream.
I want it out of my head.
I want to think for myself, but I'm breathing too hard to even whisper please.
I shove off the floor, legs shaking, sword trembling in my hand.
The thin girl lifts hers, crying, eyes wild. She swings down—
—but a blade bursts through her chest from behind.
She freezes, eyes wide. Her weapon slips from her grasp, clattering against the floor.
When she says she's sorry next, it comes out in wet gurgles, blood spilling down her chin before she collapses at my feet.
I don't wait for the voice.
I don't wait for the tall girl.
I don't wait for anything.
I spin, anger burning so hot it fills my lungs. My eyes sting with tears, my temples throbs, but I see them. The three thrones.
The three monsters.
Seneca Veylor's grin across his face like he already owns me.
A sword whistles past my ear as the tall girl swings, but I'm already running.
My feet pound the stone, my chest heaves, and every breath rips out of me in a scream.
"You bastard!" I shriek, again and again, till I lost my voice.
The bald woman screeches behind me. "What is she doing? Stop her!"
But no one moves.
Not Seneca.
Not his brothers.
They just watch.
His grin doesn't falter, not even when I lift my sword with both hands and drive it straight into his chest.
The sound of metal tearing through flesh fills my ears and blood gushes hot against my arms.
I'm shaking, gasping, holding the hilt like it's the only thing tethering me to life.
And then he says, the same voice that's been in my head, grinning like the sword in his chest is nothing, "You are the ONE of the ten."