The masked man dragged Lucian a few houses behind the warehouse, toward a ruined circular stone building with no roof. It looked like a small arena carved out and exposed to the black sky above. Inside, the air was thick and foul with sweat, blood, and rot. The floor was stained dark red and littered with trash and scraps.
Around the edges, cages groaned and clanked. Inside, small creatures twitched or hissed. Human fighters sat silently, chained and bloodied, waiting for the next round.
To the side, Lucian saw a cat-like creature locked in a cage with a mouse. In another cage, birds with sharpened claws tore into each other. Two men fought bare-fisted in the dirt, both bloodied and bruised. More cages held other sick games.
Around them, gamblers and spectators leaned in with greedy eyes. They shouted and waved coins, drunk with cruelty and excitement.
At the center of the arena stood a dome-shaped cage, half buried in the ground. Chains hung from the bars. Inside, several men fought a massive, deformed bear-like creature. Its jaws snapped wildly as the crowd roared louder with every blow, cheering every scream.
The masked man ignored it all and walked straight to a counter at the far end. A thin man stood there, counting coins.
"Failed?" the thin man asked without looking up.
"Yes," the masked man said.
The thin man clicked his tongue and waved to a nearby worker, a man wearing a collar.
"Bring it to Supply One," he said.
He handed the masked man a few coins. The masked man took them silently and walked off.
The collared man shoved Lucian into another cage. He tossed a piece of stale bread and a bottle of murky water on the floor.
"You better devour it fast," he said, his voice calm but hollow.
Then he left.
Lucian looked around. Eight others were already in the cage, all close to his age. One kid cried softly in the corner. Another sat still, staring at the wall. A third paced back and forth, muttering to himself. No one looked at him. No one said anything.
He moved slowly to a corner, pressed his back against the cold bars, and ate quickly. The bread was dry and hard. The water tasted like rust. He choked it down anyway. Then he closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. The pain still pulsed through his body, but he had to stay calm.
He needed to think.
The ship. The island. The ritual. The cages. Lizzy.
The woman said the ritual failed. But why? Was he blessed?
His breathing was easier now, and the sharp agony in his body had eased.
But his right wrist told a different story.
He touched it gently. His fingers brushed the strange symbol burned into his skin. From the moment he woke up, something deep inside told him to hide it. He didn't know why. He just knew he had to.
This place was probably far from Valeria and worse than anything he had ever seen since he got here. Escaping felt impossible. Finding Lizzy was even harder.
That meant he had to fight.
But who? Where? How?
He let out a long, tired breath and whispered, "I just turned eight years old."
The more he thought, the more questions he had.
Then someone approached him from the corner of the cage.
A kid, a little older than him, maybe ten, with messy hair and tired eyes.
He crouched down across from Lucian and whispered, "I'm Fynn. You?"
"Luci... Lucy."
He tilted his head. "Pretty name for a boy."
"People say that."
He gave a small, tired smile. "How can you stay so calm?"
"I'm not," Lucian said. "I'm scared. I just don't want to show it."
Fynn nodded slowly. "Me too."
He sat beside Lucian, arms resting on his knees.
"You new?" he asked.
Lucian nodded. "Yeah."
"Same," Fynn said. "They threw me in just before you."
They both fell silent. Outside the cage, the arena roared with cheers, screams, and the clash of fists and claws.
"I think they'll make us fight," Fynn said softly, glancing at a cage where two men were fighting. "Like each other."
"Probably not," Lucian replied. "Maybe a beast."
Fynn let out a low chuckle. "Even worse."
Time passed slowly in the cage. They kept talking just to distract themselves from the noise and the fear.
. . .
Lucian woke from a nap when the guards opened the cage and started dragging them through a metal door toward the center.
They took off their chains and shackles but replaced them with collars. Each collar had a small bell that jingled every time they moved. Then they painted numbers on their shirts, front and back, from one to nine.
Lucian was Number Nine. Fynn was Six.
They handed each of them a small, dull dagger.
Most of the kids didn't react. One cried quietly, his face pale. Another stood blankly, blinking too fast as if trying to wake from a nightmare. A girl laughed softly to herself. It did not sound sane.
"Good luck," one of the guards muttered like it meant nothing.
Then the gate ahead groaned open.
They stepped into the arena.
The ground was stained deep red. The sand was clotted with old blood and littered with broken stones that looked like bits of bone. The air stank of sweat, iron, and rot. The walls were scarred with slashes and splattered with faded handprints. Above, chains crisscrossed the open ceiling like a spiderweb. Ropes hung down like veins, swaying slightly in the breeze.
They were herded into the center, clutching their daggers. Barely anyone could hold theirs steady.
From the stands, the crowd screamed louder, mad with excitement.
"Number One!"
"Five!" "Five!"
"Seven!"
Then the opposite gate creaked open.
Heavy footsteps echoed.
A pale, thin creature stepped into view.
It stood about six feet tall. Its head and eyes were completely hidden beneath a mask that looked like molten iron. Deep scars stretched from the corners of its mouth, twisting its face into a strange, permanent smile. One of its arms was longer than the other, and its large hand twitched as it dragged behind. Its legs were shaped like a horse's, giving it a strange, animal-like stance. The creature was naked except for a filthy scrap of cloth at its waist. Scars and black stitches ran across its pale skin, as if it had been sewn together.
The air turned cold.
One of the kids gasped. Another stepped back and fell to the ground. Fynn gripped Lucian's shoulder and hid behind him.
Then something swung overhead.
A shirtless man dropped from the ropes above, landing with a confident grin. Tattoos covered his body, and his eyes were hidden behind black shades. He waved a sparkling wand in the air.
"Good evening, lowlifes! Welcome to the only honest entertainment on this rotten island! The main event is here!"
He pointed straight at them, his voice rising.
"Failures versus Mr. Stitch!"
The crowd erupted.
"Go Mr. Stitch!"
"Mr. Stitch!"
"Now place your bets before the match begins!" the man called, spinning and laughing.
. . .
After a few moments of shouting and betting, the shirtless man jumped up and grabbed a rope, swinging like a monkey above the arena.
"Let the feeding begin!" he shouted, grinning wildly.
The pale creature didn't move. It just stood there, perfectly still.
Fynn leaned close and whispered, "What do we do?"
"Just stay close," Lucian said.
Then the boy next to him, Number Five, the one who had been crying in the corner, snapped and ran toward the gate, screaming.
Ding.
The bell rang.
The creature twitched.
In an instant, it launched forward with terrifying speed. Its long arm stabbed straight through the boy's chest. Blood sprayed into the air.
Its mouth began to stretch. The scars on its cheeks ripped open, tearing wider and wider until the opening reached its ears. Jagged teeth gleamed beneath the torn flesh.
It pulled its long arm back through the boy's chest, and something dark and wet came out with the hand. The body dropped into the sand. The creature raised the fist to its mouth and bit down, crunching loudly, and Lucian saw what was left of it between the teeth before the jaw closed.
Lucian's stomach turned.
Are we supposed to kill that thing?
The crowd roared with laughter and cheers.
"Woahh!"
"Yes!"
"More!"
The shirtless man shouted from above, "We got our first kill! Number Five is out!"
So, it's the bell. It can't see, but it hears us through the bell.
He swallowed hard and yelled, "Hold your bell and run to the edge!"
Some of the kids listened. Others froze.
As they reached the edge, Lucian noticed two of them beginning to change.
Number Two dropped to his knees, his body growing larger, muscles bulging beneath his skin. His bones twisted and cracked. Steam rose from his back as something inside him shifted. His eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. The sound of his bones grinding filled the arena, and one of the kids screamed before stumbling away.
Number Two raised his arms, chanting "Veil of Heavens" repeatedly like a prayer. His right arm stretched unnaturally. The joints popped as dark feathers burst through the skin. His bloodied mouth twisted and hardened, reshaping into something sharp and curved. The air around him felt colder, like something unnatural had entered the space.
The shirtless man's voice carried down from the ropes, flat now, all the showmanship gone out of it. "Number Four and Two have become corrupted."
The crowd cheered wildly.
Even with all the screaming, the creature was still crouched over Number Five's body, feeding slowly, like it didn't care.
"What now?" Fynn asked, his voice shaking.
Lucian did not answer. Fynn already knew. He had heard the same thing Lucian had shouted across the sand a minute ago, and he had run to the edge with everyone else, and he was still holding his bell in both hands to keep it quiet.
Ding.
The sound rang sharp and cold.
The moment Lucian heard it, a chill tore through him.
Beside him, Fynn went still. His eyes were wide. His lips trembled like he wanted to say something.
Then Fynn shoved Lucian sending him staggering back into the open.
Fynn bolted in the other direction, holding his bell.
"Fynn!" Lucian shouted, but he didn't look back.