He vanished from sight. A cold chill ran down my spine as I spun around. In an instant, he was behind me, boots crunching on the sand.
My heartbeat thudded in my ears. I gripped the dagger tighter. My palm was slick with sweat. My breath came too fast. I tried to slow it, but my chest stayed tight.
'At ease, kid,' he said, his voice deep and rough.
He looked to be in his mid-twenties, broad shoulders under a patched vest, a faded dog tag around his neck. His face was blurry, never settling no matter how hard I looked. But I knew him.
My past-self.
I forced my shoulders to relax but didn't lower my dagger.
'What are you doing, sulking around?' he asked.
"I'm tired," I muttered, barely steady.
'Tired? Tired of this?' He swept his arm toward the arena.
Ahead, Mr. Mime chased the Number One girl. She stumbled through the red sand, her dagger shaking in her hand as she tripped and screamed. Number Four crawled forward, steam rising off his skin as wounds stitched themselves shut. His bloated body twitched, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
"Yes," I whispered, my voice cracking.
He chuckled. 'Are you stupid? This is where we belong. The screams. The blood. The chaos. We were made for it. That's why we became a soldier.'
"You're not real," I said, my voice shaking. "You're just in my head."
He grinned, his voice echoing strangely. 'Really? Can a thought do this?'
He clicked his finger. Then the bell on my collar chimed. Mr. Mime stopped, its head turning toward me.
Ding.
"Shit. How?"
'Come on,' my past-self said. 'You can kill that thing.'
"I'm still a kid."
The bell rang again.
Mr. Mime lunged, twitching forward with sudden speed. I was about to run, but my past-self stepped ahead instead, passing straight through Mr. Mime's body like smoke.
'Here!' he called, pointing at a spot.
The whip-like arm lashed toward me. I jumped sideways. The strike missed, the air slicing past my cheek. I slashed across its shoulder, cut deep, then drove the dagger into its stomach and rolled away.
'See?' he said. 'You can do it.'
"Shut up!" I barked, grabbing Fynn's collar and the dagger from what was left of him. My chest clenched, every breath shallow, my ears ringing.
'You're starting to feel it, aren't you?' he whispered, stepping closer. 'This is who you are. Always fighting to survive. Just like before.'
I shook my head, hands trembling. "Stop."
He glared, his voice sharp and cold. 'You want a little motivation?'
"No!"
'Come on. For old time's sake.' He grinned.
"Stop," I said again, already knowing what he was going to say.
'You're the reason our parents died. You saw the headlights. You heard the truck coming. And you froze. You didn't even scream. You could've warned them. But you just sat there and let it happen.'
My chest tightened, breath catching. "No. I… I didn't…"
He leaned in, his voice relentless. 'If you had done something, maybe they'd still be alive. But you just watched.'
He pressed on. 'And all those innocents. You remember the screams when the bombs dropped? That's on you.'
I flinched, every word hitting hard. "It was an order."
He scoffed. 'Excuses. After all that, you left your team behind to die so you could save yourself.'
"Stop!" My voice broke. A tear slipped down my cheek. "That's not what happened!"
Ding.
Mr. Mime lunged again, snapping forward like a spring. I slid under its arm, slashed at its legs, then stumbled behind it.
His voice echoed in my head, merciless. 'You are the reason. Always the reason. The only reason.'
"I… I didn't!" My voice cracked. "I tried…"
I stabbed deep into its back, jamming the dagger through the collar. The bell rang against its body. Mr. Mime jerked and reeled, limbs spasming.
Ding.
The bell rang faster, sharper, each chime slicing through me. My past-self's voice grew louder, echoing over the sound until it was all I could hear.
'Reason!'
'Lies!'
'Coward!'
Mr. Mime flung its limbs wildly at the noise. I dodged one swing and tried to run, but another wild arm caught my left arm with a crack. Pain shot through me as I hit the sand, rolling onto my back, the world spinning.
'Pathetic,' my past-self muttered, his voice fading.
The dagger slipped from my trembling hand. The bell gave a faint chime as everything went black.
. . .
Rows of coffins appeared, covered in pale flags. The air felt heavy and still. Quiet crying echoed in the dark. The ground shifted beneath my feet.
Cold, blood-slick hands grabbed my shoulders and one foot, dragging me downward. The world thickened, sound dulling, pressure closing in like I was being pulled underwater.
Then flames rose from burning buildings. Windows burst. The sky turned red and filled with ash. Shadows ran through the fire. Screams twisted in the smoke. Faces flashed by, wide-eyed and lost, reaching out. Sirens wailed in the distance, fading into chaos.
The world spun.
Headlights exploded out of the night, blinding and huge, rushing closer. I tried to move my hand, but I couldn't feel anything. A horn wailed. Tires screamed. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Then everything was gone.
I woke up gasping, my heart pounding, cold sweat clinging to my skin. I couldn't tell if I was awake or still trapped in the nightmare.
My body ached everywhere. Above me, black clouds crawled across the sky. The crowd was still screaming, their voices mixing with echoes from the dream.
A soft voice spoke beside me. 'Do you think you can forget the past?'
I turned my head. A hazy-faced kid with black hair crouched near me, watching with pity. For a moment, the world felt stretched and unreal.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked. My voice was rough.
He shrugged. 'I guess being a child again changes you.'
I tried to lift my head, but pain shot down my neck. Blood filled my mouth. My hands scraped at the ground, searching for something solid. I glanced around the arena. The Number One girl was gone.
Nearby, Number Two was locked in a brutal fight with Mr. Mime. His bloated hands slammed into Mr. Mime's body repeatedly, each impact sending wet, heavy sounds across the arena. He roared as he fought.
Mr. Mime slashed at him with its long arm, but Number Two twisted his body at the last second, the arm missing by inches. He staggered, then rushed forward screaming, wrapping his swollen arms around Mr. Mime's torso.
With brutal force, he tore Mr. Mime in half at the waist. Flesh ripped apart with a sickening sound. Black blood sprayed across the sand, splattering his chest and face as the two halves fell apart. For a heartbeat, it looked like he'd won.
Then Mr. Mime's arm moved, screeching.
The severed limb lashed upward without warning, driven by pure reflex. It punched straight through Number Two's throat, bursting out the back of his neck in a spray of blood. His roar cut off into a choking gasp.
Some cheered. Others shouted and cursed, trash and scraps flying as bets were lost.
"What an unexpected turn!" the announcer shouted, waving his wand. "Number Nine is the winner!"
Ding. Ding. Ding.
My collar rang frantically. I tried to stand, but pain locked my side. Using my left arm, I crawled backward, gasping. Mr. Mime crawled too, dragging what was left of its body, one long arm scraping across the sand.
"Kill! Kill! Kill!" the crowd roared.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Mr. Mime's claw clamped around my leg, pulling itself closer. I stopped crawling and lay flat, staring blankly at the ceiling of black clouds.
"I guess in this world we're also going to die miserably," the hazy kid said, lying beside me. "But this isn't the time. Right?"
"What?" I whispered.
He offered his hand. "You still have a chance. I'm you. And the only way forward."
For a moment, I just stared at him. My breath rattled in my chest. I thought about stopping. About letting go. About how easy it would be to do nothing.
But I slowly reached for his hand.
Ding.
Something surged inside me.
My face went blank. Mr. Mime leaned down, jaws opening wide, so close I could smell blood and rot. I didn't move.
It screeched, a high-pitched shriek right in my face, my ears ringing instantly.
I pressed the dull blade into its neck. Slowly. Gently. The flesh parted under pressure. Blood welled up, warm and sticky, running over my fingers.
The weight of molten iron on its head dragged downward as blood sprayed. It poured across my mouth and chest, metallic and bitter, then oddly sweet as it slid down my throat. Warm, heavy liquid spread across me, each pulse making my head light and my vision blur.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Every eye in the pit was fixed on me. The knife was still clenched in my hand, blood soaking through my shirt. The silence pressed down on the arena until someone in the stands let out a wild, broken cheer.
Above, the shirtless announcer's voice cracked with excitement. "Unbelievable! Number Nine has done the impossible!"
I lay there, gasping. For a moment, I wished I hadn't survived. But all I felt was numb, staring upward, unsure if I'd won anything at all.
. . .
When the crowd finally started to calm, I pushed myself to my feet, gripping the dagger, staring blankly ahead. I could still taste blood in my mouth. Strangely, it felt good.
"You're right," I muttered. "Maybe this really is where I belong. Stupid to think I could ever run from it."
The iron gate creaked open. A man stepped inside, moving slowly, holding a pair of shackles.
"Raise your hands," he said.
I ignored him.
"I said, raise your-"
I stepped toward him and cut his throat before he could finish. Blood sprayed everywhere, hot and sticky, splattering my arm.
The crowd froze, then erupted.
"Whoa, look at this one!" a shirtless man yelled. "Number Nine is losing it!"
"You'll regret that, freak!" one of the guards shouted.
"Don't kill him, idiot!" another man in a fancy coat barked.
"Shut up and get him already!"
Two men rushed me at once. I didn't think. I just moved.
I ducked low as the first man tried to grab me. My blade came up hard and fast, cutting across his throat. He made a wet, choking sound and fell before his body even understood it was dead.
The second man was already on me. I stepped into him, drove the dagger straight into his chest, felt it slide between ribs. His eyes went wide. He staggered, tried to grab me, then collapsed face-first into the sand as blood spilled out beneath him.
"Fuc-"
Pain exploded through my neck. My whole body froze as the collar sent a violent jolt through me. I hit the ground, teeth clenched, gasping.
"Argh!"
The shock stopped as suddenly as it started, leaving me shaky and dizzy.
"Now! Grab him!" someone yelled.
More men came. They didn't rush at first.
They spread out, closing the circle step by step. Four of them. Then five. I turned slowly, dagger held low. Every face watched my hands. Every step was measured.
Then they saw a chance.
They jumped at me all at once.
Hands slammed into my shoulders and arms. Someone grabbed my wrist. Another locked an arm around my neck from behind, crushing down. I staggered, feet sliding, the dagger jerking uselessly between bodies.
"Hold him!"
"Get the knife!"
I thrashed, screaming. A fist smashed into my ribs. Another hit my back. Someone tried to pry the dagger from my grip.
But I drove it blindly to the side.
The blade plunged into something soft.
"My eyes!" a man screamed.
He stumbled back, clawing at his face, blood pouring between his fingers as he ran, shrieking, "Damn it! Damn it!"
The grip on me tightened.
A punch slammed into my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. I gagged and bent forward. I kicked hard, my heel catching someone's face. He went down screaming.
Arms locked around me again. Too many. They dragged me backward, trying to pin my arms, forcing my wrists down.
I twisted with everything I had.
I lunged forward and bit the man in front of me.
My teeth sank into his throat.
Hot blood flooded my mouth. He screamed once, then choked. His hands loosened on my shoulders as he collapsed, twitching.
"Dem-"He fell still.
Then Another shock tore through me, harder this time. My muscles spasmed. The world blurred.
The crowd went wild, screaming and hollering, everyone pushing for a better view.
"You're crazy, kid!" someone shouted.
I had no strength left.
They hauled me upright anyway. My feet dragged uselessly through the sand as the crowd's noise crashed back in around me. Shackles clamped tight.