Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

PIPER

T he tumult from the crowd was deafening—a nonstop barrage of howls, bellows, shouts, and cursing. A lot of cursing. The gamblers who’d bet on Grudge to win were not happy.

“A shocking upset!” the announcer declared, sounding way more excited than his audience. “On the verge of his tenth victory, Grudge suffers a KO from first-time challenger Minx, losing his chance to join the ranks of Styx’s champions!”

As the mountain of limp muscles that had been Grudge was hauled out of the ring, Piper propped her elbows on the rope behind her, breathing deep to oxygenate her muscles. The spectators were still shouting, and she was starting to pick out some cheers and excited whoops in the mix.

“Minx didn’t take a single hit,” the announcer babbled. “Unbelievable! When’s the last time we saw such a swift overturn from a new challenger?”

The cheering amplified. Excluding the gamblers who’d lost a lot of money, maybe the ring’s spectators reveled in the unexpected. Lilith had said that spicing things up would help her profits.

Piper glanced at the hallway where the fighters entered, but she could only see the top of the doorframe from her spot in the ring. Were Ash and Lyre still watching? What did they think of her victory?

Would Ash be impressed that she’d wrecked Grudge?

“It’s time to select Minx’s challenger!”

Piper looked sharply toward the stage, but Lilith hadn’t reappeared. The usual woman in a glittering dress held the box out to the announcer.

Had Lilith limited Piper’s potential opponents to daemons she had a chance of defeating? Or did the box contain the entire pool of fighters, from total amateurs to former champions?

The announcer plucked a slip of paper from the box. “Our next challenger is— Rattler! ”

The crowd cheered. A chant rose above the cacophony. “ Rattler, Rattler, Rattler! ”

Piper swore under her breath. It sounded like her next opponent was a regular—a popular one. She peered at the screen where Rattler’s info had appeared. His rating was almost as high as Grudge’s. And unlike Grudge, Rattler wouldn’t be injured and fatigued from nine previous matches.

As the announcer described his favorite moments from Rattler’s past matches, a daemon approached the ring. With one glance, Piper knew she was in trouble. Rattler was slight and rangy, with a fluid walk and a bounce in his step that warned he was light on his feet. He was around Piper’s size, but that didn’t increase her chances of victory.

Against this guy, she’d lost her only real advantage: agility.

Rattler swung into the ring with a haughty smirk stretching his mouth. Piper eyed him, hoping for clues about his fighting style. His shaved head, covered with a snake-scale tattoo, offered no handholds. He was shirtless, showing off his unnaturally pale skin, and wore simple black sweats that wouldn’t impede his movements. He probably didn’t rely on a boxing style.

“Let’s spin for the match!”

Piper and Rattler turned to watch as the announcer spun the arrow. It whirled past the different quadrants, then slowed, ticking down into a relatively safe fist-match green section. It slowed more. Piper held her breath.

The arrow dropped one peg into the red section with a crossed sword and spear.

“A weapons match!” the announcer shouted.

The crowd screamed their approval. Piper swallowed hard. It could’ve been worse. At least the match didn’t allow magic.

The lady in the sparkly dress approached the ring. In one hand, she held a spear. In the other, she balanced a ten-inch dagger and a katana.

“The current champion chooses first,” the announcer explained. “I’ll remind combatants that deliberate maiming or killing strikes will earn you an equal penalty.”

So if Rattler killed her, he would suffer the same fate—but the rule didn’t comfort her. Equal penalty or not, she would still be dead.

She hesitated over the three weapons. She had to consider which weapon worked best for her and what options she was leaving her opponent. The dagger suited her close-range style, but if Rattler selected the spear, she’d end up skewered with or without a dagger.

Better to go with the middle ground. She selected the katana.

Rattler didn’t even feign indecision before choosing the dagger. Piper weighed the sword in her hand. She’d trained with katanas like this one, but she’d never attacked someone with a live blade.

“Fighters, get ready!”

Piper stepped away from the ropes, her heart hammering fast against her ribs. Rattler tipped his head from side to side, loosening his neck muscles.

The bell rang.

Rattler swayed forward, effortlessly tossing the dagger from hand to hand in the opposite rhythm as his feet.

She was in trouble. So much trouble.

Breathing deeply, Piper shifted her sword into a guard position. She had to take him down before he could get that dagger within range of her flesh.

She lunged and feigned a high strike. He called her bluff, almost goring her with the dagger before she parried. He danced back with a grin on his face. How had she ended up fighting an opponent with all the same strengths as her—only stronger? Had Lilith set this up on purpose?

Burning with a mix of fear and frustration, Piper made a quick jab with her katana. Rattler ducked low under the blade and whipped his dagger toward her upper thigh. She flung herself backward.

Stinging pain burned across her leg. The crowd roared.

Rattler didn’t give her time to check the wound. He darted close again, and as her katana clanged against his dagger, his free arm cocked back.

The punch connected with her jaw and sent her spinning into the ropes. She bounced off, whirling around with her blade swinging. Rattler recoiled out of her range with swift dexterity.

Jaw clenched, she went for him with quick, short strikes. He retreated, keeping safely out of her reach. Landing a hit shouldn’t have been so difficult—she had a three-foot katana against his ten-inch dagger—except Rattler’s speed made her lightweight sword look like a big, clumsy club.

He scored three more shallow scratches on her, plus an agonizing kick to the knee. She retreated, fending him off with wilder swings and limping with each step.

Grinning, he leaped at her. She lurched onto her bad leg—exactly as he’d intended. Her battered knee gave out. She collapsed backward, and he aimed his dagger at her shoulder.

With a swiftness fueled by desperation, she released her sword and grabbed his wrist with both hands—just as the point of the dagger sank into her trapezius muscle. Pain engulfed her shoulder, and her arms almost buckled. She braced against his downward force with all her strength.

He swayed his head back and forth, his creepy pale blue eyes darkening as he pushed the point of the dagger in a little deeper.

Piper heaved her hips up and to the side, flipping him onto his back. She rolled onto his chest, using both hands to wrench the dagger out of his grip. As the weapon thudded onto the platform, she punched him in the solar plexus. He grunted with pain, his eyes flashing black.

She struck again, this time at his diaphragm, but he caught her wrist before the hit landed. The dagger flashed as he grabbed it with his other hand.

Breaking his grip on her arm, she jumped up and away from the dagger. Spotting her sword, she seized it.

Rattler stood. His eyes were the color of pitch, and his face was contorted in a snarl. He was done messing around, and if she didn’t gain the upper hand in the next three seconds, he would slice her to ribbons.

She flicked a glance at the snake-skin pattern inked on his skull. Breath held, she waved the tip of her sword from side to side as though she was indecisive about her next move.

Rattler’s eyes followed the point of the sword. Back and forth, back and forth. She inched closer to him with each pass of her blade. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the entrancing movement, oblivious to her closing in, his dagger held loosely in his hand.

When she was three feet away, she gave her sword one more sinuous wave—then whipped it at his chest. The blade sliced sideways across his sternum. A shocked cry escaped him as bright red blood ran down his pale chest.

He jerked his dagger up, but Piper was already dropping to the platform. Her sweeping kick took his legs out, and as he slammed down on his back, she drove her katana into the same spot in his shoulder where he’d stabbed her. The blade ran right through him and into the platform beneath.

Releasing the hilt, she stomped on his hand to make him drop the dagger. She grabbed it, pounced on his chest, and pressed the blade to his throat.

“You lose,” she hissed.

Hatred and humiliation etched hard lines in his face as the announcer shouted that Minx had claimed another victory.

“Cheating bitch,” Rattler snarled.

“Cheating?” she repeated with a scoff. “You’re the one who stamped a call sign for your caste on your head.”

He bared his teeth at her.

She smiled sweetly and yanked the sword from his shoulder.

He stood, ignoring the blood running from his wounds. With a contemptuous sneer, he spat on the platform at her feet and swung out of the ring.

Piper sagged against the corner post. Her legs trembled. Her arms ached. She checked the slice in her thigh, then peeled a layer of tape off her left wrist and wrapped it tightly over the wound. Pain seared through the muscle. Her knee was still throbbing horribly.

She checked the other wounds from Rattler’s dagger, but there wasn’t much she could do about them. Letting her head fall back, she tuned out the announcer. The crowd was excited. “Minx” had surprised them twice now, and they were ready for more.

A fresh wave of cheers thundered through the room, startling Piper out of a haze of pain and fatigue. The lady with the name box was leaving the stage. Piper had missed the draw.

She straightened sharply, her gaze sweeping toward the projector. Her challenger’s moniker and stats had appeared: Thoth, 37 wins, 8 losses. His rating was higher than Rattler’s.

The roar of the crowd swelled again, and a moment later, Thoth jumped into the ring. He smiled in a charming sort of way at Piper, but his eyes were icy cold. He was six inches taller than her and probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds. He was shirtless like the other combatants, and his hands were taped up to the elbow.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer called, “it’s now time to?—”

“— spin the wheel! ” two thousand voices roared.

With a toothy grin, the announcer did just that. The arrow whipped around and around, and a new chant rose from the mob.

“Brawl match, brawl match, brawl match!”

Piper sucked in her breath and held it, willing the crowd to shut up. The arrow zoomed past a fist match and into the weapons match quadrant. It was slowing. It ticked across into the next green section, getting closer and closer to the skull and crossbones.

It came to a stop two pegs from the edge of the green quadrant. The crowd let out a collective groan of disappointment.

“Another fist match,” the announcer yelled. “Fighters, get ready!”

Piper stepped out of the corner and brought her fists up.

The bell rang for the third time.

Being an experienced fighter facing a bruised, bleeding, exhausted girl, Thoth didn’t bother with a cautious approach. He skipped forward like a kid at the park, swatted Piper’s initial block out of his way, and rammed his fist into her belly. She doubled over and dropped to her knees.

Thoth graciously backed up until she could breathe again. Sincerely hoping her spleen hadn’t ruptured, she dragged herself to her feet and tried to focus through the pain. She couldn’t take another hit like that. He would break her into pieces.

Thoth launched at her. She evaded two strikes and blocked another. Then he caught her wrist and pulled her into a shoulder-wrenching throw. She slammed into the platform on her back, her stab wound screaming with agony. When she didn’t get up fast enough, he gave her an encouraging kick in the ribs.

If she lived through this, she was going to drag Lilith into the ring and replay every move from this fight with the succubus on the receiving end.

Piper got up and evaded three more attacks but was too slow to dodge the fourth. Thoth threw her over his shoulder. She landed in a roll that set her shoulder wound on fire again, and she flopped onto her face instead of springing to her feet. Gasping, she pulled herself up with the ropes and sagged against them.

Fighters weren’t supposed to die in the ring, but if Thoth kept beating on her, Piper would suffer serious injuries—maybe permanent injuries. Her body couldn’t take the kind of punishment daemons could endure.

No one was stepping forward to stop the fight. The crowd was howling with delight and the announcer was egging them on. This was exactly the kind of entertainment Lilith had wanted.

Piper gritted her teeth. She refused to be beaten to a pulp for the entertainment of strangers. She wasn’t going to let Lilith win.

Piper twisted around, putting her back against the ropes as Thoth came for her again. Consuls trained primarily for self-defense and for intervention. But that wasn’t all they learned. She could do more than wrestling throws and dislocating shoulders. She could—theoretically, at least—break bones, damage organs, disable, maim, or even kill an attacker.

But she’d never used those techniques in real combat before. Did she dare try them now—and would they be enough to take down Thoth?

She drew herself up, coiled her limbs, and sucked air into her burning lungs. Only one way to find out.