1. Nova

No one wants me, not with these tattoos.

And for the longest time, none of the Champions did - and my luck was about to run out.

The humid air wrapped around me, a smothering cloak that made my negligee cling even tighter to my skin.

The fabric was sheer and short, hardly covering anything, making me feel even more exposed.

The dim lighting, infused with an otherworldly glow, made the Prizes' skin glitter.

I could hear the soft murmur of conversation and the shuffling of feet.

I kept my eyes closed, trying to calm my racing heart - to block out the reality of where I was.

I imagined the scent of fresh roses, their velvety petals, and a gentle breeze rather than the metallic tang that pervaded the air here.

My reverie was shattered by the distant roar of the crowd from the fighting pits.

The noise grew louder and more intense until it reached a crescendo, signaling the end of a bout.

And then the door to the Prize Pool swung open.

He entered.

Sneik.

His very name sent shivers down my spine.

I'd heard stories about him — his brutality in the pits, his ferocity, and his complete lack of mercy.

Every sound in the room seemed to amplify — the dripping of water, the stifled sobs of some of the other girls, the deep rumbling of his breathing.

My bare feet felt cold on the platform, my toes curling involuntarily.

I wanted nothing more than to be anywhere but here.

I risked a glance.

Sneik was massive.

His dark, leathery skin was covered in scars and markings from battles long fought.

His eyes, glowing a vivid yellow, scanned the room, assessing each of us.

My heart went out to the other females, each one as terrified as I was.

There was said to once be a madam here by the name of Lily and that she would watch over us.

With her around, there had been some semblance of protection, but she'd managed to escape with another prisoner, leaving us vulnerable.

Sneik began to move.

Each step he took was slow and deliberate.

He paused by a blue-skinned female, his fingers grazing her chin, tilting it upwards.

My heart reached my throat, fearing for her.

But then, as suddenly as his interest was piqued, it waned.

He moved on.

The sound of soft music floated in the background, its light tone juxtaposing our grim reality.

The sweet melody was supposed to soothe us, but it felt more like a mockery.

Every now and then, the scent of some exotic flower wafted in, their perfume trying to mask the acrid stench of fear that permeated the room.

Sneik was almost at the end of the line.

I exhaled, thinking perhaps I would be spared tonight.

My heart reached out to the female he seemed to have chosen, but there was no way I'd offer to take her place.

Suddenly, he turned, his eyes locking onto mine.

There was a momentary pause, a brief eternity, where the world seemed to stand still.

Then he began to approach me.

Every footstep echoing like a death knell.

"No," I whispered to myself.

But it was of no use.

His massive hand reached out, fingers wrapping around my arm with a grip that was firm and painful.

I looked into his eyes, searching for some hint of mercy, a sliver of humanity.

But all I found was an inscrutable void.

As he dragged me from the Prize Pool, I stole a last glance at the other females.

Some looked relieved, others pitiful, but all were thankful it wasn't them.

The door shut behind us, leaving me alone with the one creature in the universe I'd hoped never to encounter.

The realization sunk in.

I had been claimed by Sneik.

* * *

We madeour way through the corridor, lit by low, oscillating orange and purple lights.

Every step on the cold, metallic floor sent a shiver up my legs.

The eerie hum of the prison generators echoed in the distance, accompanied by a symphony of hushed whispers from the other male prisoners.

Sneik walked with a sense of authority, his grip on my arm unyielding.

His towering presence made it clear why he was known as the Champ.

My senses felt heightened, every noise magnified, each whiff of the stagnant air intensely registering.

The recycled air was stale, like long-stored water.

"Look, Sneik," I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "I really think you're making a mistake. I'm not the Prize you're hoping for."

My eyes darted around, noting the other prisoners eyeing me with a mix of envy and hunger.

A wave of fear washed over me, but I held my ground.

He continued walking, seemingly oblivious to my words.

But I wasn't about to give up.

"Honestly, there are far more experienced females back in the Prize Pool. Ones who wouldn't disappoint you. I mean, have I mentioned I snore? Really loudly. And I have this thing where I sing in the shower, terribly off-key. It's genuinely awful. Trust me, you don't want that."

His gaze remained forward.

I might as well be talking to a brick wall.

The look on his face was inscrutable, but I pressed on.

"And then there's my inability to cook. Anything. At all. The last time I tried to make a simple soup, it turned into an inedible sludge." I let out an exaggerated sigh. "Really, you'd be so much happier with someone else. Shall I make suggestions?"

There were a couple of bitches back at the Pool that I would love to see Claimed instead of me.

The sounds of the prison seemed to become more pronounced, from the faint, melodic hums of some far-off machinery to the distant calls of prisoners communicating in coded language.

I continued my pleas, each one more desperate than the last.

I could feel the heat from his body, a strange juxtaposition to the cold metal of the prison.

A scent, both foreign and oddly comforting, wafted from him, an amalgamation of musk and something more ethereal, like the aroma of a distant forest after the rain.

I glanced behind us to the two guards closely trailing, their faces stern and unyielding.

Their uniforms made them seem almost robotic, with their aluminum sheen and the bright lights emanating from their visors.

I toyed with the idea of reaching out to them, of imploring them for help.

But the emptiness in their gaze, the cold detachment, told me all I needed to know.

They were here to do a job and nothing more.

Resigned, I turned my attention back to Sneik. "I'm terrible at sex," I said. "I didn't want to admit that, but I've never pleased a man once in my life. Seriously, if you want a good time, you should find someone else."

We reached his cell, the door sliding open with a soft hiss.

He pulledme back and thrust me forward into his room, finally releasing me from his grip.

I hesitated, then stepped inside.

The cell was surprisingly spacious, decorated with various trophies and trinkets from his victories in the pits.

"Sit," he rumbled, pointing to a plush-looking seat.

I complied, my senses still on high alert.

The seat was softer than it looked.

I looked around, noting the subtle scents — hints of exotic spices.

Strange, I thought, for a prison cell.

Sneik moved closer, his eyes locking onto mine.

For the first time since he claimed me, he spoke. "Your attempts to dissuade me are… amusing," he remarked, his voice deep and grating. "But unnecessary."

"But—"

He held up a clawed hand, silencing me. "I claimed you, and you shall be mine. You are here for my pleasure. Your enjoyment is not necessary."

I blinked, confused.

What did he mean? Before I could probe further, he turned away, leaving me with more questions than answers.

As the door to the cell slid shut, sealing us in, I couldn't help but feel a mix of dread and sheer terror.

Sneik's reputation was clearly valid.

And I was going to be the one that bore the cuts, welts, and bruises.

* * *

The bed wasmassive in size; its sheets looked worn and told the tales of many encounters.

It dominated the room, a looming testament to the Champ's conquests.

Before I could process any of this, Sneik's strong hands were on me, tossing me onto the bed.

The softness of the mattress briefly enveloped me, at odds with the rough manner in which I'd been thrown.

The scent was a mix of musky masculinity and the faintest hint of some foreign flower.

His previous conquest?

But comfort was the last thing on my mind.

With adrenaline fueling my movements, I sprang back to my feet, making a dash for the door.

My fingers grazed the cold metal, searching for an exit button or some way out.

Nothing.

Panic set in, and I pounded on the door, each thud echoing the rapid beats of my heart.

The rising panic threatened to overwhelm me, and the recycled air in the cell felt heavy, suffocating.

Behind me, I heard the rustling of clothing, a sound that only heightened my distress.

Turning, my eyes widened as I saw Sneik, now stripped of his battle attire.

His physique, though impressive, was riddled with scars and marks.

Each one narrated a tale of battles faced, of adversaries defeated.

His skin shimmered in the dim lighting of the cell, highlighting the rough, battle-hardened textures.

And there, clawed across his abs, were what appeared to be scratch marks.

They were under his armor and unlikely to be from an adversary in the pits.

They were from his previous Prize, who had struggled to fight him off… and failed.

My heart quailed at the thought that soon it would be my fingernails that scored his flesh.

As he approached, the distance between us felt too short, each step echoing in my ears like a menacing drumbeat.

A mix of dread and determination filled me.

I wasn't going down without a fight.

Backing up against the door, I drew a deep breath, prepared to scream for all I was worth.

But before I could let out more than a gasp, there was a sudden, sharp knock at the door.

We both froze.

The knock was unexpected, almost out of place in this scenario.

Sneik's glowing eyes, which were previously fixed on me with a predatory focus, now flicked to the door.

His expression changed from one of single-minded intent to genuine confusion.

I seized the opportunity, scrambling to the farthest corner of the cell, trying to create as much distance between us as possible.

My senses were on high alert — I could hear the erratic beat of my heart, and feel the chill of the hard walls.

The knocking came again, more persistent this time.

"Who dares?" Sneik roared, his voice echoing in the confines of the cell.

There was a pause, then a muffled voice replied, but I couldn't understand the words he said.

Sneik hesitated, shooting me a quick glance.

Anger.

Shear anger.

If I didn't escape soon, he was going to turn all that rage onto me.

The incessant knocking was like the constant buzzing of an insistent fly.

It echoed in the cell, becoming more irksome with each passing second.

I could almost feel the tension in the room thicken, the air heavy with a mixture of confusion, anticipation, and Sneik's rising irritation.

His nostrils flared with every knock, his growing anger both intimidating and intoxicating.

The subtle hum of the cell's machinery was drowned out by the knocking, and the taste of anxiety lingered on my tongue.

For the first time since being thrown into this room, I found myself curious about the visitor rather than purely fearful.

Sneik's patience, which already seemed to be hanging by a thread, finally snapped.

With a swift, fluid motion, he stomped toward the door, yanking it open with enough force that it momentarily caused the walls to vibrate.

The sight that greeted us was unexpected.

Standing there was another male, his posture defiant yet respectful.

He wasn't as colossal as Sneik — no one was — but he wasn't exactly small either.

His skin had a smooth luminescence, and his eyes — oh, those eyes — were like twin galaxies, vast and mysterious.

"Sorry for the intrusion," the alien began with a sly smirk, his voice a rich baritone that resonated within the cell.

His gaze flitted around the room before finally settling on me.

I felt it immediately.

A strange, indescribable pull.

It was as if an unseen force tugged at my very core.

Our eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, everything else blurred into the background.

It was a connection so tangible that it felt like an audible "click," akin to two perfectly matching puzzle pieces finding their rightful place.

But the moment was abruptly shattered by Sneik's low growl. "What do you want, Ashale?" he hissed, his tone dripping with disdain.

Ashale's confident demeanor didn't waver.

He pointed a slender finger in my direction. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."

Sneik's stance turned even more menacing. "She is mine," he growled, stepping forward in a protective manner.

Ashale sighed, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "I understand why you might think so. But you see, there's been a mistake. She shouldn't be here in the first place."

Sneik snorted, clearly not buying it. "A mistake? She was in the Prize Pool. I claimed her."

My heart raced as the two exchanged barbs.

I felt the cold metal beneath my feet and the intense heat of the situation.

The room was thick with tension, a mélange of musk, and a hint of something sweet — perhaps Ashale's natural fragrance.

For what felt like an eternity, the two stared each other down, the atmosphere thick with tension and unsaid words.

My senses were overwhelmed — the musky aroma of Sneik's anger, the alluring scent of Ashale, the sight of two powerful beings at an impasse, and the sound of my own heart thundering in my ears.

Ashale's eyes met mine once more, a silent promise communicated in that gaze.

He looked like he was deciding something…

Whether or not to intervene?

If I was worth the trouble?

His eyes flicked down to my arms, my shoulders, my exposed legs, and he seemed to come to a decision.

He turned his face up to Sneik, and his smile was tight and strained. "Very well."

I couldn't have predicted what would happen next in a million years.