18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

B ecca

After another horrible, near-sleepless night on the couch worrying about Klst assaulting me, I slouch toward the cooking arena, praying for enough strength to live through today’s immunity challenge. They seem to become more difficult and deadly each day.

The uneasy feeling in my gut intensifies as we arrive at the baking arena, only to be herded onto hover buses without any explanation. I crane my neck, searching for Pyne among the contestants, but he’s nowhere to be seen. My heart sinks as the doors hiss shut and the buses glide away from the gleaming city. Where could he be?

As we travel, the landscape outside the windows shifts from sleek, modern buildings to rugged, untamed wilderness. Ancient stone structures rise from the earth, their weathered surfaces speaking of centuries gone by. When the buses finally come to a stop, we find ourselves standing before a colossal arena, its towering walls and arched entrances reminiscent of the Colosseum back on Earth.

Terror spikes through me as we’re ushered inside, the echoing vastness of the arena sending shivers through me despite the heat of the stones baking beneath the twin suns. As we’re seated in the front row, I notice there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of spectators here. The crowd is screaming and catcalling. It’s hard to believe this civilization is advanced enough to travel through space and still bloodthirsty. I’m terrified.

There are more cameras than usual, their lenses glinting like predatory eyes as they track our every move. Arisha stands in the center of the arena, gorgeous in a shimmering red gown that drapes over her lithe form like an elaborate toga. She raises her hands, commanding silence from the murmuring crowd.

“Welcome, contestants and visitors, to a very special event!” Her voice rings out, amplified by hidden speakers. “Today, we will witness a thrilling spectacle, a battle that will show you that our Cosmic Confections contestants are proficient at more than whipping up meringues and tarts.”

My heartbeat drums in my ears as she continues, her words taking on a singsong cadence that makes my skin crawl. “In a moment, two warriors will pit their strength and cunning on the sands of this great arena. Pyne from the planet Verden, a gladiator renowned for his strength and skill. And Lyriax from the planet Iridius, a warrior of grace and courage.”

As gasps and murmurs ripple through the crowd, caustic bile rises up my throat. A fight? Here? Now? Terror, hot and thick, seems to have replaced the blood in my veins.

Arisha’s eyes glitter with malice as she delivers the final blow. “This will be a true test of mettle and might. A fight to the death.”

As the crowd’s shocked exclamations turn to excitement, it’s not just bile rising in my throat, it’s as though my heart is lodged there. This can’t be happening. How did a simple baking competition turn so deadly?

“But to make things more interesting…” Arisha pauses, letting the tension build. “Lyriax will be armed with a sword, while Pyne will fight with his bare hands!”

The crowd erupts in stunned whispers and animated chatter, but I can barely hear them over the roaring in my ears. Pyne, unarmed, against a sword-wielding opponent? Panic roils in my gut, making it hard to breathe.

I know Pyne is strong, skilled, a force to be reckoned with. He’s mentioned his history, his years as a lauded gladiator. But the thought of him facing off against a blade with nothing but his fists makes my blood run cold. And the gleeful anticipation on Arisha’s face only fuels my terror.

As if on cue, Pyne emerges from one of the arched entrances, his expression grim and determined. He’s shirtless, wearing only the loincloth he often wore when we were alone in our room. His muscles ripple beneath his pine-forest-green skin as he strides confidently into the arena. His muscular tail lashes low to the ground, telegraphing his anger.

Lyriax follows a moment later, wearing a protective metal chest plate, shin greaves, and guards on his forearms. His iridescent form shimmers in the sunlight, a wicked-looking sword clutched in his slender hands.

Dear God, what has Arisha done? Put Pyne into this match practically naked, without a weapon while he’s pitted against someone protected and armed? I can barely swallow around the lump in my throat as they face each other across the buff-colored sand.

Pyne’s frame is coiled in tension, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Lyriax looks nervous, almost apologetic, but there’s a resigned set to his shoulders that tells me he won’t back down. Of course not. His life is on the line.

Arisha’s voice rings out once more, cold and cruel. “Let the battle begin!”

Time slows as they circle each other, Lyriax’s sword flashing in the light, Pyne’s eyes narrowed in concentration. I close my eyes, afraid to watch, then realize I have to see this unfold, as terrible and terrifying as it might be.

Please , I beg silently, not sure who I’m praying to. Please let him be okay. Let him find a way out of this. But I know that hope is a fragile thing in a game where the stakes are life and death.

And all I can do is watch and pray that somehow, against all odds, Pyne will emerge victorious.