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  “Monkey feathers!” Darius watches Kevvan with round eyes.

  In the little mayhem, we forgot all about the winged monkeys. They’re no longer making a ruckus at the entrance of the building. I’m not sure if their sudden silence is good or not. The only noise is coming from above, the pitter-pattering of rain hitting the glass roof. It’s almost comforting. Even when the sky opens and the drops begin to hit the roof hard, the false notion of safety doesn’t vanish. I realize then that it’s an illusion triggered by the memories of my parents and me, watching the rainfall while we were inside the safety of our lake house on New Earth.

  So stupid. We’re far from safe now.

  “Damn these little buggers.” Kevvan stamps on the flowers hard, making green mush out of them.

  The other flowers screech and wiggle. Thank the stars they’re rooted to their pots.

  I move to Reo, hoping he’s all right. He fell in an awkward manner with his arms twisted over his head. With a light shove, I roll him onto his back to inspect his face. He’s so pale.

  “Hell-Ion skies. You don’t think I did more damage to him, do you? I didn’t mean to drop him. When that boom came … it sounded like the noise my starship made as it came apart when we crashed on Oz.”

  A lump the size of Kansas forms in my throat. I know too well what Kevvan means.

  “Of course you didn’t drop him on purpose. Besides, that thunder scared the crap out of me, too. We’re all on edge.”

  “I don’t hear the winged monkeys anymore,” Darius says. “They might be gone. Maybe we should wait until the rain stops.”

  “Are you crazy? This place is filled with deadly things. I’d rather get wet,” Kevvan replies.

  And I’d rather make Reo wake up. I hope he’s okay. Nibbling my lower lip, I brush his long bangs aside, my fingers accidentally touching the metal plaque on the side of his skull. Electricity cracks on the tips of my fingers, alighting parts of the circuitry board within. With a jolt, Reo’s chest arches upward before his entire body begins to convulse.

  What have I done?

  23

  Reo

  Three Years Ago

  The clamor of the audience reaches us, even in our closed prison cell. There isn’t a wall thick enough to keep the sounds of hundreds of excited species calling for blood. I’m sharing the small chamber with Charles St. Clair, my former communications officer, and his fifteen-year-old son, Philip. They’re the only members of my crew left. The pirates who took us captive sold us as slaves, but only the strongest men and women came to this place—the Kurkuran Outpost, a seedy stopover hidden deep in the Syvern meteor belt. We were thirteen in total, but after weeks of playing in the brutal gladiator games, we are the last men standing.

  The dirty gray walls are made out of rough concrete. One metal door keeps us confined in the oppressing lit crimson cell. Horrendous graffiti deface—or decorate, depending on one’s point of view—the room. Most of the scribbles are in alien languages I’m not familiar with. But one in particular is written in Universal Star Freedom. It says, There’s no escape. Death comes to us all. The writer is not wrong, but the actual meaning of his words is what gives me nightmares at night. Will we ever escape this hell alive?

  Amid the guttural, distorted shouts, I can discern two words: Mortal Samurai. It’s my champion’s name. Every player in the Syvern Mortal Games receives one. We aren’t allowed to ever speak our real names. Our identities are stripped. We’re nothing more than muscle-and-blood entertainment for the scoundrels of the universe and the Game Masters.

  “They’re calling out for you,” Philip says without lifting his gaze from the floor. His shoulders are hunched forward, and his head is hanging low between them. He hasn’t said much since his last fight.

  I snort. “Like I care.”

  “You should care,” Charles chastises me. “The longer you survive, the more chances you’ll have to escape with your life.”

  Yeah, but at what cost? The question I keep to myself.

  I don’t need to say out loud what Charles and Philip already know. We’re alive because our adversaries aren’t. Two fighters enter the arena, but only one leaves breathing.

  I stare at the writing on the wall, letting its somber message imprint on my brain.

  Charles follows my line of vision and then makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “We’ve survived this far. We can’t lose hope now.”

  Without making eye contact, I reply, “How long until they make us fight each other?”

  When Charles doesn’t respond, I chance a glance. He’s no longer staring at me but at his son.

  “If they do, I’ll gladly lay down my life for either of you.”

  “Dad!” Philip whips his face up, his eyes round with panic. “You can’t. I won’t allow it. If they make us fight each other, I’ll forfeit the fight.”

  “They will kill us both if you do.”

  A low alarm sounds just outside our cell before the door slides open. One of the Game Masters’ section leaders stands under the frame, his massive body taking up almost the entire span of the opening. I don’t know what his race is, but his wide neck and equally massive arms are enough to deter anyone from trying to escape. Never mind the powerful blaster he carries.

  “I’ve come for you,” he announces in his thick accent.

  “Who?” I ask, preparing to stand up.

  It’s been two days since my last fight. I never stay away from the arena for longer than that. Somehow, I’ve gained the favor of the crowd, meaning my fights bring a lot of coin for the Game Masters.

  “You two.” He points at Philip and me.

  I feel the blood drain from my face. It’s almost like I brought this onto us when I asked the question a minute ago.

  “No!” Charles jumps to his feet, getting in front of his son. “Don’t make my son fight against Mortal Samurai.”

  The guard takes a step inside our minuscule cell, his hand already on his gun’s handle. “Who do you think you are to tell us who fights or not?”

  “Dad, I can fight Reo.” Philip stands, puffing out his chest to appear larger. He is a big lad, almost as tall as me and built like a bulldozer.

  But he lacks any real training in combat, and the Game Masters know it.

  “No outside names allowed!” The guard whips his arm, backhanding Philip on his chest with such force that the kid flies across the room and hits the wall.

  “Raven Rock!” Charles runs to his son, who looks a little dazed as he rubs the back of his head.

  This doesn’t bode well. I have to do something.

  Taking a step forward, I say, “Comet Fury didn’t mean to tell the Masters how to run their games. However, I know my fans. They won’t be entertained when I win against that puny rock.” I make sure to twist my face in disgust. “They want to see a real fight.”

  With bated breath, I wait for the guard to turn his ire on me. But his blue eyebrows furrow as if he’s actually considering what I said. After a moment, he grunts.

  “Fine. You don’t need to fight that feeble kid.”

  I sigh in relief but too soon.

  “You will fight Comet Fury instead,” the guard continues.

  I should have known my attempt to avoid getting into the pit with any of my friends would be in vain. The Game Masters want to see two humans fight; they don’t care who.

  We don’t pick our weapons. They’re provided to us right before our names are announced. Today, I’m presented with a samurai sword, newly forged. The metal gleams under the light, showing no chink or chip on its sharp blade. The handle is covered in supple leather and surprisingly light. The weapon could easily become an extension of my arm. It’s deadly, but for the first time since I was brought to this place, there’s no determination in me to survive. No bloodlust giving me ruthless focus.

  I can’t kill my friend.

  The announcer yells my name, snapping me back into the moment. The double doors open in front of me, and the bright lights of the
arena sting my eyes for a moment. I don’t attempt to cover them with my arm. That would be a sign of weakness. Instead, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and put on my game face.

  The crowd erupts into a roar when I walk into the pit. The clamoring of their loud voices, feet stamping, and clapping is a deafening noise. I don’t acknowledge them—never have, never will. My disdain only seems to make me more endearing to them. It is as if they see my indifference as a show of strength.

  On the other side, the gates open, and Charles enters the arena. He receives a much different reception than mine. Boos and slurs are thrown at him, but he seems immune to it all. When our gazes connect, I read the message loud and clear. He won’t fight me. He’ll give up his life for me, just like he said he would.

  My nostrils flare, and my jaw clamps shut while fury courses through my veins. I hate the Game Masters and this despicable crowd for turning me into a savage murderer. The blood of my opponents is forever stained on my skin, no matter how many times I wash my body. The memory of their lifeless eyes haunts me in my dreams. And now, Charles is willing to join them.

  No. I won’t kill you, my friend.

  When we both reach the middle of the arena with only a few paces separating us, I lift my gaze to the lavishly decorated balcony above us. From their vantage point, the Game Masters, with their embroidered robes and their jeweled fingers, stare down on us with an air of utter boredom gleaming in their sets of three eyes. Their translucent skin shines under the bright lights, making them resemble wraiths in fancy attire.

  Without breaking eye contact, I toss my sword to the ground. A collective gasp echoes all around us, followed by ominous silence.

  “Reo, what are you doing?” Charles shout-whispers. “Pick up your sword, damn it! You can’t die.”

  Breaking my gaze away from the Game Masters, I stare at my friend. “I won’t fight you, Charles. I’ve killed dozens of faceless adversaries, but I won’t kill you.”

  Charles’s eyebrows shoot to the heavens before they furrow together. “Listen here, you son of a bitch. I won’t let you forfeit your life like that. If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for me. You must survive long enough to escape with Philip.”

  Bitter laughter bobs up my throat. At the same time, from the corner of my eye, I notice the fast-approaching guards who were sent by the Game Masters to force me to fight or die.

  “Don’t you get it, Charles? There is no escape from this hellhole.”

  Charles’s focus switches to the guards behind me. He takes a step back right before the first blow to my back sends me to my knees. Bracing my elbows on the ground, I’m still caught in a fit of coughing when a steel-toed boot connects with my side, landing me flat on my stomach.

  “I knew you were up to no good, Mortal Samurai.” The guard who came for us earlier repeatedly kicks me until breathing becomes impossible.

  When there’s a pause in the assault, I lift my face. Spitting blood, I say, “Fuck you, Ugly Face.”

  The guard’s purple face twists into a fit of uncontrollable rage. He pulls his leg back to kick me once more, but a strident whistle stops him mid-motion.

  One of the Game Masters stands from his throne, stepping forward onto the platform that juts out of the balcony. The piece detaches from the building, floating toward us until it stops halfway between the VIP seating and us.

  “You refuse to answer the call of your loyal fans, Mortal Samurai?”

  “Yes. I’m done being your source of entertainment.” Getting onto my knees, I open my arms in a grand gesture. “Go ahead. Kill me.”

  The alien being makes a tsking sound before replying, “All these months in my games have taught you nothing. It seems you’re in need of a harsher lesson.”

  With a motion of his hand, he manifests a small spinning tornado. He sends it toward Charles, and I’m powerless to stop the cyclone from enveloping my friend’s head.

  His eyes bulge as he clutches at his neck, making a distressed, choking sound.

  “No! Please, stop,” I say.

  The Game Master ignores my plea. In a futile attempt to save Charles, I reach for my sword. The guard stomps hard on my hand, crushing the bones and eliciting a strangled cry from me.

  Charles drops to his knees, suffocating. He stretches his arm in my direction before toppling forward. A few more twitches, and it’s over.

  “No.”

  “Why are you so sad, human? You should be thanking me. You did not wish to kill your companion, so I fixed it for you.” The Game Master smiles sardonically.

  “I will end you,” I say through clenched teeth. An empty threat that only serves to amuse the alien more.

  “Now, we’ve wasted too much time, and the crowd wants blood.”

  A sharp sting in my neck comes out of nowhere.

  No!

  I’ve seen them do this before to adversaries who weren’t as savage as they wanted. They shot them with a substance capable of bringing out the most primal instinct in someone. Soon, liquid fire spreads through my veins before filling me with a need to destroy, to kill. My body is shaking as I get back on my feet. The crowd begins to chant my name again, but the sound is muffled by the rage of my pulse beating in my ears. I whirl on the spot, looking for the guards who were there a second ago. They’re gone. Cowards.

  A lonely figure enters the arena at the other end. I don’t recognize him even though something in my brain tells me I should. Nothing matters, only killing does. With a cry, I charge the newcomer, forgetting the sword on the ground.

  My opponent is a youngster, but that fact doesn’t matter to the bloodlust. I leap on him, sending us both careening onto the ground. My hands wrap around his neck, squeezing and squeezing until his face goes purple. He tries to pry my fingers away, but his attempt is futile.

  “Reo. Please. It’s me. Philip.”

  “Die, vermin. Die!”

  Suddenly, his appearance changes. No longer am I squeezing the neck of a dark-haired boy. A young woman with reddish-brown hair and doe eyes is peering at me with fear and confusion in her gaze.

  Before I can understand what’s happening, a blow to the back of my head makes everything vanish.

  24

  Kevvan

  One moment, the cyborg is lying as still as a dead man. In the next, he’s viciously attacking Dorothy. I don’t think twice. With lips bared, I let out a roar before I push Reo off Dorothy with a swat of my arm. He flies to the side, landing on his metallic arm. He’s lucky I didn’t use my claws even though the beast inside wanted to shred him to pieces.

  Still gasping for air, Dorothy leans on her elbows. Her vivid green eyes are round and fearful as they connect with mine. The wilderness swirling in my chest—the one hard to control once it’s free—quiets down as I’m swept by her stare.

  “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” I approach her with careful steps, not wanting to scare her more.

  “I’ll be okay in a minute.” She touches her neck, which bears the red marks of Reo’s hands.

  Clamping my jaw shut to contain the rage trying to take control, I crouch next to her. Reo grunts behind me, but I make a point to avoid glancing in his direction. I’m not sure I can restrain myself if I do.

  “I don’t understand what happened. It looked like he was having a stroke. Suddenly, his eyes peeled open, and he attacked me.”

  “Dorothy, I’m so, so sorry,” Reo replies.

  “You’d better not be coming closer, pal,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  Ignoring caution, I turn, despite knowing it’s a dangerous thing to do. But I want the cyborg to see in my eyes the death that awaits him if he tries to hurt Dorothy again.

  “I don’t care. You almost killed her!”

  Guilt flashes in Reo’s eyes right before he drops his chin. “I know. Thanks for saving her from me.”

  “Can you walk?” Dorothy asks, and the surprise in Reo’s face is impossible to miss.
/>   I watch Dorothy closely. She seems genuinely concerned about the cyborg. Her heart must be bigger than a mountain. Metal Pants tried to choke her to death, for crying out loud.

  Darius is glowering at the cyborg so openly I wouldn’t be shocked if he managed to throw laser beams from his eyes. He is a sorcerer, after all.

  “Why did you attack Dorothy?” he asks.

  “I-I don’t know.” Reo avoids Darius’s gaze, choosing to stare at the puddle of flower goo I made.

  “You’re lying.” The slender man curls his hands into fists. Whips of magic escape between his fingers. “I think it’s best if we part ways.”

  “Darius!” Dorothy slowly stands up, still clutching her throat. “You can’t simply tell Reo to get lost. Don’t forget he’s saved us. Twice!”

  The pitiful look the sorcerer throws at Dorothy makes me realize one thing. He’s acting like an enamored male. He wants to protect Dorothy at any cost. I felt the same urge as well when Reo attacked her. Does that mean I am under her spell, too?

  I snort in my head. What a ludicrous thought. She’s not even a hellioncat.

  “No. Scrawny is right. Maybe I should part from the group. It would be the safest course of action.”

  Putting her hands on her hips, Dorothy takes a step forward. “You’re not ditching us again. Look at what happened to us when you did the first time. We almost got eaten by a zombie cyborg.”

  “I’m with Dorothy,” I say. “I have no desire to get lost again.”

  Darius throws his hands up in the air before he says, “Fine. The cyborg can stay.”

  He stalks ahead without sparing a single glance in Dorothy’s direction. She seems crestfallen by his attitude. I don’t like to see her like that. It’s strange how, sometimes, you just take to someone almost in an instant.

  I lightly squeeze her shoulder to show support. “He’ll be all right.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  A low beep comes from Dorothy’s wrist, followed by a tiny wince on her part. She moves away from me, pulling the sleeve of her jacket down.