Content Warning
This novel is intended for adults (21+) only.
It contains material that may be disturbing or inappropriate for some readers, including:
Graphic and non-graphic violence and gore
Sexual references and themes
Strong and explicit language
Ideas, beliefs, and themes that may be sensitive or offensive to some
Please proceed with caution.
Reading is entirely at the reader's own responsibility.
Note: The original work is written in Arabic.
This is an English translated version of my original Arabic text.
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Fog hung in the air, and the violet glow of the sky slid over his rough skin, seeping into the narrow gaps between his scales and stinging them with damp cold. He raised his head a little and stared with sharp eyes that knew no retreat. Instinct, in its purest form, tightened his muscles and pushed him forward, while the sand heaved under his feet, weighing down his steps and dragging him downward as if it were another part of the battle.
At the edge of the arena stood the man in the coat with pieces of crystal armor on him. His chin tilted up in challenge, a crooked smile on his lips as he watched the scene: the reptile's comrades sprawled on the ground, each body a story of its own fall, and another companion chained, pulling at his restraints in a desperate effort that only deepened his helplessness. The wind struck the man's coat again and again, its force clear in the edges of the fabric, yet it moved in a strange, steady rhythm, as if it had chosen to serve him alone, making his coat sway in the air like a mocking dance offered to his enemies.
On the opposite side, the reptile's tail moved in slow, careful motions, matching the direction of the wind millimeter by millimeter. It was neither a show of fear nor a useless display, only a quiet preparation for the first moment his body would slip free from the grip of the sand so he could leap.
The man stepped forward slowly until his feet touched the edge of the large rock. He stared at the reptile, his eyes drifting through the questions running in his head: how would he kill him? How would he crush his bones? What would be the most entertaining way to put him down and punish him for his insolence?
Below, the reptile kept his gaze fixed on the man's arms and legs, ignoring his face as if it did not matter. He measured his steps and the movement of each joint with cold focus, waiting for the instant when he could tear into the first exposed point.
The man broke the sound of the wind and rain, that constant music in the background like a symphony of death and blood. He spoke in a mocking tone that rose little by little, a scornful smile cutting across his cheeks:
"Tell me, you… what drives you? Why did you leave hunting bats to come to your death? Huh? Heh… they must have grown very desperate if all they could send me was this lizar—"
His words cut off as a sudden kick from the reptile's foot tore into his neck and opened the flesh at his throat. The scaled body shot from its place like a projectile, crossing about twelve meters in a second or two, the sand under his feet splitting and slipping away beneath his heels from the force of his charge, as if he stood on top of two ticking bombs.
Even so, the opponent stayed alive. In the instant the blow crossed into his space, he bent in the air and twisted to the side, wrapping his body in a layer of hard, demonic crystal, so the kick struck a solid surface that surrendered neither flesh nor bone.
The reptile sensed the dodge at once. His senses picked up the empty space in front of him, and his attention swung backward, toward the new position, behind the spot where his own feet had stood only a heartbeat before.
As soon as the reptile dug the claws of his foot into the edge of the rock again, he lunged once more. His trace vanished from his place in a flash, then he reappeared crouching under the man's right foot, his jaws about to close around it. The man had already anticipated the strike. He planted his weapon where his raised leg had been and twisted his torso to send a sideways kick toward the reptile's neck just as that scaled mouth clamped down on the sharp metal. His foot slammed into his opponent's neck and hurled him several meters back, the reptile's mouth dripping thick, sticky dark-blue blood from what he had bitten off the weapon.
The reptile ran his tongue over the corners of his mouth and adjusted his stance. Then he dragged his clawed fingers along his sharp teeth, tapping them one by one as if making sure of his last weapon. On the rock opposite him, the man rubbed his nose while staring at him, a broken laugh rising out of the chest of someone still certain of himself. He said:
"Impressive… a truly fast lizard. But you will never rise beyond that. So enjoy the show."
As soon as the words left his lips, he spread his arms wide, closed his fingers and left only three extended on each hand, and began to move them slowly in a circular path as if he were drawing a ring in the air. With every rotation, glowing crystal shapes formed behind him—sharp, cylindrical, rough-edged—multiplying in tight ranks until dozens, then hundreds, hung in the air at his back, motionless, the air around them still as if holding its breath.
When he swung his arms toward the reptile, the crystals shot forward all at once, swarms of blades flying toward his body. At the same moment, the reptile coated his skin with a hard layer that resembled blades or stone thorns, a hardness strong enough for him to wrap his tail around his body and form a tight ball. Hundreds of crystals hammered against it, their impacts echoing across the round shield he had made of himself, and the rocks beneath him trembled, yet the crystal found no way into the flesh inside.
Inside the spherical shield, the reptile felt a different kind of tremor under his feet. The ground beneath his weight began to open slowly, as if breathing from below, and he sensed the man's presence moving to the space directly under him. The rocks split beneath the ball, and from the crack thrust up a sharp crystal in his opponent's grip, lunging toward him like a clear spear. He twisted away quickly, pulling his body off its path so it missed the killing spot and drove instead into his arm, cutting it off in a single stroke. A deep hiss burst from his throat as the limb tore away, the severed piece crashing against the inside of the shield before tumbling outside.
He shifted all his weight onto one foot and drew every muscle into that leg as ropes of a catapult pulled to their limit, while the man forced his way up from the rocky fissure. He drew his leg in until his foe's chest lined up perfectly with the height of his claws, then drove the kick out in one explosive motion. The leg shot forward like a missile, talons biting into the man's chest and flinging him through the air for several meters until he struck a stone wall, shattering the spot where he hit.
The man set his palm against the rock and tried to push himself upright, his shoulders shaking, drops of blood falling from his nose onto his lips. A short laugh slipped out of him: a row of teeth white as snow, streaked with thin lines of red from the blow. He lifted his gaze to the reptile a few meters away and saw the severed arm wreathed in a thin mist, the flesh slowly knitting itself back together, the pain plain on his face with every throb that dug into the newborn joint. His inner voice stirred sharply then, whispering in his skull:
His body regenerates? Then why was he so careful about his teeth and his body before? Was that fear only a trick? No use wasting time on the limbs… the head. The real target is the head.
When both had caught their breath, the man steadied himself again. He slid one foot back and the other forward, turning his body sideways, the tips of his fingers brushing the ground as he drew his weight together, readying himself for what he meant to do in the heavy seconds to come.
The reptile, his arm whole again, dropped into a four-limbed fighting stance. His limbs dug into the dirt, his tail hung in the air, swayed once, then froze in place. One foot forward, the other back, his arms tucked close to his torso, his eyes narrowing to slits in preparation for the charge.
No one in that arena could know which of them would throw the next blow.