The masked man dragged me a few houses behind the warehouse, toward a ruined circular stone building with no roof. It looked like a small arena carved out and exposed to the black sky above. Inside, the air was thick and foul with sweat, blood, and rot. The floor was stained dark red and littered with trash and scraps.
Around the edges, cages groaned and clanked. Inside, small creatures twitched or hissed. Human fighters sat silently, chained and bloodied, waiting for the next round.
To the side, I saw a cat-like creature locked in a cage with a mouse. The mouse had a crude number painted on its side. In another cage, birds with sharpened claws tore into each other. Two men fought bare-fisted in the dirt, both bloodied and bruised. More cages held other sick games.
Around them, gamblers and spectators leaned in with greedy eyes. They shouted and waved coins, drunk with cruelty and excitement.
At the center of the arena stood a dome-shaped cage, half buried in the ground. Chains hung from the bars. Inside, several men fought a massive, deformed bear-like creature. Its jaws snapped wildly as the crowd roared louder with every blow, cheering every scream.
The masked man ignored it all and walked straight to a counter at the far end. A thin man stood there, counting coins.
"Failed?" the thin man asked without looking up.
"Yes," the masked man said.
The thin man clicked his tongue and waved to a nearby worker, a man wearing a collar.
"Bring it to Supply One," he said.
He handed the masked man a few coins. The masked man took them silently and walked off.
The collared man shoved me into another cage. He tossed a piece of stale bread and a bottle of murky water on the floor.
"You better devour it fast," he said, his voice calm but hollow.
Then he left.
I looked around. Eight others were already in the cage, all close to my age. One kid cried softly in the corner. Another sat still, staring at the wall. A third paced back and forth, muttering to himself. No one looked at me. No one said anything.
I moved slowly to a corner, pressed my back against the cold bars, and ate quickly. The bread was dry and hard. The water tasted like rust. I choked it down anyway. Then I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing. The pain still pulsed through my body, but I had to stay calm.
I needed to think.
The ship. The island. The ritual. The cages. Lizzy.
The woman said the ritual failed. But why? Was I blessed?
Still, my breathing came easier now, and the sharp agony in my body had eased.
But my right wrist told a different story.
I touched it gently. My fingers brushed the strange symbol burned into my skin. From the moment I woke up, something deep inside told me to hide it. I didn't know why. I just knew I had to.
This place was probably far from Valeria and worse than anything I had ever seen since I got here. Escaping felt impossible. Finding Lizzy was even harder.
That meant I had to fight.
But who? Where? How?
I let out a long, tired breath and whispered, "I'm just eight years old."
The more I thought, the more questions I had.
Then someone approached me from the corner of the cage.
A kid, a little older than me, maybe ten, with messy hair and tired eyes.
He crouched down across from me and whispered, "I'm Fynn. You?"
"Luci… Lucy."
He tilted his head. "Pretty name for a boy."
"People say that."
He gave a small, tired smile. "How can you stay so calm?"
"I'm not," I said. "I'm scared. I just don't want to show it."
Fynn nodded slowly. "Me too."
He sat beside me, arms resting on his knees.
"You new?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yeah."
"Same," he said. "They threw me in just before you."
We both fell silent. Outside the cage, the arena roared with cheers, screams, and the clash of fists and claws.
"I think they'll make us fight," Fynn said softly, glancing at a cage where two men were fighting. "Like each other."
"Probably not," I replied. "Maybe a beast."
He let out a low chuckle. "Even worse."
Time passed slowly in the cage. We kept talking just to distract ourselves from the noise and the fear.
...
I woke from a nap when they opened the cage and started dragging us through a metal door toward the center.
They took off our chains and shackles but replaced them with collars. Each collar had a small bell that jingled every time we moved. Then they painted numbers on our shirts, front and back, from one to nine.
I was number nine.
They handed each of us a small, dull dagger.
Most of the kids didn't react. One cried quietly, his face pale. Another stood blankly, blinking too fast as if trying to wake from a nightmare. A girl laughed softly to herself. It did not sound sane.
"Good luck," one of the guards muttered like it meant nothing.
Then the gate ahead groaned open.
We stepped into the arena.
The ground was stained deep red. The sand was clotted with old blood and littered with broken stones that looked like bits of bone. The air stank of sweat, iron, and rot. The walls were scarred with slashes and splattered with faded handprints. Above, chains crisscrossed the open ceiling like a spiderweb. Ropes hung down like veins, swaying slightly in the breeze.
We were herded into the center, clutching our daggers. Barely anyone could hold theirs steady.
From the stands, the crowd screamed louder, mad with excitement.
"Number One!"
"Five!" "Five!"
"Seven!"
Then the opposite gate creaked open.
Heavy footsteps echoed.
A pale, thin creature stepped into view.
It stood about six feet tall. Its head and eyes were completely hidden beneath a mask that looked like molten iron. Deep scars stretched from the corners of its mouth, twisting its face into a strange, permanent smile. One of its arms was longer than the other, and its large hand twitched as it dragged behind. Its legs were shaped like a horse's, giving it a strange, animal-like stance. The creature was naked except for a filthy scrap of cloth at its waist. Scars and black stitches ran across its pale skin, as if it had been sewn together.
The air turned cold.
One of the kids gasped. Another stepped back and fell to the ground. Fynn gripped my shoulder and hid behind me.
Then something swung overhead.
A shirtless man dropped from the ropes above, landing with a confident grin. Tattoos covered his body, and his eyes were hidden behind black shades. He waved a sparkling wand in the air.
"Good evening, lowlifes!" he shouted. "The main event is here!"
He pointed straight at us, his voice rising.
"Failures versus Mr. Mime!"
The crowd erupted.
"Go Mr. Mime!"
"Mr. Mime!"
"Now place your bets before the match begins!" the man called, spinning and laughing.
...
After a few moments of shouting and betting, the shirtless man jumped up and grabbed a rope, swinging like a monkey above the arena.
"Let the feeding begin!" he shouted, grinning wildly.
The pale creature didn't move. It just stood there, perfectly still.
Fynn leaned close and whispered, "What do we do?"
"Just stay close," I said.
Then the boy next to me snapped and ran toward the gate, screaming.
Ding.
The bell rang.
The creature twitched.
In an instant, it launched forward with terrifying speed. Its long arm stabbed straight through the boy's chest. Blood sprayed into the air.
Its mouth began to stretch. The scars on its cheeks ripped open, tearing wider and wider until its face twisted into a horrific smile. Jagged teeth gleamed beneath the torn flesh.
The hand of the long arm slowly moved toward its open mouth. As it brought the heart closer, the creature bit down hard, crunching loudly while the boy's body remained skewered on the same arm, hanging helplessly.
My stomach turned.
Are we supposed to kill that thing?
The crowd roared with laughter and cheers.
"Woahh!"
"Yes!"
"More!"
The shirtless man shouted from above, "We got our first kill! Number Five is out!"
I swallowed hard and yelled, "Hold your bell and run to the edge!"
Some of the kids listened. Others froze.
As we reached the edge, I noticed two of them beginning to change.
One boy's body grew larger, muscles bulging beneath his skin. His bones twisted and cracked as he dropped to his knees. Steam rose from his back as something inside him shifted. His eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. The sound of his bones grinding filled the arena, and one of the kids screamed before stumbling away.
Another raised his arms, chanting "Veil of Heavens" over and over like a prayer. His right arm stretched unnaturally. The joints popped as dark feathers burst through the skin. His bloodied mouth twisted and hardened, reshaping into something sharp and curved. The air around him felt colder, like something unnatural had entered the space.
The masked man's voice sounded hollow. "Number Four and Two have become corrupted."
The crowd cheered wildly.
Even with all the screaming, the creature was still munching on Number Five's body, chewing slowly like it didn't care.
"What now?" Fynn asked, his voice shaking.
"It can't see us, but the bell. It's like a signal."
Ding.
The sound rang sharp and cold.
The moment I heard it, a chill tore through me.
Beside me, Fynn stumbled back, eyes wide with fear. His lips trembled like he wanted to say something, but nothing came. Then he turned and bolted, his bell jingling wildly with every step.
My throat tightened.
"Fynn!" I shouted, but he didn't look back.