"Ohhh..."
"Ah... fuck..."
"Please... just let me die..."
"My legs... I can't feel my legs..."
"Someone... just end it..."
For three straight hours, the big entrance of the fight arena had been echoing with tired, painful sounds. The drill had ended ten minutes ago, but nobody had moved. To anyone passing by in the main hall, the weak groans coming through the thick walls probably sounded very wrong.
But it was not that kind of pleasure. It was the sound of fifty troublemakers getting their souls beaten out of their bodies.
"Three minutes," Morgana had said at the start. It was supposed to be a quick test.
She lied. The woman was an absolute monster.
By the time the watches on our wrists finally beeped, the whole arena looked less like a school room and more like a hospital after a disaster.
Forty-nine outcasts from everywhere were melted across the floor. To my left, a big beastkin guy with tiger ears was face-down in a puddle of his own sweat, his tail twitching.
