Dark clouds rushed across the sky in a sun obscuring crowd. Wind blew with a slight whistle. Gnarled oaks rustled their damp leaves. A group of people black dress stood before a closed casket wreathed with a bouquet of blooming black roses. At the front, a young man of about sixteen stood next to an older man. Both wore solemn black suits with ties. Tears streamed down the young man’s face as he sang. Everybody sang.


    All I have needed thy hand has provided


    Great is thy faithfulness


    Great is thy faithfulness


    Great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.


    The pastor raised his hands, then lowered them to close the hymnal. He gave a slight cough before he began to speak against the chill wind.


    “We have assembled together here on this blessed day in honor Ebony Rhodes. She was a mother!”


    “Amen!” roared forth the crowd without objection.


    “She was a healer!”


    “Amen!”


    “She was a philanthropist!”


    “Amen!”


    “She was a pillar of kindness and hope in our community.”


    “Amen!”


    “She will be dearly missed.”


    “Amen!”


    A woman dressed in a black dress suit, Marcia Guttierez, broke down to cry audibly as a blonde woman pat her shoulder. The black robed pastor nodded, coughed gently as a drop of rain hit his opening Bible.


    “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” The book closed, “I’m know you’ve all heard this one before. I’m certain of it! Well, it doesn’t feel like a whole lot of comfort this evening. We’ve lost somebody dearly loved, someone who made every life she touched a little better. And while I’m sure she’s with the good Lord even now, there’s an Ebony sized hole in each everyone our hearts. But don’t forget, Jesus is with us too. In this way, she’s still with us even now! Can I hear an amen!?”


    A chorus of ‘amen’ erupted through the group. The pastor turned to the casket.


    “Mrs Rhodes, we know you''re not in there. We know these remains aren’t you. But in this act of returning these remains to the earth, we dedicate our hearts to your memory. May you rest with Jeeesus until we meet again.”


    A violin played A Winters Night In Boston. The casket lowered. The young man grabbed his father and pulled at his suit. Tears streamed down his face and dripped on his collar more numerously than the sparse rain drops.


    “Are you gonna let them do this? Are you gonna let them do this to mom? Don’t let them do this to mom, dad. She doesn’t deserve it. She didn’t do anything wrong. She never did anything bad!”


    The older man patted the boy’s head, “I know boy, I know. But what’s gotta be has gotta be. She’s dead and she isn’t coming back. Not in this life.”


    Ebony shouted, “Don’t call your son ‘boy’! That’s your son you’re talking to! His name isn’t boy! His name is-”


    Nobody heard her. Nobody looked at her. And she couldn’t even remember her son’s name. Why couldn’t she remember her son’s name? Was it because she was dead!? This wasn’t right. She banged on the casket as they lowered her in the ground. Dirt smacked the wood. Wet soil slapped across the wreath. Black roses slipped over the casket.


    “No, I can’t do it. I can’t throw dirt on mom’s face. It’s like throwing dirt on her face!”


    “It’s the first step to moving on.”


    Ebony watched as the man handed the teen the shovel. A lump of dirt from the pile lifted with trembling hands. Behind the crowd, a smiling demoness dressed in black watched.


    Cool and wet slapped against Ebony’s face. She sat up with a gasp. Her hands dug into a moist sand. A bright light offended her eyes and water ran over her face, so she had to wipe with her coat sleeve as she gasped. It felt like waking up from a nightmare she couldn’t remember.


    “She’s awake! It worked.”


    “It wouldn’t have worked even a few minutes ago. She’s fulfilled the requirements of her curse.”


    A hand reached to her. It belonged to a short, black-haired, man in a faded green suit laced with gold sequins. Embroidered pads rested over his shoulders. The jacket hung open to reveal a white business dress shirt left slovenly buttoned. The right leg of his pants was burnt and shredded. A little bit of blood trickled from a wound underneath, somewhere on his thigh.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Ebony took his hand and stood. His grip was like a vice. She staggered to her feet as he pulled her up with little finesse. It felt like her arm might pop from her shoulder.


    Bright light came from the ceiling. A crystal glowed white with more glare than the sun. It hurt the eyes to look at directly, but it lit the large sandy stretch of ground. Two thick orange sheets sat folded on the sand by her feet. Had she been sleeping on them? Wooden walls about five feet high were reinforced by stone pillars. Behind them were empty seats. Beyond the seats were high walls, though more seats, a mix of red and faded orange, hid within the shadows. At the far end of the ring, a high wall contained a red gate with a giant lock hugging the handles.


    On a giant screen, the animated image of Azoria peered down over the arena while giggling silently. There were three more such screens so that Azoria could watch them from every angle.


    “Where’s Alfredo? The big white guy. Where’s the woman I saved? Why am I in a whole different place now? Who are you people?”


    “Nice to meet you as well, my lady,” the short man said with a twirl of his arm, “I am Eduardo Domenech. And you are?”


    She squinted at the long slender steel sword the gilded man held out from his hip, “Ebony Rhodes. And who are you two.”


    She pointed to the withered Asian and young man with a tattoo on his arm. The tattoo spelled the name Valentina in green roman font. Inked roses grew around the letters while an orange and black striped cat slept peacefully in little blue tray centered over the design.


    The withered old man spoke first without looking at anybody, “I am known as Kunchen.”


    The younger man with the tattoo on his arm shrugged, “Ah, why not. I’m Valentin. Valentin Perez. I’m not good with names so don’t blame me if I forget.”


    A loud voice blared from the audience platforms with a giggly high pitch. It assaulted their ears from every side of the arena, “Well look who finally woke up! Woke, woke, woke, wokity woke!”


    Ebony pivoted to look up toward a giant image of Azoria on a tall screen, “I’m going to kill this bitch personally.”


    Azoria laughed, “You better start grinding then!” The image clasped her hands together next to the left of her cheek and smiled wholesomely, “So this is the group that stayed behind to take the wide lane. Well, you and I both know where the wide lane leads to! Right miss wokity?”


    A common steel sword, blade four-foot-long, fell point first into the sand before Ebony’s loafers. Ebony examined the weapon. It looked heavy.


    “It’s not cursed. It’s just a normal steel long sword. Everyone else here has been granted a weapon for the spectacle. And now you have too! That’s right. A spectacle! A spectacle! Weeeee’re going to have a spectacle! I’m so excited!”


    The two men had swords, slenderer, with shimmering golden brass engraved handle grips and finger guards. The old man in hemp robes leaned on a gnarled oak staff. He nodded. Ebony couldn’t help but implicitly trust him. Hand gripped the hilt. The blade rose from the sand as she held it with both hands. An energy flowed into the weapon. Blade glowed for a few seconds.


    [Holy Sword Novice 02:] Imbues any sword equipped with holy attribute.


    She found herself a little breathless.


    “That’s wild. My son would go crazy for this. So, do we have any idea what is about to happen?”


    Kunchen shook his head.


    Valentin shook his head.


    Eduardo shook his head.


    Ebony narrowed her eyes, “Thought so. Hey, Demon Queen Azoria! I have a patient to check on! So why are we here? Where are the others? What’s going on? What do you plan to do with us? What’s the point!?”


    “Ah, Kunchen dearest, you probably have a good idea of what’s coming next. Why don’t you explain?”


    A sandal drug across the sand to make a line, “Don’t let her fool you. I have no idea how this dungeon works or what malicious blood sport she has planned for us next.”


    Azoria laughed hysterically, pupils dilated, “But you do, you do, you have a very good idea. Kunchen, darling, you never fail to disappoint me. That’s why we’ll always be together. Connected. Because I… LOVE… YOU!”


    Azoria made a hole with her left thumb and pointer finger. her right pointer finger went in and out of the hole. Kunchen spit. Ghosts appeared in the seats. Greenish, spectral, vaguely human shaped entities formed. Staticky noise from the stands mimicked a crowd. Then cheering started.


    Mecha Mog! … Mecha Mog! … Mecha Mog!


    MECHA MOG! MECHA MOG! MECHA MOG! MECHA MOG!


    The chant continued. Azoria swirled on all four screens along with the effect of sparkles blooming forth like exploding fireworks. The gate at the far end of the arena rumbled. Then it pushed forward. The lock held but the handles cracked as something big rammed the gate from behind. It bellowed.


    Mooooooooooooooooooo!


    Eduardo tapped Valentin, “We should put some distance between us. I’ll take the right; you take the left. Do you know how to fight?”


    “I’m not a bull fighter. I just died in Pamplona. And it wasn’t even a good death. I got crushed under a pile of people and suffocated.”


    “Well, then stay close to me but not next to me. Stay about six meters apart. I’m not sure what the rules are for this match, so we’ll have to improvise.”


    The door clattered as the handles cracked. Wood splintered along the edges of the failing barrier.


    “The rules are quite simple!” Azoria announced, “Really, it’s just one rule. Survive!”


    Eduardo tossed Valentin an orange sheet, “This will be easy then, nothing to it. Strike the back of it neck every chance you get. Don’t forget we have special powers or some garbage. Use them.”


    The chants continued, louder and louder. Eduardo braced his glossy black shoes against the sand and held his arms out as he circled. Kunchen stepped forward.


    The handles, still held by the lock, ripped off of the door. The door burst open with a clatter of ripped wood and splinter as the gate busted its hinges. A beast stomped towards them. Steam pushed out of its nostrils and backside. Legs whirred mechanically. Hooves dug into the sand of the arena. The bull stood four meters high from the tip of its horns to the bottom of its hooves. It was several meters long. The body glistened in metallic brown. Eyes glowed red.


    “Mooooooooooooooooo!”


    Ebony raised her sword. Kunchen put a hand on her shoulder.


    “It’s not a living thing. Let me handle this and we’ll be on our way.”


    The mechanical Mogg stomped closer. It snorted steam. Exhaust bellowed from underneath the whip like tail. The gnarled staff slammed into the ground as Kunchen screamed in frustration.


    “My options have been severely limited. I’ll help as I can.”


    “What are you talking about? You just said you’d take care of it.”


    The Mech Mogg’s eyes glowed more fiercely, glaring even over the powerful arena lighting. A low pitch laugh bellowed from the mouth of the bull as it opened wide.


    “Hehehehehehhhhh!”


    The old woman who had followed Alfredo into the last chamber squirmed inside the bull’s throat. A raspy voice called for help, barely audible. Cords wrapped around her body. They pushed her back into the interior of the giant mechanical bull as it swallowed with a throaty sound.


    “Let’s... Cook!” it said in a booming voice.


    Horns lowered.


    The arena rumbled as it charged.