《GodForsaken》 Chapter 1 ¡®¡¯Cough!¡¯¡¯ ¡®¡¯Cough!¡¯¡¯ In the depths of a dark room, tucked into a dim corner that lacked any semblance of light, an emaciated young boy was huddled under the covers of a thin, tattered blanket with his eyes tightly shut. His face¡ªthe only part of his body not covered by the blanket¡ªappeared scrawny and weak, as if the boy hadn¡¯t eaten a proper meal in days. And yet, the existence of a half-eaten loaf of bread on the ground next to him betrayed a different story. Cracking his eyelids open, the boy glanced at the seated figure beside him whose hoarse coughing reverberated throughout the vast, silent room: A young girl barely 13 years old lay there, huddled underneath her own blanket. Her pale black eyes darted nervously as she constantly scanned her surroundings, but the fear and apprehension on her face were still impossible to hide while her body trembled from the cold. Almost as if feeling the boy¡¯s gaze, the young girl looked at him and shivered in fear before she stammered out in a low, weak voice ¡®¡¯I-I¡¯m sorry! I didn¡¯t mean to wake you up!¡¯¡¯ The boy stared at her for a few seconds before eventually shaking his head and turning away, not bothering to deal with the girl¡¯s terrified demeanor. Unlike him, the girl was still a newcomer in the Bloodpit and had yet to get acclimated to the true horrors of this place. She had just gone through her first battle to the death two days ago, her baptism so to speak, and with her next fight coming up the day after tomorrow, it was no wonder she was so terrified. The horrors of the ¡®Red Arena¡¯ weren¡¯t limited to the Bloodpit alone and the boy knew that all too well! The public fights these children were forced to partake in every 3 days were the least of their worries. After all, a win meant you got to live and see another day, while a defeat meant either being crippled or outright dying! The single loaf of bread these children were allocated after their every fight, along with that small jug of water were perhaps an even bigger source of danger for them. These rations were never enough for any of them to keep their stomachs full, let alone in a cold, inhumane place like this. Even worse, having to save such measly ¡®rations¡¯ and consume them over the span of 3 days meant that you had to safeguard your food for those 3 days too¡­ days and nights! When the boy was first tossed into the ¡®Red Arena¡¯, he experienced all of the horrors this place had to offer one after the other, his situation much worse than the girl¡¯s. After barely scraping by his first fight in the Bloodpit, he was thrown directly into the Slaves¡¯ Pen without a care for his injury-ridden body. His left arm hung limply by his side like a broken doll, with his shoulder either broken or dislocated, while the dark patches of blood seeping through his clothes indicated that the pain coming from his ribs was nothing to scoff at either. And yet, the guard didn¡¯t throw him a second glance as he tossed that single loaf of bread on the ground along with an iron jug that ended up toppling over, spilling most of its contents on the cold stone floor. Nevertheless, after wolfing down most of the bread and extinguishing his quenching thirst using a third of the remaining water in his jar, coughing up some blood in the process, the boy found a relatively isolated spot and hugged the rest of his bread before eventually falling unconscious as exhaustion finally kicked in. By the time he woke up though, he was horrified to find out that both his food and water had disappeared from his embrace¡­ most likely stolen by another prisoner. Of course, the Slaves¡¯ Pen was a shared space where more than a hundred prisoners lived together, so it was no surprise that someone would take advantage of the time one of them was asleep to rob that person of their food and water! That day, the boy learned one of the harshest truths of the Red Arena. That he couldn¡¯t survive alone! No one could¡­ not in this place! Without having someone else keep an eye out while you slept, you were bound to lose your rations and starve until your next fight. ¡­If you even made it until then. The boy, no, Cyrus had learned this the hard way, having starved more than a handful of times in the 3 years he¡¯d spent here. Unfortunately, the cruelty of the Red Arena didn¡¯t stop there. Even if you teamed up with another person, you couldn¡¯t truly let your guard down either. After all, it was not uncommon for one¡¯s companions to die, or even worse, to be pitted against each other in a fight inside the Bloodpit. Cyrus had lost more than a dozen partners in the last 3 years, one way or another, with the trembling young girl being his most recent one. Throwing one last glance at her shivering body, uncertain if she was shaking from fear, the coldness of the prison floor, or both, he then closed his eyes as one last thought fleeted through his mind ¡®¡¯I wonder how long this one will last¡­ I wonder how long the both of us will last.¡¯¡¯ Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Unfortunately, Cyrus¡¯s dream of resting any more for the day was short-lived. He didn¡¯t have enough time to fall asleep again before the giant iron door of the Slaves¡¯ Pen opened with a bang, instantly waking up all of the still-sleeping prisoners. As the warm sunlight illuminated the dungeon¡¯s corners, its blinding rays forcing some of the prisoners to groan in unwillingness, the tall, armored guard scanned everyone before his loud voice reverberated throughout the silent room ¡®¡¯Slave 298 and slave 702. Both of you are up!¡¯¡¯ ¡ª--------------------- As the guard¡¯s voice trailed off, more than a few dozen gazes seemed to land on Cyrus from the nearby prisoners, some of them pitiful while others clearly relieved ¡®¡¯Seven-hundred and two? Is he the next victim?¡¯¡¯ ¡®¡¯¡­Ah, so be it. At least it¡¯s not one of us!¡¯¡¯ ¡®¡¯It was bound to happen sooner or later anyway. He¡¯s been here for a couple of years now and has barely fought in any main matches. Even if he¡¯s not old enough to take on that monster, any of the stronger slaves would have taken his life too. In the end, it¡¯s his own luck that paired them together. Who else can he blame?¡¯¡¯ The whispers of some of the other prisoners harshly grated his ears as Cyrus opened his eyes, still struggling to get used to the sudden influx of light that had now filled the Slaves¡¯ Pen. However, his body had already started to grow cold despite the presence of his blanket after hearing the guard¡¯s merciless order. ¡®¡¯Two-hundred ninety-eight?¡¯¡¯ The young girl¡¯s voice mirrored his thoughts as she asked carefully by his side, her voice no different from a whisper as her eyes peeked through the blanket, looking at Cyrus. ¡®¡¯Mist- uhm, senior¡­ you are number seven-hundred and two, aren¡¯t you? But who is two-hundred and ninety-eight?¡¯¡¯ The girl wasn¡¯t sure how to properly address Cyrus, stammering for a moment before eventually steeling herself and deciding to call him senior. The boy in front of her was barely a year older than her, but she had already heard from the nearby prisoners how he had spent a few years in the Red Arena by now. Unfortunately for the girl, Cyrus didn¡¯t seem to be willing to satisfy her brimming curiosity. No, it was uncertain if he had even heard her in the first place. Turning around, he instead stared at one of the deepest corners of the dungeon, where a thin, bone-like young man had already stood up and was making his way toward the exit. ¡®¡¯Two-hundred ninety-eight.¡¯¡¯ Cyrus mumbled to himself as he watched the towering youth march towards the waiting guard with long strides, not even sparing him a glance in the process. Cyrus couldn¡¯t help but feel his heart grow colder and colder as he realized who his opponent this time was. Slave 298. Even if this tall youth wasn¡¯t the strongest among the prisoners in the Slaves¡¯ Pen, he was definitely among the top 20! He wasn¡¯t a fighter Cyrus should be pitted against¡­ not yet at least! Putting aside the youth¡¯s towering frame that was almost 190cm (6¡¯3ft) tall, nearly 20 cm taller than Cyrus, or his extremely long limbs that looked almost unnatural proportionately to his slender body, just his age made their fight more than just ¡®skewed¡¯ at a glance. After all, this was a 17-year-old youth, someone who had spent more than 5 years in the Red Arena and a prisoner who was close to becoming an ¡®Ironbound¡¯ warrior. Unfortunately, Cyrus¡¯s thoughts were interrupted there, as the guard¡¯s cold gaze landed on him for the second time, indicating that he wasn¡¯t willing to wait much longer. With an apathetic expression, Cyrus stood up and picked up what was left of the loaf of his loaf of bread, along with the small iron jug that still had some water left in it, before following the guard toward the exit. Cyrus knew that his fight with the slender youth wasn¡¯t going to be the first one for the day, but rather, the last one. It was going to be the main event! This was why the guard had personally come to pick the two of them up and separate them from the rest of the herd. After all, it wasn¡¯t uncommon for prisoners to fight among themselves when they found out who their opponent was, and take them out inside the Slaves Pen, either by sneak-attacking them or ganging up on them. The organizers of the Red Arena knew this as well, which was why they only revealed the participants a few hours before the fight, giving some time to those slaves to prepare and ensure they¡¯d be at their best¡­ both physically and mentally. As for the remaining fights prior to that, they weren¡¯t of any importance to the organizers. If any of the slaves were crippled or ended up dying the night before, the guards would simply choose a replacement among the rest of the idle slaves. Hence their full focus was always placed on the main event! ¡®¡¯Move it, you worms! It¡¯s time to go.¡¯¡¯ The guard¡¯s cold voice reverberated throughout the Slaves¡¯ pen, causing the ears of some of the weaker prisoners to ring. Then, without even throwing another glance at Cyrus and the tall youth who should be following from his left and right respectively, the man led the way deeper inside. As they exited the pen, Cyrus could see the familiar second guard who always stood there slamming the iron door close with another bang, before plopping back down on his wooden stool. Cyrus had seen this scene so many times in the past that he could almost say he was used to it by now. Unfortunately, it was impossible to truly get used to this and feel nothing at all, when you were about to fight for your life in front of thousands of spectators who viewed your life as nothing more than a spectacle, merely used for their own entertainment. ¡­ The stone walls of the Red Arena paving the way from the Slaves¡¯ Pen to the Bloodpit, were just as brown and lifeless as the first time Cyrus laid eyes on them 3 years ago. Regardless of how many times he saw them, he always felt that same dreadful sensation in his heart as he followed the guard to that small waiting room that brought more anxiety than solace. Staring at the man¡¯s broad, armored back that made him look like a mountain in human form, standing more than 2 meters(6¡¯5ft) tall and dwarfing even the skinny youth by his side, Cyrus clenched his fists while following him in complete silence. Of course, it would be a lie to say that Cyrus hadn¡¯t thought of attacking the guard at any point during his 3 years of tenure in the arena. After all, fighting the guard once should have been easier than risking his life continuously for more than a thousand days straight¡­ right? For better or worse though, Cyrus already knew how strong these guards were, immediately extinguishing any such thoughts. Each and every one of them was a bonafide Ironbound warrior who could effortlessly suppress any prisoner. Forget about Cyrus, even if the strongest slaves had a go against one of the guards, they¡¯d be subdued in a matter of seconds before they were punished for their insolence. And that was assuming the guards were also barehanded, fighting in the same conditions as the prisoners. If one factored in the armor they wore that covered them from head to toe, making them resemble war machines, even a dozen slaves banding together wouldn¡¯t have the smallest of chances against them¡­ not when they were also famished and were provided barely enough food to survive. With a solemn expression, Cyrus could only clench his fists harder, yet his expression just as apathetic as before, as he followed the man across the empty corridors of the Red Arena. Glancing at the slender youth by his side though, he couldn¡¯t stop his heart from sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss. The Red Arena was truly hell, but this time¡­ he really couldn¡¯t see a way to survive! Chapter 2 As the guard locked Cyrus and the tall, slender youth into a pair of isolated cells, calling them their ¡®waiting rooms¡¯ before the fight, Cyrus looked at the remaining, half-eaten loaf of bread in his hands before choosing to wolf it down in one-go. He had deliberately saved half of it to consume it before the fight, hoping that the sudden load of carbohydrates would provide just enough of a glucose rush to increase his performance, even if just slightly. Of course, Cyrus had no idea of the science behind his actions, or why eating his food all at once provided him with a short-term boost before exhaustion kicked in even more harshly later on, but he knew this was something that worked for some reason. Thus, ignoring the hard, almost rock-like sensation of the bread in his mouth that was mixed with the ground¡¯s dirt, he took a sip of water and chewed strongly, trying to make the most of his remaining time. He only had a couple of hours before the fight began, and after stepping foot inside the Bloodpit, he knew he¡¯d either leave there standing or¡­ not at all! ¡®¡¯Damn it!¡¯¡¯ A cry of resignation couldn¡¯t help but escape his mouth as the last piece of bread went down his throat, barely softening thanks to that large gulp of water he had taken alongside it. And yet, neither the inedible sensation of the stone-like bread nor the conditions of his cell were of any concern to Cyrus at this moment. No. The only thing that was on his mind right now was how to deal with that tall, long-limbed youth. ¡®¡¯Slave 298¡­¡¯¡¯ Cyrus didn¡¯t know exactly how strong his opponent was, but both his notoriety and strength made him one of the most terrifying fighters he could be pitted against in the Bloodpit. Putting aside the rumors of the youth being close to an Ironbound warrior, even if that wasn¡¯t the case, Cyrus knew he would be fighting an incredibly uphill battle. After all, his opponent was not only a seasoned fighter who had spent 2 more years than him in the Red Arena, but he also had clear advantages over him in every physical aspect. He was taller, potentially stronger, and had longer reach! Perhaps Cyrus could outmaneuver him considering his speed was one of his strongest qualities, but the more he thought about the upcoming fight, the more he realized how stacked the odds against him were! Cyrus was good at masking his emotions¡­ very good, in fact. This was why even though he¡¯d recognized his opponent just by hearing his number, he hadn¡¯t shown any visible reaction other than plain curiosity. At least, he didn¡¯t think he had. He didn¡¯t want to give the youth the satisfaction of seeing that he was lacking in confidence. At the very least, he had to let the man feel just as tense about their battle as he was! And yet, in his heart, Cyrus understood how slim his chances this time were. He tried to brainstorm, considering every available choice he could make that would give him even the tiniest edge in the battle, but there were very few things he could possibly do that would help bridge the gap between their physical abilities. Time continued to pass like that, and finally, two hours later¡­ the door of the ¡®waiting room¡¯ opened with another bang, as the giant guard entered inside. His gaze fixed on Cyrus under his helmet was just as cold and emotionless as the one from a few hours ago, almost as if he was looking at a corpse ¡®¡¯Get ready maggot, it¡¯s time to work. You have to earn your keep at least, don¡¯t you?¡¯¡¯ The guard¡¯s cold voice echoed throughout the small room, and from the impatience in his tone, it was obvious he wasn¡¯t planning on wasting any more time waiting for Cyrus to prepare himself. Stolen novel; please report. Turning around, the man then made his way towards the heart of the Red Arena, not even bothering to turn around and check if Cyrus was following him or not; He knew that the kid didn¡¯t have a choice. Both of them knew it. Regardless of where one went, the entire arena was full of guards. There was no illusion of choice here! These slaves could only fight or die! Cyrus didn¡¯t know why, perhaps due to the increased pressure he was feeling from the upcoming fight or maybe due to the impossible odds he was facing, but this time, he didn¡¯t hold himself back as he faced the guard. Instead, he stared at the man¡¯s massive back and said sarcastically ¡®¡¯Earn my keep? Did you forget that you, oh noble warriors of the Goddess, are the ones who abduct children and force them to fight to the death, all for a single loaf of bread? Ah, right, this must be the benevolence of the Goddess you all preach every day, isn¡¯t it?¡¯¡¯ The guard¡¯s footsteps abruptly halted as the man turned around and stared down at Cyrus. The murderous look in his eyes wasn¡¯t concealed in the slightest, as the armored giant grabbed him by the collar of his tattered clothes and pinned him against the wall before he said with a snarl ¡®¡¯A maggot like you dares to speak of the Goddess¡¯ name with your filthy mouth? A pathetic worm like you without any divine affinity? It looks like you¡¯ve forgotten your place after experiencing her benevolence!¡¯¡¯ A moment later however, the guard unexpectedly relaxed his grip and let Cyrus land back on his feet as he continued ¡®¡¯You think we are abducting you maggots and use you to earn a profit, but you seem to forget that without us, most of you would have already died miserably out there. Trash with no divine affinity don¡¯t have a place anywhere in the continent, let alone in our Astrea Kingdom! At the very least, not only do we provide you with food and water after your fights, but we even give you hope to enter the ranks of Ironbound warriors in the future! Whether you succeed and regain your freedom or not, is entirely up to you!¡¯¡¯ Cyrus couldn¡¯t help but widen his eyes as he looked at the guard. He could almost see the smirk hidden behind his helmet as the man looked at him with a blameless expression. Of course, Cyrus already knew that the benevolence these people were preaching of was hypocritical, and that everything relied solely on one¡¯s talent and divine affinity, but he couldn¡¯t believe that this bastard was openly mocking him with a straight face! Unfortunately, Cyrus knew that there was no point in continuing this discussion. The guard was clearly twisting cruelty into kindness, and yet there was nothing he could say -truth didn¡¯t matter here! Thus, Cyrus could only follow the man in silence as the two of them headed for the heart of the Red Arena, the Bloodpit! ¡­ Even before reaching the giant bronze door, Cyrus could clearly make out the hushed discussions, the animated arguments, and even the excited yelps that seeped through the door and entered his ears in a jumbled mess. Although the Red Arena was an underground fighting ring and was technically illegal in all of Astrea, its existence was basically an open secret in the city of Morwyn, gathering more than a couple thousand spectators every night. In fact, Cyrus knew that for some of the more ¡®anticipated¡¯ main events, the entire arena was fully packed despite its large capacity of nearly five thousand spectators. The slender, bony-like youth the guards called Slave 298, was already waiting in front of the door under the supervision of another guard by the time Cyrus and the giant guard arrived. This time however, Cyrus could see that the tall teen was no longer ignoring his existence. No, there was a primal ferocity in the youth¡¯s eyes as he stared at him, clearly determined to go all out! Cyrus barely had time to register the change in his opponent¡¯s expression though, before the two guards pushed open the bronze doors with both hands, causing the shouts of the crowd to turn even louder than before. The vivid crimson of the countless grains of sand filling the Bloodpit, the cacophony of the animated voices that shouted for the fight to start, and even the light of the setting sun barely illuminating the place all entered Cyrus¡¯s vision one after the other, as his expression turned cold and emotionless once more. This was his reality right now. Regardless of what the world out there was like, inside the Bloodpit one could only fight or wait to be slaughtered. The same went for both Cyrus and the tall, bone-like youth. As the two of them walked towards opposite ends of the arena, staring down at each other without a word, Cyrus cut off all distracting thoughts and focused solely on the youth in front of him. He¡¯d now cut off that familiar yet never-welcome cold grip of fear that previously clamped his heart like an iron claw, or any other uncertainty he had about the fight! No matter what, he had been through tough situations before and survived! He hadn¡¯t come out unscathed¡­ but he¡¯d survived! The odds were stacked against him, yes, and this fight may even seem impossible at first glance, but this was nothing new. He could only win if he didn¡¯t want to die! There was nothing else to it! As he calmed down his raging emotions, Cyrus gradually turned his attention towards a certain spot in the stands, where a short old man was surrounded by more than a dozen guards. Of course, Cyrus wasn¡¯t the only one to do so at that moment. The bone-like youth and even the nearby spectators all seemed to have done the same, their expressions a mixture of anticipation, excitement, reverence, or flat-out hatred in the bony youth¡¯s case. Cyrus¡¯s disgust and hatred was no less than the slender youth¡¯s, but to his credit, he managed to hide most of it as he stared at the man. After all, the smiling old bastard sitting up there was the one who controlled everything in this place. The Red Arena was no different from his personal playground and everyone here knew it. Thus, despite his hobby of acting as the announcer for the main events, nobody took the luxuriously dressed old man as just another spectator. With a slimy smile on his face, the old man looked around him and nodded in satisfaction, before his loud, grating voice echoed throughout the arena, forcefully suppressing any of the still-ongoing whispers ¡®¡¯Fellow guests, my Zyvarros family welcomes you to tonight¡¯s main event.¡¯¡¯ Chapter 3 Cyrus had already heard this line dozens of times before, to the point where he¡¯d instinctively begun to filter out the old man¡¯s words as soon as he started to talk. The damn steward of the Zyvarros family would go on to explain how the slaves he had handpicked today were the cream of the crop in the city of Morwyn, and even the kingdom of Astrea as a whole. Even though they possessed little to no divine affinity and hadn¡¯t been blessed by any gods, each of these children was now very close to becoming an ¡®Ironbound¡¯ warrior and regaining their freedom. Of course, this was all thanks to the benevolence of the Goddess and the Zyvarros family. Cyrus had memorized this disgusting script after hearing it countless times in the past, to the point where he wanted to vomit just at the mention of the name Zyvarros! Close to becoming an Ironbound warrior? He knew that this crap couldn¡¯t be further from the truth. Indeed, there were a few¡­ very few among the slaves who were, in fact, close to reaching that rank, but even they were less than a handful, and were only those who had spent more than half a decade in the Red Arena by now. Having been born with little to no divine affinity, these slaves had basically no talent, which meant that tempering their bodies to reach the rank of Ironbound would take them that much longer as well. This was why the long-limbed youth in front of Cyrus had yet to reach that rank either, despite having spent five full years in this hellhole. Noticing the youth¡¯s cold, murderous expression gradually vanish from his face, replaced by a deadpan look, Cyrus knew that the steward¡¯s monologue was probably coming to an end. And indeed, the old bastard up in the stands had timed it perfectly. As the tension in the arena reached its peak, he finally raised his hand and gave his order: ¡®¡¯For the Goddess!¡¯¡¯ The moment his voice trailed off, both Cyrus and slave 298 lunged forward, their bare feet kicking the crimson grains of sand behind them as they rushed at each other. Cyrus had already filtered out the roars from the crowd, along with any other distraction that could potentially make him lose the fight. Even the steward¡¯s hateful face was no longer in his field of vision, his eyes fully focused on the tall, slender youth in front of him. The long-limbed teen was momentarily taken aback seeing Cyrus rush at him too, but that look of confusion only graced his face for the briefest of moments before it gave way to sheer ruthlessness. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it He¡¯d expected Cyrus to gauge the difference in their physical traits and try to run away from him instead of fight him head-on. After all, whether it was in terms of strength, reach, or even experience, the slender youth had the advantage in all three, and both he and Cyrus understood that all too well! That¡¯s why, the tall teen had already surmised that his opponent was going to run away and try to exhaust him instead of fighting him directly¡­To his surprise however, Cyrus¡¯s unexpected opener had thrown that all out the window. His lunge was no different from the openings of those slaves who had just been thrown into the Bloodpit for the first time, completely incapable of assessing the situation they were in! Still, if his opponent wanted to throw his life away, 298 wouldn¡¯t refuse. In just a few moments, the two teens had already arrived in front of each other, as 298¡¯s eyes gleamed like the eyes of a wolf standing in front of his prey. Without hesitation, the youth¡¯s right fist flew towards Cyrus¡¯s chest, aiming to end the fight in a single strike. Obviously, against a much shorter and more agile opponent like Cyrus, aiming for the head wasn¡¯t optimal. His opponent could always duck and turn the tables on him. If he had the chance to end the fight in one blow, 298 would always go for his opponent¡¯s solar plexus. That¡­ was 298¡¯s sole mistake! Staring at the fist that flew towards his chest from a straight angle, Cyrus gritted his teeth and ignored it as he turned his attention towards 298¡¯s legs! The tall youth had just stopped running and was stabilizing himself so he could land a clean hit! But Cyrus didn¡¯t stop¡­ He kept going as his body leaned closer to the ground, almost smelling the lingering scent of blood on the crimson grains underneath him while his momentum carried him over, sending him barrelling towards the youth¡¯s bone-like legs. Despite the difference in their age, strength, and even experience, 298 was unable to react as the weight of Cyrus¡¯s entire body was hurled against him, forcefully toppling him over. As 298 lost his balance, the entire arena erupted in cheers of excitement, roars of exhilaration, and even boos of contempt, as the 14-year-old boy brought his larger opponent to the ground. However, Cyrus didn¡¯t hear any of it. No, the cacophony of those cheers and boos didn¡¯t even enter his ears as 298¡¯s right fist grazed his back on the way down, bringing with it a sharp surge of pain. Still, everything Cyrus had done was for this moment. He¡¯d spent the past couple of hours in his isolated cell, trying to think of any way to possibly win this fight. Unfortunately, every scenario he thought of ended with his opponent always coming out victorious. Cyrus was faster than him, yes, but he knew that wasn¡¯t enough to bridge the gap between their physiques. His body was still growing, but his current reach was nowhere near enough to let him contend against someone like slave 298! Besides, even if he ignored the disadvantage of his reach, Cyrus knew that in a straight fight, he was definitely weaker than the older youth. His only choice was to try and catch him off-guard. It was a gamble, but he didn¡¯t have another choice¡­ and luckily, it¡¯d paid off! Chapter 4: Scream Ignoring the sharp pain coming from his back, Cyrus didn''t waste a second as he forcefully shook off the disorienting sensation and lunged at his fallen opponent. Unlike the taller youth who still had his back facing towards him, Cyrus had been fully prepared for their crash, so shaking off the dizziness was something he had been ready for! Without any hesitation, he raised both arms and climbed on top of 298, before he unleashed punch after punch on the defenseless youth¡¯s head and ribs! His fists hurt as they met the teen¡¯s skull and exposed ribcage, but Cyrus didn¡¯t stop or slow down his hammering. This wasn¡¯t his first time fighting in the Bloodpit. He knew that this was his only chance to win the fight. If he couldn¡¯t take 298 down quickly enough, he would be the one kissing the ground! The bony youth reacted quickly enough, to his credit. Quicker than any opponent Cyrus had faced, at least, as he raised his own hands and guarded his vital spots while trying to curl up to a fetal position and minimize the damage. Unfortunately for him, Cyrus¡¯s hits didn¡¯t follow a certain pattern. The strikes came indiscriminately, some of them targeting his head while others his ribs, trying to find even the smallest of openings. At this point, it was purely a matter of attrition. Would Cyrus¡¯s blows break past 298¡¯s guard first, or was the 14-year-old going to get exhausted before that happened? With another swing, Cyrus landed a clean hit on his opponent¡¯s ribcage, finally hearing a faint cracking sound and feeling his fist sink in slightly deeper than before. At that moment, the tall, slender youth who had been clutching his head and enduring the hammering this whole time suddenly let out a painful, bestial roar. ¡®¡¯Aaaargghh!¡¯¡¯ However, that¡¯s when the fight unexpectedly turned. Cyrus didn¡¯t know how it happened, but as he let out that roar, 298 ignored his relentless assault and stood up, standing on his own two feet with Cyrus still on his back. Then, almost as if he had gone mad, the bony youth put all his weight at the back of his legs and fell backwards, slamming his ¡®back¡¯ on the ground behind him! Cyrus didn¡¯t have a chance to react as his body was the first to slam against the crimson sand, followed by 298¡¯s full body weight! The youth wasn¡¯t fat by any means, if anything, he was severely malnourished¡­ but so was Cyrus! Thus, the scene that followed was only natural when a larger opponent used his weight against a significantly smaller one. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Carried by 298¡¯s overwhelming momentum, Cyrus could feel his body crashing against the cold arena floor, his head slamming on the blood-stained soil behind him and almost losing consciousness. But, 298 didn¡¯t stop. There was no way he would stop! Cyrus could see the youth -still bleeding from his mouth- turn around and get on top of him, his cold gaze oozing with fury and barely restrained killing intent. However, to everyone¡¯s surprise, he didn¡¯t hit Cyrus. No, he didn¡¯t even retaliate with any flurry of strikes either, like everyone had expected. Instead, he stretched out his hands and placed them on Cyrus¡¯s neck, as a grim yet almost cathartic smile found its way to his face. ¡®¡¯Ah. I underestimated you. I knew I shouldn¡¯t have, but I still did it! ¡­Still, you don¡¯t have to worry. I¡¯ll send you off quickly.¡¯¡¯ Cyrus could feel the iron grip on his neck closing in, as the thin, bone-like fingers pressed on him with unbelievable strength. Almost instinctively, he raised his hands and tried to pull the iron clamps away, but the slender youth¡¯s fingers wouldn¡¯t budge. No, at most, Cyrus could feel that he¡¯d alleviated the slightest bit of pressure, but it wasn¡¯t nearly enough to save himself. He could feel his life slipping away with every moment, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. 289¡¯s smile became more and more pronounced seeing this, while the madness in his eyes increased as well. He was so close to victory he could almost taste it -taste the death throes of the worm who had almost killed him! But as the strength behind his fingertips increased, 289 suddenly widened his eyes. For a moment, he thought he saw a¡­ flicker of madness flash through Cyrus¡¯s dim grey eyes? Before he could register that thought though, Cyrus suddenly let go of the fingertips that were crushing his neck. He could feel the pressure increase exponentially, so much so that his neck bone could snap at any moment. Cyrus had never felt such pain before. But he didn¡¯t care. He couldn¡¯t care. ¡®¡¯Sa..distic... basta..rd!¡¯¡¯ Even his thoughts had started to crawl to a halt, but he didn¡¯t stop. Gathering whatever strength he had left, he put it all behind his right fist as he drove it straight through 298¡¯s ribs. ¡®¡¯AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!¡¯¡¯ A scream so shrill and loud pierced through the ¡®Red Arena¡¯, completely stunning the spectators who were now on their feet. Everyone stared at the tall, slender youth who was now wailing on the ground, rolling left and right in a desperate attempt to drive away the pain. His hand was tightly clenching his left ribcage while the crimson sand underneath him was painted a lighter shade of red. And yet, those gazes only lingered on 298 for the briefest of moments before they quickly turned towards Cyrus. The 14-year-old teen was now wheezing, struggling to breathe while clutching his neck with his left hand. The expression of pain on his face seemed even worse than 298¡¯s as he desperately vomited blood with every breath. And yet, he was still breathing¡­ for now! Chapter 5 Chapter 5: ¡®¡¯Fight!¡¯¡¯ ¡®¡¯Fight!!¡¯¡¯ The roars in the arena had reached a crescendo as the spectators shouted from the top of their lungs, their gazes split between Cyrus and 298. At this point, it was clear that whoever of the two recovered first and managed to get back on their feet would be able to win the fight! And yet, Cyrus couldn¡¯t hear any of it. Not the animated shouts of the crowd yelling for him to get up, nor the painful wails of the bony youth whose ribs had almost surely fractured if not outright broken after his last punch. No, the only thing Cyrus could focus on at this moment was his breathing, and even there, he wasn¡¯t doing a very good job. With every second breath he took, he couldn¡¯t help but cough loudly, his desperate wheezing unable to mask the blood he was still vomiting. As for the sharp pain coming from his neck, he didn¡¯t know if his neck bone had been broken, but even if it hadn¡¯t its condition was anything but good. And yet, as the crowd watched with bated breaths, eager to witness the conclusion of the fight, a sudden, feminine voice took the entire coliseum by surprise, drowning the Red Arena under its cold, authoritative tone ¡®¡¯Zoren Solkar! Come out! The Order of Zephyr is here! There¡¯s nowhere left to hide!¡¯¡¯ The feminine voice had barely echoed when an armored guard rushed past the iron doors and up in the stands, heading straight for the old steward who had yet to fully regain his bearings. Zoren Solkar was still engrossed in the fight of the two slaves below him, when the guard¡¯s voice entered his ears in a trembling whisper ¡®¡¯Manager, we are in trouble! An Exemplar of Zephyr is here!¡¯¡¯ The old steward seemed to snap out of his reverie the moment he heard those words, his gaze turning sharp and inquisitive as he stared down the guard ¡®¡¯An Exemplar of Zephyr? In Morwyn?¡¯¡¯ The guard nodded and took a deep breath, ignoring the prying eyes of the crowd around him as he forced himself to answer, his tone still laced with lingering hints of disbelief Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. ¡®¡¯It¡¯s Sylarei Vorrin. She¡¯s come with more than a dozen Bloodsworn of her church.¡¯¡¯ The old steward¡¯s gaze finally widened, his expression falling for the very first time tonight. If an Exemplar of Zephyr was here, things were indeed going to get messy. This wasn¡¯t something he or the Zyvarros had planned for, after all. At the same time, the crowd in the arena had already started to whisper among themselves, the name ¡®Sylarei Vorrin¡¯ having clearly been overheard. To his credit however, the old steward barely lingered for a couple of seconds before his gaze fell back on the Bloodpit -on the two children who were still struggling to stand up- as he gave out his orders ¡®¡¯Take the slaves and get in the underground tunnel. It¡¯ll lead you right out of the city, close to the entrance of the Amethyst Forest. Don¡¯t let the city guard notice you and wait there until I send reinforcements.¡¯¡¯ Turning around, Zoren Solkar continued to bark orders at the guards around him, assigning one of them to clean up the Slaves¡¯ Pen and completely wipe all traces of the slaves after they were gone, while the rest of them were supposed to follow him and meet Zephyr¡¯s Exemplar. Cyrus had no idea what was going on in the stands right now but he could feel the atmosphere in the arena that had suddenly changed. He didn¡¯t know if it was the crowd that had stopped chanting or if it was 298¡¯s wails that had caused this shift¡­ and frankly, he couldn¡¯t care about it either. His wheezing had just subsided and his blood coughing had just stopped when he felt a massive arm wrap around his stomach and pick him up effortlessly before it started to run. His vision was still blurry, not having recovered after the unending retching he had just gone through, but even instinctively, Cyrus didn¡¯t allow himself to lose consciousness. He couldn¡¯t. Thus, as the massive figure carrying him like a piece of log sprinted towards the entrance, the last thing Cyrus saw was that hateful, slimy old steward addressing the crowd around him as the bloody arena vanished behind him. .. Despite carrying both him and 298 in each hand, Cyrus could see the walls around him turn into a blur as the armored guard sprinted through the empty halls at breakneck speed. Cyrus had no idea how strong an Ironbound warrior really was, but judging purely from the man¡¯s speed, he could tell that even if he and 298 teamed up, they had no chance if they tried to fight him. It only took a minute for the armored giant to return to the Slaves¡¯ Pen and order the second guard to wake all the slaves and get going. Some of the prisoners began to protest, unwilling to be dragged around like this, but the guards made it clear that they weren¡¯t going to waste any time here. Those who refused were quickly reminded their place, and in the blink of an eye, everyone had already arrived at the entrance of the underground tunnels. Cyrus was barely holding on to his consciousness, the pain from his neck flaring even more frequently as he was carried around like a piece of wood, but the guard seemed to think little of it as he led everyone into the tunnels. The last thing Cyrus heard before the other guard locked the tunnel¡¯s entrance as a loud, feminine voice entering his ears from far away as it ordered coldly ¡®¡¯Search everything!¡¯¡¯ Chapter 6 The underground tunnels were cold and damp, with the occasional water droplets falling from the ceiling and greeting the necks of the prisoners they landed on. And yet, aside from the habitual squeals of a few rats frequenting the place, only the rugged huffs of some of the nearby slaves entered Cyrus¡¯s ears, prompting the guard carrying him to turn around and shout impatiently ¡®¡¯Keep walking!¡¯¡¯ Cyrus¡¯s mind was still foggy, but he could finally see what was going on around him as his condition began to stabilize. At the very least, the pain around his neck didn¡¯t get any worse, and despite the potent taste of iron in his mouth, he had stopped vomiting blood a long time ago. His blurry vision had also turned back to normal, allowing him to get a clear view of his new surroundings. He had no idea how long he¡¯d been carried for, but judging by the tiredness of the slaves around him, it must have been at least a couple of hours since they¡¯d descended into the tunnels. And yet, the iron warden didn¡¯t seem exhausted in the slightest, the cold plated steel underneath his legs clanging rhythmically as he continued to march forward. As he turned his head to the side, Cyrus was stunned when he noticed that 298 had passed out, his unconscious body still slumping over the guard¡¯s massive arm. However, from the subtle contractions and expansions of his chest, it was clear that the long-limbed youth was still alive. Regardless, Cyrus didn¡¯t have a chance to observe the older youth much longer, as a bright ray of moonlight suddenly drew his attention. He wasn¡¯t the only one who noticed it, either. Raising his head, the guard threw a glance at the open space in the distance where the rays of moonlight could freely seep in, and realized they had finally reached the end of the tunnel. His footsteps then halted, and without a warning, the man dropped both Cyrus and 298 on the ground before he turned to look at the two other guards behind him. Cyrus barely managed to cushion the fall using his palms and knees, the forceful movement causing his neck to flare with another wave of pain. However, 298¡¯s situation was even worse than his own. The unconscious youth slammed on the ground face first, before he collapsed listlessly on the rocky ground below him. Meanwhile, the second and third guards were both stationed at the rear of the group, making sure that none of the prisoners were acting out of line before they stepped forward and joined the first one. They didn¡¯t even spare a glance at the bleeding youth whose wounds had just reopened and just turned to the first guard, as one of them asked solemnly ¡®¡¯What now? We can¡¯t stay here, but we can¡¯t go outside either. There is no way we can hide this many slaves without being noticed by the city guard.¡¯¡¯ The first guard however unhesitantly shook his head, the gleam in his eyes just as cold and merciless as ever, as he responded If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡®¡¯We can¡¯t stay in the tunnels. It¡¯s only a matter of time before the Order of Zephyr bastards find the entrance and trace us all the way here. We have to move. We¡¯ll take the slaves and wait near the Amethyst forest until reinforcements arrive.¡¯¡¯ Cyrus could see the other two guards falling silent momentarily, almost as if they were contemplating the man¡¯s ¡®suggestion¡¯. Unfortunately, little did they know that the armored giant had already decided on their course of action and wasn¡¯t going to waste any more time convincing them. Turning his gaze towards the slaves, the guard continued coldly ¡®¡¯Listen here, rats. You will follow us to the entrance of the Amethyst forest and you will be very quiet while doing it. I¡¯m sure many of you have realized this already, but anyone who defies my orders will die tonight. I have no qualms about killing a bunch of trash, so keep your mouths shut and fall in line! We are moving, now!¡¯¡¯ Cyrus could hear disgruntled groans all around him, as the prisoners stared at the man with dismayed expressions. Even the second and the third guards couldn¡¯t conceal the looks of disbelief from showing on their faces. However, perhaps it was due to the first guard¡¯s seniority over them, or maybe it was due to his overwhelming physical features, but both of them chose to remain silent in the end. Cyrus didn¡¯t doubt it was probably the latter. Still, despite their hesitation, the two guards merely looked at each other before they resumed their positions at the rear of the group and shouted coldly ¡®¡¯Move out!¡¯¡¯ Seeing how 298 had yet to recover, the first guard shook his head and muttered what Cyrus thought he heard was a ¡®¡¯useless trash¡¯¡¯, before picking his limp body back up and making his way towards the wooden staircase where the moonlight gleamed from. As for Cyrus, it was clear that the guard had already noticed he was awake and decided to let him make it back on his own. Gritting his teeth, Cyrus followed after the man along with the rest of the prisoners as they got out of the tunnels. .. The cold night breeze was the first thing Cyrus felt as he left the tunnel, his tattered clothes fluttering in the wind as he stopped moving. Cold¡­ It was cold and yet, the cold air wasn¡¯t what stunned him and caused his heart to nearly stop beating. No, it was the boundless greenery Cyrus hadn¡¯t seen for 3 years, along with the endless starry sky that he could only look at whenever he stepped into the Bloodpit. This¡­ was the world outside the Red Arena that he had almost forgotten! While more and more prisoners climbed out of the pit, Cyrus struggled to contain his raging emotions and that ¡®evil¡¯ thought that was forcefully trying to take root in his mind despite all logical reasoning! On one hand, he knew it was hopeless to try and escape. He knew that the first guard was an Ironbound warrior who surpassed him in every physical aspect, especially in strength and speed! Even if Cyrus wasn¡¯t wounded, he wouldn¡¯t be able to make it more than a few dozen meters from his current location before the guard caught up to him and executed him on the spot. On the other hand though, staring at the not-so-distant city gates of Morwyn, or the entrance of that forest with those unique, purple-colored trees, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder¡­ what if he could make it? No, even if he was tired and gravely injured, wasn¡¯t it better to die trying than continue to live in misery and let the Red Arena profit from his suffering? Even if the chances of success were infinitely small, and even if certain death was the only thing that awaited him on the other side, Cyrus couldn¡¯t stop those self-destructive thoughts from taking root in his mind. For better or worse though¡­ he wasn¡¯t the only one! Chapter 7 Life or Death Chapter 7: Following Cyrus, more and more prisoners climbed out of the tunnel, their gazes just like his, skittering between the distant city lights and the violet forest ahead. Surprisingly, even under the watchful eyes of the first guard, many of them didn¡¯t shy away, almost as if they were facing the same internal dilemma as him: ¡®¡¯¡­It was only a few hundred meters ahead!¡¯¡¯ Instead of growing weaker, Cyrus could tell that this crazy, almost suicidal thought had now firmly taken root in every prisoner¡¯s mind. After all, with the other two guards still at the back of the group, making sure that no one was ¡®accidentally¡¯ left behind, there was only one monster guarding them. Granted, this one was the strongest among the guards, but he was still alone while more than a hundred prisoners were already in the open, with two hundred more inside the tunnel! If they tried to escape¡­ could the guard really stop them all before they reached the city entrance? And even if he somehow managed that, would he really dare to kill them? Kill all of them? Who was the ¡®Red Arena¡¯ going to use for their fights then? The more they thought about this, the more the prisoners realized that this was their only chance! ¡®¡¯GO!!¡¯¡¯ And indeed, barely a minute later, an unassuming, short young man did what everyone else had been thinking: he sped off, breaking out of the group and running towards the direction of Morwyn! Almost simultaneously, more than a hundred prisoners did the same, scattering in every direction, with the majority of them heading towards Morwyn or the Amethyst forest. Cyrus was one of them! After throwing a glance at the youth who had initiated the charge, he gritted his teeth and ran with everything he had, as he made his way towards the purple-treed Forest! Even the flaring pain that was practically burning his neck alive every time his feet slammed into the ground wasn¡¯t enough to make him slow down! Of course, Cyrus had instantly recognized the youth who led the charge just now, too. After all, just like 298, the short teen was also one of the strongest fighters in the Red Arena, someone in the top 20. Unfortunately, even he wasn¡¯t strong or fast enough to endure what was about to follow. With a murderous look in his arrogant, emotionless eyes under his steel helmet, the guard rushed forward chasing after the youth! The man¡¯s speed was even faster and more explosive than Cyrus had originally predicted, and in just a few steps, he¡¯d already caught up with the short teen at the very front. It was almost as if the thick armor he wore was nothing but an ornament, not slowing him down in the slightest. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. To every prisoner¡¯s horror, however, this was just the beginning. Raising his iron fist, the guard didn¡¯t slow down as he sent it flying at the fleeing youth¡¯s back. Even from afar, Cyrus could clearly tell: There was no mercy. No hesitation. No weakness in that fist. Just pure intent to kill! Almost as if feeling that something was wrong, the short teen turned around and stared at the incoming fist with a terrified, desperate look when he realized who it belonged to. But that was all he could do before his eyes widened in terror as a gaping hole tore his back open before a massive iron fist came out of his chest! Then¡­ his lifeless body collapsed on the ground with a dull thud, his expression a mixture of horror and hopelessness as he breathed out his last. ¡®¡¯ENOUGH! You bastards! Those of you who come back now can still go unpunished! But anyone who keeps running will die by my hands! This is your last chance!¡¯¡¯ The guard¡¯s voice resounded through the vast plains like a peal of thunder, his fury and killing intent crystal clear as he looked at the fleeing slaves. Even from a distance, Cyrus could tell that the man meant every word of it too! He was really planning to slaughter them all! Unfortunately, this threat would have worked any other time except for tonight. Cyrus could see that none of the other prisoners had stopped running despite the guard¡¯s threat. Not the ones who were running towards Morwyn, not the ones heading for the Amethyst Forest like him, and not even the ones who were going for the mountains opposite the city! Despite the guard¡¯s overwhelming strength and speed, it seemed that everyone had already realized it. The man couldn¡¯t stop everyone! Even an Ironbound warrior wasn¡¯t capable of that! The guard seemed to have realized it too, and after a moment of reluctance, he focused solely on the prisoners running towards Morwyn! He had explicit instructions to avoid alerting the city guard while he waited for reinforcements, so dealing with the slaves heading for the city was of utmost importance! As for those who were heading towards the Amethyst Forest or the mountains, he would take care of them later. Cyrus had no idea what was on the guard¡¯s mind, and at this point, he couldn¡¯t afford to care either. He could clearly hear the cries of those unlucky prisoners who ended up in the iron warden¡¯s clutches, and by the time he reached the foliage of the purple-colored trees, he was sure that at least a dozen more prisoners had already perished in the man¡¯s hands. Unfortunately, Cyrus knew that, despite the ground he had covered, his own situation wasn¡¯t much better either. His life was now hanging by a thread and his injury-ridden body had truly reached the verge of collapse!