Michael jumped from the ground just before Pio slammed the point of his dagger into him.
"Woah," Pio whistled. "That's one hell of a reflex."
Michael looked at his chains. What was attached to Pio was the severed foot of what was once Manny.
"It's nothing personal, kid!"
Michael ran away, hearing the heavy footsteps still running behind him. He can't possibly fight an armed criminal. The best thing he knew at all, was to run away and that was exactly what he was doing.
What are you doing, the voice said, this really sucks to watch.
Michael kept running, avoiding the fights between other prisoners and being careful not to get caught in any of the crossfire. He didn't even know if Pio was still chasing after him.
He still is, the voice said, I guess you're just going to keep running?
Michael thought he was going crazy.
You're not, the voice said, I know you can hear me.
Michael tripped over and face-planted onto the ground. He could have sworn a girl was laughing on top of him.
Then he turned around with Pio lunging over with his dagger raised. Michael rolled away, narrowly missing again.
Pio quickly lunged over again and slashed Michael across the arm.
The dagger dragging across his arm stung, pouring warm blood down his arm. Michael cried out. He never even saw this much of his own blood before. He only ran away from guards just to get beaten in the end but, this time, people were actually trying to kill him. He wanted all of this to stop. He wanted to drop his sword and cover his arm.
Don't do that, the voice said, don't you dare drop me.
The voice definitely wasn't coming from Pio. He didn't even look or sound like the girl talking to him. But Michael was worrying about the wrong things at the wrong time.
Pio thrusted his dagger towards Michael.
Michael defiantly shouted and swung his sword across, slashing Pio's hand and misdirecting him into the ground. He heard Pio groaning in pain, holding his bleeding hand while standing up.
Michael kept crawling back. "I'm sorry—"
"I'll kill you!"
Pio slammed his body on top of Michael, scattering his sword away. They struggled over control. Michael didn't even know how old he was, just old enough to be convicted for a assassination crime and be thrown in here.
"You're a damned slave," Pio slammed his elbow on Michael's face. "Why are you fighting so hard?"
Michael tried to push against him or even grab his arms. Pio just moved too fast and knew exactly what he was doing. He was already pinning his weight on top of Michael and restricting half of his movements.
Pio wrapped his hands around Michael's throat and squeezed hard.
Michael felt his breaths growing shorter and shorter. He tried to pry off Pio's hands but they were wrapped tightly around his neck. He tried to push off his arms, squeeze them back, but they'd only make him beg for air. He turned to his sword. It was glowing, or actually it was pulsating. The sound of his heartbeat, matching against the glow of his sword. Michael didn't know why, but he still wanted to hear the voice of that girl again.
Michael felt his vision blur and darken. His eyes were growing heavy and arms were feeling light.
Then Pio was knocked off of Michael by some other prisoner.
Sounds came rushing back into Michael's ears as he desperately coughed and gasped for air. But the first thing he wanted to do was reach for his sword.
There was that feeling again. The feeling of total exhilaration and power surging through his body. Michael realized this feeling was coming straight from his hand, holding this sword. This wasn't some ordinary weapon at all.
What did I say, the voice rang, I told you not to drop me.
Michael thought there was some sort of concern in that voice. This voice sounded human, like she was trying to understand him.
Turn around, the voice immediately said, now.
Michael shouted and spun his entire body, swinging the sword behind him.
Pio stumbled to the ground, holding the slash across his chest. He dropped his dagger and his eyes widened.
Michael panted, holding his warm throat.
"How did you know," Pio's hands trembled. "You're not really a slave—are you?"
Michael ran off again as Pio dropped to the ground clutching his chest. He couldn't bring himself to kill, never in a million years he would kill another human being. That was already beyond him to ask. He didn't understand the goal of this arena situation but the announcer declared the last person alive would be free. Michael just had to find some way to work around that.
"Hey—" Michael said to himself. "Are you there?"
You know, the voice said, the way you run is funny.
"I have to be going crazy."
You're not, the voice assured.
"I am definitely going crazy."
Michael watched the current state of the arena. Out of the twenty prisoners that entered, already more than half of them were dead. It's only been a few minutes yet the deaths were piling faster than he thought. Even the cheering from the stands quieted down into murmurs.
"Gentlemen!" the blaring voice came again. "It appears, this week's batch came off a little too short for our tasting. Fret not, my dear sacks of flesh, we will change course into a better taste! The rules will be changed! Instead of killing one other, whoever will survive by the end will be pardoned!"
What does that mean, the voice said, survive?
Michael frantically turned around, trying to find the voice speaking to him. She sounded like she was right beside him yet he was alone against the stone wall.
The voice laughed in his head.
Michael decided to just focus on his breathing. He didn't have any time to find out where this voice was coming from.
"Behold!" the blaring voice got even louder. "The horror of nature!"
Another wall opened across the arena. Michael assumed it would be more prisoners entering but what jumped through was far from that.
There was no introduction at all. This four-legged beast immediately ran for the nearest prisoner to maul him alive. Its claws were sharp, his fur thick, and had no facial structure but the long jaw of sharp teeth. It growled and roared with drooling saliva foaming through its mouth. How did the nobles even manage to capture this type of creature?
The prisoners screamed in fear, running away but unfortunate enough to be near that beast. The good part was that the audience erupted back into their usual uproar of cheers, but the bad part was this beast was shredding everyone else in seconds.
Michael had nowhere else to run. He might outrun some starved prisoners but there was no way he'd be able to run away from that. He can't climb these stone walls, just looking at the other desperate prisoners clawing away and screaming for the people above to spare them. But all there was to see was the devilish grin looking down at their source of entertainment.
The beast chewed on a corpse and ripped his flesh with its jaw, roaring again to fill his appetite. It must have been stuck here for weeks and now they had presented the creature with a full meal of prisoners.
"Hey, slave-boy," a gritty voice said beside him. "Enjoying the view?"
Michael jumped and pointed his sword.
"Woah, easy there," Regan chuckled. "Did you hear what that fat noble said?"
"Where—where's the other…"
Wren popped beside him.
Michael breathed with a little ease. "I thought you guys were fighting."
"Priorities changed," Regan stroked his chin. "We have a mana beast to worry about, and if what that fat nobleman says is true then we can all guarantee our pardons."
They were both stained in blood but didn't look to be injured at all. Michael wondered how hard they must be fighting to scare off any other prisoners but they finally banded together. The lives that were lost before didn't even bother them.
I don't trust these guys, the voice said, they look bad to me.
For once, Michael agreed with the imaginary voice in his head.
The beast roared again, charging through the corpses on the ground to the nearest living being.
Michael gripped his sword. "How do we fight this?"
"We pinch it between our attacks," Wren answered. "It can't attack all of us at once. One of us will be given the opportunity to strike."
The beasts finished chewing a prisoner alive, tugging him across the floor and throwing him away, gnawing away the loose flesh left inside his mouth. It roared and charged for its next feast. The beast was coming straight for them.
They dove out of the way as the beasts rammed itself into the stone wall.
Wren sprung from the ground and took the opportunity while it was still dazed. He slashed his sword across the leg. There was no effect.
The beast roared and turned around, attacking the source of that irritation. It lunged with the intention to gouge the prey with its claws.
Wren dove and rolled underneath it in a swift motion, dodging away from the beast.
"It's hard-skin!" he shouted back. "Normal attacks won't work on it!"
Regan hovered his hand over his sword. "Interesting!"
Wren also hovered his hand over his sword, as if they were both coating it in some invisible force.
Michael felt like he was supposed to see something but he couldn't. Was this what was called mana?
The beast turned to Wren's voice and charged again.
Wren ran away, intending to be the distraction.
Regan dashed forward and roared along with the monster. He slashed his blade across the beast's face, flinging its blood across the ground.
The beast recoiled its roar upon feeling the pain, then swiping its claws wildly in front.
Regan carefully maneuvered, following against its swipes and dragging it further towards Wren.
Wren flanked from the side and thrust his blade into the ribs of the beast. His sword penetrated right through.
Michael assumed this entire time for the prisoners trying to fight the beast, never realized this one was different from what they usually encountered. Something that Wren said about a mana beast, was unknown to everyone else. The nobles above probably wanted to wipe them all out since none of this was going in their favor.
The mana beast shrieked and rolled its body away from Wren's blade. Wren's face turned into an unsettling grin because of how easy they were going to be freed. Him and Regan were both complimenting each other's attacks, capitalizing off of the crippling hunger from the mana beast.
The mana beast crawled back and tensed its limbs. It looked to be inhaling, the sound of something high-pitched filled its body. Then its gaping maw screeched an electric shockwave of sound so loud, the entire arena shook and blurred like a violent earthquake.
Wren dropped to the floor, covering his ears in an erratic motion. He cried as blood flowed through the gaps of his fingers. Regan fell on his back, yelling incomprehensible words while also covering his ears. Both of their eyes rolled into the back of their heads, screaming in pain while blood profusely bled from every orifice in their body.
But for Michael, he was still standing. The sound was definitely loud but he didn't drop to the ground like everyone else. He could have felt there was some type of electric shock that attempted to travel through his body but was quickly neutralized the moment it reached him. There was that strange feeling again, this feeling coming from his hand holding the sword.
The beast stopped screaming and shook his body, contorting back its smoking and sizzling jaw. It turned to Michael's direction, the only person standing left in the arena.
Michael stumbled back. He didn't even know what just happened.
Don't get scared, the voice said, it's coming.
The beast ran for Michael. It didn't run fast but moved like it was tired. Its legs were sloppy and his jaw hung from his mouth like that screech had drawn every ounce of energy it had left. But the sharpness of its claws and teeth still remained intact.
He readied his sword.
The beast raised its paw and swiped down, breaking Michael's guard. It raised its paw again. The beast was considerably slower, just enough for him to at least track its movements.
Michael jumped out of the way and slashed across the beast's abdomen. He drew blood despite having no knowledge of mana at all. Or was it the sword Michael was holding, was it the sword itself breaking the skin of the mana beast?
The beasts shrieked in pain and inched away.
Michael yelled and thrusted his blade into the beast. His sword glowed gold as it pierced through the beast. Michael didn't know how strong he was but it felt too seamless against the rough fur of the beast.
He pulled away the sword, watching the mana beast topple then writhe on the ground. It was hard to say that he defeated it yet he was the only one standing. Michael and his glowing and talking sword.
"Victory!" the voice blared, sounding more strained. "You—you are the victor, yes, you have felled the beast! You can—you can claim your reward through the gate. I—I need a break, can someone give me—"
The announcer suddenly cut off. Another wall opened down from the arena, instead of some vague darkness, there was an actual convincing light.
There was silence, apart from the people in the stands trying to flee as fast as possible and the golden hum from his sword. The beast must have released that screaming attack as a last resort, judging how slow its movements became afterwards. It killed everything in the arena except Michael. Was it some mana attack?
"Was that you?" Michael said to his sword. "Did you protect me?"
I don't know, the voice said, did I?
Michael even thought she sounded happy.