Why?
The bell remained clutched tightly in my shaking hand. But it came from the collar at my neck.
Ding.
It rang again.
I hadn't moved. Is someone making it ring?
Shit. No. Not now. No time to think.
Mr. Mime's sharp ear twitched, halting its grisly feast. Number Five's remains still dangled from its monstrous arm, headless and twisted, blood dripping in steady streams onto the sand below. Its pale body twitched unnaturally as the black stitches along its torso stretched.
Then, without warning, Mr. Mime charged.
It moved with terrifying speed, but strangely, everything around me felt slower, as if the air itself had thickened and time was pulling at every second. My heart pounded so hard it echoed in my skull, yet my body seemed to react on its own, faster than my mind could catch up.
I dropped low just as its long arm smashed into the stone wall behind me. The impact rattled through my bones, shaking the entire arena and showering us with dust from the cracked ceiling above.
I didn't think. I couldn't. I lunged forward, dagger trembling in my sweaty grip, and drove the dull blade into Mr. Mime's chest, aiming for where its heart should be. The flesh was cold, rubbery, and unnaturally soft. Then a sudden, hot gush of dark blood burst over my fingers, slick and burning.
Its iron-masked head turned toward me slowly. Blood smeared its pale face, dripping along the deep scar carved across its mouth. The torn, eerie smile stretched wider, twisting in a way that looked like it was mocking me without a sound.
"It has multiple organs, idiot!" someone shouted from the stands above, their voice half laughter.
Before I could react, a sharp crack echoed as Mr. Mime wrenched its arm free of the wall. The force nearly knocked me over. I stumbled back, feet slipping in the blood-stained sand, barely ducking as its whip-like hand sliced through the air where my head had been.
I hit the ground hard, scrambled up, and ran. My legs pumped on instinct, my bell jingling wildly with every desperate step.
Ding.
Before Mr. Mime could close the gap, another figure darted forward. The black-feathered kid shrieked, his voice sharp and broken as his limbs bent at unnatural angles. He slammed into Mr. Mime's stomach like a spear, feathers slick with blood glistening as he thrust his beak-shaped face at its throat again and again.
For a heartbeat, I thought he might succeed.
Then, with a casual sweep, Mr. Mime swatted him aside.
The black-feathered kid flew like a broken doll, his bones snapping with wet cracks before he hit the ground in a heap.
He didn't move again.
Mr. Mime screeched, a shrill, tearing sound that scraped across the arena as its stitched chest heaved, dark blood oozing from the wound the black-feathered kid had torn open. The crowd's response was instant, a wave of howls, stomps, and laughter, louder and crueler than before.
"I… I'm sorry," a voice stammered behind me.
I turned my head. Fynn's face was pale, his lips trembling. "When your bell rang, I panicked… I just ran."
"I get it," I said. My voice came out cold, though my throat felt tight. I couldn't even tell if I was angry at him or just too numb to care. My breath came fast, sharp, and bitter.
Ding.
Number Four's scream ripped through the chaos. His skin turned black, swelling grotesquely as a jagged horn burst through his forehead. His body pulsed with unnatural growth, veins bulging beneath his skin.
With a wild howl, he lunged at Number Six. The boy froze like prey. There wasn't even time for a scream before the impact. Bones shattered with a wet crunch as Four tackled him, laughing like a maniac while stomping what remained of Six into a mangled paste.
Then another scream.
Number Seven's body convulsed as silver scales erupted along his arms and neck. His pupils narrowed to slits as he let out a feral roar, clawed fingers twitching with madness. He threw himself at Four, his claws flashing in the dim torchlight. Each strike tore chunks of bloated flesh free, spraying arcs of thick green liquid across the sand.
But Four only laughed louder.
The two of them tore into each other like rabid animals, snarling and thrashing. The sound of claws on flesh, bones cracking, and their ragged laughter mixed with the crowd's feverish chanting. Blood, red and green alike, splattered everywhere, coating the sand and even flecking across my face as I pressed back against the cold bars of the arena wall.
I wanted to move, but my legs wouldn't obey.
Finally, Four's sheer mass won out. He seized Seven around the waist and squeezed until a wet, stomach-turning pop echoed. Seven's scream broke into a gargled hiss before falling silent.
Four tossed the limp body aside like trash and howled, his massive frame quivering as the crowd erupted again. Even the loudest spectators went silent for a moment, as if even they felt a flicker of dread.
"Arghhh!"
Above us, the shirtless announcer swung lazily from a rope, his grin sharp and gleaming under the torchlight. He raised his sparkling wand high.
"Number Four wins the brutal battle!" he shouted, his voice booming. "Who will be the next victim?"
…
My voice came out fast, hard. "I have a plan."
Fynn blinked at me, eyes wide. "What plan? Wait, what are you—"
I didn't wait for him to finish. I darted to the crushed corpse of Number Six, prying the collar from what was left of his body. The bell still jingled faintly, the sound sharp in the heavy air.
"The bell is a signal," I said, my voice low but steady. "We throw it on Four and let Mr. Mime handle him."
Fynn hesitated, his hands shaking. "Can… can that even work?"
I didn't answer. There wasn't time. I crouched low, waiting.
Four stood over Seven's broken body, his horn glinting as he roared toward the crowd.
I sucked in a breath and hurled the collar. It spun through the air, wobbling, before hooking onto Four's horn with a faint metallic click.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Mr. Mime's head snapped toward the sound. Its long arm trailed behind as it lunged forward like a whip, closing the distance in seconds. Four met it head-on, and the two collided with a bone-shaking crash.
Claws raked across pale skin. Teeth sank into swollen flesh. Green fluid and dark blood sprayed wildly as their screams blended with the roar of the crowd.
Four stumbled, his bloated arm nearly torn free as Mr. Mime's whip-like limb cracked against it. He dropped to one knee, gasping, thick green sludge pouring from his wounds.
Mr. Mime tilted its head, jaw creaking as it opened wide, inching closer.
"You… you did it, Lucy," Fynn whispered, his voice trembling with fragile hope.
Before Mr. Mime could finish Four, the black-feathered kid shrieked again. Somehow, he was still alive, his wings broken and bloodied, yet he hurled himself upward one last time. He slammed into Mr. Mime's side, driving it toward the wall.
The ground quaked with the impact as stone cracked and feathers scattered.
For a moment, they struggled. Then Mr. Mime's pale fingers closed around the kid's neck. It held him motionless, then swung his body like a ragdoll, smashing his skull into the wall with a sharp, echoing crack.
The body twitched once before going limp.
Mr. Mime didn't even pause.
It crushed Number Two next, standing over his ruined body like a sentinel. Its pale torso dripped with dark fluid, but it still looked strong enough to kill every one of us.
Ding.
Another bell.
My head snapped toward the sound. Number Three stood at the far edge of the arena, frozen as he stared at the carnage. His eyes were wide, his dagger hanging limp at his side. Then he broke.
Screaming, he turned and ran, his bell chiming wildly.
Mr. Mime twitched once, then lunged. It closed the distance in a blink. Its jaw opened wide, biting down hard. A wet rip echoed as the boy's head was torn free. The crowd cheered so loud it felt like the ground shook.
…
Ding.
Then, the sound I feared most.
Fynn's bell.
He hadn't even moved.
"Why?" he whispered, his voice thin and cracking.
I reached toward him, whispering, "Don't run. Don't… please don't—"
Ding.
The bell rang again. Fynn's breathing turned ragged. His eyes darted in wild panic, and then his legs moved before his mind could stop them. He bolted.
Ding.
The ringing grew louder, faster, every step echoing.
Mr. Mime twitched.
Then it charged.
"Fynn!" I screamed, my voice tearing out of me.
Mr. Mime was already there.
Its long arm swept past my vision, just a blur, a flash of red.
Fynn didn't even scream.
His body hurtled through the air and slammed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs and dragging me across the slick sand. His body felt broken, limp, and heavy against mine as warm, sticky blood splattered across my face.
His limbs twitched against my chest as I shoved him off. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Fynn was at my feet. Or what was left of him. His collar lay twisted in the sand, then the bell finally stopped.
I waited for him, hoping he would move.
But he didn't.
The world spun. My ears rang. I lay there for a second, staring at nothing, breathing heavily.
Overhead, the shirtless announcer swung from a chain, grinning.
"Only three left!" he roared. "Number One, Four, and Nine! Who's gonna win?"
Across the arena stood a blurred figure, edges wavering like a mirage. He wore gear unlike anything in this world. My chest tightened, not from fear but from recognition I couldn't explain.
'Attention!'
The single word boomed through the arena, silencing every sound.
Everything slowed again. The air grew heavy.
My body snapped straight, heels together, shoulders square, a stance drilled into me from somewhere I wished to forget. Every muscle was tense, but I couldn't relax.
It was like I was staring at myself.