One of the remaining guards is leaning over the control console, shouting into his comm. The other is scanning the arena like he’s trying to track something he can’t quite see.
That hum in the back of my skull gets louder.
Wrong.
“Tilda,” I say quietly, “we might have a problem.”
“We’re in a death arena,” she replies. “We have several problems.”
“No, I mean?—”
A sharp crack of static cuts through the arena speakers.
The massive holo screens flicker.
The crowd’s roar stutters into confusion.
And then?—
The containment field glitches.
It’s subtle at first.
A flicker.
A stutter in the shimmering energy barrier.
Then it drops.
Not completely.
But enough.
The proto-beast notices instantly.
Its head snaps toward the weakened section of the barrier.
“Oh,” I say softly. “That’s bad.”
“Bron—” Tilda starts.
The creature lunges.
The impact hits the barrier with a sound like a freight ship slamming into a cliff face.
The entire structure shudders.
Metal screams.
The weakened field flares?—
Then collapses.
The beast explodes through it.
The sound is indescribable.
A roar that feels like it claws its way into your chest and squeezes your lungs, tearing the air apart with raw, furious power. The creature bursts into the arena in a storm of dust and shattered metal, its massive body coiling and uncoiling with terrifying speed.
