No looking back.
Good.
Because if she looks back, I might follow.
And I can’t.
I turn toward the beast.
It’s massive up close.
Bigger than anything that should exist outside of nightmares and bad decisions. Its scales are dark and ridged, overlapping like armor plates, each one catching the harsh stadium light. Its jaws flex open and shut as it scents the air, long teeth glistening with something viscous and unpleasant.
“Well,” I mutter. “That’s a problem.”
It hasn’t locked onto me yet.
That’s my job.
I glance around quickly, scanning for anything I can use.
The arena’s wrecked, but not useless.
There.
A heavy loader rig—one of the mechanical transport units used to reset terrain modules between rounds—sits half-buried under debris near the edge of the path.
Perfect.
I sprint toward it.
The ground bucks under my feet as the beast slams into another structure, sending a rain of metal fragments clattering across the arena floor.
“Hey!” I shout as I run, grabbing a chunk of debris and hurling it toward the creature.
It bounces harmlessly off its flank.
“Yeah, I know,” I mutter. “That was more symbolic.”
The beast’s head turns.
Its eyes lock onto me.
Oh.
There it is.
Predatory focus.
Cold.
Sharp.
Hungry.
“Hi,” I call out, spreading my arms. “You’re going to want me. I’m very dramatic.”
It roars.
