two
-Ares-
My head is buzzing with this annoying sound, like my brain is still struggling to process what just happened. Andhowit happened. No matter the effort, I’m still unable to fucking make sense of it.
What kind of cruel joke from the universe could’ve brought Brynn here?And on top of that, with a sword in her hand, ready to take my life in a game I dedicated to her.
The whole world is spiraling around me, and somehow,I have to fucking get myself together. I can not let her die on me, even if, right now, I want to kill her myself.
All these emotions, conjoined somewhere between madness and anger, hate and fucking lust, collide inside me, flickering like broken lights, until there’s nothing left but the uncontrollable beast I truly am.
I lock Brynn inside the wall using my last drop of self-control, and as soon as the white ivory plaster aligns with the rest of the surface, I hear another set of rushed footsteps heading toward the room. This is exactly what I need now, to focus myanger before the darkness takes over and turns on the one truly responsible for it. Brynn.
A man so tall you’d think his mother fucked a skyscraper walks in, a silver chain with spikes wrapped around his right arm and a hunting knife in the other. Player eleven. Arrested on suspicion of stalking, abusing, and killing eighteen female students on campus over the last six years. Got released because of inconclusive DNA evidence, but my men found pieces of clothing, even personal items belonging to the victims, on a fishing boat registered to his mother.I’d say that makes him pretty guilty to me.
I smirk at the satisfaction I’ll get from killing him, then draw my sword and slam it against the armor that covers my chest. The sound, frightening to any other mortal, leaves the man in front of me unfazed—at least on the surface, because this time I do catch a hint of fear. It’s faint at first, but enough to satisfy the predator hidden within.
I charge at him as he unwinds his chain and throws it at me. It’s close enough to hit me but also close enough for me to grab it.
The metal whirls around my arm, the sharp spines piercing my skin, reconnecting me with a welcomed pain. It feels like an awakening, and I rapidly wrap it around my wrist, pulling the man on the other end toward me as his eyes grow wide with fear this time. The feeling, thatIput that fear there, warms my body like fire from within. I live on fear, feast on it, drinking it like it’s the liquor that gives me life. It grows larger as the man notices the spikes ripping my flesh apart without as much as a hint of discomfort from my end.
I bring him closer, he raises the hunting knife, but before he gets to swing it at me, I cut off the hand holding it. Then, with another whirl of my arm, I pull him even closer. Close enoughfor our hands to touch. Close enough for him to realize I’m in control of the chain, not him.
Only then does he scream, the shock overriding every reaction he had a second before. It’s too late for anyone to hear him, not that any of the bastards in this building would give a damn, unless it was to come in here and kill him themselves.
I raise his arm and wrap the chain around his neck, like he’s just a helpless ragdoll, moving my wrist to release the spikes from my skin and coil them around his throat. The man tries to fight me, but it’s useless. At this point, my power has grown so strong that he feels like a fly caught in my hand.
All it takes is a pull.
I raise my arm, hearing his skin tear on the spikes as my own skin stitches itself back together. Then I drag him across the floor and only stop in front of the window, lifting his almost lifeless body to hang him from the window frame—a warning to anyone else stupid enough to come for me.
I breathe heavily, not from the effort, but from the thrill, taking a few steps back to look at my work. It’s far from settling my wrath, and each kill only contributes to the darkness within me, but at least it's softened a little of that maddening instinct to kill.
I’m still not thinking a hundred percent straight, but through all the madness, I know Brynn is running out of time. I can’t get her out of here without destroying everything I’ve built over centuries. Without destroying the very essence of Kharon. Only one walks out alive, and in the state she’s in, no one would believe it would be her.
That doesn’t mean I can’t speed up the process. The game usually lasts until morning. There are always a few cowards who hide rather than fight, and it takes time to track them down. Brynn has a couple of hours max, and this isn’t exactly the timeor place I can call an ambulance. So I need to figure this shit out while she’s still breathing.
I reach for my transmitter. “Mark prisoner twenty-four as dead.” It’s my secure line to 404, and since he’s the man responsible for surveillance, getting her out of the game shouldn’t be so impossible. But getting her out of here alive... that’s a whole different matter.
I head toward the door, taking one last glance at the wall, then press my transmitter again, “Keep an eye on that wall 404, let me know if anyone gets fucking near it. And delete every fucking recording of what happened in this room.”
“Okay, boss. On it.”
Only 404 and I can know about this. And even though I have men watching the other rooms, he’s the one responsible for always watching me. I can’t have any more witnesses. 404 is enough of a risk. I can’t allow anyone else to walk out of here, knowing I’ve rigged the game, alive. Helping Brynn goes against everything I’ve ever believed and stood for regarding Kharon.
A faint sound echoes from somewhere to my left—whimpers, from what I can tell. Right now, those whimpers mean not only extending the men’s agony but also Brynn’s.
I head there to check it out. Contestant number eighteen is lying on the floor, or more accurately, spilling across it—his stomach cut open. For once, I do something merciful, and spare him the rest of the misery that would’ve likely gone on for hours. Simply for the sake of expediency, I could care less about easing his suffering.
“404, how many players and Rats are there left?”
“Sixteen players and seven Rats,” He pauses, waiting for me to go on. “Do you want their locations?” he whispers, knowing damn well this is against the rules of the game.
I’m not a cheater. I’m not gonna cheat at my own game. I don’t need technology to know their locations. I have enough skills and tracking abilities to do that by myself.
So, this time, I rush, not in a race to satisfy my need to kill, or to stay on top of the game, but in a rush against time to save the woman who… who… I don’t know what she is to me anymore. An hour ago, she was my everything. For a second, she was the reason for my existence. The one thing I would burn the world for. The one I would take every broken piece of and claim as mine, so I could make her whole.
But now… now, I don’t know anymore, because even though I could kill her myself, I can’t let her die on me. I will bring this building to the ground—along with the fucking world if it comes to it—to prevent that from happening.
