Page 60 of Gladiator Moon

Toward him, maybe. And there he is, standing with his back to me, seemingly deep in thought. Somehow, he seems shorter in this space, though still massive beyond any necessary purpose, other than to appear formidable. That little ol’ me could possibly hope to fight this thing is beyond insanity. Yet, here I am. Fluttering on my wings, gripping the sword of all swords.

“You are either very stupid or very brave, Samantha Moon.”

“I guess we’ll soon see which.”

“Yes, we will. This is my Chamber of Creation. In here, I can create anything and everything. Whatever occurs to me, whatever I need.”

“I take it you created a Mrs. Dark One?”

“I have no need for female companionship.”

“Just blood.”

“Yes, Sam. I don’t make the rules. With my spontaneous birth came the need to feast on blood. Turns out, the idiots of this world associate blood drinking with their devil. And so, the need came with the body and with my role.”

“You go hard at the blood part.”

“You see my great size, right? I need a lot of the red stuff. But when it comes from true warriors, it’s richer and lasts longer.”

“So you don’t need as much.”

“Exactly.”

“Hence these murderous Games.”

I edge closer to the Grandarian devil. The blackened skin along his back is deeply crevassed with molten cracks that flow more of that reddish liquid gold. Horns sweep down over his back. His shoulders are broad enough to make Kingsley’s look almost narrow. A long tail snakes behind him, twitching lazily across the floor. The tail is new. Somehow I had missed it before, unless the bastard just grew it here in his Chamber of Secrets, or whatever he calls it.

He turns, finally, and looks up. I follow his gaze.

High above us hangs a swirling sphere of molten flesh suspended in the darkness.

As if displaying images from a projector, faces appear within the sphere. Battles, too. Whole worlds, in fact. And now I see the arena itself. Then I see the throne room, where the rebellion is spreading like wildfire.

Salt Creek appears in the blob-like sphere, dancing from demon to demon with impossible speed, stabbing and slicing and dicing. Noses fall off, ears too.

Baltazar hovers in the center of the melee, surrounded by freed slaves. His raised hands glow with purple fire. Azul is behind him. And there is Pickles, alone in a corner and hiding.

Both wizards manipulate magic with incredible speed and precision, their hands a blur. Demons get swallowed in goo or float off their feet, only to crash into each other. Some demons only move backward, while still others continuously vomit frog-like creatures.

Then the scene changes to Earth. I see familiar cities and landmarks. Then, incredibly, there is my house in Fullerton. My kitchen, too. And there is my glass dining room table, the Momvan sitting in the driveway. Then it is all gone. I gasp and stumble. Seeing home feels so right, so good, reminding me what I’m fighting for.

The Dark One speaks. “You followed me in here, Samantha Moon. You came willingly.”

His voice is different in here. Quieter now, more intimate, almost conversational.

“You knew I would.”

“I hoped you would. There’s not much I can do against that sword. But at least, in here, I have a fighting chance.” His molten eyes settle on the Devil Killer, which grows warmer in my hand. “The blade was forged when this world was young.”

“By angels.”

“Yes, of course.”

“They came here to kill you.”

“And failed. They are not warriors, no matter how they dress themselves. Angels do not understand fear or pain.”

“And you do?”