While Waiting to Wake

The man stood up and swiftly launched himself at the prince. It was only because the man looked like he belonged in a library that Asher was taken by surprise for two seconds. But as soon as he felt the man’s iron grip dig into his arm, he reflexively moved.

He tried to toss the smaller man aside but his opponent clamped his fingers into Asher’s arm and pulled. With a strength that Asher was completely unprepared for, the man successfully pulled Asher off balance.

Asher fell forward, barely catching himself on the bench with one arm. He was already trying to get to his feet and turn around to face his opponent, but the other man grabbed his arm. The one supporting him on the floor.

Destabilized, Asher crashed to the floor. Furiously, he twisted his body. He was on his back, but dang it! He was facing his opponent! To his surprise, the other man let go of his arm and stomped on his stomach.

Pain exploded in his abdomen, and he gasped. Before he could react again, the man plunged the needle into Asher’s leg and squeezed everything out of it.

Asher shuddered.

Starting where the needle punctured, it was a disgustingly euphoric sensation that spread through him. Something that made his body feel light and head woozy. He scrambled backward.

The man didn’t follow. Calmly, he packed the glass bottle and both needles as he watched Asher pant and lean against the cell door.

“Next time, don’t give me any fuss.” He snapped his bag closed. “Now, get out of the way.”

“I was right,” Asher wheezed. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Nonsense. Just give it ten minutes to circulate. If you’d let me put it into your arm, it would’ve been much faster. Now, move.”

Asher glared at him, snarling. He couldn’t produce fangs no matter how much he wanted to, but he could still do this much.

The man rolled his eyes. Then he grabbed Asher by the shirt and carelessly tossed him aside before stepping through the door.

“Good boy. One last bit of advice. Choose the sword.”

The door clicked behind him.

Asher was sure the man had just killed him and he writhed in guilt and anger. He had to survive for Angel’s sake, damn it! He slammed a fist into the floor and flinched when he felt it crack.

Cautiously, he scooted over and rolled onto his stomach. So his nose was close to the spot he’d just smacked.

Fine lines spread across the surface of the flagstone.

He touched it.

Did he just do that? Stupid question but…

Twenty minutes later, he was walking around his cell. Testing his steps cautiously and putting himself through a drill. Just to make sure his body was responding normally.

Now that the first effects of the drug had worn off, he could feel an extra pulse of mana. What was that stuff? It had been an infusion of mana, not something a pharmacist could put together.

Alchemy?

It still couldn’t be safe. There was a reason alchemy was outlawed by most countries and still practiced on the black market. It created an imbalance to aura that didn’t exist in regular magic usage.

Something that often would work on the surface, but had unintended consequences.

Still, feeling it out, he could guess what this one was doing.

With his other form suppressed, he couldn’t access most of the gifts of that form. Particularly strength. He had more of it than the average human teenager, but far less than should’ve been his.

The drug was forcing open pathways that had been cursed closed years ago.

It made him nervous. Once those pathways closed again, it was going to hit him like a hammer to the head.

The cell door opened and he flinched. He hadn’t heard anyone coming.

“You’re up.”

Asher nodded grimly. What choice did he have? At least they were allowing him to walk on his own and to go chainless.

Still, he was surrounded by guards. All of them were waiting and watching for him to rebel. Some of them were stationed on the second floor of the corridor, looking down at him with small armed crossbows on their wrists.

He looked down at the ground. Making himself as harmless as he could manage.

The announcer told the crowd all about the Lycan, who was next up and his freeman opponent. At the barred gate, he had the perfect view of the cleanup crew taking away two bodies.

Two.

No one had won the last bout.

He shuddered. The old, paralyzing fear was threatening to come back.

He was glad Angel had disappeared. The Presence had reacted badly upon seeing him hurt and thrown into confinement. He was sure it wouldn’t be happy with this either.

He forced a smile. Yes, he was glad Angel had left.

“For Angel,” he murmured to himself when they opened the gate for him.

“The Lycan with the pretty face!”

There was some laughter and a smattering of clapping. No one was taking the fifteen-year-old boy seriously. No one, he noticed, except his mistress. Lady Arnold was sitting in a noblewoman’s box, away from the general stands below her.

Even from that distance, he could see her smirk.

She fully expected to win. But she wasn’t the one who’d fixed the bouts.

Who could have done that?

“And the Lycan’s opponent, Beastmaster!”

There was a significant increase in the crowd’s roaring as a man strolled into the arena. Asher gritted his teeth.

They had done their best to make sure it wasn’t a fair fight. This man was taller than Asher by half. And he was sure he couldn’t wrap his fingers around the man’s biceps if he used both hands.

The man raised a fist into the air and the crowd responded with a second wave of enthusiastic cheers.

Maybe Lady Arnold wasn’t expecting him to win. A well-placed bet against her champion would be acceptable. As long as she used other agents and hid what she was doing.

Not that the odds would get her great returns. But maybe she had another deal that made the risk worth it?

The announcer made no attempt to hurry Beastmaster along. The man theatrically stirred up the crowd every few steps until Asher was sure they were foaming at the mouth.

A smirk turned up at the corner of his lips.

Beastmaster mastering the beastly crowd. How ironic.

Beastmaster noticed the smirk and decided it was time to stop playing games. He strolled so boldly toward Asher that Asher wondered if he intended to start by throwing his fists around.

No matter how strong the drug made him, Asher was sure a blow from that fist would break bones.

Warily, he took a step back and was relieved when a referee stepped between them.

“It’s time to pick your weapons.”

Asher was not surprised when the meat mountain snatched up a spiked club. It looked like the sort of thing a behemoth would use. As Asher looked through the weapons being offered, his eyes landed on a sword that looked to be about the right length.

And didn’t the man earlier say to pick a sword?

When he tested it, it was not only the right length, but perfectly balanced.

It was not a cheap sword. It had been dulled, and the handle was chipped to make it look old. But it was not cheap.

Maybe… maybe they really had intended to help him win?

For the first time, real hope fluttered in his chest as he stepped away from the weapons rack. It squeaked and squealed as the attendants rolled it off the arena floor.

“You stand there,” instructed the referee. Pointing to a square on the flagstones.

There was blood and sand soaking up the blood scattered all over the square. As though whoever had stood there last hadn’t moved before being cut down.

The referee didn’t have time to tell Beastmaster where to stand before the beef mountain had already found his position. He gave Asher a smile that was meant to be a smirk, but was instead surprisingly devoid of malice.

This is just a job for him, Asher realized. No emotional attachment at all.

“This is the qualifying round for the Lycan. If he survives, he’ll receive a nickname and be added to the official roster,” the announcer boomed. She sounded almost giddy, high on all the blood already spilled. “He’ll also be housed in the arena and given all the perks of a competitor.”

Laughter.

Asher wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the laughter meant.

While the announcer kept the crowd entertained, the referee started talking to Asher again.

“Most bouts are to the death, but a disabling wound is also acceptable. Especially when both opponents are wounded. All you have to do is disable him.”

The referee nodded to Beastman. Then he smiled.

And this one was full of malice.

But it wasn’t directed at Asher. The referee’s malice was all for Beastman. When he spoke it again, it was in a mutter Asher could barely hear. As though Beastman had a chance of overhearing ten feet away and with the overall noise.

“You’ll get more attention from the crowd and more sponsors if you kill him.”

What did he do to piss you off?

Asher silently nodded that he understood, and the referee stepped back. Away from both contestants and back to his short tower on the side of the field.

Tightening his grip on the sword handle, Asher was vaguely aware of the lack of pain in his palms. All the popped and bleeding blisters and all the sores were gone.

Thank you, Angel.

Somewhere, a gong reverberated throughout the arena, and Beastman sprang forward.

Asher barely had time to dodge before the club came down with a sickening ‘thunk’ on the square flagstone. The stone splintered under the force of the blow, but Asher didn’t look back.

He was too busy running.

As he ran, he scanned the arena for a defensible position. Ignoring how the announcer and the crowd laughed at his apparent cowardice.

The best he could do was a referee tower. He dodged behind a leg just as Beastman caught up and swung again. The spikes in the club stuck momentarily in the tower's leg. Asher whirled around the leg and swung at the man’s arm.

Beastman got the club free. In that jerky movement, the club flew into the path of Asher’s attack. Effectively blocking it.

Without pausing, Beastman twisted his club and smashed it downward, which drove Asher’s blade into the ground.

Asher barely ducked in time to avoid the man’s fist as it immediately followed the last attack. Beastman once again hit the tower leg, making the whole thing shake.

The referee yelled curses at them, but neither opponent was paying attention.

Asher yanked his sword free and ran again.

There was nowhere else to go! No cover and the tower had proved more an obstacle than a help.

Grimly, he made a decision.

His drug enhanced strength gave him a chance to outrun Beastman, giving him some space to stop running and spin around. Taking a fighting stance, he raised the sword. Waiting for the beef mountain to catch up.

Beastman must’ve recognized what Asher was doing, because he slowed and began circling the boy. Keeping a distance between them as he studied the change.

Weaknesses, weaknesses!

Asher was frantically studying the man, trying to find anything that could help him. He was just so big! Asher didn’t even reach his shoulder, much less was tall enough to hit anything vital.

I just need to disable him.

Beastman finished his own inspection and charged, swinging low.

Low for Beastman, not for Asher.

Asher cursed aloud and fell on his back, the only way he could get low enough to dodge that swing. He immediately rolled, using Beastman’s momentum as a pause in the fighting to get back to his feet.

The roll took Asher behind Beastman. And while Beastman was gaining control over his club again, Asher rushed in. Aiming for the man’s hamstring.

It was a lucky strike. If he's been just a little slower…

Beastman made a sound of pain as one leg buckled and Asher danced back out of Beastman’s reach.

Unable to use one leg at all, Beastman landed on one knee. His face was now twisted in pain and he gripped the club in both hands. Unable to move, he now had to wait for Asher to come to him.

Asher glanced at the referee towers. Why weren’t they calling it?!