Counting the thuds of his heart, Havoc sprinted forward, the squish of his feet pressing deep into the moss could barely keep pace. To the left rushed the length of a sword—the uncanny blade stretched from the steady hold of its wielder. To the right, axe in hand, charged a second opponent. Diving from his high place, a third thrall swooped low. With no time to look up, the beat of the thrall’s leathery wings was the only herald of his approach.

Havoc did not think; his body simply moved. He dropped to the ground and the lengthened sword flew overhead, The slick of steel piercing flesh. The gasp, shout, and thump of flesh hitting ground. Havoc need not see to know; the wielder of the axe was no more. His life cut short by the elongated thrust of his comrade.

The extended blade was a cover and spurn. It forced Aaron’s retreat, and Havoc, in a sidewards roll, from the path of the bisecting cut of its descent. With no time to think, he returned to his feet, but the metallic glint to the right, in the corner of his eyes forced him to duck low. The air whistled, trailing the path of five golden wires.

This is insane, he thought as he whispered a curse towards Annalise, the composer of this brutal symphony. Unreasonable was his task. A wrong step would court death. Even doing everything perfectly was no guarantee of survival. But he was not merely tasked to survive, but to succeed and mount a rescue.

Six beats of his heart, he had counted. Fewer than half remained before the Temptress would reach the Selenarian. Blood seeped through the Temptress’ cracked and shattered scales. It dyed the luminous moss of her trail, projecting skywards, an emerald light. Havoc was close but the Temptress was closer. Near the centre of the battlefield, he danced a deadly dance, avoiding wire and blade. His mind span as he plotted his route north-west forty paces

For him, the Selenarian had cried out. Had he five heartbeats more he could have reached her. But their echoes were insufficient, he would never make it on time.

But the Buried Strike could…

With a downward thrust, he sank the tip of his spear into the ground. Greedily, the spear drew Harmony into its link. Speedily, the blade tunnelled beneath the arena. It rushed before launching up, its sharpened tooth dividing the Selenarian from the razor claws of the Temptress.

With The Buried Strike protecting the girl, he could not move from his position. The remaining thralls were quick to exploit his immobilisation. His heart in his throat, three beats more, maybe four until black, scaled claws would meet the soft of his neck. Their parting would be a morbid affair.

The collision was inevitable… But then it was not. Just as claw was to dig deep, there was a blur in the periphery. Abruptly, the winged thrall twisted and turned mid-flight, crashing himself into the bioluminescent foundation. Atop Aaron as he slid across the ground, the All-Seeing Owl landed. Its many eyes focused only on the young man.

‘Forgive me, my queen!’ Running past the barrier of Havoc’s strike, the Selenarian prostrated herself before the Temptress.

The scattered showers of the Temptress’ voice, thoughts and emotions assailed Havoc’s mind. Her restless rage was palpable. He could taste it; bitter and metallic as though salivating blood. Beneath the rage lurked confusion. There was something wrong, he could feel the White Temptress’ alert to the change. Her thralls were still as if frozen in time. Looming over the dishevelled, grovelling blue-skinned girl, the Temptress shifted herself from side to side. She was yet to understand. With his mind invaded, it took a moment for Havoc to grasp the situation, himself. Once he did, he was quick to act.

He did not know how long Annalise could so aggressively intervene and was unwilling to test the limit. His overgrown nails dug into the palm of his left hand, with his right, he withdrew his spear from the ground. Harmony flowed into his anchor and a pale mist poured from his skin. He crouched into a sprinters pose – right leg forward, left leg back – and dashed towards the nearest standing thrall. From the approach to thwack of the pole of his spear across face, the thrall did not react. He took the blow and silently fell. Perhaps not silently, but Havoc did not register a noise as he raced towards his next target.

Loose golden threads hung from her fingers. They jerked but that was all before that thrall was also incapacitated.

Lucia, if I remember. I think that’s her name, the thought rushed to his mind as he returned the Buried Strike to its link and rushed towards the serpent.

Unarmed as he was, The White Temptress was not his target. Passing beneath her, he swooped the Selenarian into his arms. Pain cut across his back; he did not slow. As the feather-light girl struggled in his hold, he carried her into the tunnel she had come from.

‘Take me back!’ The Selenarian screamed. Annalise had deemed her his most vital resource. Her demands were ignored.

She struggled and screamed but then she stopped.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered then went limp in his arms.

The tunnel, dank and dreary, was piled with bones. Pungent was the stench; the reek of foul excretions suffused the air. There was little light. Patches of luminous moss warded off complete darkness, but the tunnel belonged to the shadows.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Spread across the arena were many such tunnels. Havoc’s gambit was that they were connected. He reached the end of the tunnel and his wager was rewarded. On the left side of the wall furthest back, carved into the top was a passage. It was a climb to reach, but it could be entered.

‘Can you move?’ As he spoke, he could feel the weight of his own urgency, hoping his words would press into the girl in his arms and squeeze from her a response equal to the gravity of their situation.

‘I… I…’ Stuttered the Selenarian. A shrill wail pierced though the tunnel. It sliced from one wall to the next, the echo magnifying the malice it carried

“I will kill you!” Was the buzz of the White Temptress’ psychic projection.

‘Can you move!’ Havoc shouted this time.

‘I can,’ the instant the girl finished speaking, Havoc threw her into the upper-passage. Gripping a groove in the wall with one hand, he carried himself into the same cavity.

Cramped, damp and narrow; Havoc and the girl could not walk side by side. Neither could Havoc stand at full height. The noxious whiff from the tunnel below carried into the passage. Havoc sniffed and his nose wrinkled. The smell from was from the girl. She was filthy. Wet patches and dark stains tainted her torn grey dress. Havoc had known she was light when she was in his arms, but up close and in view, her frame was skeletal.

She’s suffered much, he thought. It was plain to see. She need not say a word to convey the details. A brief glance at where she had come from spoke louder than any cry.

“I’ll kill you!” A claw gripped the entrance of their escape. The Temptress’ face rose to view. Her mouth wide, her fangs barred; the vertical slits of her eyes, a burned red. They radiated incensed madness.

Unreasonable!

Havoc repeated the word in his mind. It mingled with the crash of the White Temptress’ projections and overtook them. His task was truly absurd. His obsession over that sobering thought did not distract or overwhelm. Rather it assisted in anchoring him against the waves of the serpent’s mental bombardment. Although, without question, Annalise was also still lending aid from afar.

The Buried Strike returned to his grip. His left hand near the tip, his right to its centre, with one foot forward and the other back, he thrust with the spear blinding the Temptress in one eye. She reeled backwards before the bladed tip could penetrate deeper.

A thud, screech, bashing and shuffling. Havoc peeked from the edge to see the White Temptress retreat. He held no hope that she would not be back.

Bundled into the side of the passage, the Selenarian shivered and swayed. She muttered to herself the incomprehensible, and gripped her grimy hair. So covered in blood and befoulment, Havoc had believed her brunette, but as her hold slipped down, threads of white were revealed as some caked mire came loose. He walked closer and noticed the patterns on her busied and bloodied skin. Twirling and intricate, they lined her. Ivory in colour, they paired with her hair. With some meat on her bones and a shower or three, she could have been called a beauty. She had not the gulling charm of which Annalise was armed. In her present state, she had little charm at all. Yet, there was an innocence to her. It stirred in Havoc’s chest and urged his protection.

A knee on hard stone, he took hold of her shaking arms and leveraged them down. Her tears fell like fountains and her head swayed from side to side. Staggered was her breathing and frantic were her murmurings.

‘She’ll always find me!’ She said over and over. With each repetition her voice and her movements became more deranged. Despite her fragile appearance, she was an Inheritor. It took force to hold her restrained.

‘Get up,’ Havoc said to the response of her manic recital. ‘We don’t have time for this. Get up!’ She would not listen. Holding both of her arms with one hand, Havoc pulled back his other. He paused, sighed, then slapped her across the face with his open palm.

Her lightless eyes went wide and stared at him. Havoc let slip her wrists from his fingers. She stroked her cheek with the back of her hand. Shocked, without question, but her swaying had ceased. She seemed able to listen.

‘If you have any intention of living past this day, I need you focused. Do you understand?’ Her eyes still wide, the Selenarian nodded her reply. ‘Where does this passage lead?’ Havoc asked to the girl’s vacant stare. Gripped her shoulders with both hands. he looked into her eyes. ‘There isn’t much time. I told you already, I need you to focus.’

‘I…’ The Selenarian squeaked. She looked downwards and shook her head. Her breathing steadied and she returned her sight to Havoc’s eyes. ‘We can’t stay here. All of the tunnels are connected. My mistress…’ She paused. ‘The temptress is wounded, worse than I’ve ever seen her. She’s disorientated, and I can feel her confusion. She’s hunting us, but she’s fighting another battled in her mind. However, she’s regaining herself… She she’s distracted, but she will not be for long.’

How deep is her bond with the Temptress to feel what she feels so deeply? Havoc gave no sound to those thoughts. To him, the Temptress’ psychic presence was palpable but vague, he could feel… something, but nothing so precise. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought—there were more pressing questions to be squeezed from the moment’s respite.

‘Can you fight?’ Havoc asked to the recoil of the Selenarian. Short staggered breaths, her head turned sideways as though the girl could not face him. Even if she had the ability, it was clear she could not stand up to the Temptress.

It was all she could do to call out for my help. He thought.

‘I can’t,’ She finally said. ‘I’m sorry.’

He smiled at her and stood as high as the ceiling would allow. His hand held out, he waited for her delicate fingers to cling to his palm.

‘It’s going to be okay,’ He said as he helped her to stand and walked in front.

‘Wait!’ The Selenarian said. Her hands pressed into his back. He winced as his tattered shirt beneath his cloak stuck to the wounds freshly carved. ‘There’s not much I can do, but I can do this.’ As she spoke, a warmth flowed from her palms. It seeped into Havoc and spread across his back.

He had felt this warmth before. It was the same feeling he had experienced with The Thirsty Edge. Soothing and kind. When his back cooled, the sharp pain he had been neglecting was gone. His lacerations were no more…

The Selenarian was a healer.