Pait waited around until the kids were preoccupied, switched out her black cloak for a lighter gray one, “borrowed” a pair of boots from Jonathan who snoozed away in the corner of the basement, then ducked into the gambling house above. Stealing from patrons in Agatha’s place was strictly against the rules—bad for her reputation, she said. If she found out about it, you were out the same night. But if you stole from competing gambling houses, well that was grounds for an extra scoop of stew. Maybe two if she was feeling generous.

So Pait waited until the house was well and truly packed, then merged with a raucous group on their way out the front doors into the now-dark streets and with this camouflage managed to walk right by Alesha, who was keeping her word just across the street. Pait just needed to make enough tonight to convince Agatha to give her one more night to scrape together the rest. She had to. Pait couldn’t stand being alone. Again.

There was one place Pait went only when she was truly desperate. It was a place that guaranteed piles of coins and heavy purses passed about wildly, and enough chaos for plenty of opportunity to snag a few. But it was also a place that guaranteed blood. A shit ton of it. If anyone there got a good look at her, realized how young and small she was…

Well. She just wouldn’t let anyone get a good look at her.

It was a dank hole that smelled like shit, sweat, and blood—because most if not all of its occupants were covered in at least two of the three. The entrance lay at the back of a gambling house three blocks away from Agatha’s, which was already on the very edge of the “good” part of town. No tourists came here. No one came here—except the desperate. Pait’s people, apparently.

And it seemed the residents of Luvatha were going through a rough patch, because the hole was packed tonight. Between the stench, the heat from all the bodies, the wails of agony and pleasure, and the sound of tearing flesh, Pait felt like she was descending these steps directly into hell. She nearly expected to find the Dark Mother waiting for her at the bottom. But all that waited for her were filthy, bloody bodies.

The moment her boots hit the dirt floor, she was at the mercy of the crowd. She was shoved, pulled, squished, and slammed until she had no idea where she was, where the ring was, or where the exit was. Thankfully, no one paid her any attention, they were all screaming, absolutely rabid, at the slaughter taking place in the pit in the middle of the room. It sounded like one if not both of the combatants right now were Inhuman, because there was a hell of a lot of roaring. Pait couldn’t be sure, of course, because she was too short to see shit.

That was fine. Good, even. With this much constant contact between her and potential marks, it should be a breeze picking pockets. Of course, it would be nearly impossible to run if she was caught, and if she was caught, the bloodlust in this room all but promised her swift death. If she was lucky. But she would not lose her shitty, sorry excuse for a family again. She had to make rent tonight.

Every time she got her hands in someone’s pocket, the crowd had shoved her on again before she could so much as close her fingers around her prize. A few times men twice her size stepped on her feet—thank the Mothers she’d thought to take Jonathan’s boots. Finally, the crowd spit her out right before the ring.

Right next to the little platform where the announcer stood to call the matches. And the purses the combatants had earned for the night, one on each side of the announcer.

Pait’s eyes locked on to the purse nearest to her—purses, actually. This fighter had earned purse upon purse bursting with coins. Just one of those would buy Pait’s rent for the next year and then some. She let herself imagine just for a moment having a year of security, a year free of the fear that any moment she might be abandoned. She would actually have time to take the younger kids out and properly show them the ropes so they wouldn’t get caught and lose dinner privileges. Maybe she could even get a real job if she was quiet about it, and she could help the kids find somewhere safer to stay. Maybe for once she could just fucking breathe.

But that, she knew, was ridiculous. Trying to steal a fighter’s purse? A fighter who’d won that much, here of all places? In front of the whole Mother-damn crowd? It was beyond senseless. It was suicide.

And yet, Pait could not take her eyes off that pile of leather bags so full of little gold coins that they couldn’t even close properly.

Until someone in a loincloth lumbered by right in front of her, the LUV tattoo on their forearm marking them property of the crown, dragging a chain behind them—and on the other end of that chain was a mound of bloody pulp that had moments ago been a person.

Pait made herself watch as the corpse was dragged by the chain wrapped around its ankle out of the ring and into the tunnel down which the next combatants waited their turn, passing not five feet from Pait, leaving a bloody trail in its wake. The corpse’s head had been chopped diagonally in half so its brains spilled out as it was dragged by—it was hard to believe that smear that looked like a pomegranate that lost a battle with a stampede of horses had ever even been a head. One leg had been chopped at the knee as well, and the other knee was crushed so the leg with the chain on it looked moments away from ripping loose of the body. But eventually the corpse disappeared down the tunnel, and Pait watched it until it was out of sight. She steeled herself, ignoring the fluttering of her heart, the tightness of her chest. She’d seen worse.

“Next challenger!” the announcer shouted over the crowd. “Facing Oguay the Axe for his thirty-seventh match…!”

The crowd erupted and Oguay, an absolute giant of a man with about three very long hairs on his head and only one ear (it looked like the other had been bitten off), raised his enormous battleaxe over his head with both arms and let out a roar. The crowd, practically frothing at the collective mouth, roared with him. Thirty-seventh match. These fights were to the death, so the fact that Oguay was still standing here meant he’d won every single match.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

“A fighter who is new to these lands, fresh from the wild shores of Monster Island. Heir of the Ubika Clan—KURE UBIKA!”

This seemed to finally tug the attention of the crowd away from Oguay slightly. Behind Pait, someone called, “Sweet shit! The king killed all those traitors!” A few others tossed around curious glances, but mostly the crowd just jeered and scrambled to place their bets.

The announcer stood with their right hand out, gesturing to the far tunnel where the new challenger was supposed to be appearing. But several moments passed, and nothing. The announcer turned to peer down the tunnel to see what was going on. The crowd was getting riled—even more so than they already had been, demanding blood.

Oguay threw his head back and laughed. “This Ubika tucked his fish tail and ran at the sight of Oguay the Axe!”

Finding nothing down the tunnel, the announcer straightened—and bumped into the person who was somehow suddenly behind them on the platform, crouching down a bit to rest their grinning face on the announcer’s shoulder.

Grinning wasn’t exactly the right word. If there was a word for this demented display of pointed teeth, Pait certainly didn’t know it. This newcomer’s eyes were pitch black, their short, silver hair swept back over their scalp and, Mother, Pait had never seen so many teeth on one person. How they all fit inside the person’s mouth, Pait didn’t know. The announcer was so startled they fell forward off the platform, landing facedown in a pool of blood and piss.

“Thanks for the introduction,” Kure purred, then strode forward, walking across the announcer to enter the ring, making sure to step on their head and mash their face deeper into the filth.

Kure wore a simple, bright blue patterned wrap around his waist, topped by a thick leather belt, and nothing else. The back half of his body seemed to be completely covered in one enormous, dark gray tattoo—or perhaps that was natural on whatever type of Inhumans came from Monster Island, Pait didn’t know. He was tall and wrapped in muscle, but his size paled in comparison to Oguay. And yet, he sauntered up to Oguay, thumbs tucked casually into his belt.

“Little fishboy came out to play, huh?” Oguay taunted.

“No,” Kure purred and a gray tongue darted out to slide across his pointed teeth—Pait saw now there were actually multiple rows of them. “Little fishboy came out to kill—,” he whipped around to shout to the crowd, spit flying, “—EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU FUCKERS!”

The announcer scrambled back to their platform, spitting dirt and blood from their mouth. They looked rattled, but with a job like this, surely they couldn’t be too surprised.

“Place—place your wagers, fighters, and the new challenger will draw for their weapon!”

Kure produced a purse from within his wrap and tossed it to the far side of the announcer’s platform, tiny compared to Oguay’s winnings for tonight.

Oguay said, “All in!” and the crowd exploded.

“Challenger!” the announcer started, “draw for—”

“No, thanks,” Kure said.

Oguay stared.

The announcer stared.

“But—”

“I’m wearing all the weapons I need,” he said, and he began to shift. His spine jerked, his arms popped, and his jaw shifted and cracked. His pointed teeth jutted out of his sneering lips. Black, wicked claws slid from his fingers, and jagged, fin-like blades burst through the gray skin on the backs of his forearms up to his elbows. He shook himself out and then looked up at Oguay with glittering black eyes. “Unless you’d name them Unfair.”

Oguay laughed with his whole body. “Let’s fight then, fishboy!”

While the fighters took their positions and the announcer began to call in the match, Pait looked back at that pile of purses. With Kure’s entrance, the whole place’s focus was locked entirely on the giant and the Ubika. She was positive no one would notice if, at just the right moment, she dashed forward and grabbed one. Not even the hired security that hung around at the edges of the ring. The announcer would call the match in, the fighters would rush forward, and Pait would too. She would grab just one (maybe two) and make her way through the crowd and up the stairs before the match was even done. No one would ever know—hell, there were so many purses, Oguay likely wouldn’t even miss the two (maybe three) she took.

So, as the announcer’s hand came down, Pait waited one beat, then dashed forward.

She didn’t even get to the platform before the most unreal, stomach-turning sound she’d ever heard ripped her attention away from her treasures, toward the fight. Right before the tunnel entrance, all Pait could do was stand and stare in horror.

Kure had climbed the giant and stuck both clawed hands down his throat. The giant’s jaw cracked and twin tears appeared at the corners of his mouth as Kure pulled his fucking face apart. But he didn’t stop there. The tears in Oguay’s flesh continued down from cheek to neck, exposing muscle, viscera, tongue, bone, vocal chords, and Mother knew what else. Blood spurted from the giant’s neck like a fountain, spraying Kure’s grinning face and the ceiling above. And still he kept ripping until Pait could see the man’s fucking collarbones, his ribcage—

Pait turned and vomited violently, the room wobbling and black spots bursting across her vision. She spat the last of the bile from her mouth, then braced herself on her own knees and forced herself to take a few shaky, deep breaths. She could not pass out because she had to fucking run.

The second she could stay vertical, Pait turned and dove into the crowd. But they were too dense, too riled. Panicked, Pait did the only thing she could think to do. She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled through the sewage-covered floor. More than once a boot caught her across the face or crushed her fingers, and once someone tripped and fell on top of her, but Pait kept fighting forward, bit by bit, until finally her bloody hand found the first wooden step. She scrambled up, battling with the others who were running away too.

When she finally fell onto the floor of the house above, she could hear Kure below roaring, “EVERY. LAST. ONE!”