Belch gazed outside the small square window out the rocking carriage's back. Her round, young face reflected dimly on the windowpane. Her green, devilish eyes bled the most from her image, a forever reminder that she was only a beast but with the appearance of an ordinary human.
Belch found an odd sense of comfort in the motion of moving while not moving on her own. She was like cargo in a wooden box, drifting wherever the horses pulled her to. It shook and quaked, and she had to be careful when she stood. Otherwise, one sudden shake would knock her off her feet and send her tumbling over. This was her first time in a carriage and her first time out of Dork.
No, actually, this was the first time she’d been outside of the Camp in years. The only other time she hadn’t been cooped up was… never. Before she was in the Camp, she had been born in a hospital somewhere. There, her parents, disgraced by her eyes, abandoned her to the beast tamers.
Your parents never loved you, Corden had said. The old, bitter beast tamer never held back when it came to reminding beasts of their origin. The closest thing you ever got to love in your life was in your mother’s womb, where the devil in you was hiding behind her flesh.
And when she was birthed, any grasp of love attached to her perished—sent to live out her life of sin serving.
Still, Belch stared with wonder at the land outside the puny window. What Belch didn’t understand was why she was supposed to be filled with all this hatred and anger. Everything before her, she was to despise. Yet when she peered to catch the passing field of grass, shrinking in the distance and forming under her eyes, she could find only admiration.
Like how she looked up to the better fighters in her camp, she wanted to emulate the nature before her.
“Sit back down!” Modai spat. Belch ignored him, choosing to continue to look at the outside world. Her cursed eyes fixated on the trees and grass along the road. How could she see beauty in the green earth yet find only contempt for the green of her eyes?
It was her green eyes, however, that proved she was a beast. She trained her entire childhood, and now, she was finally worthy.
Soon she’d be pardoned for being born.
At least they promised she would.
Modai sighed, slapping the top of his beefy thighs. “Aidan is going to kill us,” he whispered under his breath. He hadn’t been able to control her, for he was not her tamer.
“They claimed she was at the top of their camp,” Kingo said.
The Camp, Belch thought. For a moment, she wondered how she would make it back in time for the morning chores. But as she was pulled further and further away, she finally realized she wouldn’t be coming back. Who would she fight if there were no other beasts where she headed?
Everything that had been her life since she was born vanished behind her. This was her reward, a new master to serve. They said being Worthy was an honorable achievement, that her sins and atrocities would be soon pardoned. Her green eyes would no longer make her a monster. Belch should be happy to be Chosen; she worked hard, beating and fighting the men who dominated the top.
“She’s a girl!” Modai complained. He grunted, shaking his head. His eyes snapped to Belch. “Sit down!”
Belch looked down. She was on her knees, so to comply, she adjusted to sit down on her butt near the crease in the door.
Modai pinched his small, chubby nose, looking down and sighing. “And she’s stupid too…” he said before looking back at Belch with scorn in his eyes. “On the bench!”
“Oh,” Belch said, crawling up to sit on the bench opposite the two men. They were older men, but not nearly as old as Corden, the head beast tamer. They were, however, better tempered, even when they yelled.
Kingo had short blonde hair, while Modai had long black hair, graying as it grew from the top of his head. Belch didn’t know hair could alternate colors like that. Hers had always been black, from the ends where she sat to the roots growing from her scalp.
“We’re going to get ourselves admonished,” Modai said. “A girl. A GIRL!”
“Calm down,” Kingo said. He was lanky in contrast to Modai’s large girth. Long legs and arms, he could reach Anemone across from where he sat. Those with long arms were often more difficult to deal with in combat than stronger men with shorter. “Aidan is understanding. We followed his instructions, and that’s all he needs in his men. He’ll consider it a failure on his end, not giving us appropriate instructions to deal with a female tribute. Worst comes to worst, we go back to Dork and demand an additional tribute.”
“But we already negotiated for the swole,” Modai said.
The swole? Belch wondered what that meant. Was it her or something or somebody else?
“Dork doesn’t dare argue with Aidan,” Kingo reassured.
“We’ll see…” Modai said, defeated. Whenever he glanced toward Belch, he gave her a grimace. Belch had grown so accustomed to such expressions that ugly faces like those were hardly worth the concern. It wasn’t until they lunged and attacked that Belch ever took them seriously.
Belch lay flat on the bench, head against the wall, looking out to the window. The most she could see were the leaves passing by from her angle. She still admired the sight nonetheless. She spent most of the night gandering out the window, watching as light darkened. The night sky was new to her, always in bed before sundown. White dots sprinkled the sky.
She sighed.
“You hungry, kid?” Kingo asked.
Belch turned her head. Kingo sat near the front while Modai passed out, leaning to his head on the back end of the carriage. She looked at Kingo, who had a sack in his lap and a bag of meat in his hands. She nodded, starving for food.
Kingo tossed over the pack, and Belch ripped it open, reaching in with her thin hands, pulling out dry meat, seemingly uncooked. She sniffed it, unbelieving it was meat. She opened her mouth, slowly taking a thin, leathery piece, carefully biting down. But it wasn’t tender, not like steak or chicken. Her tongue tasted the salt, and the flavor kicked instantly in her mouth. She ripped the piece, turning her head to shred it into two. The meat, while dry, had spices packed inside. As she chewed, she couldn’t get enough. After her first piece, the bag fell to her gluttony.
“Did they not feed you?” Kingo asked.
Belch hadn’t spoken much with the men delivering her to her new master. She eyed Modai, who was still asleep. Kingo at least seemed friendlier. “They do… It’s just, I eat… a lot, really fast.”
Kingo smiled. “And that’s why they call you Belch?”
Belch nodded.
“A terrible name.”
She nodded again. Belch hated her name, but it was the one her fellow beasts had given her. She couldn’t complain.
“Are you really the best fighter?” Kingo asked, “of the dozens of men in your camp?”
“I was at the top before you arrived,” Belch said. “I was selected to be Worthy.”
Kingo rubbed his eyes. “You don’t look particularly strong…”
Belch tapped her head against the wall as she turned away. He wouldn’t believe her if she told him. The empty bag of meat in front of her still had a stench, only satisfying to her after the fact she devoured them all. Interesting, how repulsive the smell was when she first tore in. Yet now, she wanted more. She pulled the ends of the bag apart, looking deeper inside just to make sure.
Nothing but air.
“Go to bed,” Kingo said, noticing her fumbling with the bag. “And I’ll give you another in the morning.”
Belch closed her eyes, covering her body with her arms, using what she could to combat the cold that came of night. Her beast outfit—a worn black shirt and trousers—didn’t do much to warm her throughout the night.
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But she didn’t complain; beasts were forbidden to.
Modai and Kingo hopped off the back of the carriage first. “Let me explain,” Modai said as Belch was crawling to exit. She stretched her arms in the air; her muscles cracked as she could finally move them after a day’s travel.
Moving was what Belch did best, reconnecting with the earth once more, feeling its soft comfort as she landed. She twisted the heels of her flat shoes on the ground, noticing her muscles were already tired and fatigued. She hadn’t been this inactive since the first day she arrived at the fight camps, around nine years ago when she was maybe six. She didn’t know the date of her birth or if, in fact, nine years had really passed since that day.
“Odd, this is a first,” a man said, standing in front of a large tower, wearing a dark blue cloak with white emblems of a half-moon with various circular objects orbiting around the crescent shape. He had shoulders as wide as two men, similar to Pedr, one of the camp’s helpers who watched over the beasts while they worked. “I didn’t expect this.”
“They said she was the best tribute they could offer,” Modai said. He bowed his head. “Forgive us, Cyril!”
Kingo kept his back straight, unafraid, making Modai look paranoid in comparison.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Cyril said. His appearance, while humongous in both width and height, he had something Pedr didn’t have. His ears pointed out and wiggled slightly with the afternoon wind. “She’ll do fine.”
“We also negotiated for a swole worker, sir,” Modai said, still bowed. “He’ll arrive sometime today. He couldn’t fit inside our carriage.”
“A swole worker? Not a slave? Interesting. Regardless, good work. But next time, when you doubt a tribute, check their ability by observing a duel. From the looks of the one you brought, she doesn’t look… ideal to what Aidan is looking for.”
“What does that mean?” Belch asked.
“Worry about that later,” Cyril said. “Now Modai, if you will.”
Modai nodded. He surprised Anemone with a cloth over her face. She struggled, clawing her way out of his hold. His grip wasn’t strong, but the more she struggled for air, the quicker her breath ran low.
Suddenly, she drifted.
She woke up on a bed, eyes fixed on an exquisite light above, holding dozens and dozens of lit candles on three rings, forming a skeletal hill of lights dangling from the centers of each circle. Air flew from the floor to an open window near the top of the room, shaking the candles as it blew. The rooftop towered higher, in a small, coin-sized point at the top.
Belch tried moving, but her arms and legs were strapped tight in leather. So was her chest and neck, though she could at least pivot her head to look around.
Cyril stood focused on a book on his lap, not noticing Belch’s movements. His hands were as large as his boulder of a head. It was a wonder how he could even flip pages of a human-sized book.
At the foot of the bed, her eyes met another’s. The face gazing at her was covered behind an ivory-white mask. Patterns of flames reflected off from the light above near his forehead. He had black, bushy hair and piercing blue eyes. Chains covered him from arm to arm, linking up and over his shoulders before hiding under a black jacket.
“Hey Cyril,” the masked man said. He lifted two fingers to the plastic line of where his lips should be, telling her to be quiet.
She complied, though mostly due to her exhaustion. Whatever Modai stuck on her face, it nauseated the hell out of her.
“What do you want, Kiba?” Cyril asked, annoyed. “I’m working here.”
“I heard you were operating on a girl for once,” he said, a hint of joy in his tone. “That sounds exciting!”
“What about it sounds exciting? If it doesn’t work for men, it won’t work for women.”
“Well,” Kiba’s eyed Belch. “This whole operation is for the sake of Lord Aidan, and if it works on a girl, then that would mean… you know… it’s funny!”
“I fail to comprehend your humor,” Cyril grunted. His eyes transfixed on the book in his lap. “I know Lord Aidan better than anybody. If it works on her, then it works. Simple as that. He’ll take her without a second thought on the matter.”
“Well, It’s still funny. You attempted this what? A hundred times by now? And. Not. One single success.”
Cyril sighed. “How is that in the slightest bit, amusing to you?”
“Well, you see, it’s because… well… never mind. A comedian never explains a joke.”
Cyril closed his book, putting it on the top of his desk. He didn’t turn to address Kiba but instead pulled out a flask and pink stone. Cyril mixed a few ingredients into the flask, sealed it shut with a cork before shaking the flask around to mix. When he finished, a light blue mixture formed, which he poured into a bowl. He finally turned toward Kiba, not meeting Belch’s eyes as he turned.
“How can you be a comedian if none of your jokes are ever funny?” Cyril grinned.
Kiba laughed, grabbing his stomach and bending his back backward as he cackled. He settled down, straightening up to glare at Cyril. “How can you be a surgeon if none of your patients ever survive?”
Cyril frowned at the remark. “I don’t know why Aidan keeps you. You’re a glorified messenger,” he scoffed. He turned to the bed, finally noticing Belch had been awake. “Oh. You’re finally awake. Be patient; everything will be alright.”
Kiba laughed again, covering his mask's holed mouth, muffling his voice.
Cyril sighed, visibly frustrated by whoever this masked man was. “Why are you laughing?”
“Lies are hilarious.”
“Lies?”
“She knows it won’t be fine,” Kiba said, looking at Belch. She was still out of it, barely conscious.
What is even going on? Belch thought. She struggled, trying to break free of the leather straps holding her to the bed. A beast should be able to break these, but yet here she was leashed to a bed. What are they going to do to me?
“Can you leave me alone?” Cyril said, not even noting Belch’s struggle.
Kiba shook his head.
“Then can you be quiet for two minutes while I proceed with the surgery?”
After a moment of silence, Cyril turned to his table. He opened a box, revealing a large pink rock. Cyril reached for a pair of grabbers from his drawer. The rock was about half a foot long and had a thin, narrow girth, shaped like a hexagonal prism with spiked ends. He picked it up with the pair of tongs as if the rock had been toxic.
“What are you going to do to me?” Belch asked.
“I’m going to put this Soulgem inside of you,” Cyril said. He eyed Belch strapped to the bed. His pink eyes matched the Soulgem he held in the grabbers. The large, odd-looking man afforded Belch a calm expression, like he said, ‘everything is going to be alright.
“What are you?” Cyril asked.
Remember what you are, Corden said, his voice anchored to her mind. Even miles and miles away, Corden was still with her. When it comes to all that is good, you are nothing. But you are everything that is evil in this world. You are nothing. Nothing but a beast!
“A beast,” Belch responded. The answer was imprinted in her mind, coming out automatically.
“Huh?” Kiba asked, confused.
“If this works, all of your sins will be forgiven,” Cyril explained. “Everything you are will cease to matter. You will become something greater.”
“I never thought you would stoop to that,” Kiba said. Belch didn’t see the problem. Everything Cyril said… sounded great. “Lying to a little girl? Tasteless.”
“I’m only doing what Lord Aidan demands of me,” Cyril turned his head away from Kiba. He glanced at Belch, putting his thick fingers up and under her eyes. “No longer will your green eyes determine what you are. You’ll finally be human. Even if it kills you.”
“If… it kills me?”
“All death is inevitable, child. But you can help break that truth. Even the Grim Reaper may die one day, even if he doesn’t have a lifespan like us. But with your help, we might discover true immortality. And it might all start with you.” Cyril brought the Soulgem to the bowl, dousing the unpolished gem in the blue liquid he prepared before. When he pulled it out, the Soulgem looked just the same, except it started eroding a pink mist from its skin.
The Soulgem blurred as Cyril moved it over to Belch. Her belly was exposed, and Cyril’s eyes aimed down. “This is going to hurt,” he said, lowering the Soulgem down and to her skin.
How is it going to pass through my skin? Belch thought, feeling the initial contact of the Soulgem. It stung, but it wasn’t too bad—
The pain shot through all at once, and she found herself screaming and kicking her legs to no avail. She roared, bellowing like the beast she was. The straps kept her contained as the Soulgem slipped through her skin and inside her stomach. Even the metal tongs were passing through her skin. When Cyril finished, and Belch had expended all of her energy squirming, he removed the tongs from her stomach, finishing a cut-less surgery.
She felt the Soulgem vibrate inside her stomach to a hum of agony, and the heavy jolts of pain threw her body all over, flinching at increasing intervals. Eventually, the pain got to be too much. She cried, feeling her blood boil from inside of her. Her vision went gray, but she remained conscious of a black and white world, only hints of red from the veins throbbing over her eyes.
“Doesn’t look fun to be her,” Kiba deadpanned. “What did you do to her?”
Cyril ignored him. The large man grabbed Belch’s shoulders, calming her twitching. “The success rate lowers the more you struggle.”
“Lower the success rate?” Kiba laughed. His voice crept shallower and shallower. “You can’t get lower than zero percent!”
Cyril grunted. He picked up a handful of ice, dropping it on her stomach. Like lava coursing through her insides, from her stomach crawling all the way to her head, the pain spared nothing. The ice on her skin melted quickly, and the pile on her stomach shrunk with each passing second.
The Soulgem was eating her up from the inside.
What is it doing to me! Belch bit her tongue. It was the most she could muster to still be in control of her body.
“Does she have to endure all of this?” Kiba asked, his right fingers on his mask’s chin.
“Unfortunately,” Cyril opened his book, putting it back in his lap. “No matter what I give her, no matter how strong or effective it is, the pain is too much. Her blood is literally boiling inside of her right now.”
Kiba took off his right glove, reaching over to move some ice off of her stomach, feeling her skin to tell for himself. “It is hot in there, isn’t it? And you wonder why your patients always die?”
“They don’t die from the surgery,” Cyril said. Closer and closer, their words were losing any sense of tone. She drowned in her immense pain, and suddenly, she could hardly keep track of if she was breathing. “They eventually fall unconscious for six to eight hours, and their bodies return to complete functionality by around two. Yet, whenever the patients wake up, they die spontaneously. Bodies just aren’t compatible with Soulgems.”
“And yet we keep trying…” Kiba said, his voice going soft.
Cyril shrugged. “There may be exceptions…” The voice buzzed.
“There might very be…” Kiba shook his head.
Belch gasped for air. Her mind started to fizzle, and their words started slurring like her vision. She found herself free of the pain, no longer strapped to a bed but in a large, seemingly endless plain of darkness. Blind apart from a reflection of herself on the hard floor. And what was that? Light glowed from her pale-white skin.
She scanned around, finding nothing. Emptiness.
She walked around. Her body felt default as if the recent surgery hadn’t ever happened.
Am I dead? Belch wondered, walking forward with no end in sight.