Most people would panic on the way to their own execution. Not me. As the middle daughter of the Amvrak family, a soldier, and a professional assassin, I was more than used to death marches. 

I just wasn’t used to doing them without my weapons.

However, I still wasn’t nervous. I knew I could take out all of the guards on my own, even if my magic was restricted, but there was no way to escape. The sentries perched outside the door would zap me the moment I walked out. Without my armor, I was vulnerable to their magic.

As they shoved me into the entry room for the death arena, two of my (six) guards began jeering. “You’ll like what’s waiting out there for you,” one sneers. I mentally name him Pigface and resolve to kill him first if I get the chance. Pigface and Smugley (another guard) grin evilly and sing in unison, “Public humiliation!”

I suppress a groan and an eyeroll. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s hiding and faking emotion, and I know my blank face is freaking them out. “Humiliation would only work,” I tell them, “if I was capable of being humiliated.”

Their faces grow pale. One of the guards, the only one who looks unruffled, steps forward with a somewhat kind expression. “Any last wishes? Something for your family maybe?”

I pause and actually think this one through. Even though they thought I was dead until two weeks ago, I still care about my siblings. “I want my suit and weapons back. As for my family, tell them I did what I had to do.” My weapons and armor will come to me if I need them, but I figure they don’t need to know that yet.

The tall guard who asked nods in understanding and steps back. Come to think of it, he looks somewhat familiar; I nickname him Kindly for the time being. Kindly is the only one who does not look unsettled.

“So, I hear we have a fighter today,” I hear from behind me. “Your wish will be granted, as all last wishes must; however, since you have committed a particularly grievous crime, the trials will be set up for a soldier of your… caliber. Should you somehow survive all three trials, and the match, you will be faced with death by firing squad.”

I fight back a smirk. No firing squad can kill me if I have my armor on. Without turning to look at the man, I ask evenly, “Will my magic be returned to me?” A fighting chance would be nice, I think. I really would like to survive this.

Whoever-it-is matches my tone. “The blockers will be lifted off the moment you step inside the arena. However, to make up for this, you will not be warned about what to expect.”

“Fair enough.” I can understand that.

I hear a gong and the man says, “It’s time. Bring her armor and weapons.”

Kindly nods and walks away, coming back several silent minutes later with my things. Much to the surprise (and slight disgust) of my guards, I change clothes right then and there, not even bothering to tell them to turn around. As always, my armor fits perfectly, and I mentally scrutinize the positioning of my weapons to determine whether or not they’ve been tampered with. After several unsuccessful attempts, I decide to wait until I get my magic back. I don’t want anyone, especially these guys, knowing where I hide all my stuff. 

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I turn to the man from earlier, who acknowledges me with a nod. I’m a bit surprised to see the glint of respect in his eyes; most people hate me, fear me, love me, or some combination of the above. He meets my eyes with no hesitation whatsoever, and I decide I like him. Kindly steps up behind me and begins to guide me to the lift. I will be raised to the level of the arena.

I don’t even glance at the guards as I step onto the platform. They don’t matter anymore. All that matters is survival, and that’s something I’m good at.

As my head comes above ground, I can hear all of the boos and cheers of the audience. I ignore them all and search with my eyes for the only people I don’t want to see here: my family. I don’t want them to have to see this, but there they are, all thirteen of them, right in the front row. As I meet the eyes of my elder brother, I’m surprised once again to see that his face holds not fear, disgust, or disappointment, but love, regret, and respect. Scanning over the rest of my siblings faces quickly, I find that they all feel the same way.

It’s almost enough to break me. I turn face away, but not before I catch sight of my four best friends sitting with my family. I begin searching for the man who was to be my next target. Sure enough, there he is: Duke Orring, professional bastard and jerk extraordinaire. I was on a job for him when he turned me into the authorities whether he’d planned it all along or did it in the spur of the moment to save his neck is still up for debate.

I look around. I’m standing in a colosseum-style arena with large gates on eight sides. I can hear growling behind each gate. I sigh. For all that they said I wouldn’t be warned what I was facing, they didn’t do a very good job of hiding it.

Public executions don’t have announcers, probably for the sake of any watching family members. No one wants to see a relative killed while some guy reports on the action like he’s watching a sports game and rooting for the home team. Instead, there’s a gong to signal when each trial starts and who wins each round.

BONG! My magic returns at the same time that the gates fly open. Eight huge creatures of various kinds race out, roaring their anger. Glancing around quickly, I see two felines, two canines, a snake, a bear, a raptor, and what appears to be a praying mantis. I sigh, making sure it’s loud. Placing two fingers in my mouth, I let out a shrill whistle. Though the spectators cringe, it’s worse for the creatures around me.

As they fall back, I reach out to each of them with a tendril of magic. The cats respond first, padding over to me and curling up. They start purring as I stroke their heads. The wolves come next, licking me almost from head to toe before laying down at my heels. The bear doesn’t join them; instead he lays down right where he is and falls asleep. I guess his handlers have been preventing him from entering this year’s hibernation. The praying mantis scuttles back into its cage, setting off some sort of trap that makes its gate come slamming down. The raptor settles nearby, watching me carefully. I hold myself preternaturally still, waiting for him to decide whether or not I’m prey. The snake curls up around the entire group, lowering its head to rest on the ground.

Once all of the creatures have gone still, I begin to move, headed directly toward the next gate. The only rule in the arena is that there are no rules; therefore, I am not required to kill these animals. The next gate opens and I start to step through it, only to hear a whimper from behind. I turn to see all seven of my now-tamed opponents staring at me sadly and I groan quietly. “Come on, then,” I say, somewhat annoyed. “But you come at your own risk.” They all dart through the gate, leaving me to follow behind.

The next trial appears to be an obstacle course. I look at the plaque beside the opening. Your only goal is to pass through to the other side alive. Our only goal is to kill you. I tilt my head to look at a corner where I know they’ve hidden a camera and smirk. I click my tongue and together, my new friends and I enter the obstacle course.

Sighing, I think to myself, I hope this gets more interesting. At this rate, I’m going to fall asleep or die of boredom loooong before they succeed in killing me.