Saedah woke as the lighting of his room mimicked morning. He'd been counting down to this day. This was the two week mark. He woke early in the day to wait for the alarm, but each minute dragged on without incident. He stretched and looked at his scarred arms. A large portion of the bone and tendon had been replaced with mechanical components. He rubbed his finger across a stretch of puckered flesh. With every surgery, they added more mechanical components and removed more of his biological parts. Even with laparoscopic surgeries, the scarring was terrible, overlapped, and mapped his pain and progress across his flesh. Mac would have used nano's on him, avoiding the invasive surgeries and need to replace so much of his natural composition, but these people enjoyed knitting his body the barbaric way. They actually wanted to get their hands bloody.

The dressers came for him and checked on his recovery from his most recent surgery.

He was healing well, with the aid of Conclave-made medication.

That fact infuriated him to no end.

Akumini should never have had the opportunity to appropriate Conclave medication, never mind have enough on-hand to dole out to her slaves, even if the studs were money-makers. The dressers gave him another dose, even though the drug had done everything it could, then he was bathed and dressed. Looking down, he analyzed himself in the simple, loose, and cheaply made garments of pale, coarse material. His scars were mostly healed, and what was left of his most serious injuries were better healed after the most recent surgery.

Infection had not been allowed to take hold, and even the chronic shaking of his hand had lessened greatly.

He had actually packed on a few pounds since the meeting. The daily trips to med wing resulted in muscle stimulation and nutrient infusion therapy. He was looking better. With his body in better shape, he was ready for the pirate to return. Whenever the attack was to start, he would not shock his family by displaying all his bones. Just some.

But the minutes turned to hours. The morning passed, lunch was delivered, and he was sure that he would never see the Maverick or her lackey again.

Then Akumini arrived at his glass.

"Time to earn your keep." She stated and waited with five of her most belligerent guards. He was forced to strip in front of them, pulling off the coarse, itchy pants and long shirt. She tapped her foot impatiently as he checked and donned his meager armor. With a dismissive and calculating glance down his body, she opened the glass and led him to the pit in silence.

Once he reached the oversized doors that led into the arena, called the 'Sands' in Akumini's keep, Jones pushed away from a wall and saluted his Lady. He passed Saedah a rusty and blunt short sword. In his mind he saw a different place, a different Sands. The name dredged up the distant and painful past. The Sands he knew were the colorful buildings squatting in shadows cast by the periodic UV lamp posts. The Sands were home to the brave and lively people who made their lives in the dark. Light, laughter, and amazing smells of heavenly dishes spilled onto sandy trails from paneless windows and open doors. Those sandy paths named the restaurant district back in the Na'Boht caverns, where he could find the best food in all four systems.

There, he would have been surrounded by the friends he considered family; those who would have died for him. Friends he would have sacrificed his own life to save, given the opportunity. But here, he was surrounded from all sides and and every angle by malice and pain. He was boxed in with enemies in every corner. Everywhere he looked, people watched him, calculating their odds. These were people who would end his life simply for an extra biscuit with their meager dinner.

Jones took Akumini's place as she snapped her fingers and took a left at the next intersecting hall. Without a word, Saedah was led through the unmistakable gate. A wall of noise made from a hundred conversations slammed into him as he made his way into the brightly lit arena and onto the sandy floor.

He lifted his gimped hand to shield his eyes from the blinding lights above the pit. As his eyes adjusted, he scanned the piers to see his audience for that day. Those were humanity's enemies; the ones who relished inflicting and witnessing such pain on others. He tensed as he set eyes on the Maverick, just above the railing and seated in the bottom row of suites. She was nearly lost in a sea of covered-ones. Had her bright skin not stood out among the white, he might have overlooked her.

She met his eyes defiantly, snarling with a sliver of teeth showing. She reached out and gripped the arm of a covered one as it made to stand. It froze midway to its feet, then slowly returned to a seated slouch as Nyx turned and spoke to it.

Troache stood behind her, head tilted at an angle with angry eyes glaring down at Saedah.

***

They'd arrived in a caravan. In all, there were three ships to land; Nyx's small vessel carrying only herself and Troache, leading a set of twin luxury cruisers. Nyx, Troache, and the servants stepped off each elegant shuttle first. The servants wore light gray, dull but respectable retainer's suits, white gloves, polished shoes, and fashionable hats with veils that did nothing to conceal the servant's features. Servants were not slaves. Servants were educated, well paid, respectable members of society that effectively insured that the upper echelons of society functioned. They demanded the same respect as their employing masters and mistresses, if not more. They were a status symbol and highly coveted. Bringing them had been a political maneuver.

Time to see if this works, Nyx thought.

Akumini had her own servants awaiting the procession with white robes and face coverings folded neatly in their arms, topped with white slippers and gloves. These items were passed to the guest servants, who hurried back into the ship with practiced grace and stealth, to return moments later following several figures dressed in the strange concealing garb.

The first cruzer carried seven, including their two servants. The second carried ten, including the other two servants. The last ship carried only Troache and Nyx, plus their offering. They were certainly a procession, With Nyx and Troache leading thirteen robed figures and four servants. Behind the procession, the near-naked man was dragged along in chains as the twentieth member of their procession.

***

Saedah stood surrounded by the high walls of the pit. Perched on three sides, leaning against the railing and moving through the alcoves of the tiers, were many figures in concealing white garb. He had seen that frequently at other viewings. For a brief moment, he had seen salvation. For that moment, he had hoped that this was his rescue.

Then a gate opposite him opened. Three guards shoved his competition into the arena. Nyx and Troache took their seats as silence filled the tiers.

The guards uncuffed his opponent. One of the three armored men paid constant vigil to the sword in Saedah's white-knuckled grip. Saedah ignored them and scanned the tiers. He hoped that he would find something, anything, that would alleviate his growing fear.

Aside from the malicious Maverick and her glorified manservant, there were two obvious couples. The couples were leaned together, sharing the alcoves and apart from the group and disinterested in the Pit as a whole. The four servants bearing the Maverick insignia bustled about delivering pillows, wine glasses, fruits, and smoking pipes to the veiled watchers. However, most of the covered people above him were standing around the rail, watching him and his opponent intently and gesturing between the two with short movements.

The spectators were just that: spectators. This was not his rescue. Saedah was a mass of writing, tangled emotions. Defeat and despair warred with the fear of death and the small, persistent, unrelenting hope of rescue. Anger bubbled and raged against pity and pure stubbornness. He would fight his opponent. He wouldn't give Akumini the satisfaction of seeing him bleed out in defeat.

He looked back at the poor soul he would be fighting. The man looked rough.

The offering had scratches covering the majority of his body, some covered in dried scabs and still more glistening brightly in the light. His eyes held the drugged, distant, and crazed gaze Saedah had seen too often. Especially after being moved to his new quarters. In a few months Saedah could probably expect to see some of the previously unfertilized breeders growing round in the midsection, paraded about to advertise future merchandise.

When male offerings expressed that demeanor, they'd often been subject to the studding, where Akumini would supply some of her unfertilized females. The whole process was nauseating and inhumane, but lucrative. It bolstered her growing slave trade while thoroughly entertained Akumini and a large number of her clients.

Children fetched a hefty price.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Saedah wondered how many of the watchers had attended the breeding, glaring up at the Maverick and her bodyguard. Had he screwed the conclave? Had he killed the Ghosts? Before he could think too heavily on it, a guard thrust a well tended short sword into his opponents hand and pushed the man forward a step.

The fight began.

The man was sloppy. His stances were unbalanced, clearly still reeling from the drugs and the minor traumas dealt by the women he 'serviced'. He made up for it with speed. He was also experienced. The fighting style was familiar, though. It was almost second nature to move as though in a choreographed dance with the man. The minute shifts between forms was so telling, and Saedah fell into it almost instinctually. What were the odds that this man would have a style so much like the one taught at the academy?

Realization hit him like one of Citram's punches to the gut. Bile rose in his throat, even as the world around him narrowed and slowed.

It can't be, he thought. He tried to shove aside his rising panic and desperation. The man's style was too choreographed. How often had he berated the Razors, the close-combat instructors, on being too rigid? Their instructions did not help the soldiers learn how to adjust and adapt to enemy techniques. This man was a product of those early lessons. With eyes wide in disbelief, he took a risk and looked to Nyx. She was smirking. He was right, and he had given himself away.

This was a fomentor that had passed through the academy.

This was a Conclave soldier.

The confirmation almost cost his life as he saw the gleam of metal from the corner of his eye. He barely dodged the blow, awkwardly stepping back and not quite out of the range of the wild swing. It would have removed his head. As it was, the blade nicked his chin, bringing blood to the surface. Clenching his teeth and praying for forgiveness, he decided he would end this and be done with it. He lunged forward and plunged his sword deep into the man's chest. Blood warmed Saedah's hand where it gripped the hilt, flowing from the wound and down to soak his hand. He'd angled the blade to enter just below his ribs and exit between his shoulder blades. Saedah had just barely missed his opponents heart and spine.

The sharp pain in his left arm intensified, spreading from the white-hot bundle of offended nerves into his fingertips and shoulder. Looking down, he noted that his opponent had managed to skewer his arm, just inches from his last surgery incision.

The man coughed a spray of blood, exposing the jagged and charred stump that had recently been a tongue. Anger and regret welled in Saedah's chest, bursting out in a ragged roar at the injustice. He fought the sting of tears even as they blurred the world around him. Deep, electrifying frustration joined the emotional melee raging inside him as a single tear burned a hot trail down his cheek. That tear was the first, opening the floodgate as more raced to freedom. He wanted to scale the wall and see how many bodies he could collect before the Guards finally did him in.

Instead, he embraced the man, holding the man's straining sword arm still with effort. It would not take much to shear the remaining muscle apart. Saedah couldn't force his ill will on the man. He was an innocent in this. Keeping that thought in his heart, Saedah's voice croaked as he murmured to the man. Curiously, the man smiled between grimaces and gasps, fighting to get air around the blood.

"Sorry" he whispered, lowering the twitching body to the sand. The man was already dead. Only tremors wracked the man's body as nerves reluctantly relinquished the fight. He'd drowned in his own blood as his heart pumped his lungs full. Deep crimson stained the man's face as it bubbled and dribbled out of his mouth, splattering about with his last violent spasms.

When the man stopped twitching, that unnerving smile was still frozen in his features. Saedah stood and glared around the arena at the robed figures. They were all on their feet, gripping the railing tight. Saedah had an urge, and he knew he would get the box. That damned dark and claustrophobic nightmare. He didn't care, though. Not in that moment. He stooped to heft his short sword out of the man's chest with a new spray of blood and gore, spinning the weapon in his off hand. He then ripped the better blade from his arm. The agony that motion caused sent sent stars and darkness through his vision, attempting to claim and drag him into unconsciousness, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him fall.

These assholes don't deserve to see you go down, he told himself.

Gritting his teeth through the dizziness and forcing the darkness back, he pointed both his and his opponent's swords at the watchers. He spun slowly, stumbling and meeting their veiled, distorted eyes.

When the guards entered the pit, he cast one last hateful glare at Nyx. Then he slowly turned and met them head-on as they attacked. He was aware of nothing but the blades and sprays of blood, even as his feet slid and unsteadily bore his weight. Darkness take him, but he did not care. There was nothing left for him on this side of death. If there was nothing left for Saedah to live for, death would not find him alone. As they fought, grunts, screams, and clangs of metal played the last Dirge they would ever hear.

He fought with every ounce of strength he could muster until someone crashed hard into his back, grabbing onto him from behind. Stumbling, Saedah grappled with arms bound in a guards uniform. The soldier pinned Saedah's right arm to his side. The distraction gave his opponent's the opportunity to disarm him. His left arm was almost useless, anyway. Sheer luck had kept the blade in his hand.

The man on Saedah's back hissed in his ear.

"Do you want to die here? Do you forget that Akumini has the girls?" the guard grunted as he had to protect his face against Saedah's thrashing. "Gods, st-awwww! fuck! STOP!" The last was said with a grunt as Saedah stomped on his instep. "you're a gods-awful slagheap, you know that? The girls, idiot!"

The words solidified in Saedah's mind as he recognized the voice. He froze before going limp in the embrace of the guard. Saedah's legs gave out and he collapsed to his knees, eyes closed and pulling Jones down with him. He hadn't thought of the girls in his anger and grief. So many days had passed since they were leveraged against him. He may have just granted them a horrible end. Therin also.

"Now that was a show!" the Maverick stood and cheered, spinning to place a kiss on Troache's shocked face before addressing the others. "I told you to expect greatness from Lady Akumini!"

The hooded figures nodded and began to clap, remaining mute. A couple raised their wine to the men in the pits and then to Akumini. The lady, having turned red and tense, looked about her audience and visibly relaxed.

"Only the best for such distinguished guests." She demurred, inclining her head only slightly. "I am sure, with such entertainment, we can arrange another event?" The bitch was already trying to recoup losses.

Saedah had done damage. One of the four guards was likely dead already, two others were bleeding rather badly, and the one holding Saedah's blade had wide, disbelieving eyes trained on Saedah. That one smelled like he had soiled himself. Jones, slowly losing his grip, was breathing hard and cursing under his breath.

"Absolutely!" Nyx fawned, turning to the hooded figure to her left "Your birthday is soon, correct?" at a curious head wobble and slow nod, Nyx turned back to Akumini "I want to see what he can do when he is back to full strength. It hasn't been long, but that is quite the… improvement." she smiled deviously, motioning to Saedah, before moving to Akumini's side, out of Saedah's hearing.

"What the fuck was that?" The guard hissed as he half-drug, half-carried Saedah through the sand and into a hallway. "I don't get paid enough to deal with your shit. Gods and Darkness, but you make me work way too fucking hard. Do you have any idea what kind of hell you just put me through? Fuck!" With that final word the guard hurled Saedah against the wall of the hallway and backed away as he clenched and unclenched his fists rhythmically. "I am working my ass off to protect you. Don't you get that? Lets not forget the other three." His tone was almost hysterical as he flung his arms down the hall. "And here you go and kill one of the guys on your side!"

"Yeah. He was one of mine. I know damned well what the guy was." Heat burned Saedah's face and ears, and he knew he dangerously close to losing control of his temper.

"Then why the hell did you go after him?" Jones ran his hand through his hair looking around for evesdroppers.

"Because it's kill or be killed in the pit?" Gods, he was so tired. He wanted nothing but to fall to the floor and sleep. "I thought that part was pretty obvious."

"Wha-? Wait." The guard halted and drew close to Saedah's face to meet his eyes. "You aren't talking about Hensley. You aren't talking about my man." He backed up, pointing to Saedah then back down the hall, nodding.

"Why the hell would I care if I killed one of those pigs?" Honestly, was Jones joking? He had to be.

"Two reasons: A)" Jones held up one finger, "Akumini will kill the girls and Lews, B)" He held up the other and shook it for emphasis. "he was mine. As in someone I brought in to replace the trash here. I've been cleaning up the ranks, asshole. I realize you haven't been let out of your little box in a while, but surely you've seen something." He let out an exasperated snarl before addressing Saedah again, "Nevermind. Back to the Conclave man…"

"I would rather not go back to the interrogations, thank you." It was fairly common knowledge that Saedah was Conclave. What he did not want, was a renewed interest in his information. "Drop it and forget you heard anything. For the both of us and the girls, if they aren't dead already." Saedah shoved at Jones and walked away, praying he'd make it to his cell before he collapsed. If there were any Gods, Jones would let the issue drop and let him focus on staying upright.

"Whatever you say, big guy." Jones forced a tight smile and continued down the hall, trotting the few steps to Saedah's side. Every time Saedah glanced at the man, Jones seemed to stand taller and look at Saedah with an odd light in his eyes, Even while he tensely waited for Saedah to fall. Saedah did stumble multiple times on their long walk to the stud hall. Each time, Jones had been there with one strong hand gripping Saedah's shoulder, silently and carefully steadying him on his feet.

They reached Saedah's room in silence. Jones was lost in thought, and Saedah was forced to concentrate on both breathing and keeping his feet under him. Saedah longed nothing more than to collapse on the bed and fall unconscious, but that wasn't to happen. The white robed, garing figures impatiently stomping down the hall, white coats billowing behind, promised he would get no sleep soon.

The glass parted as Jones placed his palm in the square, and Saedah stepped inside without comment, looking at the blood coating his body. Jones put his hand on Saedah's shoulder for a brief moment, causing him to look up from his blood stained hands. They nodded to each other and parted ways as the two medical staff entered.

Saedah collapsed on his bed and let the medics disinfect, sew, and bandage his screaming, injured arm. Even if he was not allowed to fall asleep, the rest of his body could rest. Without his weight straining his body, the tired and worn fibers of his muscles quivered and contracted in painfully rapid, tight spasms.