An animalistic shriek comes from above. I brace for a strike from the snake, but the beast is across the Arena eating another noxior. Eating him.
I gag and look away as it swallows the man whole. More shrieks sound—both from the audience and from the sky. I look upward and see broad red-gold wings, vivid against the muted fire pillars. For a moment I think it’s another stingray like from my first night in Tenebra, but then it flaps, and I see a spray of feathers. A long streaming tail like a beta fish. It glistens against the gray sky as a splash of color in a dull gray world of war.
A phoenix.
I brace myself for a new fight, but no shadow or mist rises from the creature. Somehow this phoenix is different from the nightbeasts I’ve seen so far. Not only because of its color.
The phoenix swoops lower, and the snake raises its head at the cry.
A young woman rides the back of the phoenix as though it’s a steed. A hooded cloak streams away from her shoulders, revealing sand-blond hair and the ferocious face of a girl about my age. She has a sword at her hip. A sword that, I know, has a mind of its own. A whiff of manure and hot tar reaches my nose.
A Spore.
Several people in the crowd scream as she swoops over them. Some abandon their seats, arms over their heads, and sprint for the exit. A few throw things at her. The little girl next to me claws at my foot with her free hand, tearing off some skin exposed from my useless Roman sandals. I relent but kick her weapon away.
The Spore swoops my direction. She and her kind killed Nole. Her gaze is locked on me and it’s narrow and furious. This Spore is here for me.
She knows I’ve picked up Nole’s work and that I found a cure in the Real World. It’s strange. What she doesn’t realize is that it didn’t stick. I’m back in the Arena, aren’t I? That doesn’t seem to matter to her.
The Spore girl leaps off the phoenix and lands on her feet in the sand, daggers in each hand. They don’t smoke with nightmist, which means only one thing: she’s here for flesh. Blood. Human.
Me.
I flip my kris dagger as the fury builds in my chest. I let it. I urge it. I abandon Crixus’s advice to control and deny it. Luc is Emperor, and he said the emotions are what create. So I let them. I picture the fury pouring into my veins like viscous power building me up for an attack.
I charge, leaving the little girl on her back in the sand.
The Spore’s eyes widen. I plow into her. The crowd hollers encouragement, regrouping into their seats.
“Icaruuuuus!” someone shrieks above the rest.
She tumbles and does a backward roll to regain her feet. I’m already attacking with a thrust. A swipe. I’ve never fought like this before in real life or in my training cell, but it’s like my memories of films and books have made their way into my muscles and veins. The attacks come naturally, as if instead of creating smoke wings or a spear, my nightmist is creating talents and physical skills.
I don’t question any of it.
Spore Girl dodges. The crowd roars, a frenzy of bloodlust stronger than ever before. She is everyone’s enemy. She’s trying to take me down with an audience. To prove her power?
I charge her again, and this time she turns to run but trips over the carcass of the giant snake. I didn’t realize it was dead. Then I see Helene at its head, her trident sticking out of its skull.
I leap over the snake’s body and land on top of the Spore woman, pinning her wrists with my hands, digging my knee into her chest.
The little girl flees with a terrified cry.
The phoenix lands in the center of the Arena. The other noxiors jab at it with their weapons, and the little girl joins their throng.
Beneath me, the Spore writhes, then releases her two daggers and claws at my hands. Her green eyes are filled with hate. Her Spore stench fills my nose. Her chest strains against my weight.
I hold her there for a moment, breathing hard while she suffocates. I picture her rage-filled eyes being the last thing Nole saw before he died.
“Don’t like being so helpless?” I grind out. “This is how my brother felt before you killed him.” The words shatter any remaining restraint in my body.
I yank my kris dagger from the sand and plunge it straight into her heart.
Once.
Twice.
She screams but it gets cut off with a groan.
I startle. My blinding fury flows out of me like a deluge. The phoenix releases a piercing cry, then leaps from the sand with one great flap, sending the other noxiors tumbling back. As it gains height, it swoops and grabs the little girl in its talons like a sky hunter would a mouse.
“No. No!” the little girl screams, reaching her free arm toward me. Tirones from the edge of the Arena shoot arrows at the phoenix. It falters and drops the girl. She lands in a heap in the sand.
The bird swoops away, disappearing into the dark sky.
The Spore girl beneath me coughs. Again. I scramble off her convulsing body, horror numbing my limbs.
She’s covered in blood. I’m covered in her blood. The hatred in her eyes fades as she looks at me, then turns into something far more wrenching: fear. Despair.
Suddenly I want to scoop her up. Hold her like I held Nole in the end. Tell her it will be okay—that death won’t take her.
The crowd roars its approval. Stamps its feet. Chants.
“Icarus! Icarus! Icarus!”
Her body shudders. I drop to one knee. Any light in her eyes fades. Then she goes still. Dead. My kris dagger sticking out of her chest.
