Master stepped back at my silence and laughed. “You think you can beat them all, 901? Is that why you disobey my every order, because you don’t fear death? You really believe you’re unbeatable.”

My hands tightened on the handles of my Kindjals. Master noticed and another laugh burst from his lips. “You do. You really believe you can’t be beaten, do you?”

I lowered my eyes to focus on the ground. When Master didn’t speak, I raised them. I detected something in his gaze. Inhaling, he folded his arms and declared, “Then you’ve just raised the stakes.”

I fought a frown at what he meant. But Master didn’t say anything else. Instead he clicked his fingers at a nearby guard. My cell door was opened and I was locked inside.

I watched Master turn on his heel and leave the champions’ quarter with a sadistic smile on his face. As much as I tried, I couldn’t help but wonder what that smile had in store for me.

* * *

My skin dripped with sweat as I returned from sparring in the training pit. As I reached my cell door, a loud roar came from the cell opposite my own. I glanced that way as a louder, more pained roar ricocheted off the dank stone walls.

The roars were relentless. Scream after scream, then hollow thuds. I took a step in that direction, then another, stopping outside the cell next door to where the screams were coming from.

Suddenly, 667, a fellow champion, came to his barred door. I didn’t turn his way. I never spoke to him, though he always tried to speak to me. As per Blood Pit rules, the top champions never fought one another. Although we were all Master’s “champions,” I had gained more kills, was broader and taller than 667. The other one,140, was no match for me, either. They were all skilled and vicious in combat, but we all knew that if Master was ever to pit us against one another, I would slaughter them all.

Master needed champions to pull in bigger numbers for championship matches. He had never had only one “champion.” At least he hadn’t before. I heard rumors from the trainers as I sparred that Master’s upcoming tournament wanted to find only one. The truest warrior of all.

The champion of all champions.

Suddenly, 140 charged his cell door, his sheer bulk almost taking down the heavy iron bars. 667 shook his head. “Fuck,” he hissed.

This time, wanting to know why the warrior was acting strangely, I asked, “What happened?”

667’s eyebrows rose in surprise as I spoke. As 140 charged his cell once again, I growled, “Answer me!”

667 wrapped his hands around the bars and said, “The Wraiths took his mona.”

140 roared out in pain and began tearing up his cell, lifting the mattress from the floor to throw it across the room.

“Took her?” I questioned.

667’s face dropped. Sighing, he replied, “Took her from his cell, shut his door, and slit her throat in front of him.”

My eyes dipped to inspect the dark stone ground before 140’s cell. My eyes narrowed in concentration, struggling to focus in the half-light of the dim wall lamp. But then I saw it—freshly spilled blood.

As 140’s huge body slumped to the ground, I leaned against the cell door, a fire ignited within me. “Master,” I hissed. 667 nodded. “Why?” I questioned, never taking my eyes off 140, his blank and torn face now staring lifelessly at the blood splashed before him, just out of reach.

“He disobeyed,” 667 informed. “He killed a guard. The guard had tried to fuck his mona while he trained. 140 broke the guard’s neck when he returned before he could take her.” 667’s hands tightened on the bars. “When another Wraith informed Master, Master ordered his mona to die.” 667 paused, then said, “The guard that killed her made it slow and painful. He was seeking revenge for the slain guard.”

I watched 140. His skin was pale and his hands were shaking. Worst of all was the look in his eyes. 140 was gone. He was broken. He wouldn’t survive his next match. This male was already dead.

“She made him weak,” I said, and turned my back to walk to my cell.

“She was his mona!” 667 bit at me.

I stopped and looked back over my shoulder. “She was his weakness. Master thrives off weakness. The fool offered his demise on a plate.”

“She was his heart,” 667 said with even more bite. “Just as my mona is mine.”

Cracking my neck, my bones clicking, I slowly faced him. Holding out my Kindjal toward where he stood, I said, “And, like him”—I pointed my blade to 140’s broken, slumped form—“she too will be your downfall.”

I urged my feet to walk, when 667 shouted, “I would rather die knowing my mona’s touch and comfort than to live a long life like you will. Cold and alone in your cell. Never knowing anything but blood and death and pain.”

This time I didn’t stop. I kept walking until I was in my cell and a guard slammed the door shut. But even when the guard had walked away, I remained rooted to the spot, my Kindjals still in my iron-tight grip.

I would rather die knowing my mona’s touch and comfort than to live a long life like you will. Cold and alone in your cell. Never knowing anything but blood and death and pain.

667’s words circled my mind. They jabbed at my brain like the sharpest of knives. The coldness of my cell lashed at my cooling skin. Dropping the blades, I slumped to the mattress on the floor. As I stared forward at the dark stone walls, against my will, the face of Master’s High Mona swam into view.

I tried to chase this vision away, but 667’s words prevented me. Her dark hair and blue eyes, her perfect body, and how she looked in her dresses.

Then, as if it were real life, I saw her standing before me, holding out her hand. But just as I went to reach for that hand, a Wraith stepped behind her, knife in his hand. Before I could react, he struck at her throat. The mona’s pretty eyes widened with shock. She dropped to the ground in front of me, life fading quickly with the outflow of her blood.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to lie back on my bed, still trying to push the image from my head.

Because wanting her would make me weak.

I wouldn’t ever give my heart to another. Doing that only brought pain.

I wouldn’t be weak. I refused.

I fell asleep still picturing pooled blood at my feet. Pooled blood and 140’s lifeless, vacant eyes.

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