I intend to write a short story featuring a few of the more potent themes present within the novelette “The Outsider”. This short story has simply been written to entertain, and explore the central themes and issues that I have chosen.
The content of the story is gruesome and described with vivid details in some cases, so the target audience would be fairly mature, and have an orientation towards fanciful fantasy worlds. The story is set in a land where the local entertainment consists of arena type pit fights. These pit fights are similar to a council of the city’s rich and wealthiest, with the lower classes also in attendance. These pit fights are also the place where status is gained and lost among these affluent members of society, with the slaves that compete being used as a means to this end. I have also interpreted the ending of “The Outsider” differently in my story, with my main character realising that he can make a difference with his life, and that he can live for other people rather than himself only.
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The content of the story is gruesome and described with vivid details in some cases, so the target audience would be fairly mature, and have an orientation towards fanciful fantasy worlds. The story is set in a land where the local entertainment consists of arena type pit fights. These pit fights are similar to a council of the city’s rich and wealthiest, with the lower classes also in attendance. These pit fights are also the place where status is gained and lost among these affluent members of society, with the slaves that compete being used as a means to this end. I have also interpreted the ending of “The Outsider” differently in my story, with my main character realising that he can make a difference with his life, and that he can live for other people rather than himself only.
The ring of steel on steel resounded around the arena, to join the din of gaudy music and jeering shouts ensuing from the on looking patrons of this violent event. The ‘Slave Games’ took place every day, from the blaze of the new fire in the sky at its start, to its dying embers at dusk. The games consisted of slaves and a monster entered by the ‘Games Keeper’. Of course to make it more complicated, there were two different types of slaves, the ones entered by their master, and the ones donated. By a slave being entered it was similar to a bet being placed, with a small fee for entry paid to the games master, the fee also gave slaves the privilege of a weapon of choice. At the conclusion of the battle if the monster was the last one standing, the games master would keep the majority of the winnings, otherwise if a slave was the victor; their master was granted higher standing in society and a large sum of gold as their winnings. There was also an unspoken tradition, that the victorious slave was granted freedom for their heroic deeds performed within the arena. The ‘donated’ slaves on the other hand, were the unwanted outcasts of rich society that the Games Keeper bought for a small fee, to “liven up the games” as he would call it.
The scything edge of an axe whistled overhead as the young man shied away from the maiming blow. He dodged left and ducked right, seemingly untouchable with his great agility, and quick mind. His short success ended with his impalement upon a long, unyielding, bronze tipped spear. He was dead before his knees buckled and his bruised and blood spattered head lolled to rest upon his chest. His limp body knelt upright, held there by the protruding spear. His dark, lifeless eyes stared unfocused at the floor of the arena, in a way which made it seem as if the poor boy was still in pain. Tayten observed this, in the moments after he had thrown the spear. But now the boy was dead, and the dead don’t feel a thing. He retrieved his spear before turning to the frenzied sounds of battle nearby. The initially frantic fighting in the pit had collapsed in to smaller groups of the more skillful fighters that had survived the morning. Usually the ‘donated’ slaves would be first to succumb as they mainly consisted of the old, the weak and the lame, though among these tribute slaves, were a handful of the forsaken; the brawlers, the thieves and those who had displeased their master. Tayten was of the forsaken, he was a free man captured, and bludgeoned into slavery. But he valued his freedom greatly, and he loved to journey even though he thought life was meaningless. How could one man make a difference, and be remembered after his death? He returned from his reverie with the great horn blast that signaled the release of the monster. The clash of steel ceased as the remaining slaves turned to face the monster. Usually it would take more than one slave to bring the monster down, so it was at this point that the slaves banded together in a bid to survive. Though if the monster was killed, the slaves would continue the fight between themselves, until a victor was eventually decided. A large iron gate slowly rose to reveal a dark entrance, for a moment nothing emerged, then with a roar of rage, a full grown bull Minotaur emerged. Its pelvis covered in the blood marred rags of a loin cloth, and standing nearly half again the height of the tallest slave still alive. It carried a great jagged edged axe over its shoulder, mangled gore still present on its edge; it was truly a creature to instill fear into the hearts of even the bravest and most foolhardy of humans. One man turned tail and fled for the opposite side of the arena, sadly this drew the monster’s attention and with two leaping bounds the Minotaur trampled the man under hoof. The other slaves charged, with shouts and battle cries, but Tayten held back, silently waiting to see what happened. The Minotaur spun with his deadly weapon, and cleaved in half the two fore runners with a single sweeping blow, seven slaves remained. The next slave, a burly man with a dusty orange beard and a balding crown, jumped with his two-handed sword held high, in an attempt to cut the Minotaur in half. But it simply bounced off the thick hide and the Minotaur let out a deep rumble of hatred, before crushing the man’s skull with the haft of the axe. Death was dealt instantly to the next three slaves, who all attempted a similar approach. The next slave attempted to go for the eyes, but with a sudden jerk, the Minotaur had thrust down with his head, skewering the adolescent upon his horns. Blood now ran down the Minotaur’s face and muzzle, some even obscuring vision in his left eye. The sight of blood seemed to push the Minotaur into a frenzy, and he quickly dispatched the next closest slave, an older woman with a hard look in her eyes, and a slight scar running across the bridge of her nose. He was only able to see these finer details, when her head came to rest a foot from where he sat. The Minotaur lunged down with his axe in an attempt to kill the last slave opposing him. But the young boy was surprisingly nimble and evaded easily. A dagger flashed into the boy’s hand, and he slashed fiercely at the Minotaur’s heel. Surprisingly the small blade cut deep, severing the tendon in the monster’s leg. This time the Minotaur gave a cry of agony, and fell to one knee. Tayten watched again as the dagger flashed, realising that it must be made of glass; the only material hard and sharp enough, possibly capable of cutting through the Minotaur’s thick hide. The Minotaur was too slow to catch the boy, and was obviously spiteful for it. With decisive slices, the Minotaur was unable to hold its axe, but the beast was still deadly. The boy’s overconfidence in his soon to be triumph over the beast ended with the bone crushing strength in the Minotaur’s undamaged hand. The monster lifted the feeble body of the boy high into the air; the Minotaur stared hatefully at the corpse. In an eruption of still warm blood, a long hard shaft emerged from the boy’s chest. The Minotaur watched the silently in the instant before his death as the bronze tipped spear entered through his eye cavity, and ruptured his brain. Tayten registered the tearing peals of a bell tolling, and the deafening uproar that the crowd was making.
None of this concerned him, not even the dead child he had plunged his spear through. Everyone died; it just so happened that they would be meeting her before he did.
The crowd grew silent, all eyes watching him. The Games Keeper had risen, and it appeared that he was expecting an answer for an unspoken question.
He turned to his peers and asked quietly, “Is he not one of your slaves?” Not a single one answered.
Slaves were expendable, but keeping with his façade of the generous benefactor for such events, he would need to keep the crowd and his rich friends happy. It was blatantly apparent though, that the previous master of the ‘donated’ slave, expected retribution for the slave’s survival. A solution came to mind.
With a hollow cone of bronze pressed to his lips, his booming voice emanated out across the stadium, “Our victor, Tayten is the champion of this day, and we acknowledge him for his deeds,” he let the echo of his voice die before continuing. “Never before has a donated slave won this tournament, but I have a solution. As I bought him from his previous master, it will be I who decides his fate,” the crowd seemed hold its breath in anticipation of the Games Keeper’s verdict.
The Games Keeper’s right arm shot out in front of him, with his fist clenched and thumb held horizontal. His thumb dropped slightly, and the crowd began to boo. But this was all part of the act, and before it got out of hand, his thumb shot up in definite sign of approval. The slave would be granted freedom. The crowd applauded with many shouts of joy, even jovial music could be heard in the background. The Games Keeper smiled as he watched the jubilation he had wrought within his crowd, before dropping his arm a moment later. His smile evaporated as he perceived the accusatory eyes of the contemptuous dark eyed noble boring into him.
He bowed his head down next to the seated noble’s ear, “You know,” the games keeper continued as if remembering something of importance, “many unfortunate fates can befall a freed slave, once he has left the protection of the arena.”
As the Games Keeper marched off to oversee proceedings of the slave’s release, the dark eyes of the noble brightened considerably, and a mean smirk marred his face.
•••
As Tayten walked beneath the low arch of the arena’s gate, a smile caught upon his lips. The prospect of being free was a truly wonderful thought indeed, and the first place he would go was the local tavern. The smell of spirits wafted through the dark enclosed room, bringing back memories of times long past. He drank his fill, but a slave released from service has no money, so when the time came to pay he left promptly to the disgruntled shouts of the barman. He had no money to pay for lodgings, so he settled down in an alley way for the night. The comforting warmth from the liquor spread throughout his body, dulling his senses and propelling him over the edge into the blissful abyss of sleep. He wondered mildly in the moment before slumber came, whether death would be like this, the only difference being you never wake up.
Once the mercenary was sure that his quarry would not be moving for the rest of the night, he disappeared back into the night to find his employer.
Tayten woke with a start. Four tall dark figures loomed ominously about him, all wore deep set hoods. He realised then that they were only tall, because he was still sitting. Shakily he began to rise, but a heavy blow sent him back to the ground. The alcohol, still thick in his blood, was taking a heavy toll on his ability to comprehend what was happening. Who were these people?
One of the men drew back his dark cowl to reveal his identity. The dark eyed noble stared malevolently down upon the man who had once been his slave. With a slight hand gesture from the noble, the three remaining hooded figures roughly seized the prostrate Tayten, hauling him upright to stand helplessly before his wicked enslaver.
With a bitter smile, the noble spoke, “I bet you thought it was your lucky day. Insult me and survive to tell the tale, I bet that’s what you thought,” the noble mistook Tayten’s drunken haze for impudence, and his next words were filled with venom as he sneered. “Well you know what you poor dog; your worthless life will be cut to its wick this night,” the noble’s mouth formed an angelic smile, as he concluded. “Not to worry, for I assure you, it will be painful, and before the end you will be begging for death.”
The sounds of voices approached, and a group of soldiers with lit torches past before the entrance to the alley, that the group was congregating within. The city was not without laws, and murder was punishable by death. The noble realised the vulnerability of his position, and decided to withdraw, leaving the hired mercenaries to dispatch the insolent slave.
The three hired soldiers stood in silence as their hirer swiftly disappeared into the darkness. Making sure that the noble was definitely gone before speaking, the man to Tayten’s left spoke with a fairly high pitched voice, “Well wasn’t he a nasty one.”
The man to Tayten’s right replied simply, in what appeared to be a grumpy tone, “They always are.”
The third soldier behind him, responded to this by saying, “Yeah, that may be so, but they don’t have the guts to do their own dirty work, and I guess we should be thankful for the work.”
The second soldier responded in a quietly outraged voice, “WORK, you call this WORK!? We get paid so little by these rich bastards, when they have so much.”
The third answered, “You’re right, but the rich only stay rich because they’re so selfish with their wealth.”
The second, “I’m sick of how bad we’re treated, after this I’m going to get an honest job with honest pay, at least then I’ll get the respect I deserve.”
The first cut in before the third could answer the second’s lamentations, “Well you know we could make more money for these jobs, and still have the same end result.”
The other two soldiers turned, and in unison the third asked, “How?” a gleam sparkling in his eye, while the second stared blankly at the first and before asking an unintelligible, “What?”
The first explained his idea, and the other two agreed upon it. They would take the man they were ordered to kill, and sell him to the pit master as a ‘donated’ slave. Not only would they earn extra gold for this job, but they need not even get their hands dirty with the murder of another person.
Tayten’s head had cleared slightly, and he was now partly focused upon the situation he was in. A voice spoke very close to his ear, “As we move through the city, do not make a sound, do not make eye contact, and do not draw attention to yourself, otherwise we will kill you there and then,” Tayten nodded, and the group set off.
The journey was uneventful, and just before they reached the arena, they turned into a side alley. The soldiers had agreed that the slave’s death needed to be assured, so they would slightly maim him, but not making it too visible so that he would still fetch a fair price.
The second soldier came over, and with the pommel of his bastard sword, struck a blow that cracked a couple of ribs on the left side of Tayten’s body. Tayten keeled over from the pain, but he did not cry out. The troupe continued to the slave block built beside the arena, where they found the head slave master and bargained a good price for the ‘slave’ they were donating. Tayten was then exchanged for the gold, and the trio of mercenaries departed. Two pit guards came to lead him down into the holding cells. As he was led to the entrance of a dark corridor trailing down into the depths of the earth, he remembered the circumstances of his last visit to this dank, moldy hole in the ground. When the noble had first brought him here, his hands had been bound, and a hessian sack had covered his face. As his eyes searched around the dark tunnel, he knew where he was. He remembered the smell and the feeling of oppression he had originally felt the first time he had come down this way, with his head concealed within the dark sack. But the aid of sight didn’t help much, as it was hard to see in this dark, oppressive place, regardless of whether or not his sight had been obstructed. He looked at the faces of his escort, but he didn’t recognise them, and it was probably the same for them.
He was left alone within the dark holding cell for the night. He remembered from the first time, how his mask had been removed, and how he had been affronted with the sight of so many slaves in a single cell. It wasn’t the fact that there were a lot of slaves; it was simply that his freedom was greatly restricted within such a tightly packed cell. Yet now he had his freedom within the cold dark cell, and it was eerily quiet. He had his freedom, and yet it wasn’t what he remembered it to be. Tayten remembered freedom as warm and cheerful, but this freedom was the opposite. In fact, it had been in the crowded cell on the first night that he had experienced true warmth, nestled in with all the other slaves. He had also found the sounds of people in slumber, far more pleasant than the unearthly hush that had now settled over the chamber. Maybe freedom wasn’t what he wanted anymore. He lay down, the cold leaving a bitter ache in his cracked ribs. It would be a long night…
Tayten must have drifted off, as it seemed to him that only moments had passed, since he had lain to rest upon the straw matted floor. But the morning bell was already tolling, signifying the start of the new day, and the opening of the arena gates to paying patrons. Tayten’s eyes drooped with exhaustion, as he stood up, but his mind was clear and his movements precise. He vowed never to drink alcohol again. His cracked ribs hindered his movements slightly, but as long as he protected that area, he could manage. Just then, a trio of pit guards entered the ‘donated’ slaves’ holding chamber, one looked confused for a moment, before surprised recollection dawned upon his face, and he turn and ran out of the room. The two remaining guards shrugged their shoulders, and turned back to the only slave in the cell. The door was unlatched, and Tayten was led to the holding area, where many tunnels converged into a large central hall. The slaves would remain here, until the great gate at the far end was opened, and the slaves would emerge into the arena. The ‘entered’ slaves were already present, and Tayten was the only ‘donated’ slave, so the games would begin at anytime. Tayten’s reticent nature had turned to mild annoyance for the noble who had imprisoned him, and then continually keeping him from his freedom. Tayten recalled the reason behind him becoming a ‘donated’ slave in the pits; he had attempted to escape the noble’s holdings, but had failed, and had been sentenced harshly by the noble for attempting to leave his service.
This new found anger welled up within him, as the door on a side passage leading into the great hall, was thrust open by a tall, illustriously dressed man, stalking furiously towards the central holding cell. The fuming glare of the noble passed over the slaves and came to rest with livid hatred upon Tayten.
Tayten smiled back, the nobles eyes darkened and a deep set frown embedded itself where his mouth used to be. Unsettlingly, a moment later, he in turn gave his own wicked smile to Tayten. Just then the bell tolled, to signal the start of the fight. As tradition would have it, the ‘donated’ slaves were the first to enter the arena, followed a few moments later by the ‘entered’ slaves. Tayten was happy to leave behind the demonic stare of the noble, so he quickly entered the field.
The first thing he noticed, was that amazingly the arena’s canopy had become a patchwork of mirrors joined together to form a shell between the spectators and the pit fight. It was obvious that the crowd could still see him from the excited shouts he received upon his entry, even if he himself couldn’t see them through the mirrors reflective surface. Some members of the crowd let out surprised yells, as they recognised the victor of the previous day, but the initial surprise turned to angry confusion. Why was the victor (a free man) forced to fight in another round of the Slave Games?
The ‘entered’ slaves had been watching the interaction between the noble and the slave, so when the noble gestured that they should come closer, the entire group of ‘entered’ slaves obeyed. When they had roughly formed a semi-circle along the wall of the holding pen, the noble spoke, “Whoever kills that donated slave,” he paused to gesture towards the open great gate, before continuing. “Will be granted their freedom.” The noble turned and left the holding area, the ‘entered’ slaves looking at one another. A second smaller bell tolled within the holding area, to tell the ‘entered’ slaves to cross the threshold into the arena. The slaves quickly departed and took up positions around the arena battlefield. The Slave Games were about to begin.
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The bell tolled and the fight began. The start of the fight wasn’t as frantic as was usually the case. There were no other ‘donated’ slaves, but Tayten knew that the fighting would be more intense sooner. A few slaves detached themselves from the main fighting, to single out the lone ‘donated’ slave, this seemed odd to Tayten, as they usually focused on the more aggressive opponents. None the less, Tayten killed the first opponent who challenged him and took his blunt knife. The second enemy was of stocky build, and wielded an axe. But Tayten threw the dagger he had recently acquired, the tip catching the unprepared warrior in the eye. He fell dead, and Tayten retrieved his axe, improving his odds of survival by gaining a better weapon.
The noble reemerged in the wealthy section of the spectator seats, and sat alongside the Games Keeper.
The Games Keeper unhappily commented, “I didn’t expect you to bring him back here, when I told you about the ‘unfortunate’ fates that can befall a free slave.”
The noble replied, “Truly it was not my intention for him to be back here, but none the less, he will die today.”
Games Keeper, “How can you be so sure, he survived once didn’t he, why not again?”
Noble, “He didn’t have to fight much the first time through, let’s just say I’ve ensured that all those ‘entered’ slaves will be hounding him like a plague of black flies to rotting meat.”
Games Keeper, “What did you tell them?”
Noble, “That the person who kills that slave of mine will be granted their freedom.”
Games Keeper, “Never before has this happened, and I will not allow it today.”
Noble, “Calm yourself, of course I lied.” The dismayed expression upon the noble’s face bespoke of his friend’s lack of trust. He finished what he intended to say with a mean smirk, “I will grant them freedom by their own death,” a moment of silence fell between the two, before the noble curiously asked, “What monster have you decided to enter into this day’s Slave Games?”
Games Keeper, “Ahh my friend, that is for me to know and for you to find out, but I’ll give you a hint, I had this dome especially built for her unique ability, and I think I will be releasing her early, to give the slaves more of a fighting chance.”
Tayten was in the thick of battle, fighting two particularly vicious slaves at once. He had managed to acquire a short sword, and was duel wielding this with the axe he had, to keep the hungry weapons of his two adversaries at bay. One had a spear, while the other a scimitar. The man with the scimitar would attack at close combat, with a series of ripostes and thrusts that had Tayten moving back one step at a time. While beside the scimitar user, the woman with the spear was jabbing and thrusting brutally, in an attempt to skewer her foe, though not very skillful at her weapon, she was keeping him busy, as he couldn’t move close enough to deal a killing blow, while still defending against the other slave’s attacks. Unexpectedly a second bell rang clearly, and far too early. The monster had been released. Tayten had been distracted for only a moment, but that was all that was needed, for the scimitar warrior to lop half his left hand off. With his hand destroyed, he could no longer hold the weapon that was defending against the spear, and as this happened; the woman saw her opportunity and plunged the spear through his cracked ribs, and out the opposite side of his body. He was pushed back by the force of the spear, but then he fell forwards onto one knee, which yanked the spear from the woman’s grasp. He knelt there upon his heels, resting. He closed his eyes, and listened to the silence of the field, as most of the slaves turned to watch as the monster entered. Someone let out a scream, but Tayten didn’t care, he gently grasped the shaft of the spear, and began to pull the shaft towards him, pushing it out the other side of his body. The pain was immense, and he struggled not to scream. It felt as if his left lung was filling with a warm fluid, and he was finding it becoming harder to breathe. He could hear people running about him, but it was in a disorganised fashion which meant that the slaves where in a state of chaos, and the monster was getting the best of them. Tayten used the blood covered spear that now lay behind him, as a support when he rose to his feet. He then opened his eyes, and found himself staring into the eyes of a statue. He spun around slowly taking in the sight; the battle field was littered with many statues, in the exact likeness of the slaves he had entered the arena with. He couldn’t hear any movement, but he caught sight of what appeared to be the tail of a large snake, disappearing behind the obstructing statues. Tayten remembered the tale of the ‘Gorgon’, a woman with snakes for hair, and the lower body of a serpent, and possessed the ability to turn a human to stone by looking them in the eye. He immediately closed his eyes once again. He stood still listening for the faintest of sounds. The dry slithering rasp of something moving across the surface of the arena emanated from behind him, and in a single fluid movement, he turned and threw the spear. The chink of metal on stone told him he had hit a statue, and now weaponless and weakened, he knew he would soon be dead. He was half tempted to open his eyes, but he was unwilling to give up his life just yet. So he stood still and waited, while the rasp grew steadily louder.
A dry whispery voice spoke close to Tayten’s ear, “If you had thrown that spear a little higher, it would have cleared the statue, and killed me. A real shame too.”
Tayten felt something slither around his boots and slowly bind around his damaged body, he didn’t need to guess that that this was the gorgon’s snake like body, constricting her victim. He was wrapped within her coils up to the base of his rib cage, but he removed his hands, before they were stuck tight next to his body.
The voice came again, this time directly in front of his face, “Why don’t you open your eyes son of man, and stare into my eyes.” The gorgon had noticed his wounds and knew well of his pain. Blood slid over her scales, dripping from Tayten’s hand and the still heavily seeping wound through his rib cage.
Tayten spoke to the gorgon in a soft voice, “What is your name gorgon?”
Surprised by the human’s question, the gorgon replied easily, “Medusa.”
Tayten replied with a smile, “I am truly sorry Medusa, but I will not. Not until I have changed the world, and done something to be remembered by.”
Medusa, “Silly human, one soul cannot change the world.”
Something brushed against Tayten’s face, and he recoiled slightly in shock at the unexpected feeling. More such light caresses came and went. All that Tayten cared was that they felt nice, and he began to slightly bob his head forward in search of more. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he felt his lips brush against Medusa’s own cold, yet subtly soft lips. Medusa hurriedly withdrew her face in alarm, her hair venomously hissing at the helpless human. The gorgon’s initial anger faded away to be replaced by inane curiosity, her hair had stopped hissing, and she moved in closer again. Her face was close enough to see the human’s frowning brow, and once again she let her hair lightly caress his face as she easily came forwards to kiss the man. He had tensed his body in surprise, but it soon relaxed. She wrapped both arms around his neck, as to not aggravate his wounds. He also reached behind her and interlocked what was left of his hands. He could feel where the silky smooth human skin gave way to the smooth scales of a snake. He also felt a strap running across her back, which undoubtedly held the metal breastplate to the front of her body that was now pressing lightly against his chest. The assuring pressure of the cool metal soothed Tayten’s body, and encouraged him to be conscious of how intimately entwined their two bodies were.
Games Keeper, “It appears as if your slave is dead.”
Noble, “Not yet, I still haven’t seen his corpse or statue.”
Games Keeper, “If you ask me, you’ve become obsessed with killing this guy, why can’t you admit that he is dead yet?”
Noble, “Maybe you’re right, but you wouldn’t believe how hard it has been for me to kill this man, just when you think he is dead; he jumps up and surprises you again.”
Tayten couldn’t understand what he was feeling. What was this new unexplainable emotion? What was this word that was embedded within this emotion; love. He felt so happy and yet he was enslaved, it felt nice to kiss her and her gentle hair lulled him into bliss. Maybe life wasn’t about living for yourself, maybe it was meant to be lived for others. Maybe if you live for others you will find that special happiness, that beautiful happiness, that you can only feel when you make another happy.
Tayten asked happily, “Do you think two souls can change the world?”
Medusa took a while to answer, “I think we can.”
Tayten, “Please release me, so that I can change the world and be remembered, I think I’ll need your help though.”
Gasps from the crowd, made the noble and Games Keeper turn from their conversation, to see what had happened. Standing in the middle of the arena with the gorgon by his side, was the slave, and in his right hand he held a spear. He seemed to be orienting himself (taking care not to look at the gorgon), and when he had finished turning, he was looking directly at the noble.
The noble turned to the Games Keeper, “He can’t see us can he?”
The Games Keeper replied unconvincingly, “Not a chance, we’re behind a one way mirror, we can see him, but he can’t see us.”
The noble countered fretfully, “Then why the hell is he looking at us, and how on earth is he still alive!?”
Before the Games Master could reply, the slave took off running in their general direction. The noble stood, and with a horrified look on his face watched as the slave threw his spear, which shattered the mirrored glass directly before the wealthy spectator seats, and impaled the head board of the chair the Games Keeper had been sitting in. Frozen with shock, at the close call, the noble began to laugh. But it was short lived as moments later he fixed his gaze upon the most terrible set of eyes he had ever seen, and in that moment his body turned to stone.
The same occurred to the Games Keeper, and the majority of the rich nobles who had been transfixed by the spectacle of the shattering mirror. The crowd was in chaos, their leaders were dead and the victor of the Slave Games from the previous day who had returned for a second time, was the direct cause for this. Fearing their own death, the crowd hurriedly exited the arena.
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