The Veil (69 page)

“Please forgive me, Picera,” I whispered as tears splashed down my cheeks. I pressed the gun to her head and looked away. The Unicorn gave a gentle whinny.

I pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed around the expansive room, and I heard Picera’s head settle against the floor. A wave of grief washed through me and I swallowed a lump of sadness down in my throat. I held the gun out behind me. “Just take it,” I said to Aran.

The Urisk took the gun from me. A second later everyone else rushed into the nave with their weapons raised. “We heard a gunshot,” said Iralia. “Is everyone okay?”

I stood up. “It’s okay, everyone. Picera had to be….” I couldn’t finish my sentence.

“Oh, I see. I’m sorry.”

I started to say something else, but was stopped in my tracks when there was a loud bang from behind a set of iron doors beyond Picera’s body. “Mikey, send your Protector to guard the front doors with mine. Everyone else with me.”

On our orders the Gargoyles moved to the citadel entrance, where they settled down in front of the doors, their large jaws unhinged and ready to spray hellfire over anyone who tried to enter. Everyone else closed into a tight group, and we all stalked forward with our weapons raised. Mikey and I were at the front, and we pushed against one of the metal doors, which opened much more easily than I had expected.

We stepped through into an incredibly dark hall lined with pillars and a run of balconies. At the end of the long passage was a sickening throne made from the burned bones and flayed skin of countless Pandemonians. It was empty, as was the rest of the room.

Or so I thought.

It was only when we had crept right into the hall that my vampiric senses told me something wasn’t right. My fangs slipped down from my gums and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I sensed a threat. There was shuffling from around us as shapes moved quickly in the darkness.

“Get out!” I shouted, but it was too late.

Dozens of the mutilated soldiers – identical to those we had fought in the Atrius – stepped out of the shadows. Before anyone could react, the doors behind us were slammed shut and sealed. There was a dark, depraved laugh from deep within the long room, and the Scorched Knight emerged on the balcony above the throne. The flaming glow of her uniform crackled among the darkness of the room. Dread overcame me as I looked around and saw that we were surrounded, with no way out.

“Welcome, Guardians,” Lilith said. “I have been waiting for you.”

42

Gabriella

The time for the Spectacle Event arrived.

My heart thumped with adrenaline as a dozen heavily armed Pitguards marched me further into the labyrinthine depths of the Abyss. My hands and feet were shackled tightly together and I had to shuffle instead of walk. The guards were still hands-off, but they were as serious as death, wearing blank expressions and carrying tension in their bodies. It didn’t take a genius to work out why they were so on edge.

They are scared of Hades.

We walked down a sand-covered hallway and I realised it was the same area I had been wheeled down when I’d first arrived at the colosseum. I could hear the muffled roar of the crowds in the distance, which sounded
far
more powerful than before – enough that the ceiling peppered dust down around us. As we moved, more guards appeared from connecting corridors, ushering shackled Chosen into the central passageway. I didn’t recognise any of them – most were older and covered with badly healed scars, no doubt the results of poison-coated blades and bullets. I ran my eyes over them as they merged into the group, searching for familiar faces.

I saw Peter Eden.

He came in from the right, bound by shackles and wearing ornate white armour that had two cracked, black skulls embossed on the chest plates.

Deathbreaker.

The only picture I’d seen of Peter was sixteen years old, but there was no mistaking who he was. He had the same slender face and dark hair as Alex – albeit streaked with grey – and the same bright green eyes, which were lined with crow’s feet. He also had a number of pot marks and scars webbing the right side of his bearded face.

I saw him at the same time he saw me and there was instant recognition. An intense urge to call his name filled me up, but I saw him give an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He blended with the dozen or so other Chosen, who all walked silently down the corridor and then he vanished from view behind the caped backs of the Pitguards.

The roaring of the crowds got louder with every step that we took, and I could feel my apprehension growing. Peter and I had talked about escaping like it was something we would just do, but the reality was far more challenging. The guards were making no mistakes, and by the sounds of the crowds, there were a lot of people who could potentially stop us. I had no clue how we were going to do what we were planning.

The long passageway continued to snake its way through the colosseum. I searched for Troy, but despite his height, couldn’t see him among the even taller guards. Eventually the meandering corridor opened out into an extensive antechamber ringed by suspended walkways. Countless Pitguards stood on the raised ledges, large rifles set into mounts attached to the railings and aiming down at us. At our level, all manner of melee weapons hung from racks lining the room – swords, knives, axes, machetes, halberds, bladed whips, a
chainsaw,
maces and morning stars were all available. The various weapons shook on their mounts from the baying of the crowd beyond.

The Pitguards ushered all the Chosen together and I saw Troy for the first time. He had burns over his face and arms, which attendants had covered up as much as they could with makeup, but he was still in bad shape – the skin red raw and the top part of his lip completely burned away. He was wearing a dark wig of choppy hair that fell to his temples. In contrast to the beautifully designed replica of our uniform he wore, he looked sick and defeated. He noticed me and tried his best to smile, wincing as his lips cracked apart.

“Troy,” I said, taking his shackled hand in mine and speaking as quietly as I could. “I found Alex’s father.”

“My god, really? Which one is he?”

“Don’t look right away, but he’s the man in the white armour. Stick with us. We’re getting out of here.”

“Good, because I can’t take any more of this place.”

“No talking, Taken!” barked the Pitguard and Troy huffed as the butt of a rifle dug into his side. We broke apart and the same guard raised a hand, silencing the room. “Most of you have been here before. But for those who haven’t, there are three rules.” He held up an index finger. “One. You can take up to two weapons each, but no more. Some of them will be your personal ones, which we confiscated when you silly little fools got yourselves caught. Use them if you wish, or use something else. We don’t care.” He held up a second finger. “Two. Our great leader will be out there today. You will bow and give him respect. If you don’t, you will die in ways that you simply cannot imagine.” He held up a third finger. “Three. All battles are to the death. Kill or be killed Chosen.”

The Pitguard moved away from us and signalled to the other guards. They pushed open the metal doors at the end of the room, which revealed a
massive
area with huge tunnels leading off into different directions and a final set of doors at the end that were among the biggest I’d ever seen. The entire area was lined with two rows of Pitguards– who created a makeshift pathway between the two sets of doors – each standing silently with their gun at the ready. There were at least one hundred on either side.

How the hell are we going to do this?

I turned back to Troy, but – like the other Chosen – he had already moved to the weapon racks and after a moment I saw him pick up his trusty warhammer.
Wait…if his hammer is here …does that mean?
I scanned around the room and saw them, lying on a shelf among several other knives as if they were nothing of importance.

The Blood Brothers.

I moved as fast as the shackles would allow me and collected them up into my hands. It was all I could do to stop a smile from forming on my face.

If only they knew what these were.
 

When I was done, I saw that the other Chosen had made their selections and were moving towards the threshold of the weapons room. The Pitguards removed their shackles and then they were ushered on towards the final doors. I joined the ranks, feeling the chants of the crowds reverberate through me. A Pitguard unshackled my ankle chains, followed by my wrist binds.

“Did us a favour with Physicker Agorias,” he whispered to me. “Horrible little runt. But, he was Lilith’s pet, so rest assured, you’ll pay out there.”

I gave a wide smile as I felt the trusty weight of the Blood Brothers in my hand. “I look forward to it.”

The Pitguard swore at me under his breath and then walked away. I followed the other Chosen through the vast space beyond the weapons room, my heartbeat accelerating as the deafening chants of the crowd pounded from beyond the door like a verbal fist. I scanned around me and saw thirteen other Chosen.
Fourteen Guardians versus whatever lies beyond.

Six Pitguards stepped forward from the row and threw their entire bodyweight against the gigantic doors, forcing them open inch by inch. The crowd reacted in an instant, their cheering like a vocal tidal wave washing over us. I gripped the hilts of my Blood Brothers as tightly as I could.
Whatever they throw at you Ella, you can handle it.

The Pitguards took a step towards us in unison, narrowing the gaps at our side. “March,” they all said together. One by one the Chosen walked across the threshold and into the arena. Trying to control my ragged breath, I followed at the back of the line.

As soon as I had passed through the doors, I realised that they had somehow made the arena
bigger.
It was as if the space had swollen outwards to allow for a bigger fighting pit, more seating and higher walls. There were at least a hundred thousand spectators in the stand – well over double the amount there had been before.
This arena is alterable...it has to be.
It was so much bigger and more imposing, that had it not been for the tell-tale balcony with its four thrones and the blackened stone where the spectator section had burned, I would have thought we had been taken to a different colosseum entirely.

  Once every Guardian was inside the arena, the doors were closed and barred behind us. The bright desert suns bore down on us, making the wig on my head itch like crawling insects. I stared around and saw a small army of guards ringing the entire arena at the lowest point of the stands before the walls. They had serious weaponry on them and looked ready to use it at a moment’s notice. I glanced at Peter and he gave me a quick glance back, not revealing anything in his expression.

How the hell do we do this?

Two Pitguards near the empty throne area put long black trumpets to their lips and let out a low blast. In an instant the frenzied crowd had fallen into complete and palpable silence.

“Guardians, form a line!” ordered a Pitguard from somewhere above us. We all moved side by side – me squeezing between Peter and Troy – and clutching our weapons tightly. I looked down the ranks and counted five male and six female Chosen in addition to us, ranging in age from mid-twenties to late thirties. Out of everyone, Peter was the oldest and the only one wearing specialist armour.
Does that also mean he’s been here the longest?

Everyone stayed silent for some time. Eventually I could hear the sounds of heavy feet climbing stairs. “Bow, smile and then don’t move a muscle,” whispered Peter. Like a wave, the Spectators all sank to one knee, bowing their heads in reverence. The footsteps grew louder and then a hulking figure appeared from hidden steps behind the thrones, walking towards the edge of the balcony. I had heard the stories and the rumours, heard the name whispered under hushed breath. But now, for the first time, I saw the face behind the horror.

Hades.

The Demon King was at least eight feet tall, with leathery crimson scales and shimmering black eyes. Twin sets of vast wings sprouted from his back, and two arching horns protruded from his head – wrapped in ceremonial jewellery and fronting a spiked crown made from adamantine. His face was long and lined with small horns that ran down from his temples to a sharp, pointed jaw. From the neck down he wore metal armour. Sharp edges and spikes lined every part of the outfit, which itself had been designed to resembled the physique of a powerful warrior, with a metallic six-pack and contoured muscles. A cape made from Skinshifter fur hung to the Demon King’s knees and the thick belt he wore was covered with the skinned faces of Elves, Pixies and Goblins – their mouths still wide open with their dying screams.

He was terrifying.   

We all bowed deeply and then stared up at the Demon King, with fake smiles plastered on our faces. Hades smiled down at us in response, revealing black gums and canine teeth. When he spoke, it was in a voice that was the vocal equivalent of thunder. “Chosen,” he bellowed in Enochian, the royal Umbra language. “Be still. Let me look at you.” Everybody became statues as Hades poured his dark eyes over each and every one of us. His gaze lingered on me for a long time and his smile widened before he moved on. “Acceptable. They will do,” he said when he was done, and it felt like the entire arena breathed a sigh of relief. He gestured a jewel-covered hand to the Populace. “Rise, cretins.”

All of the crowd slowly climbed from their knees and took their seats, still not daring to make a single sound. It was so quiet that I could actually hear the breeze scattering the sand across the arena.  

“Chosen you are most fortunate,” Hades said. “Today you have the honour of fighting for
my
entertainment. A boon that any of the servile creatures I rule over would kill for a chance to do.”

He is every bit the narcissistic bastard that he was rumoured to be.

“Do make sure I am entertained, Chosen, or I will take your heads.” His smile widened. “And whilst you entertain, I shall enjoy watching you bleed.” He turned away from us – his fur cloak sweeping out behind him – and raised a nonchalant hand. “Begin.”

The crowd erupted like a volcano, cheering and shouting with the frenzied energy of dogs released from their leash.

Peter was carrying an adamantine chain equivalent of a cat o’ nine tails. “Listen to me,” he shouted to everyone over the roaring crowd as he uncoiled it from his shoulder. “Today we escape. Fight with everything you have, and when the time comes, do as I say!”

It was clear that he commanded a lot of respect among the other Chosen, because they agreed to his words without question, some of them even calling him by his Deathbreaker title.
They’ve probably been waiting for this moment for a long time.

The doors at the far end of the arena started to inch open and a shuddering roar came from beyond. Moments later something butted impatiently against them.

BANG!

“Damn, I’d recognise that roar anywhere. We’re dealing with an Ironhead Behemoth!” yelled Peter.

My stomach knotted. I’d read about Ironheads before, as well as the report of the ten Guardians that had taken one down in China.

Only two had made it back alive.

BANG!

“Its most vulnerable spot is its face, which it only reveals when it attacks with its mouth. Split into three groups,” ordered Peter in a tone that was now all Deathbreaker. “Two at the sides to flank and distract.”

BANG!

He pointed at me, then Troy, and then finally a female in her late thirties with a short blonde wig. “You three form the third group with me. We attack the face when it reveals.” He glanced at me. “I hope you two can fight.”