Page 45 of Gladiator Moon

Great. The Dark One’s Ring Doorbell.

Detailed tapestries hang from the walls between marble reliefs. The tapestries and reliefs depict scenes from undoubtedly ancient gladiatorial contests. I slow long enough to study one. It shows a giant reptilian beast battling what appears to be an armored angel beneath the watchful gaze of a crowned figure seated upon an enormous throne. Likely depicting the king’s papa, grandpapa, or great grandpapa. And there next to him is a wizard that looks exactly like Baltazar.

Hmm, have angels visited this world before? On, say, a mission to kill the Dark One but failed? Well, from what I understand, someone brought their version of the Devil Killer here. I study the shape of the weapon. Yeah, it kinda looks like my own version: heavy, wide, long. Unfortunately, the marble infuses everything in white, but it could have easily been black.

I suspect angels in all universes make similar weapons, perhaps all based on a similar template. I honestly don’t know.

At the far end of the corridor stands a pair of bronze doors easily thirty feet high. Their surfaces are etched with thousands of tiny figures engaged in battle. Demons. Dragons. Winged warriors. Strange horned, ogre-like creatures.

The history of an entire civilization seems engraved here. Had all these warriors been kidnapped and eventually killed? All to satiate the thirst of the Dark One? And for the sadistic pleasure of their rulers? I think so, yeah. Sure, the warriors could have been brutal, heartless killers in their own worlds, but certainly not all of them had been. The ability to fight does not equate to psychopathy. I have to look no further than myself, or so I hope. Yes, I kill in battle, but I do not kill for fun. I genuinely see myself as a good person. I do not deserve the fate that likely awaits me here. I have no misguided notion that I am the greatest warrior in the universe. With teleportation removed and armed only with the ice sword and a few fireballs, surely one of these winged, horned creatures in this bronze relief would have eventually killed me in a hand-to-hand battle. How many other innocent warriors had been kidnapped and killed for their pleasure?

Anyway, that is neither here nor there. I have already decided to shut down the Games, one way or another. I don’t need more fuel. Hell, I am already fired up.

Be wary, Samantha Warrior. There is a hallway that runs before the double doors. The king’s chambers are to the right and will have many guards. With luck they will be exhausted, and we will remain unseen, though the Dark One is surely watching our every move.

Where’s this pit?

Directly before us, through those doors. There will be a room with a hole in the ground. There will also be more guards in there. You will not need your wings; we can all drop safely down.

Fine by me.

I aim for the doors and throw a shoulder into them.

They burst open with a bang, and we are in.

Chapter Seventeen

I startle the hell out of a handful of guards ringing the dark pit. At first they present swords, long knives, and spears, ready to attack, until they almost supernaturally recognize the prince. Surely, there is a strong protection spell surrounding the heir apparent. One that seemingly extends to me, hey, I’ll take it!

Fair warning, Samantha. All protection for the prince will disappear once we enter the pit.

Why?

The pit strips gravity and, apparently, magic. My own will be nullified, too, not that I’m using any of it at the moment.

Grr. I need water. These goons will probably jump in after us.

Almost certainly. There is a fountain through that far door. Please fly around the pit. The guards will not attack with the prince in tow.

And so I do, the rush of my wings creating an updraft of wind in the circular room. The guards’ long hair and coattails flutter in the turbulence. We are soon out of the space and flying down a short hallway, this one noticeably narrower and less grand, with only a smattering of smaller, mostly humanoid statues, along with a few side doors.

The guard’s quarters, Sam.

Directly ahead, I hear it. A bubbling fountain. As I sweep over it, I reach out and summon some of the clear liquid, and soon I have my ice sword, which I tuck in a belt loop after setting down Azul briefly near the fountain. The ice sword blade is always narrow and ultra sharp, as is this one. Once done, I grab Azul again and bank around the fountain and shoot back through the narrow hallway and toward the pit.

“They will attack once we enter the pit.”

“Even with Pickles nearby?”

“They will try to separate him from you.”

“They can try. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” says Azul.

“You will fight?”

“Like a cornered beastie.”