Demon Games [4] (16 page)

Trey was wearing a short tunic the guards had given to him to replace the ruined one he’d worn in the cells, but he felt naked standing in front of the host of nether-creatures in the square. There were demons and djinn of every sort, some of which he recognized: Maug, Shadow Demons, a few Nargwan and a huge Bone Grell, but the vast majority were creatures he had never encountered before. They all had one thing in common: every one of the gladiators, as Molok insisted on calling them, eyed the human boy hungrily, many snapping their teeth in his direction, some waggling a long black tongue at him while drawing their finger across their throat in a cutting gesture. Others sat glaring at him in silence. Whatever they did or didn’t do, Trey was certain of one thing: they would all happily kill him in the blink of an eye.

The fighters seemed to be arranged into three groups. The rowdiest group, to Trey’s left, all wore manacles or chains, and Trey guessed that these might be criminal elements who had been offered the chance to escape punishment by joining the school and fighting for their freedom. They were the most excitable group, jumping up, whooping and shouting about what terrible acts they were going to perform on their opponents at the Games. Moments before Molok had climbed the podium, one of this group had launched an attack on another demon sitting on the bench two or three seats away, jumping across to take a huge bite out of its victim’s face and spitting the severed flesh on to the ground at its feet. The entire group roared in approval at this, clapping and cheering even more when the assailant was dragged by guards towards one of the buildings, being cruelly kicked and whipped the entire way.

The group to Trey’s right was not quite so rowdy. There were fewer of them and they wore no chains. Even so, they called out to Trey, threatening him with all manner of terrible deaths and disfigurements. It was one of this group that had stood up and pointed at him, demanding to know what Molok had brought the human along for. The look the demon lord gave the loud-mouthed gladiator was enough to make the nether-creature turn a strange shade of green and sit back down with its eyes fixed on the ground.

The last group of gladiators numbered only five. They sat on a bench directly in front of the demon lord. Most of them were far bigger than the demons in the other groups, and all of them eyed the teenage human with a cold appraisal that was somehow more chilling than the direct threats of the other groups. These demons wore heavier-looking armour than the others, and in the centre of their breastplates was an emblem that Trey had noticed at various points inside the fortress walls and on pennants and flags about the place – Molok’s symbol.

‘Quiet now,’ Molok said, raising his arms.

A hush descended over the school’s participants as they waited for their leader to address them.

‘These forthcoming Demon Games are to be the biggest yet.’

The gladiators all shouted their approval, some pumping their fists in the air.

‘And we have revenge on our minds, do we not? Revenge for the defeat we suffered at the hands of Orfus the Vile in the last Games!’ The onlookers erupted into a cacophony of noise again. ‘Not only did this gladiator school come second to Orfus’s, but we lost many fighters to his.’ The demon lord looked about him. ‘But perhaps the greatest humiliation that we suffered was the treacherous move of our former champion, Abaddon the Destroyer, from this school to that. And for that alone, I say to you, we must seek revenge of the most terrible kind!’

Molok waited for the noise to die down again before carrying on.

‘Now you don’t need me to tell you that the spineless Orfus has surrendered to Caliban, and that he is now little more than a lackey to the vampire aggressor. So we are in effect competing against Caliban’s fighting school.’

Molok turned and nodded at the boos that rang out across the open space.

‘It would appear the vampire has disappeared at the moment,’ the demon lord continued in a loud voice. ‘No doubt he heard of the might and power of this fighting school and decided to turn tail and run!’

There were more cheers. Trey couldn’t help but be impressed by the way that Molok was working the crowd, whipping them up into a frenzy.

‘But we will give him something to think about upon his return. We will defeat his greatest gladiators, and he will know not to trifle with Molok!’

The crowd erupted again, cheers and shouts coming from all sides, and Molok basked in the praise being heaped upon him. When the noise died down a little, the demon lord spoke again, this time in a lower voice. ‘When I was last here I told you that I would be announcing my new champion – my new
primus palus –
for the Games.’ The onlookers roared again. Trey’s head was in a spin, but he still noted how the fighters on the bench directly ahead of him were leaning in to one of their number, patting the huge demon on the back and shoulders. ‘Many of you will know the high esteem in which I hold our gladiator Kronok.’ He gestured at the demon being congratulated by the other four. ‘But –’ Molok raised his voice at the word, waiting for the inevitable hush that followed – ‘the champion of this school will almost certainly face the traitor Abaddon in the final of the Games, and we all know that Kronok has never beaten our erstwhile colleague.’

There were murmurs of agreement followed by excited whispers from the assembled nether-creatures as the huge gladiator Kronok stood up. The creature’s body was covered in scars, the healed wounds appearing as a darker blue against his skin, which was a paler shade of the same colour. As he stood he flexed his muscles, and Trey was reminded of bodybuilders he’d seen on television and in magazines.

‘My lord,’ Kronok said, bowing his head a fraction and peering up at his patron from beneath a large ridge of bone that jutted out from his forehead. His large yellow eyes never blinked as he took in the demon lord with a hard stare. ‘It is true that I never defeated Abaddon during our time together under your tutelage. But I was not the fighter then that I am now. Give me the chance to show you what I have become, and I will tear Abaddon the Destroyer’s head from his shoulders and have it mounted on a plaque for you!’

The assembly erupted into a maelstrom of noise and movement once more.

Molok stood on the platform with an ugly smile on his face, looking about him at the reaction of the school to this challenge. Like a headmaster at his lectern, he waited for them to eventually hush and turn to look in his direction, awaiting his response.

‘Hmm,’ the demon lord said. ‘That
may
be true. But then again, maybe Abaddon too has honed his skills and craft. And now he fights for Caliban, perhaps he has even more to prove.’ He paused. ‘That is why I brought this human along. I am considering making
him
my new champion.’

The gladiators all roared with laughter, looking at each other and then at the teenager standing to one side of the platform. Some pointed at Trey and clapped their hands or beat at their thighs as if they had just been told the funniest joke of all time.

This time Molok waved down their noise, a big smile on his face as if he was sharing the joke with them.

‘I know, I know,’ he said indulgently, ‘but I
will
make this boy champion unless someone here can beat him in combat. Right here and now. In the square.’ Molok gestured down at the sand-filled square where Trey stood. ‘So who will it be, eh? Who would like a chance to fight for the right to be our new champion?’

Every mouth roared. Demons pushed and pawed at each other to get their hands up in front of their neighbour’s, many of them starting to fight with each other as arguments broke out among them.

‘QUIET!’ Molok roared. The demon lord looked about him, letting his eyes roam over the nether-creatures that now sank slowly back to their seats. ‘As you are all so keen to sink your teeth into our young friend here, I will have to make the decision.’ The Hell-Kraken let his eyes rest on the figure of the huge blue demon, Kronok. ‘You,’ he said. ‘I think it only fitting that you should be given the chance to prove yourself worthy of the title of
primus palus
.’

Kronok laughed as he stood up and stepped over the rope that separated off the sand-filled square. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘You will remove your armour,’ Molok commanded. ‘The boy has no armour yet.’

‘Of course!’ Kronok said, still laughing. ‘Better yet, why don’t I chew my own arms and legs off? Maybe then he would have a chance.’ The demon looked the teenager up and down. ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Even then it would still be impossibly easy to kill the little runt.’

Laughter erupted all around again, and Kronok grinned at his fellow nether-creatures. He strode around in a wide circle, removing the leather armour pieces and dropping them outside the roped area.

Molok climbed down from the platform, which was swiftly removed from the square. Stepping beyond the rope, the demon lord took up a seat that had been placed there for him. He glanced in Kronok’s direction before turning his attention to Trey and giving him a swift nod of the head. ‘Let us see if we were right about you, lycanthrope,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Let us see if you can fight.’

The demon lord turned his attention to the crowd once more. ‘A fight to arena rules!’ he shouted, and the onlookers erupted with noise.

Trey had no idea what arena rules were, but he doubted they could be anything but bad news.

The ‘fight’ was mercifully short.

Trey and Kronok had faced each other across the width of the fighting square, until a horn signalled the start of the competition.

The huge blue demon charged, its head lowered as if it was intent on smashing the teenager’s face with that bony forehead. Trey, rooted to the spot, could not control the terror that erupted in him at the sight of the gladiator-demon bearing down on him. He had fought demons of many types in the past – Lucien and Tom were keen that he should train and spar against different nether-creatures to learn their characteristics – but those competitions had been controlled, and if Trey or the nether-creature were hurt in some way, the bout was stopped and the combatants would discuss what had happened. In this way Trey had honed his lycanthrope skills and powers, and had learned to control the primitive and ferocious urges that his kind were renowned for. But this was different. Molok had not said as much, but Trey was painfully aware that this contest would not be called to a halt if he should get hurt. No, this would stop only once Kronok had destroyed the human that had been brought here to bait him.

Trey’s favourite sparring partner was a Shadow Demon named Flaug, and they’d become good friends during their sessions together. Flaug was incredibly fast and strong, and Trey had eventually learned to turn these very attributes to his own advantage in order to defeat his demon pal.

Trey waited until the last second to Change.

Kronok was within touching distance of the human when the werewolf seemed to suddenly erupt out of the boy’s skin. The demon was running at full speed and was not expecting any opposition; the only thought that filled his head was to smash the human into the ground, where he would tear the pathetic creature to pieces. The demon’s eyes widened in horror at the sight of the huge lycanthrope that dipped its body low to the ground, driving its broad, muscular shoulder into Kronok’s stomach and forcing all the air from the demon’s lungs with an audible ‘Gnnf!’ Trey was a low, compact ball of potential energy. The demon jackknifed over his shoulder and he surged upwards, driving his powerful legs straight. At the same time he grasped Kronok’s thighs and heaved with all his might, throwing the huge blue demon high into the air, his legs kicking out behind him wildly. Kronok plummeted to the ground head first. The demon’s outstretched arms were incapable of braking the momentum of his vast frame, and simply folded up before him so that his head and face met the onrushing ground with a sickening sound of breaking bone. The exchange between the two combatants had taken a matter of seconds.

There was a low moan from the crowd, which had been taken as much by surprise as the blue demon.

Trey looked down at the vanquished demon. His head was at an odd angle and he seemed incapable of getting up again. He turned to look at Molok, who was staring back at him with a look of expectancy on his face.

‘Will you not finish him, lycanthrope?’ the demon lord asked.

The werewolf glanced back at the unconscious demon. ‘
He is finished,’
he said, transferring the words directly into the demon lord’s mind.

He was surprised when Molok used the same spell to talk back to him. ‘
You must finish him. If you do not, it will be seen as a weakness by the others. You are fighting to arena rules which means that you are fighting to the death.’

Trey looked at the expectant faces in the crowd.

He morphed back into his human form and stood naked in the centre of the square, glaring back at Molok.

‘I do not recognize your rules or your authority. And I will not murder this creature for your . . . entertainment.’

The demon lord hissed at the teenager, standing and spreading his vast leathery wings as if he was going to leap up into the air and attack Trey himself. A black flame rippled across his skin, and Trey found it difficult to maintain eye contact.

Eventually the demon lord’s anger seemed to abate and he sank back into his chair. At a tiny gesture from his hand, one of the guards sprang forward, drawing an ugly-looking dagger from its belt. Trey was about to morph again when the creature changed course slightly, moving past him towards the prone figure of Kronok. It knelt and lifted the demon’s head, making the injured nether-creature cry out in pain.

‘No!’ Trey shouted, realizing what was about to happen. He started to move to Kronok’s aid, but he was too late.

The guard drew the dagger across the warrior’s throat. Then it stood and wiped the gore from the blade against its thigh before trotting back to its master.

Trey closed his eyes, but the horror of what he’d just seen simply replayed itself over and over in his mind’s eye.