“Bring out the new blood,” Belial called, and the Overseers that hadn’t been tasked with herding hellhounds began cranking up the gates. I felt a momentary flash of pity for the newcomers to the arena, most of whom likely wouldn’t get another fighting chance.
None of them felt sorry for themselves, though. They came out with hard faces, bristling with weapons, armed and ready to take on whatever Belial threw at them.
Most of them were demons from the upper Circles, but one male stood out, his bloodline immediately obvious: Nephilim.
Long black hair fell down his back between a pair of leathery, pitch-colored bat wings, but his strong, bronze-skinned face was just as beautiful as Tascius’s. A pair of curling horns twisted over his skull.
I wondered if he was meant to become Belial’s new seventh-round foe. There was nothing twisted about him, so it seemed unlikely he was to kill my own Nephilim.
Perhaps he was seeking asylum, too.
The Overseers quickly backed out of the ring, prodding the hellhounds away until they were safely behind the wall or gates. As soon as they were gone, the feral beasts turned on the new blood fighters, their eyes gleaming with madness.
Belial raised a hand and snapped his fingers. The iron muzzles broke open with sharp clanks and fell away, along with the chains cuffing their necks.
Their growls rippled through the dead-silent arena, the echoes combining and growing into a noise like thunder.
Several of the new fighters went pale, but I watched as the bat-winged Nephilim raised his sword, completely impassive. Belial might’ve thrown a couple of lambs at him for all the reaction he had.
“To the death!”
The hellhounds lunged left and right, streaming between legs and knocking demons over. I held back a wince as the sound of crunching bones filled the air, and the demons in the stands began cheering again, growing wilder with every passing minute.
Within five minutes, the Nephilim was the only fighter left standing. His blade slashed and whipped, cutting through hellhounds like a white-hot poker through butter, spraying scarlet blood all over his skin.
The final hellhound was the biggest of all, the wiliest. It circled the Nephilim carefully, but the male just gave the creature a cold look, and threw the sword.
It spun through the air and impaled itself in the hellhound’s chest. The beast slowly collapsed to the floor to thunderous applause.
I dared to glance at Belial again, who gave the Nephilim a considering look. The bat wings rustled and tucked in against the male’s back. He hadn’t taken so much as a single scratch.
It looked like Belial had a new star for his show. I felt vaguely sick at the thought that Tascius would be pitted against this one.
This Nephilim still had his wings, the powerful healing ability that made him nearly untouchable. Despite my faith in Tascius, he no longer had those advantages.
“Who are you?” Belial’s quiet words barely traveled past the arena floor, but I caught them clearly enough.
The Nephilim straightened. “Adranos.”
“Son of…?” Belial prompted, but despite his curiosity, he didn’t look entirely pleased.
I realized that Adranos must’ve had a strong demonic heritage to possess both beauty and wings. Whoever his parents were, he wasn’t saying it loudly.
He stepped closer to Belial’s dais as he spoke, his answer too quiet to hear.
Belial’s face split into a wolfish grin. “Very well. Then join us. The Overseer will ink my mark on your palm.”
Adranos just nodded, as impassive as he was before he’d slaughtered a pack of hellhounds, and followed one of the Overseers back into the depths of the arena. He seemed like he didn’t hear the shouts of the spectators at all despite how obviously enamored they were.
Belial stood up. Blood had been splattered across his calves and his white shirt. He raised his chin, the lights above illuminating his strong-boned features.
“Perhaps it’s someone else’s lucky day,” he said, and the demons booed. “Who will be ruined next?”
They began chanting for Chain Sister, a fighter I’d never met.
Oddly, I had no stomach left to watch the carnage. If Belial wasn’t allowing bets tonight, there was no point in being here to try to win Tascius or Blind Luck.
I felt my Nephilim somewhere near, an almost-physical pull, and being able to do nothing about it just enraged and saddened me in equal measure.
“I’m done tonight,” I murmured to Azazel. “Procure these invitations, please? I need something to take my mind off things.”
The Watcher had been… well, watching the Nephilim with the same disquiet I had. He turned distant violet eyes up to me, tiny stars swirling in their depths. “You want to fight?”
I managed a smile. “Doesn’t that qualify as training?” The dark fire of my magic was already prickling at my veins.
Azazel stood up slowly, casting me in shadow. “For you, it does.” He took my hand and brushed a kiss across my knuckles, not showy enough to make a scene.
Just obvious enough to draw Belial’s gaze like a striking snake.
Azazel gave me a secretive smile and vanished, winking out of existence and leaving nothing but a swirl of mist behind.
I descended the dais, holding up my skirts so they wouldn’t drag through a puddle of congealing blood on my way out.
I’d just passed an open gateway when a pair of strong hands grabbed me, yanking me into the privacy of darkness. For a hopeful split-second, I thought Tascius was there, that he’d slipped Belial’s orders for a few moments alone.
Instead, glittering aqua eyes glared down at me as Belial dragged me further down the corridor.
He spun around and pushed me against the wall, holding my hands above my head.
“Leaving so soon, angel?” Belial’s lips moved against my ear, hushed and intimate even though there was no one around to witness us.
I was sure I wasn’t imagining the weakening in my knees, or that the heat coming off him was more than just rage.
“I’m free, remember?” I spat back. “I go where I want, when I want.”
“And I hope it’s treating you
