“The Iron Knight!”
A behemoth came striding out of one of the tunnels, bellowing and beating the iron plate mail over his chest. The demons went wild, screaming as he raised his gauntlets. Bloody sigils had been painted over every inch of his armor.
The Iron Knight turned around. Except for his back. The sigils there were weaker, with gaps in his armor between his arms and torso.
The weak spot was his back.
“Who do you choose as your champion, Lady Wrath?”
Belial’s shout called me back to myself. I gazed at him, hoping he could read the gratitude in my eyes.
I unclasped my cloak and let it drop. “For old time’s sake, I choose… myself.”
The dress Vyra had put me in wasn’t meant for fighting at all, but fuck it, I’d killed Snake Bite wearing nothing but a ragged tunic. This was the height of luxury in comparison.
Belial’s answering smile was wide and genuine, nothing showman-like about it.
I stepped down onto the arena floor, and Belial plucked a spear from the armory. It was ebony wood, inlaid with silver swirls. “For you, my Lady,” he said, and tossed it down.
I caught it easily and lifted it, testing its weight. It was perfectly balanced, the right length for someone of my height.
I was close enough that I didn’t have to mouth my words. “Someone might think you had this made just for them,” I said, unable to hold back a smile.
“Someone might be right.”
He sat on his throne, but every muscle in his body was clenched in anticipation. I twirled the spear and turned to face the Iron Knight.
The monstrous demon held a two-handed broadsword and came in hard, swinging it in a massive loop.
I took to the air, leaving several feathers behind. The Iron Knight crashed into the base of Belial’s dais, his sword burying itself in a thigh bone.
While he strained to pull it back out, I dropped behind him and jabbed the spear at his back, aiming for the weak point between his plate armor.
The Knight jerked to the side and the tip of my spear skittered off, leaving a dent in the metal.
I growled, kicking my gauzy skirt out of the way and taking several fluttering leaps backwards as the Knight tore his sword free. He was big and strong, but there was no art to his style. Like a bull, he charged directly at me, screaming behind his helmet.
I whirled aside, planting the butt of my spear on the floor right in front of his feet.
The Knight hit it and went flying into the wall, his helmet clanging off the obsidian. While he was clambering to his feet, I jabbed again, this time finding skin beneath.
My spear point came away bloody.
“First blood to Lady Wrath!” Belial shouted.
The Iron Knight glared at me between the slits in his helmet, breathing heavily. His eyes were red as wine.
I jumped into the air as he charged forward, but this time he expected it. The sharp tips of his gauntlet grazed my calf, ripping away a scrap of cloth along with my skin. Blood spattered on the arena floor.
“First blood to the Iron Knight.” This time Belial didn’t sound joyous at all, fury roiling under his tone.
Even a blind, angry bull was nothing to be fucked with. I let a vine of dark fire spill from my hand as I touched down on the opposite side of the arena, favoring my injured leg. His claws had gone deeper than I’d expected.
The thorns on my vine grew long and sharp, feeding on my pain.
Oh, but I’d make him feel it, too.
The Iron Knight didn’t see what hit him. I whipped the vines out, trapping his arms at his sides, and flew into the air to land behind him.
I jabbed twice more, drawing enough blood to paint half of my spear’s shaft, and had to resist the urge to drive the last strike home to his heart, holding back everything I’d been trained to do.
“Second and third blood to Lady Wrath,” Belial announced. “My Lady is the champion.”
I couldn’t be imagining the relief in his voice.
The Iron Knight broke free of my vines and spun around, howling incoherently.
He charged at me, ignoring the rules of the fight, and with no time to fly, I raised my spear to either impale him or be crushed by his bulk.
The Knight stopped dead and was yanked backwards, dangling from a fist.
Belial glared at him.
“My Lady won the round,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous. “You disrespect the rules of my arena.”
Instead of listening, the Knight struggled against his grip, his bloody gaze still focused on me.
Belial clicked his tongue, and plunged his fist into the Knight’s back, punching right through the steel plate and cage of the demon’s ribs. The Knight shrieked, his body tensing, and he went still as Belial crushed his heart in his fist.
The Prince of Wrath dropped the Knight’s corpse on the floor. He was breathing hard, but not from exertion.
It was from sheer anger.
“No disrespect meant to my Lady,” he said, his teeth a touch too long, and I shook my head.
“None taken,” I breathed, my heart thumping unevenly at his rage on my behalf.
Tascius leaned halfway over the spectator box, clearly holding back the urge to come to me.
Belial held out his unbloodied hand and I took it, relishing the feel of his calloused palm against mine as he raised my fist in the air.
“No Saint, your Lady of Wrath, wins us all over again!”
I held up my bloody spear, drinking in the screams of delight.
God, but it felt good to be home. At Belial’s side, glorying in the violence.
“I offer a token of penance for my champion’s misbehavior. You’ve earned two warriors of your choice,” he said. He looked down at me, then up at the crowd. “Who will she steal from me?”
The demons shouted a multitude of names, all of them blending together, but one name stood out above the rest.
Exile.
I thought about choosing
