Page 52 of Labyrinthine
I step to the railing, heart hammering. I dare to ask, for the first time, could they survive this?
My father watches with a predator’s stillness, his fury like heat on my skin. He had not foreseen this. I glance at Mallen—his features carved from shadow and ice, his expression a sculpted mask of bored detachment that only highlights the glint of fury beneath.
“They’re working together,” I whisper, just as the gates open wider.
“Yes,” Mallen snarls back. “Darian has a plan. This will be interesting.”
The men from Larksbind still don’t run. They turn in sync, shields locking, bodies bracing. It’s a soldier’s wall—disciplined, fearless—but this isn’t a man they’re facing. It’s a nightmare made flesh, the kind of horror that lives between a heartbeat and a scream.
The daemon lowers its horned head and bunches to charge, claws gouging trenches in the sand. The Larksbind line doesn’t waver. Shields stay locked. Feet stand set. Darian takes the point, blade lifted, voice low, calm and defiant.
They’re not going to break. They’re going to die.
My fingers clamp the rail, breath catching in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut.
A scream splits the air—high, violent, inhuman. It tears through the crowd and lodges in my chest, a sound born from pure pain. I nearly drop where I stand.
My body rebels—quaking, breath ragged, skin damp with sweat. But beneath the panic, something deeper unspools. A terrible knowing.
This isn’t sport. It’s sacrifice.
Shouts echo from the arena. Panic. Orders. Footfalls pounding earth. A crash like thunder. Then another.
And then—stillness.
I force my eyes open, expecting ruin. But the daemon lies severed and steaming, black blood pouring into the sand.
Darian stands beside it, sword raised and dripping.
The crowd erupts, wild with disbelief and glee. Their cheers shake the stadium as if the earth itself is celebrating.
He bows—not for vanity, but control. Command. He’s working them like a maestro works a symphony. The soldiers split on cue, dividing formation and anticipating more.
He knew it wouldn’t end with one.
“One down,” I whisper.
Vapor curls from his bloodied blade as the cheers build to a roar.
Two more daemons charge into the arena. This time, silence grips the crowd.
They’re bigger. Smarter. They’re bigger than the first—low-slung and four-legged, all coil and claw, horns swept back and a ridge of quills along the spine, eyes slit and calculating. Shrieking like banshees, their cries knife-thin and piercing, circling the soldiers with twitching muscle and gleaming fangs. Their fur shimmers—black laced with violet and blue like oil slicks under a full moon. They move like shadows, like beasts tasting fear.
The daemons shriek louder and circle the men, their footfalls unnervingly soft for creatures so massive. They pace like panthers, but there’s too much rage in their movements—too much hunger. Saliva ropes between their jaws, thick and steaming. Their eyes glow molten red as they snarl and snap, baiting a misstep.
The audience doesn’t flinch. They’ve already watched Darian fell one daemon. That bloodlust has only whetted their appetite.
Darian doesn’t blink. His stance is loose but ready, shoulders low, every movement controlled. There’s fury in his eyes, but deeper than that—calculation. He’s watching the beasts, reading their rhythm.
“Fan out,” his voice cuts through the chaos like it deserves to be there. “Five on either side.”
A daemon lunges.
Darian sidesteps the soldier beside him. A blur. A streak of muscle and teeth. A shield slams up to meet it, but it’s Darian’s blade that rips through the daemon’s chest, sinking deep. It shrieks—an unholy, piercing sound—and the soldiers move in unison, carving into it like a practiced machine.
Its body convulses. Blood, thick and black, sprays in wide arcs as one soldier drives his spear through its throat. Another goes low, severing tendons with clean strikes. The daemon drops, twitching. A final blow cleaves its head from its neck with a wet crack.
But the third daemon isn’t idle. It slinks along the outer edge of the fight, eyes fixed on the one group of soldiers. It’s cautious now. Clever. And it’s learning.
