The prep area was unusually quiet; the familiar stench of sweat and steel was faint, almost absent. Most benches stood empty, save for the two fighters at the front: a 19-year-old human and a tall, blue alien. A dozen guards circled the chamber—some pacing the catwalk above, others stationed at the corners.

  At the counter, one guard leaned back lazily while inspecting a gadget in his hand. The young man stepped forward.

  “Done with the inspection?” Jason asked.

  The guard glanced up, annoyed, then tossed the trinket at him. “Yeah. Don’t break it.”

  Jason caught it with practiced ease, his face unreadable.

  “Jason, we’re going up,” Tahuuk called, already waiting at the gate.

  Jason walked over, checking the gadget piece by piece as they stood before the incline. A guard smirked from the side.

  “What’s this one gonna do?” he asked, eager for a preview.

  Jason didn’t even look up. “You’ll see.” His tone was flat, indifferent. Tahuuk, on the other hand, scowled with visible impatience.

  The gate began to rise. Light pierced through the cracks, carrying with it the roar of thousands. The noise swelled as the arena revealed itself.

  “Magician! Magician! Magician!” the crowd bellowed in unison.

  From his dais, Veyrn reclined in his usual place. Jason’s eyes flicked up at him, carrying a restrained fury, before the announcer swept forward with theatrical flair. Arms outstretched, voice booming, he addressed the mob.

  “Welcome, lovers of spectacle! Today you witness our legends—the underdogs who became kings of the sand—the wonder duo: the Barbarian… and the Magician!” He pointed dramatically at Tahuuk and Jason as the crowd erupted.

  He let the cheers build, then pressed on. “Four years ago, they slew the Rashtaki beastriders and their three pup molgraths. But today—today we unleash the adult, bane of gladiators, breaker of bones. I give you… the Tuskbreaker!”

  The opposite gates crashed open. A roar thundered out, rattling the arena walls. The ground trembled as heavy steps drew nearer.

  Then it emerged. Seven meters tall, draped in long matted fur that concealed its thick hide. Its massive paws could crush a man with a single stomp. A long snout jutted forward, two tusks protruding from its lower jaw like curved blades. The Tuskbreaker.

  It stopped, bellowing so fiercely that the air itself seemed to shake. The crowd gasped, half-terrified, half-ecstatic.

  Jason calmly adjusted his gadget. Tahuuk prodded the sand with his spear, unimpressed.

  “What am I even doing here…” he muttered.

  The beast’s shock collar hummed faintly, keeping it subdued until the signal was given. Jason glanced toward the announcer. A raised hand.

  “The bets are in. Let the fight… begin!”

  The collar fell silent. The Tuskbreaker blinked, confusion flickering across its eyes—then locked onto its prey. With a roar, it lowered its head and scraped at the ground, preparing to charge.

  Jason wound his gadget, listening to the tick like a metronome. He tossed it into the sand. The beast hesitated, but hunger soon overpowered caution. Its charge began, slow but unstoppable, every step shaking the arena floor.

  Jason counted, lips quirking into a smirk.

  The gadget clicked. Its casing split, a wire hoop snapping upright just as the beast barreled forward. Too late to stop, its long snout slipped perfectly into the loop.

  The wire spun. Bearings whined. The loop tightened.

  The Tuskbreaker shrieked, stumbling, but its momentum drove it deeper into its own doom. The crowd gasped, then roared in awe as blood sprayed from its hide. The unpierceable skin yielded at last.

  It tried to roar, but the tightening wire turned sound into agony. Its massive body thrashed, desperate, but every movement only hastened the wire’s work.

  In one final convulsion, its snout gave way. Bone split. Flesh tore. Blood arced high. The beast reared onto its hind legs—frozen for a terrible moment—then collapsed, a mountain of fur and muscle crashing at Jason and Tahuuk’s feet.

  A choking cloud of dust enveloped them. Silence fell. Only the coughs of the two fighters broke the stillness as they waved the air clear.

  They looked at each other.

  “Guess we’re done,” Tahuuk muttered.

  Together, they walked back toward the gates. The crowd, stunned into silence, finally erupted in chants and cheers. In minutes, Jason and Tahuuk had turned the empire’s prized monster into legend-making spectacle.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  As they turned to leave, Jason caught Veyrn’s expression—a tight-lipped scowl, eyes narrowed in irritation. The easy victory hadn’t pleased him.

  Back in the prep area, Tahuuk returned his gear, while Jason handed over his armor and gadgets. No hosedown this time, but a guard frisked him thoroughly, making sure no scraps for tinkering were smuggled out.

  At the exit, Jason and Tahuuk shared a brief nod—an acknowledgment heavy with meaning—before parting ways.

  Jason entered the rec area alone. Eyes followed him from every corner, prisoners studying his every step as if weighing his next move. He ignored them, his focus fixed on Vincent.

  Vincent shifted closer to the window, which overlooked the full-time gladiators’ space. Beyond the glass, Tahuuk stood surrounded by fighters, already gathering allies.

  Keeping his voice low, Vincent said, “I found a way to the emergency dropships. But it won’t be easy. Too many guards, and with all the prisoners… timing will be everything.”

  Jason frowned. “What about the fighters? Won’t they be enough muscle?”

  “Probably. But once the alarm goes off, more guards will come. We’ll be outnumbered.”

  Jason thought for a moment. “Then I’ll set the gravity generator to blow early. Should be enough of a distraction.”

  Vincent’s jaw tightened. “I don’t care how—just help me get my people out.”

  Jason’s gaze sharpened. “You’ll get the fighters. I’ll handle Veyrn.”

  “You could just escape,” Vincent countered. “Killing him only makes it harder.”

  Jason’s answer came cold, unwavering. “I can’t save everyone. But I can stop him from doing this to more people. I’ve heard him talk—he won’t change. The only way this ends is when I look him in the eyes… and kill him.”

  Frustration flickered across Vincent’s face. He wanted Jason to live, to come with him, but he couldn’t argue after all Jason had risked. Instead, he set a hand on Jason’s shoulder and gave a solemn nod.

  Vincent left for their cell. Jason lingered at the window, meeting Tahuuk’s gaze through the glass. The alien was surrounded by fighters who clearly knew what was coming. After a silent exchange, Tahuuk turned away.

  Jason followed Vincent back. In their cell, silence hung heavy. Vincent lay restless, watching the guard’s shadow beneath the door. Since Jason’s rising success, security had doubled.

  Jason didn’t care. He shut his eyes and drifted. Tomorrow, he would speak with Max—and convince him to leave this place behind.

  Jason’s eyes opened to the dim cell. A new day had begun. He sat up, gaze on the door—the guard’s shadow was gone. Shift change. That meant it was still early, around six in the morning.

  He glanced down. Vincent was still asleep, his steady breathing the only sound in the room. Years here had made Jason study every detail of their routines—guards and prisoners alike. Those details revealed gaps. Gaps he could use.

  He slipped quietly from the bunk and dropped to the floor, starting push-ups, then sit-ups. Light exercise, but enough to remind him of the vow he’d made: to grow stronger. Strong enough to save whoever he could when the time came.

  Vincent stirred awake not long after, greeting him with a groggy “morning,” before checking his stash. From beneath a loose panel, he produced a few keycards, gears, and a block of translucent, jelly-like material that left a perfect imprint for several seconds when pressed.

  Jason raised a brow. “Where’d you even get that?”

  Vincent hesitated, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “From the casino. Guests use it… for… pleasure.”

  Both froze, staring at the object, the implication dawning.

  Jason curled his lip. “That one’s clean… right?”

  Vincent gave a long pause. “…I hope so.”

  The awkward silence lingered until they moved on, each pretending to focus on the day ahead. The guard soon arrived to lead them out—Vincent toward the offices for his cleaning duties, Jason down the familiar corridor to maintenance.

  Inside the grated cage that served as their workshop, Max was tightening the bolts of an engine mount, his tools clinking against the metal. “Almost done. You did solid work on the axis,” he said with a tired smile.

  Jason stepped inside. The guard checked the space once, then left. Jason lowered his voice. “Max… we’re getting close to the window. Have you decided?”

  The older man froze mid-turn, his expression shadowed. “Let’s get this mounted first.”

  Together they rolled the engine back into the corridor. Jason saw the sadness carved into Max’s face, the weight of years. He followed quietly until they reached the next junction.

  “Why won’t you come with us, Max? There’s nothing left here for you.”

  Max halted, jaw tightening. “Everything I have is here.” His tone was sharper now, tinged with anger. “I don’t belong out there anymore. My place is here—fixing things.” He pushed on, leaving Jason trailing.

  Jason clenched his fists but stayed silent until they passed the guarded corridor that led toward the gravity engines. When the watchful eyes were behind them, he tried again. “You’ve changed since we met. You could start over out there. You can—”

  “Do you know how I ended up here?” Max cut in, voice low but trembling. “It’s not just this place. There are Veyrns everywhere. You kill him, another takes his place. And I’ve already lost too much.”

  Jason said nothing. The silence stretched until they reached the mounting station. They worked side by side, fitting the engine plate into place, the hum of its test-run echoing through the halls. For Jason, Max’s words cut deep—like a warning he didn’t want to believe. That maybe there wasn’t anything out there worth escaping to.

  On the way back, Jason tried once more. “There has to be something. A goal. Something to look forward to.”

  Max didn’t answer. He hesitated briefly when they passed the guarded corridor again, his eyes distant, then continued on.

  Back in the cage, they worked in silence. Max eventually broke it. “You said you’d create a distraction. I’ve seen you messing with the gravity generators when you didn’t need to. You’re planning to sabotage them, aren’t you?”

  Jason froze. “…Yes.”

  Max only nodded, returning to his work. He said nothing more, just kept his tools moving.

  Hours passed in uneasy quiet. When Jason was finally led back toward the exit, he paused, giving Max one last look—hoping for some sign. But Max ignored him, head bent over the workbench.

  Jason turned to leave.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Jason stopped.

  Max didn’t look up, his voice flat, resigned. “I’ll handle the engines. You deal with Veyrn.”

  Jason felt a flicker of relief but also unease. Something had shifted in Max, though Jason didn’t understand why. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. There would be no more words from Max. So Jason left him from his work, a knot tightening in his chest.