“Tafuk, prep him for combat, he’s yours!” the guard who shoved Jason barked.

  “It’s Tahuuk!” the alien roared back without slowing, already striding toward the weapons counter. Under his breath came a gravelly growl: “You numbskull…”

  Jason trailed behind, heart pounding, still unsure of what was happening — and more than a little afraid of the giant who’d just been put in charge of him.

  At the counter, officers distributed weapons with sharp eyes and practiced judgment, weighing each blade before handing it over. Tahuuk received a long spear with a split tip, its edges glinting where the twin blades parted. He turned it in his hands, testing the weight, then glanced down at Jason — still empty-handed, still frozen.

  Without a word, Tahuuk tossed him something. Jason fumbled the catch, cheeks burning as he realized it was only a small knife — so small he could curl his whole hand around the handle.

  The alien returned to studying his weapon. Around them, the chosen fighters examined their arms with grim determination, while the “extras” behind them wept quietly or stood hollow-eyed.

  Jason’s gaze drifted upward. On the catwalk above, guards stood in a line, rifles steady, eyes sharp and restless. The message was clear: no one could try to run.

  “We start in fifteen minutes!” a woman barked from above.

  No one panicked. The fighters simply filed into a corridor sloping upward, toward a massive gate where white light spilled down like a judgment. Beyond, the sounds of the world were muted, smothered by the thick doors.

  The closer Jason drew, the thicker the stench of sweat and fear. Pressed among bodies, he stayed close to Tahuuk. The alien wore only loose cotton trousers, spear in hand. He didn’t even glance at the racks of armor, though some others stared at them longingly.

  Do I need that? Jason wondered, but one look at Tahuuk’s stony profile silenced him.

  At the front, guards shackled pairs together at the ankle. Jason’s chain was loose, clearly not sized for someone his age, but the pull of Tahuuk’s stride forced him to match pace.

  Up the slope. Toward the light. Jason’s eyes narrowed against the glare, heartbeat thudding, a cold shiver crawling down his spine—

  The doors burst open.

  A wall of sound crashed over him. Cheering. Roaring. Chants of Kill! Kill! Kill! The sand underfoot was firm, packed tight, unlike the warm earth of home.

  Jason blinked through the blinding light. A massive arena stretched in all directions, its circular walls five meters high, with tier upon tier of seats stacked above. Faces everywhere — some painted in silks, others hidden in cloaks — all howling for blood.

  At the far end, four Ionic-style pillars framed a lavish seat draped in gold and silk. A man sat there, composed and regal.

  Lord Veyrn.

  Jason’s gut clenched. Sunlight shifted through the glass dome above as the spaceport rotated, casting slow-moving bands of light across the sand.

  From the opposite gate marched a dozen gladiators in polished armor, weapons sharp and steady in their hands. They moved like predators. Jason’s side — slaves, lowborns, scraps like him — outnumbered them two to one, but they were no match.

  The enemy wore banners at their throats: grey cloth marked with two white gears, one large, one small.

  Jason instinctively stepped back. The chain snapped taut. Tahuuk’s side-eye cut him down, followed by a grunt of warning.

  A herald stepped forward below Veyrn’s seat, arms wide.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Welcome again, fellow enjoyers of profit!” His voice boomed with theatrical delight. “Today, the veteran gladiators of Halldon face… the hardened champions of Lord Veyrn himself! But with a twist — tied to them are our newest flock. A trial by fire!”

  Ripples of excitement swept the crowd. Tablets flashed in eager hands.

  “Now, we have the game set. So… start… your… gambleeee!”

  Fingers tapped, wagers locked in. Jason’s eyes darted. The veterans on both sides readied their weapons, unshaken. The newcomers — like him — just looked terrified.

  “The bets are in! Fighters—BEGIN!”

  The clash came in a rush. Ten meters collapsed into five, then one. Steel crashed. Flesh tore. Screams ripped skyward, drowned by the endless roar of the crowd.

  Tahuuk didn’t rush. He watched. Measured. His spear hovered like a striking serpent.

  Jason didn’t move either — but not from strategy. His chest locked tight. Sound dulled into a muffled rush. He wasn’t in an arena. He was in Ironwood. Bodies falling. Neighbors dying. Karn’s dead eyes staring.

  A gladiator burst from the melee, sword raised, helmet gleaming. Jason’s limbs froze. His knife shook uselessly in his hands.

  The blade fell—

  Tahuuk moved. His torso twisted, fist driving forward with inhuman force. The punch crushed the helmet inward with a shriek of metal — then continued, slamming the man’s skull into the sand with bone-shattering finality. Blood poured from the cracks. The body twitched once, then stilled.

  The man hadn’t been punched. He’d been buried.

  Jason stood paralyzed. His breath came ragged. Another death. Another one…

  The chain yanked taut. He hit the sand hard as Tahuuk surged forward, dragging him along. Jason’s eyes flitted wildly, trying to make sense of the chaos. Veterans struck with precision. Slaves stumbled and died. To his right, a bloodied fighter swung a mace — but it slipped in his slick hands. The blow failed. His partner faltered. Both were cut down.

  Jason’s chest heaved. Why? Why did he miss—

  And then Friederick’s voice rose in his memory, steady and certain:

  “Gloves keep your grip. Sweat. Blood. Doesn’t matter. With gloves, you hold on.”

  Jason stared at his trembling, blood-slicked hands. I need gloves…

  The thought grew, solidified, until it burned. He crawled toward a corpse, knife shaking, and cut strips from the banner tied around its throat. Wrapping them tight, he formed crude gloves. His fingers flexed. The tremor didn’t stop, but his grip held.

  Now I can fight.

  Knife ready, Jason pushed himself up.

  Ahead, Tahuuk wrenched his spear from a fallen foe. Another gladiator turned, charging. Jason’s eyes locked on him. He saw the man plant his left leg forward, preparing a lunge.

  Jason moved first. He lunged low, driving the knife into the man’s thigh. The gladiator stumbled. Jason surged upward and rammed the blade into his eye. Blood sprayed. The man collapsed, twitching once before going still.

  Jason froze. He’d done it. His hands shook. His mind reeled. I killed him. Me. Willingly.

  Tahuuk turned, surprise flashing across his face — then a grin tugged at his mouth. But before Jason could process it, another blade cut the air behind him.

  Too slow.

  A spear blurred past Jason’s head, punching into the attacker’s shoulder and driving him to the sand. Tahuuk ripped it free, kicking the man flat.

  Jason whipped around, knife still clenched. His eyes met Tahuuk’s. The alien gave him a single nod.

  Jason’s jaw set. He pulled the bloodied knife free, turned, and together they stood — back-to-back, covering each other.

  Around them, the arena floor quieted. Bodies littered the sand. Only a handful of veterans remained, circling warily. None dared too close — the dead at Jason and Tahuuk’s feet spoke louder than any warning.

  “The battle has ended!!!” the herald’s voice rang. “Winners and losers alike — settle your debts at the casino! Until next time!”

  Jason’s knife hand slackened. His adrenaline ebbed, leaving only trembling exhaustion. He fell to his knees, breath ragged.

  Tahuuk’s shadow loomed. A heavy hand clapped his shoulder. “Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.”

  Jason blinked up at him, stunned. “I… survived?”

  Tahuuk smirked. “Listen to the crowd.”

  Only then did Jason hear it: the roar of approval, the chants of names he didn’t know, the cheers and curses of gamblers counting coin.

  Jason’s legs gave out fully, but the chain yanked him back to his feet.

  “Come on,” Tahuuk said, tugging him toward the gate. “Cleanup’s next. Prep area’s waiting.”

  At the slope’s end, guards unlocked their shackles. Jason sank onto the nearest bench beside Tahuuk, chest still heaving.

  He’d survived again. But if not for Ashar, Friederick, and now Tahuuk, he’d already be one of the corpses cooling on the sand.

  A hollow sadness welled in him — but beneath it, gratitude burned.