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And then, as suddenly as it began, the sensation faded.
We were back in my chamber.
Nova blinked, her wide eyes slowly returning to their normal size. “That… was incredible,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe.
I grinned, my heart still racing from the experience. “Told you my meditation was different.”
She chuckled, the sound warm and comforting, and in that instant, I knew our bond had deepened, strengthened by the shared journey into the depths of our souls.
* * *
The constant thud of fists connecting with flesh and the guttural roars of the crowd were deafening.
I could feel the vibrations through the cold ground, sending shivers up my spine.
The taste of iron from a cut inside my mouth made me grimace.
Despite the sensation, a part of me relished it — the tangible proof of the battle.
Fighting, healing, and the sweet, intimate moments with Nova had become a draining cycle.
The weight of my eyelids, the growing fatigue in my limbs, and the aching muscles screamed for respite.
The spicy and intoxicating scent of Nova was my only solace, keeping me grounded amidst the chaos.
Yet, that solace came with its own brand of exhaustion.
As I stood there, the next opponent was revealed, a massive, heavily scarred brute from Sneik’s gang.
His name was Plugon.
The crowd’s expectation was palpable, their anticipation a thick haze that made the atmosphere even heavier.
The alien charged, his footsteps heavy, creating mini tremors with each step.
My reflexes, usually sharp and on point, felt dulled, as if I were moving through a viscous liquid.
I was suffering the effects of fighting in the arena, I realized. Fighting each day so I could claim Nova, and then I didn’t give my body time to rest at night either, as we made love every minute we had.
And now my body was suffering for it.
Our blows exchanged in a rhythm, his powerful and direct, mine skilled but lacking the usual force.
As the fight dragged on, my ears caught the whisper of Nova’s voice, her words unclear but her tone evident — she was worried.
The silky texture of her voice usually brought comfort, but now it only emphasized my vulnerability.
Each of Sneik’s gang member’s punches felt like a sledgehammer, every kick like a wrecking ball.
I tried to dodge, to move out of the way, but it felt like my feet were shackled.
My senses began to blur — the crowd’s roaring became a distant hum, the stark lights of the arena dimmed, and the harsh scents around me became muddled.
In a desperate move, I launched myself at the brute, only to be caught in his iron grip.
His claws dug into my arm, the sharp pain bringing momentary clarity.
Rage surged within me, momentarily pushing back the fatigue.
