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Clutched tight in his hands is an oversized axe. One that could do some damage, if he actually knows how to use the damn thing. His knees look like they’re shaking as he waits in the center of the stadium, facing off the creature that crouches down to all fours.

Shifting on his feet, David seems to be stalling, as though anticipating the mutation’s first strike.

Only a flash of white streaks across the field, before an object flies up into the air beneath my feet, and I realize it’s David’s severed head.

My jaw comes unhinged, stomach churning, as the creature tears the man’s limbs from his body, pausing to tear away a bite of his flesh.

“Oh, God,” I whisper in a shaky voice.

Four men enter the arena, carrying pointed sticks that they jab toward the creature, urging it back to the opposite side of the stadium. Once there, they quickly scatter in all directions, but the monster manages to swipe one up before he can retreat through the doors. The caught man kicks and screams as it lifts his thrashing body to its mouth and tears his spine out with its teeth.

My veins are so deluged with adrenaline and shock, I can’t even react to having witnessed such a thing. As if every emotion is paralyzed.

Another contender steps in and manages one hit with a spiked flail, looking like something out of medieval times, before his body thumps against the outer surface of my cage, leaving a bloody imprint on impact. He falls to the dirt below.

The third man to enter shakes uncontrollably and scrambles for the wall of the arena, in an attempt to climb for his freedom. His harrowing screams convert to gurgles, as his torso is torn in half like a frail sheet of paper.

Tension coils inside my muscles, my hope for escape dwindling with every sacrifice. And soon, I’ll be one of them.

Sam is next, and for whatever reason, my heart aches for the look of determination on his face. Yes, he put me here. Yes, he’s a lying, thieving bastard for selling me off to a lunatic. Yes, I’d surely take pleasure in wrapping my own hands around his throat.

But no one deserves the kind of death I’ve seen so far. Not even him.

The creature darts at him, and in spite of the weapon, which looks like a pronged bat, he skirts around it, managing to dodge a hit. The mutation slams into the arena wall on a cloud of dust. A victorious smile lights up Sam’s face when he glances up at me, but I remain watchful, cautious.

Hopping back to its feet, the beast twists to face him. On a loud screech, it charges, and as Sam pivots to dodge again, the creature catches him by the throat.

My heart hitches.

Sam’s eyes meet mine in one blink, before the creature bends forward and rips away his throat. His body convulses in its grasp before he’s dropped to the ground.

No. Oh, God, no.

Only two men remain.

Two chances of escaping this cage and avoiding the same horrific death as these men.

The next contender, Percy, steps into the arena. Boasting bigger muscles than the men before him, he might stand a chance, but I can’t bring myself to hope. The man shifts on his feet, holding the weapon light in his hand. The creature charges. My muscles sag with relief, the moment he whacks his axe into the creature’s flank and blood spatters upward. Quick on his feet, he dodges the chasing swipe of the mutation’s claw. Another swing of the axe kicks it back a step, and the mutation roars at him on a charge. Percy pivots and shuffles, and for a split second, my heart thumps again with hope.

The big muscular man has managed more hits and outlasted the contenders before him, but as he dodges the snap of its teeth and slides to the ground, I watch on with my hands balled into fists.

The creature slams its claw into Percy’s chest and yanks out his still-beating heart. In the next breath, the beast consumes it in front of the crowd.

I fall to my knees in defeat.

“Our last contender will be fighting on behalf of his master, Remus Drenzel. You may recognize him from some venues throughout the Deadlands, known as the God of Monsters! As I understand, this Champion is quite skilled at fighting, but even the best warriors don’t seem to be a match for this creature, so be sure to stick around afterwards for the virgin sacrifice that will immediately follow the tournament!”

Ungodly bitch!

None of these men were expected to defeat this monster. I suspect none of them could defeat it. The point of this was never the battle itself, but my inevitable sacrifice. For their health and prosperity.

Tears blur my eyes, as the final contender makes his way into the arena. A black leather mask covers his nose and mouth, and his hair is pulled back from his face in a ponytail. Tall and muscled, he’s far brawnier than Percy, and the scars on his body are the marks of many battles, but I’ve come to the disappointing realization that it doesn’t matter how strong they are. This creature seems to have a genetic advantage in its favor.

Unlike the others, the new warrior wears tattered rags for clothing, with unbound shackles at his wrists.

A slave.

As if this fight is his only moment of freedom.