Page 11 of Hell’s Weapon

Blinking hard, I watch the chaos for a few more minutes. Either I am drugged or this is real. More Sprites continue buzzing around some of the others until they’re out of the grassy plateau. It looked like an easier climb from the starting line, but clearly we are not going to be allowed to go that way. The Sprites all give up the chase once every prisoner has returned to rocky, gravel covered land.

Deciding to stick to the marked out path for now, I spot the next little yellow marker about three-hundred metres away and start walking, albeit with my wits far more alert for whatever traps could lay ahead.

A flash of bright rainbow colours catches my attention in the crowd now in front of me, I’ve fallen into the middle of the pack with my little break. The woman, number Ninety-Eight, is jogging along, overtaking with ease as most of us have slowed to walking. I swear we’d left her behind. She’d not moved a metre as the rest of us started racing for the mountain. I thought she was probably refusing outright to join in.

Not that I’m keeping tabs on her or anything.

I’m not bitter about her flat out rejection. I’m not.

The twist now in my gut is purely from the exertion.

She moves with precision and poise, like every step is calculated but also already choreographed, like a dancer. I really want to know what she did to land herself in this prison. Her aura reminds me of a trained killer, but I would have come across her, I’m sure. I’ve been a hitman for the last fifteen years and was at the top of the game before I stupidly got caught. I was the one who would take on the most challenging cases, the highest stakes, and was damn good at it.

But it’s not like it's a big profession, and despite our need for anonymity you get to know your colleagues when you reach my level. There’s a playful banter over jobs, we applaud intricate plans that are pulled off and laugh at dumb mistakes each of us makes. It’s not like I know every single highly paid assassin in the world but this one I wouldn’t have forgotten. Her big brown eyes that are so fierce, and those full, fucking kissable lips; those I would’ve remembered. And would’ve had wrapped around my cock if she’d let me.

Maybe she’s not a killer at all. But like I said, I know my profession, I can read people, and she is danger personified.

And I really want to play with her.

I take off again but the path narrows, making it harder to overtake, especially as it seems more of the convicts have learned from our peers' mistakes. Fewer are trying alternative routes after seeing what lurks off the beaten track.

However, my frustration at the slow pace grows as I fail to close the gap on my target. Looking higher up, I see one of the markers practically above me…

No, dumb idea. I’ve seen what happens to those that deviate from the path. Buuuuuttt… it would get me back to the front, and in front of her.

Fuck it. I’m smart, I can avoid any further landmines and tackle any fairies that might fly out of the rocks.

Assessing the climb, it’s probably a seventy percent incline, so I’m going to need to scramble. The rocks look mostly stable and I’ve scaled more dangerous things. Granted, for those I used a harness, but it’s not like this is a glass building–which I have done by the way, and made one of the most satisfying kills whilst doing it, thank you very much.

Grabbing some of the soil from the track, I rub it into my palms in the absence of any chalk. Then I start to climb. Testing the first few rocks thoroughly, they feel solid enough, so I start to move a bit quicker. I’m about a third of the way when I notice a few of the stragglers behind me see what I’m doing and start to copy.

Hauling myself up, ensuring my footing is secure before each move, I keep Ninety-Eight in my sights. She’s zigzagging a section further over and talking to another female, a small blonde I may have already made out with. She’s hot and was down for a little fun one night, although we got no further than necking in a corner before a guard spotted us.

I wonder what they’re talking about as they traverse the climb. The distraction costs me as my left foot slips off the rock I’d just put all my weight on. Quickly gripping the handholds a little tighter, I swing my left leg up a little higher to the rock above. That one is even less stable and pulls out of the mountainside entirely, bouncing down the steep slope. I hear a cry as it hits one of the people below me and there’s a sickening crunch before the sound of rubble increases and more rocks start sliding. It takes a quick hop and balancing my weight entirely on my right hand but I finally manage to find my footing once more.

Glancing down, the tumbling rocks have caused some damage. Number Forty-One is sprawled out on the path at the base of this section, his shoulder not looking as it should.

“Fuck you, Wyatt!” he screams up at me as he stands.

“At least you’re not dead,” I call back. “That rock could’ve hit you in the head.”

“You’ll pay for this!”

I don’t engage with him anymore. He’s a grumpy bastard and to be honest I’m slightly happy about the fact I’ve clearly dislocated his shoulder. The prick was quite a dick to several of the other inmates. He was the type who forced his way to the top, battering others out the way with his fists.

Continuing on my own mission, I reset my focus on beating Ninety-Eight to the next marker. Traversing the final bit is the trickiest, as it’s even steeper and with less rocks to grab onto. But the lip of the path is in reach. Until things go a bit sideways once more.

First, another rock slips completely free and tumbles down, this time avoiding anyone below me. But then the rock beside me starts growling.

Scrambling away as quickly as I can without falling, the rock not only growls but starts shifting, all by itself. Unfurling in front of my very eyes, it stretches out into the most hideous creature I’ve ever seen. Imagine if one of those smooshed faced dogs had a baby with the monster under your bed. And then it dressed up as a bat–one of the ones with giant ears and fangs–and dipped itself in wet clay. Yeah, that’s what this thing looks like.

It growls at me like I’m trespassing on its territory, which to be fair I probably am.

“Nice doggy,” I attempt to soothe the beast.

To my horror the rock next to it starts to change too, a second, smaller creature emerging, looking very much like the first.

“Good doggies. I’m just trying to reach the path, right there.” I point to the lip of the climb where I know the path waits for me. The bigger beast tracks my hand and uncurling its wings, it lunges at my arm, teeth first.