u/ComplexBid4701

Ezekiel hardened his skin and charged the woman. Blind and deaf, the woman was still a monstrous force. Her powers lashed all about, even striking Alena and forcing her back. But without her forcefield, she would be helpless, so he marched on. Tendrils of telekinetic energy slammed into Ezekiel, threatening to send him off balance and send him flying away. His heart pounded in his chest, the other two could not hold her down forever, he could already see Mason cringing under the effort. It was now or never. Adrenaline pounded through his veins as he pushed through the field. Time seemed to slow as he entered, making every inch toward his opponent an eternity. Just as quickly had he entered and taken his first step when the pressure within the sphere doubled. It pressed down hard around his steel skin, but it held. He took another step, the pressure quadrupled, making Eziekiel’s ears pop. Before he even had a chance to take another the pressure scaled even greater. His whole body threatened to buckle. He grunted in agony. He couldn't stand this much longer, he had to move. Using everything he had, Eziekiel plowed through the last distance and at last made it to the girl. Desperate for the pain to stop, he immediately sent a fist down into the girl's face. In an instant, she collapsed along with her field. Ezekiel too dropped to a knee. He gazed at the woman laying on the ground, she swept her head from side to side and blood poured from her cheek. 

He felt awful, against every value all those years ago, he had struck the terrified woman to the ground. Years ago, the act would have been unthinkable, but time had changed him more than he could ever care to know. Suddenly, a flicker of purple energy burned in her hands. Fear and adrenaline winded through him again and Ezekiel launched himself atop her. Desperate and terrified, he yanked her up by her shirt and slammed his fist into her face over and over. Her nose broke at the first punch, then he bruised her eyes and cracked her teeth. He kept hitting, thinking, maybe, somehow, if he just hit hard enough the pain would stop, that the Overlords would just declare his victory and let it all be over. Suddenly, he heard a body drop to his side. He looked to find Alena bleeding on the ground, and Mason suddenly preoccupied. He looked back, and, for a millisecond, he saw the woman's eyes light up with what seemed a lifetime of pain and rage doused in a hewn of purple.

“Shit…”

With a push of her hand Ezekial went soaring into the sky with nothing but a small bit of fabric clenched in his fist. Higher, and higher he went, up past the first row of seating, up towards the second and even past Poena’s high spires. He screamed and screamed, a horrified panic ensued as he still yet flew higher and higher. At last, Ezekiel achieved something never before done then or since. 

He peaked out over Poenia’s walls. 

What he saw silenced his screams. 

Three years of hopeless fighting washed away all at once. 

Three years of sobbing each and every night suddenly ceased, for beyond those walls he saw a shining city of neon. Its spires rose higher than Poenia's ever could. Its size dwarfed the House of Pain so thoroughly he wondered how he had ever been awed by the awful place. 

For so many years I thought nothing lay behind these walls.

Oh, how wrong I was…

In that moment, Ezekiel’s only disappointment at falling back to Earth, was that he could no longer gaze upon that hope filled visage. It seemed then Ezekiel hit the ground even faster than he had shot up. His skin saved him, but it could not stop his bones from clattering against their steel hardened shell. The pain was excruciating, but Ezekiel somehow found the resolve to rise from his crater. When he arose, he saw the fiery woman. He instinctively hardened his skin and stumbled toward the girl.

“A–shining city–beyond the wall–” the fall had taken the breath from his lungs so his voice was naught but a frail whisper. The next moments were a blur, as Ezekiel was swept off his feet and slammed into the ground. But the only thing he cared for was that shining city, just over the wall.

Clair stepped out into the harsh light for the first time in a week. It stung her eyes and forced them closed. At last, when her eyes had adjusted, she found the arena changed. Six waist high walls had been put in place on each side of a large central ziggurat. Flowing atop the pyramid, was a banner, similar to the ones hanging on the first day, but with only the skull and its mouth closed. She found also she was not alone in her struggle this time; next to her, stood a man and a woman. They seemed confused and frightened. The mechanical announcers shouted out, “Never in the history of this great empire has there been a competition quite like this one. Today, we have a grand fight between humans of an altered stock, ones more powerful than you’ve ever seen. Teams of four, so place your bets people, this will be the fight of the ages!”

“Four? But there's only–” Clair stopped herself when she saw the man from before float down from the rafters. “Hail, child. Four on the other side, they are fragile, the Overlords would prefer if you did not kill them.” He shouted from above. Confusion and rage boiled in Clair at the absurdity of the statement. She scoffed and turned away.

He seemed to sense this in her.

“You are not a monster, Clair. This should please you.” He stated as he floated toward the center of the arena.

Her face lightened, then fell into a frown, a pang of something, perhaps guilt, rushed through her a moment.

Just last week I sobbed at every death, where now has that gone?

Her thoughts were cut short.

“Let the competition commence!” The announcer cried out. Clair and the other two were slow to begin moving and the man was suddenly nowhere to be found. Their hesitation was misplaced, the other group had already reached the top of the ziggurat before Clair and the others had even got halfway. A man stood on top of the structure, he put his arms angled out from his sides and stuck his chest out. Clair was confused for only a moment before a light began to grow in his chest.

“Cover!” She shouted as a beam shot out. She ducked for the first set of walls as it slammed into the other woman, sending her flying back. Clair assumed her dead, but she raised a force field at the very moment before impact. After a moment, she chanced a peak and saw the other three rushing down to flush them out. The beam shot again, glancing off Clair's cover and forcing her to duck down. She glanced over to the man.

“I got this!” He shouted before he seemed to slip into the ground. He appeared some way away before disappearing again. Before she knew it the man was atop the ziggurat, going hand to hand. Now was her chance, but just as she jumped from the barrier something slammed her in the chest, sending her tumbling back over. Just as she scrambled to her feet it hit again, a hard foot to the chest. She fell back and rolled, launching herself away with a blast to make some distance. When she gained her bearings she saw her three opponents, two men and a woman charging after her. Understanding now what she was up against, she launched herself forward into the air. She had intended to crush her opponents as she passed overhead, but as she did, the man and women gazed up. Their eyes met, power blazed, and all Clair’s senses left her. The world went silent and black. She only noticed she hit the ground by the intense pain that came after. Robbed of her senses, she threw up a gravity field to buy herself time. Desperate and terrified, Clair’s power lashed out, uncontrolled strips of energy flung out randomly in all directions, and her field waxed and waned in size. At one point, her hearing returned, before it was whisked away again as the man and woman pair stepped back further from her chaotic torrent of power. Suddenly, she felt a ripple in the field, and knew someone entered. She focused and doubled its gravity. They still moved. Triple, quadruple, nothing. Only when she had quintupled the pressure within the field did it have an effect, but by then it was too late. The man threw a hard punch down into her right cheek. Her field broke and she collapsed to the ground. Her storm ceased, and with it any comfort she had. Fear surged through her.

After all that, is this it?

She felt a hand grab her shirt, then a sharp pain coursed through her face as her attacker slammed his fist into her nose.

Those soft memories flooded her mind.

Would he ever know what happened to me?

What would happen to my body?

Would anybody remember?

He struck her again and again, slamming his fist over and over into Clair’s face until it was a bloody mess.

She flailed, hopelessly banging her fists into the man's rigid skin.

He struck her again and she went still. Just as ice cold acceptance flooded her mind, suddenly her vision and hearing flooded back to her, there above her, was the face of her attacker, a man with messy black hair and rough face, almost like he was made of metal.

Fury boiled inside the girl.

He didn't get a chance to throw another punch before Clair launched him into the sky so fast he seemed to disappear from view in an instant. Her shirt tore as he was sent high into the sky, still grasping the fabric in hand. She looked over surprised to find her companion, the one struck with the beam of energy, up and fighting the man and woman.

She's alive! Thank God she's alive!

The woman used her blue force fields as blunt objects in her hands, using them to pummel the man. The woman was already on the ground, bleeding from her head but still alive. Clair wasted no time and scrambled to her feet. The man rebounded a moment and shot a look at Clair. For a moment, before her vision left her again, she saw the man's eyes flash red with power. She stumbled and dropped to her knees. Her vision blinked in and out as the man split his focus. A flurry of energy flew out of her again as fear racked her mind, this time whipping and swirling in a wide arc.

She heard something thud to the ground behind her. Her other opponent had come back to Earth. He groaned as he slowly began to raise himself from the ground. She looked as her vision flickered and saw a tendril of energy strike the other woman and send her to the ground.

“No, please no…” Clair whispered to herself in horror as her abilities spiraled more and more out of control. She tried desperately to calm herself, but her thoughts raced.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Her voice broke as she cried out. Knowing nothing else, Clair focused her monstrous storm in a single direction and shouted to the woman, “put your fucking force field up!” As she blindly sent a wave of energy forward, sending friend and foe soaring across the arena. Her vision immediately popped back.

She was ecstatic.

“Yes!” She shouted audibly. But her excitement died as she turned to look at the ziggurat. She had turned just in time to hear a boom of energy erect from the man's chest. It tore through her teammate, incinerating him in an instant.

Her eyes widened and her words caught in her throat.

He then turned to her, light pulsing in his chest, steadily growing brighter like a signal flare of death. But suddenly, the man screamed in agony and the light extinguished. A beam of magenta energy shot into his back, searing his flesh. From above and behind was their missing number four, his crystal alight with fiery plasma. The beam stopped and the man collapsed, toppling down the ziggurat three steps at a time. Clair turned to find the hard-skinned man from earlier. As he stumbled up from the ground, his skin seemed softer, less rigid and more like flesh. Clearly concussed, his jaw hung slack and his eyes bulged, but in seeing her his resolve strengthened and skin hardened again. He pushed shakily forward, determination in his eyes, but his struggle was hopeless. Clair easily levitated him up, before slamming him back down into the ground. He was strong, but helpless to defend himself. Clair batted him across the arena, rage boiling inside her. She slammed him to the ground over and over, tossed him side to side again and again, hearing metal creak and bones snap as she did so. At last, she dragged him toward her. He groaned in agony.

She slowly increased the pressure on him.

More and more gravity pushed against him until his skin began to dent. Her blood boiled, rage and pain bubbled up to the surface.

For a moment, it felt good to hurt something, to inflict what had been inflicted.

She increased the pressure still further. The man creaked like a metal beam buckling under the stress of a collapsing building and he let out an awful howl.

“How does it feel? Tell me, man of steel! Tell me!” Her voice broke.

She pushed, harder, harder, until every last ounce of rage and pain poured out with all that blood and sweat. Everything had already slipped away. Everything except cold, calculated fury.

Harder.

Harder.

Until blood squeezed from the man's skin, and his screams became petrified. She only stopped when she felt a hand on her shoulder and a whisper in her ear, “you're not a monster, Clair.” Her breath caught in her throat, and the man dropped to the ground, rolling in agony. She spun around to find her number four, floating gently above the ground. What turned back was the eyes of a frightened young girl in a foreign land. For a millisecond, she was a child completely and totally alone in this vast and terrible place, innocent tears welling in her eyes.

Durgen wondered who this girl had been before Denia, the holiday. He only saw glimpses before she aged a million years in just a few short hours.

Suddenly, her face again warped into a rage to sunder the world.

“Where were you?!” She shouted as she shoved him. He stepped back and crossed his arms.

“I almost died, and you just fucking disappear?”

“It is of little concern to you. You would not understand.” His voice was detached, but he almost couldn't meet her gaze.

But he knew in his mind that this is what she needed.

There it is, she will need that fury to survive.

Let her innocence die so that she may live.

It was an awful thing, but that was the world.

That was reality.

“And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen! A fight between the greatest mankind had to offer!” The announcer continued on but, far off at the other end of the arena, Dena was no longer listening. She arose from under her groaning opponents. She looked down, the man and woman were seriously injured, but they would survive, probably. Her field had protected her from the worst of it, but she still came out with a limp. She dragged her right leg over to her fellows.

“Some number four you are, asshole.” She jabbed.

“There are things at work here that neither of you could possibly understand.”

“Yeah, whatever, dick.” She mumbled. Both women turned away in disgust as the gates opened and the Drollic drones roared overhead, herding the victors back to their cells. All for one, whose ashes lay in the shape of a man, hands raised, atop the center pyramid of that awful place. As they walked, Clair looked on. She saw the faint hint of smoke rise and blow in the wind, and she wondered who he had been, the man she would never know…

Round, after round, after round…it was barely a moment after the man died that more came sprinting out. She killed them all, just as painstakingly as the first. Every round brought a new struggle, each wrought a new toll in Clair's mind. It was in the tenth round that the numbness consumed the girl, an effort of the fragile mind to steal her away from the pain. It happened as she lifted a young man up with her power and swung him over her onto his head. When the gore splattered her for the hundredth time she expected to cringe, for her face to reel up like a curtain and the quiet, aching sobs to spring from her just like the blood and sweat. But this time she found she could only stare. The tears stopped coming, and she stood quietly watching the man’s crumpled corpse lay lifeless on the ground. As he died an announcer shouted out in its awful metallic whirring, “Looks like that does it folks! The Gravity Girl stands triumphant amidst a sea of her foes!” Her body slumped, and she slowly collapsed to her knees.

Is it really over?

Am I finally done?

She gazed about from her stupor. The sky had grown dim with the fading light.

How long has it been?

Amidst the dying light she saw a man. He floated quietly along the top of the arena, quietly watching, arms folded.

How long has he been there?

He was too far away to make out any detail, but he had on a black suit and yellow flowing cape, and had a shiny bald head. Something clung to his chest and hands, but what it was Clair did not know. Nor did she care too. She sat quietly on her knees as the blood thirsty monsters made their way out of the stands. They were no longer human to her. But then again, what was after all this? By now, the pain had gone, replaced with a tingling numbness she could barely describe, like her body had fallen asleep. The putrid metallic copper of the hundred that lay dead around her disappeared as well. The only thing she noticed now was the stick of the filth that covered her. That, and the thirst and hunger. A vile thing like nothing she had ever felt before. It prowled at her stomach and traveled up her throat. In that moment, she was willing to do anything to stop it, even…she crawled slowly but desperately to the nearest body. Even with nothing left to vomit she still felt it. When she reached the corpse she began to gag and heave, but the hunger, but the thirst…it was unbearable. The the sickening pain and and awful rawness in the back of her throat traveled up and down, ebbing and flowing in a new form of torture. She slowly stuck her hand into the man's open wound. She shook relentlessly, her hands bobbed up and down uncontrollably, they became useless unwieldy things. Disgust crawled into her mind, but again her desperation fought her. It was a tooth and nail battle, each side clawing inside her like rabid dogs. A part of her would rather die than feast on the flesh, but the other was so desperate for survival…the vivid image of the man whipped back into her mind. The embrace of her lover entrenched itself in her mind. The maddening longing blew into a fearsome firestorm, and just like that, the desperation had won. She lifted a handful of the red sticky liquid to her mouth. Just as she was about to put it to her lips…

“Stop, girl!” A voice cried out. She let the blood drain between her fingers, and again she was suddenly enraptured with disgust. She shakily turned around to find the man that flew high above the stadium. Even in the darkness, Clair could see the horror on his face. He held out something in his hand. A bottle. Clair raced as fast as she could on her hands and knees and snatched it. It seemed to her that she downed the water in an instant, as if only a second had passed and it was gone. She gasped as she let the empty bottle slip from her lips, “A single generous soul in a sea of madness.” She mumbled.

The man sank back from her and crossed his arms, his terrified expression reverted to cold detachment.

His jaw closed and his head tilted up, “Do not become used to my generosity.” He talked strange, in an accent Clair had never heard. It was haughty and low, like British mixed with the low pitch of an African. Both stood silent for a while. Clair noticed now what was on the man's chest and hands. Chains wrapped around tightly against him, they glowed faintly in the dark in rhythm of the magenta gem stone placed center of his forehead.

At last she spoke. To her surprise her voice came out a raspy shell.

“W-what is this awful place?”

“This is the Poena, House of Torment.” The man turned and swept his hand towards the arena.

“What is this madness? Why are they doing this?” She choked slightly on the last word.

He pointed to a red flowing banner atop the arena. Plastered on it was a golden gear with a mechanical skull within.

Its mouth hung open as if in a scream.

“Behold, your Overlords. Today they celebrated Denia, a “holiday.” It is the day of blood, where new slaves are broken in, as the Overlords say.”

“I–don’t understand.”

“It matters little, you are here now, and you must survive. I can help you some, but you must learn.”

The sound of churning gears echoed through the darkness. Clair flinched and readied herself. Her body tensed as she rose to her feet, purple burning in her hands.

“At ease, child,” the man said as calmingly as his voice would allow, “they come now to take you. Do not fight them, they will feed you and patch your wounds. The squids are your lifeline, do not scorn them.” His words confused Clair and did little to ease her, but when she saw the squid-like creatures come slowly into view, her muscles loosened. What she saw was small creatures with arrow head bodies and long squid-like appendages for arms. They were small and moved around on eight tentacles. They seemed almost comedically out of place. They almost managed a smile out of Clair. One came to her and held out a tentacle, gesturing to her to follow. As she did, she looked back to find the man floating away. She would see him again, she was sure of it. The squids took her into a gate on the wall. It was dark, but the path lit as each squid creature began to glow blue. Their light bore against the darkness, chasing it away. Soon enough, the tunnel narrowed to a single corridor. Blank stone walls became chain link fences, the other side of which sat mounds of slaves, young and old. From the moment Clair walked in an aura of fear and hatred bled from the room. She was lucky they were behind a fence.

Or perhaps they were the lucky ones.

The room was terribly quiet except for the sharpening of blades and the shuffle of feet. Every man was silent, as if it was forbidden to speak. And so, the girl made a thousand enemies that day. Led by the squids, she came to her new home that night, a five by five foot cell with a pile of hay for a bed and a tiny high up barred window, which was the only light source. The creatures did their best to clean and bandage the girl, but the filth ran so thick, and the scars so deep. It would be many years before the girl would see her reflection, but even on that first dark night Clair would not have recognized it.

One of the few things to look forward to was when she returned to her cell, and she could look up at that window. In the darkest nights she would crawl close to the wall, as close as she could get to it, and close her eyes tight. She closed them to remember the times before. To catch a glimpse of that golden field and its serene figure. But in the lightest nights, when the full moon rose and poked through her window, she would reach out to it, as if to catch it in her grasp. She dreamed it could take her away, back home where her lover and the flowers were. Beyond all the brutality her mechanical overlords could muster, she never let go of that far away dream.

The next few days they let her rest.

I've become a fan favorite overnight, they can't let me die of exhaustion…

But out of all the pain in suffering, I hardly feel it.

No pinch or sting or strike against my body.

I hardly feel anything anymore.

“Another round down, ladies and gentlemen! Place your bets, can the Gravity-fueled mistress take another wave?” The deep mechanical voice of the announcer shouted to bloodthirsty applause. Clair dragged herself off the ground. It had been three rounds, and this madness showed no sign of stopping. 

She arose weakly. 

Blood covered every inch of her. 

It soaked into her shredded sorceress robes. 

It stained her skin. 

The metallic stench pierced her soul as she stumbled to her feet. It was unbearable; she felt smothered in death. For a moment, she felt desperate to claw and tear at her skin, if only to remove the stench.

Just as she rose, another wave of marauders screamed out from the gates lining the walls, and all her thoughts were washed away in fear and adrenaline. She raised her fists, purple energy sputtered to life. She adapted a defensive posture. The purple grew brighter as she slowly forced each light together. Then, when the first group of combatants came within ten feet, she ripped her hands apart. A tinge of horror went out knowing what would happen, but still, the energy spread from her hands and rushed out. Every man stopped in an instant, then, as gravity within the sphere tripled, and were crushed to the ground in bloody puddles of flesh and bone. Clair winced, but more rushed in and were met with the same fate, until at last, only the smartest who knew to keep their distance remained. 

Nine men were left, and they quickly adopted a defensive strategy as well as they reviewed their options. Both sides now defending, there was a lull in the fighting. Five men with knives and improvised spears circled just beyond the sphere’s border, while four others with bolt-action rifles stood further away. The men were drenched with sweat, dirt, and blood, and each had an expression of desperate anticipation on his face. 

They're trapped too, I can’t kill them, Clair thought. So, she cried out, “Please! We don’t have to do this! There has to be another way!” There was no response but a single shot hitting her field. She trembled as she felt it hit and stop mid air.

She knew she couldn't keep her bubble up much longer, her muscles burned and her mind went numb with pain. Blood dripped from her ears and nose steadily faster. What was more, was the dread, for she had to act, to kill these men before they did her.

It was them or her.

Just as her sphere began to fail she jumped on the offensive, yanking two men with knives into the circle as it failed. They were crushed instantly. The men with rifles fired while the remaining melee fighters charged. Clair jumped with a blast of energy, leaping high into the air. She kept her palms facing the ground, faint purple light guided her path as she glided through the air in a carefully balanced dance. The men racked their rifles and fired skywards, an anticipated move. She moved one hand to face them, leaving her just one to balance on. Muscles strained and threatened to give, but the bullets crawled to a halt, before harmlessly dropping to the ground. Before they could fire again Clair had come in range. As she passed over, two men were forced flat on their backs. The other two racked and fired. One bullet was caught, the other grazed the right side of her head. With all the blood and sweat already coming down, she barely noticed. She landed next to the men she had knocked down. Before they could scramble to their feet, their bodies were flung through the air with a swipe of the woman’s hand. They slammed into the other two left standing. They would be up soon, but the micro second was all she needed to dodge the first man with a knife. She side-stepped his downward swing and reached out with her power. Energy coursed through her as tendrils of purple light reached out and grabbed the man’s arm. With a grunt of effort, she pulled and ripped it free from his body. 

His screams were petrifying. 

She closed her eyes and the air hitched in her throat. 

She let out a barely contained gasp.

The girl then propelled the arm into the second man, it clotheslined him and sent him flying to the ground. The final man with a spear was too quick, however, and he swung the butt end, slamming it into her head. Clair crumpled to her back in a daze. The man bore the spear down, but Clair swung a terrified burst of energy and swept his legs. He fell hard atop her. 

She gasped as he did. 

She then huffed with effort as she clasped his head in her hands.

A single string of thought swam to the forefront of her mind, hesitation, but too late. The gravity around his head doubled and it splattered like a pumpkin, blood and brain matter spattered, and skull fragments became shrapnel as they gouged and cut deep into Clair's face. Her head jolted back and hit the ground hard.

The terror of the display stopped those charging dead in their tracks. The screaming and cheering became a muffled blur as Clair lay staring at the sky, horror froze on her face.

She didn't understand this place, how could they cheer at such an awful thing? 

What madness had inflicted them? 

Have they not a thought of me?

For a moment, she didn't dare look up, for fear of bearing witness to her awful display. But desperation ran through her veins and so forced her head off the ground. She looked up and over, desperate to avert her gaze from the mass atop her. She saw all five remaining men now standing in a group. They too were drenched in the offal of the dead man. They helped another with a knife to his feet, before standing idly in a blood soaked daze. Their eyes were widened and they panted heavily. They watched the crowd for a while until a single man’s gaze met hers. 

His shock dowered into grim determination. 

He was to end this madness. He had come to the realization Clair had in the very beginning: it was him or her, the crowd would accept nothing less. He raised his rifle and racked its bolt. A single casing fell to the ground in slow motion.

It was him or her.

Her or him.

Terror gave way to raw instinct, Clair was about to make sure it was him.

Pushing past everything, the blood and sweat stinging her eyes, the excruciating pain in her head and face, even the brutal exhaustion exacerbated by the third round; the energy in her hands flared, the body atop her lifted into the air. It shot towards the men so fast it broke the sound barrier. A sonic boom followed it as it rushed towards the group. The blood and sweat forced her eyes closed, so all she knew was the boom and the horrible wet smack of blood against dirt. Everything went black and quiet for a brief moment. Peace washed over the young girl as her body lay broken in the dirt. Dreams of another time flashed by, long gone days of peace and joy. A thought came to Clair as she lay there.

I could just stay here, it could all end right here and now. 

No more pain.

No more killing.

But a figure rose from the myriad vision. A figure of comfort and trust, of longing and quiet solemnity. 

He stood a silhouette in a bright grass field, standing quietly as the sun dipped down, down below the quiet horizon…

Her eyes opened. The crowd was louder than ever. They screamed and shouted, chanting this and that in their manic blood fueled craze. For a moment, she couldn't bear to stumble up, for fear of seeing the devastation she wrought. 

But the desperation pushed through ever greater, now brighter and hotter than ever before. 

She rushed to her feet, nearly falling back down in the process.

And when she gazed up she saw no more men, just a red stain fifteen feet long across the dirt. 

Her stomach flipped, vomit threatened to spill as she watched on.

What have I done?

No, I can't–it's over now…

She took some solace in the fact.

Blood and sweat stung her eyes again. She tore what remained of her sleeve and wrapped it tight around her head, then shakily did her best to wipe away the filth that still clung to her face. Her fingers threatened again to scratch and tear, but she held steady, if only barely.

“Oh, but hold your bets, people! The Gravity Girl must kill all if she wants her prize!” The harsh mechanical whirr spoke. Clair stared around confused. The crowd again went into uproar so that she could barely hear the pained whimpers behind her.

She turned around. 

There, on the ground, was a one armed man crawling away haphazardly. He whimpered and sobbed as he slowly dragged himself away through the hot sand, blood trailing him.

Clair shook her head.

“No…” she whispered. A pained expression exhumed her face. Her eyes squinted and her mouth fell open as she stumbled back.

“No! Please!” She shouted helplessly to the crowd.

“It is him or her, ladies and gentlemen! Place your bets! Can the mistress end this miserable sob? Or will she be forced to deal with the Drollics?” The roaring of motors suddenly eclipsed the crowd. Four monstrous drones soared overhead, spherical eyes with glass showing deep red innards. They carried all manner of weapons, chain guns, pulse launchers, missiles, grenades…everything needed to keep a rebellious slave in line.

“Well that's not very sporting!” A lighter mechanical voice shouted from the loud speakers, “give the sob a weapon, maybe then he will defend himself!” One the drones hovered over him and dropped a varied assortment of knives. In the man’s desperate incoherence he either didn't notice them or ignored them as he continued to crawl toward the wall of the stadium. 

But his flight was hopeless, the walls were far too high and the gates were sealed.

“Calamity! He's even a bigger scab than I thought! The girl would be doing him a favor!” The other voice cried.

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” The crowd demanded.

Clair still stood motionless. Suddenly the crackle of electricity in one of the drones forced her into movement, a slow stumbling walk towards the terrified man. At last the two met face to face at the wall. The man screamed and babbled as he sobbed and clawed at the stone.

Tears began to wallow in Clair’s eyes, before they became too much and fell, leaving small clean trails in the filth on her face. 

“I–I’m sorry,” Clair began to sob, “I don't have I choi-choice. It-its you o-or me.” She fought hopelessly to maintain composure, “it shouldn't be this way! M-maybe in another life we c-cou-cou-c…” another crackle of electricity lapped out from the drone behind her. Clair jumped and breathed in shakily.

“Just look away. C-close your eyes,” purple glowed from her palms,

“It's gonna be ok, j-just close your eyes.”

*Crack* 

It was over, the first real murder of a young woman’s life.

But it wasn't over.

It could never be.

The crowd wouldn't let it.

More would come.

More would always come.

And the Great Game continued on, round after round after round…