In the days since his first escape attempt, Sam had been foiled two more times before they simply put him under constant guard, with two elves watching him twenty-four hours a day. At least, when they weren’t making him fight in the arena.

Sam was lying in his cot with his head propped up by the brick wall, reading the elven book of law, when his door swept open. Sam’s two guards started, snapping to attention. The first guard was a slender woman named Hera, who worked in her sister’s bakery after hours, and the second was Thomas, a veteran of the Division war who collected memorabilia.

Thomas and Hera paled as their superior’s gaze passed over their abandoned card game. The table they played upon was pressed against the bars of the cell, with a stool in Sam’s cell completing the setup.

The heavyset elf took all this in with a scowl, then his gaze snapped to Sam. “You’re on.”

“I’ve been reading this book you gave me,” Sam said, holding his place with his index finger. “And I invoke a Citizen’s right to choose whether or not to fight in the arena.”

“That’s just stupid,” the elf said, his scowl deepening. “You’re not a Citizen.”

“I was here when this country was founded, ergo, I am a Citizen,” Sam said leaning against the bars.

“Only elves can be citizens, numbnuts,” the heavyset elf said, his complexion reddening.

“Not true,” Sam said, flipping the book open. “And I quote: ‘Any person within the border of the nation at the time of its founding, and anyone born within those borders thereafter is a Citizen of the last stronghold of humans and elves, Metade.’” He leaned against the bars of the cell. “‘The last stronghold of humans and elves’,” he repeated, musing. “Sounds pretty clear to me.”

“I don’t have all day to argue minutia,” the arena’s overseer said, drawing his gun. “Now you’re going to go out there, and you’re going to fight, or die. I don’t really care which.” The overseer twitched his gun, motioning for Sam to move.

“It was worth a shot,” Sam said with a sigh, and tossed the book down onto the cot. He only had one day left until the end of the festival, when he was scheduled to die fighting a demon. Demons, from what Sam had been able to gather, were impossible to kill by mortal means, which basically meant tomorrow would be his execution--or an interesting fight, at the very least.

Sam stepped out of the cage, and walked in front of the overseer, down the path he knew well by now. “So what’s on the menu today?” Sam asked, perusing the assembled weapons as the gate closed behind him. The overseer stood behind it, still watching Sam with a steely gaze.

The twitchy young man behind the table held out a boiled leather cuirass. “Since you used the radio in your vest to contact Town Hall and tried to become a landowner, we have to issue your armor,” he said in a rush, flinching away from Sam.

That wasn’t all Sam had done, but there was no sense telling him that. Sam’s recent escape attempts had been less violent in nature than his first, as Sam was determined to change the elves’ opinion of him. It didn’t help that they put him into a situation where he had to kill in front of an audience every day.

“It’s fine,” Sam said, rapping his knuckles against the hard leather. “It wouldn’t stop bullets, but thankfully that isn’t going to be an issue.”

The boy smiled nervously, his gaze shifting to the overseer, who still had his gun leveled at Sam. He shrugged into the stiff armor, and regarded his choices. Once again, the table was covered with weapons, and this time Sam was aware they were meant to be lethal.

Sam grabbed a short sword and sheath, strapped it on, then picked up two thin knives and slid them into his leather boots. Finally, Sam grabbed the newly-repaired Old Faithful, the dented iron ball now riding the end of a replacement steel shaft.

The overseer gave a nod, and the gate in front of Sam ground open.

Sam stepped out into the arena, his eyes quickly adjusting to the brightness of the open-air stadium. “Okay,” he said, hefting his mace as he studied the environment. Great slabs of stone formed walls and corners, providing a smattering of cover throughout the arena.

The gate on the far side of the arena was concealed behind a wall of granite, but the creatures had most likely already been released. Ever since that first match, the people in charge had made sure he hadn’t had another chance to blitz his opponent.

“The scourge of the ancient world has been released on the unsuspecting villagers! Watch and be terrified at the efficacy of this abomination’s slaughter!”

Sam cocked his head to the side at ‘unsuspecting villagers’. They weren’t actually going to send unsuspecting villagers into the arena, so what was the game?

He spotted a pair of beady eyes below a peeling scalp staring at him from above one of the walls. One of the eight-foot stone walls. A deep, resonating howl swept through the arena, spreading as more and more voices took up the call.

“Seems like the villagers have caught the scourge red-handed in the middle of its deadly assault!” the announcer crowed, his voice echoing through the stands. “Perhaps these innocent sheep can fend off the wolf.”

A moment later, one of the ‘innocent sheep’ stepped around the wall, and Sam forgot to breathe.

It was a man, nine feet tall and ugly, with a heavy-boned face and massive frame. The most startling thing was the heavy makeup applied to the thing’s face, and the points crudely stapled to its ears.

The audience roared with laughter as the ogre halfheartedly dressed as an elf came into full view. The beast showed no awareness of the staples in its ears, or of the paint running beneath its weeping nose and drooling lips. Its focus was entirely on Sam.

With a bass rumble, the ogre lunged toward Sam, its bone club whistling through the air.

Sam dove under the feral swing and started running, seeking cover behind the stone walls.

“Audience members who are unable to see behind the wall may watch the screen for a close-up of the action,” the announcer said. “It seems as though, after seeing the boy raise the alarm, the scourge has decided to go straight for the heart of the village in an attempt to catch them off guard!”

Sam stopped and changed directions, taking a hard left and putting some stone walls between himself and the drooling ‘boy’.

“The scourge has turned away from the villagers who are actively seeking him, and has decided to circle around the poor young boy,” the announcer said as Sam crouched between two walls and took another left.

“There’s a villager waiting for the scourge, ladies and gentlemen. We may see the end here,” the announcer said excitedly.

Sam had just come to the end of a hall created by two massive stone walls. He slipped a knife out of his boot and threw it up and over the wall. Somewhere on the other side, it clattered against stone.

A roar sounded behind the wall, and the earth shook. Sam ducked out and saw the ogre with its back turned, its club buried in the sand after a massive swing.

Sam swung the long-handled mace up, and then down, crushing the massive beast’s thick skull.

The faux elf slumped to the ground, to a jeering cry from the audience.

“The Scourge has some damn good instincts, I’d say,” the announcer said, rubbing his chin.

Sam rolled his eyes and pointed to the glowing orb that was tracking his every movement, and then to his ears. “You know I can speak English, right?” Sam asked.

“Oh, it appears as though The Scourge can recognize the speech patterns of higher life forms, and somewhat infer their intent from tone,” the announcer said.

Sam shook his head and returned his mind to the task.

He was creeping along a wall when a gust of wind whizzed past his left shoulder. Sam glanced behind him and spotted three ogres wielding crossbows, each of the weapons the size of a small man. Sam had enough time to throw himself to the ground before a volley of wrist-thick bolts plowed through the air above him. The ogres snarled and punched the one who had fired early and missed.

Sam sprang to his feet and charged the ogres. They swung their enormous crossbows at him, trying to bring them down on his head. Sam ducked low and slid past, breaking a shin with Old Faithful on his way by.

The wounded ogre collapsed to the ground, and Sam had just enough time to plant a killing blow against the side of its head before the others fell upon him. He rolled out of the way of the huge crossbows, and caught sight of another six ogres with clubs sprinting towards them.

Sam vaulted off the still twitching corpse of the ogre and sailed over the eight foot wall, crashing down into the sand on the far side. The open design of the arena meant the ogres could have gone around in a matter of seconds, but they stubbornly attempted to follow him straight over the wall.

The ogres were clumsy and slow, and as the first one folded himself in half over the wall, Sam delivered a killing blow to its head.

“It seems as though the Scourge intends to divide the villagers and kill them one at a time, showing a near-elven level of intelligence and sophistication,” the announcer called over the screaming crowd.

“But,” the announcer said, raising his voice. “Now the village chief has joined the battle! Can he save his people?!”

A deep voice began chanting, and Sam’s stomach dropped. He whirled and sprinted away from the wall at full speed. The deep voice came to a roaring crescendo and the wall exploded, blasting stone shrapnel in every direction.

Sam’s left shoulder stung, courtesy of a sharp chunk of granite lodged in his hide. He glanced back and saw an ogre taller than the rest, flanked by two more wearing actual armor and wielding swords that must have each weighed over a hundred pounds. The club-wielding ogres flooded through the gap in the wall while the crossbowmen began to reload.

Sam let out a growl of frustration and dodged around a wall, sprinting away from the eleven giants with all the speed he could muster. He led the club-bearers on a merry chase, separating them from the crossbow-wielding ogres, being careful to keep out of sight of the latter.

Finally, Sam turned back and hitched himself over a granite wall, coming face to face with the crossbowmen. As he fell, he threw his short sword at one ogre’s hand. The blade flew true, and sunk deep into the meat of the giant’s wrist. The ogre reared back, dropping the crossbow and clutching its arm.

Moment of truth, Sam thought as he rolled out of the way of the second ogre’s shot. The quarrel blasted through the stone wall behind him, the steel fletching ripping the air by his skin.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam spotted the ogre mage’s two guards lumbering toward him, wearing hundreds of pounds of steel over their vital areas.

“The Scourge has separated the poor village hunters from their brethren, and now the fiend plans to take the opportunity to dispatch them before the village chief’s bodyguards can catch him!” the announcer crowed.

Sam ignored the idiot as he lunged forward. He snatched the enormous loaded crossbow off the ground and fell onto his back, holding the immense weight of the ranged weapon up with his legs. Sam spotted a moment of dim realization on the armored ogre in the lead before he squeezed the release. The crossbow bucked and nearly flipped Sam upside down.

The bolt tore a hole through the lead ogre’s thick breastplate and buried itself in the second. The lead ogre dropped to the ground while the second knelt, clawing at the bolt trapped in place by his armor.

“In an unexpected turn of events, the Scourge has used the hunter’s weapon to kill one of the chief’s bodyguards and wound another!”

Sam flung the heavy weapon away and rolled in time to avoid a stomp from the wounded crossbowman. The other threw its unloaded crossbow down and lunged at Sam, dropping all pretense of civilization as its mouth frothed in rage.

Sam ducked and pushed forward, passing between its legs. When it turned around and lunged again, Sam met its charge with his mace to the ogre’s forehead. Blood shot from its nostrils, and Sam jumped straight up as the monster slid beneath him and lay limp.

He scanned the battlefield. Wounded crossbowman, wounded armor wearer, one larger opponent capable of slinging explosives… with its mind? All that and six tree-trunk-wielding, slobbering giants hoisting themselves over the walls. Sam’s gaze caught on the tallest. The ogre fixed him with a steady glare that spoke of intelligence.

Sam locked his gaze on it, intent on not missing a single moment. It pulled one black-nailed hand back and snarled a single syllable, then pushed its hand forward as though it were tossing a shot put. The air in front of the ogre’s hand wavered, then a ball of crackling energy manifested, flying toward Sam and splitting into three identical spheres in midair.

“Shit,” Sam said, rolling out of the way of the speeding blasts. The balls of light swerved in midair and slammed into Sam’s chest, leg and back. Sam cried out in pain, and the boiled leather fell away, smoking and mangled.

Sam rolled to his feet and looked at his right leg, which was now showing black through his charred pants. The skin felt numb, and Sam smelled burnt flesh. Sam tested his leg, and found that it still moved, albeit stiffly. Add a bookmark to the Sierra folder, Oscar Mike. Gotta remember that one.

“It seems as though the Scourge’s plan to eliminate the village hunters first and whittle away the rest of them has hit a bit of a snag,” the announcer said, his voice booming across the sand as Sam started running away from the ogres again. “What do you have to say on the subject, Theold?”

“I think we just saw something strange, Grant.” The old elf’s voice rang in Sam’s ears. “The S4M units would never have stopped moving long enough for a mage to cast a spell. I can only guess that this particular one had a reason for stopping.”

“What might that be?” the announcer asked.

“If I had to guess, he--”

“It,” the announcer reminded Theold.

“It,” Theold’s gravelly voice came back, “probably wanted to see a magical attack first-hand so that it could develop a countermeasure against me.”

Magical? Sam thought as he ran.

Sam sprinted away from the mage, his leg slowly growing more and more painful. Sam was able to separate and kill two more ogres as he ran, but his lungs were burning, and his leg was losing strength quickly.

“I see,” the announcer said, nodding sagely after a pause. “After all, these things were quite the quick studies back in the day. Isn’t that right, Theold?”

Sam glanced up, and saw Theold give the gaudy-robed announcer a level stare. “That doesn’t even begin to describe it, kid,” Theold said, his tone flat.

Sam came to a stop leaning against a granite wall, his feet sliding in the dry sand of the arena as he gasped for breath.

“Looks like the Scourge is slowing down,” the announcer said. “This village of elves may yet prevail, repelling the evil invader!”

“Gimme a break,” Sam said between desperate gasps. One mage, four club bearers, and two wounded left.

The mace had grown heavy in Sam’s hand and his short sword was long gone, buried in an ogre’s wrist. If he was lucky, the ogre had just plucked it out and discarded it, but Sam suspected the wounded ogre had destroyed the weapon as soon as it was removed.

The ogres were more cautious now. At the mage’s instructions, they were searching the labyrinth of walls in pairs, never leaving their partner’s side.

Sam limped to the corpse of the first crossbowman and flipped him over. His crossbow was unharmed despite resting under the bulk of the ogre. Sam grabbed one of the bolts and began winching the crossbow, his left arm aching where the shard of granite was still lodged.

The heavy wood creaked as the bolt fell into place in the receiver. With a grunt, Sam hoisted the crossbow over his shoulder and started tottering forward, looking for a place to set up an ambush.

“Looks like it’s going to try the crossbow again,” Grant said. “I know we’re all dying to see how this turns out.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder at the commentator and briefly considered shooting him. But then Sam shook his head as he dragged himself out into the open. It wouldn’t help him in the long run, as great as it would feel to shut the guy up.

Sam heard a roar of challenge to his right, and he flung himself to the ground, orienting the crossbow on the charging ogres. The crossbow bucked out of his weakened grasp, and the bolt caught the lead ogre in the throat. Sam tried to roll out of the way, but his injured leg sent a jarring burst of pain all the way up his spine.

The injury slowed him just enough for the ogre to snatch Sam up from the arena sand, lifting him until they were face-to-face. The ogre gave him a rotten-toothed grin before he shook Sam violently. Old Faithful flew out of his fingers, landing in the sand. The ogre gave a sadistic grin as he held Sam aloft with one hand and wound back his club.

“And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen, the Scourge of the Ancient World only amounts to--” Grant’s voice cut off when the ogre slumped over, collapsing in a boneless pile. “What just happened? Can we get an instant replay on that?” Grant’s brows furrowed as Theold chuckled beside him.

Sam limped away from the dead ogres and retrieved his mace. “Two clubs, two wounded, one mage,” Sam chanted to himself over and over to pace his breathing and distract himself from his leg, which was beginning to weep blood from the cracks in his burnt skin.

The giant floating image above his head zoomed in on Sam’s last moments with the ogre, slowing them down drastically. As the ogre shook Sam, he’d retrieved his second knife from his boot. When the ogre had stopped moving for a moment, Sam had launched the knife through the ogre’s eye, piercing deep into the giant’s brain.

“Wow,” the announcer said, leaning back as he watched the replay. “I’m going to be honest folks, it’s my job to talk up the monsters, but that was just terrifying. It’s no wonder the old folks are terrified of them. Do you have anything to add, Theold?”

The old elf caught the announcer’s eye for a moment and leaned into the microphone. “Just that they came in groups of three, Grant.”

“Hats off to those brave guards who nearly died slowing this thing down long enough to give Master Theold a chance to stop it,” the announcer said. “Now back to the fight. It’s finally starting to wind down, and the outcome is anyone’s guess.”

Sam waited for two ogres to be on the opposite side of the wall, then jumped down behind them and dispatched the giants with hammer blows to the head. “Two wounded, one mage.”

Sam hoisted himself back up onto one of the walls and spied the mage in the distance, his palm glowing above the wrist of the crossbowman. Sam saw his shortsword discarded beside them, thankfully unbroken.

He made his way to the edge of the labyrinth, and began limping along the outer wall of the arena. Sam rounded the corner of the maze of walls and saw the two ogres. He planted the six-foot blood-covered mace in the sand of the arena and took a deep breath.

“Bring it!” Sam shouted with every fiber of his being, his voice echoing through the stands. For a brief moment, the chattering of the audience lulled, and it was quiet. Then the elves began to shake the very sand with their bloodthirsty cheers, mirroring Sam’s exclamation.

The formerly wounded ogres stomped forward, swinging one of the veteran’s discarded swords. Sam waited until the last moment, leaning against the wall for support until the blade was almost upon him, then lurched forward.

The massive steel blade buried itself in the wall giving Sam time to bring his mace down on the ogre’s skull. The ogre slumped to the ground, and Sam started limping forward again, intent on the mage.

A shock tore through Sam’s body, driving the wind out of him. Sam looked down and saw that he’d been pinned to the wall by a bolt from the remaining Ogre veteran. The thick bolt in Sam’s stomach was buried in the wall behind him, and the heavy metal fletchings jutted out of his abdomen.

“Ugh.” Sam tried to take a breath and nearly threw up.

The veteran ran up to Sam, giving him a view of the broken-off bolt jutting from his armor. The veteran pulled the hundred-pound sword from the wall and grinned down at Sam.

Sam wasn’t paying attention to the ogre above him; he was watching the so-called mage, who was chanting with lightning coalescing between his weaving fingers. Does he have some kind of tech that can create those effects? The mage drew a line between his hands, aiming at Sam as if he were drawing a bow. A split second later, lightning leapt out from his fingers, flashing toward Sam.

Sam shoved against the wall, tearing himself free from the bolt’s fletchings, and fell to the ground. The lightning cascaded over him, the veteran, and the wall. As if seeking the larger target, the lightning coalesced around the veteran, with only a bit of electricity licking against Sam’s skin.

The veteran fell on top of Sam, driving the air from his lungs. Sam struggled to pull himself free as another chant began rolling off of the ogre mage’s tongue. Sam’s vision began to dim as he realized he wasn’t going to get out from under the ogre in time.

The mage chanted the last syllable, and a bead of orange light took shape between his fingers.

The elves were on their feet, screaming imprecations at Sam, at the ogre, and the announcer. The sea of screaming rose to a crescendo, when a gunshot cut through the noise.

The orange bead floating in front of the ogre mage detonated, and it erupted in a ball of fire, consuming the monster. Confusion swept through the stands, with a few onlookers beginning to panic until the announcer spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said, motioning to the screen. The floating image showed Sam pulling a small pipe out of his pants, and a tiny blast of smoke and fire escaping from it. “It seems the Scourge of the Ancient World is a cheater, and snuck a homemade pistol onto the arena floor.”

Theold stared at the announcer agape. “You do realize that the S4M unit never signed the waiver, right? By definition, he can’t be considered a cheater. And besides, when classified as a monster, if he was able to sneak it past security, he should be able to use it in the arena. What would you have done?”

“I would have died with dignity,” the announcer said, raising his nose.

“Sure, while someone else goes home and fucks your wife, I suppose,” Theold said. “Get the medics in there to retrieve the combatant. The show’s over.”

Grant watched Theold stand and leave, his face crimson. “You heard him,” he snarled before standing and making his own exit.