“Come on, chop chop!” the thin man cries, gesturing to prisoners. Each one he points at is grabbed by a large guard, and ushered out through the open metal door. Some of the prisoners—new ones, by the looks of it—resist, but they’re quickly disposed of.

“No, I won’t go!” a young man shouts, breaking free of the guard and racing towards the announcer. He pulls a knife from his loose jacket and lets out a loud cry.

“Bet you some fried rat tail he leaves a scratch,” Marazan rumbles with a nod to the youth.

“You want to gamble, against me?” Chayton asks incredulously. After the merest fraction of a second, he smiles. “Deal.” Chayton shakes one of Marazan’s monkey paws.

“Bastard!” the young man yells, lunging forward with his small knife. The announcer gives the guards an almost imperceptible shake of the head, and smiles at his attacker. The young man sinks his blade into the announcer’s chest, who stumbles back in shock, before wordlessly collapsing. His attacker looks warily at the guards, who haven’t moved a muscle. He turns to the crowd of prisoners and cheers, but no one makes a sound.

“What a good show, young man,” the announcer says, rising up from the ground. He frowns at the dirt on his costume and flicks it off, casually pulling the knife out of his chest. “Normally, I’d feed you to the Grootslang, but I’m feeling merciful today. After all, red really brings out my eyes,” the announcer leans in closer, his smile growing, “wouldn’t you say?” He sinks the young man’s own knife into his chest, letting the terrified youth collapse to the ground, spluttering blood past his tears. “Now the rest of you: move it or lose it!”

The guards snap back into action, grabbing the now-docile prisoners and moving them into place. I gingerly stand, and re-wind the toothed leather wraps around my hands. I lean against a small shack, trying to avoid cutting myself on the rusty metal and getting tetanus. I’d hate to get lockjaw and deprive every one of my voice.

You’re doing it again. Focus. I shake my head and turn my attention back to the announcer trying to rub the blood out of his clothes. Good luck with that one pal, that shit stains.

“Looks like you lost,” I tell Marazan and tilt my chin at the failed assassin’s corpse. Well, perhaps “assassin” is too complimentary here. “Fear-driven fool” is much more appropriate. Chayton chuckles to himself and Marazan paws the ground with one of his hooves.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it back,” he replies.

“And how do you plan to do that?” Chayton says, leaning in and wiggling his fingers.

“By betting against him,” Marazan says with a grin, nodding at me. I crack him against his beak before he can get his next words out. I hate when people talk about me like I’m not there.

He stumbles backwards and I duck under Chayton’s wild swing, slamming my other fist into Marazan’s stomach. I pull down and out, letting the reptile teeth do their job, and I narrowly dodge Marazan’s vicious peck at my eyes.

BOOM! I go tumbling across the ground, and when I come to a stop, my hips ache from Chayton’s kick.

“Son of a bitch.” I spit dirt (I hope it’s dirt) out of my mouth.

“Come on, rat,” someone grumbles behind me. Strong hands yank me up and I turn to hit them in the temple with a hook. I miss completely, not because of their reflexes or my aim, but because of their height. The dwarven guard head butts me in the gut and grabs me by the hair when I double over in pain.

“A word of advice, rat?” she mutters as she drags me towards the door. “Channel that energy towards everyone out there,” she says and points with her club to the bright lights beyond the open metal door.

I begin to struggle after regaining my breath, but she puts a stop to that with her club to my knees, dragging me half-limping past the announcer. As I pass the hook-nosed sadist, I catch a glimpse of tan skin and sharp cheekbones under the makeup. He flicks his black irises over me, and I lunge towards him, breaking free of the dwarven guard.

“Xochi!” I shout, grabbing his shoulders. My mind latches onto the fact that I may be able to escape, that I may not have to do this all over again. A familiar face, one not covered in disgust and hatred for me, is all I need. One moment, one chance, and I can be out of here—out of this shit hole, and away from all these mistakes.

“Do I know you?” Xochi inquires in a long drawl. The guard buckles my legs from behind and I collapse onto my knees. The faint glimmer of recognition flashes through his eyes, and his face lights up. “Oh hello Hosuseri! I didn’t recognize you out of your usual position,” he says as he dusts my fingerprints off his shoulders. “Pardon my confusion, it’s merely abnormal to see you doing anything but groveling.”

“Funny, I remember you on your knees more than me, pretty Xochi,” I say and force a smile. Just get me out of here. Get me away from these people, get me closer to Dickwed. I’ll grovel, I’ll beg and smile and pretend; anything to not be in this prison for another second. Every breath I take gets under my skin; it infects me until I’m nothing but disease.

“Funny how those tables have turned.”

“Hilarious,” I reply drily, and look around. People are starting to stare; I have to convince him before he feels self-conscious. When Xochi is under attention, he tends to overcompensate, and I’ll be his example. And unlike that Ismarian class in nude portraits, being the example, this time would be...well, in a word: bad.

Stop antagonizing him, stop joking, and take it seriously. Gods eternal, get ahold of yourself, Namonai.

“How did you come to be in my little sanctuary for Malor’s lost souls?” he asks, spreading his arms wide. His golden sleeves nearly drape down to his waist, and billow with every movement.

“There was a...misunderstanding. Someone didn’t like something I did. Listen,” I pant with exasperated desperation, “that’s not important. You’ve got to get me out of here!” Xochi taps his chin, his painted grin stretching into a grotesque frown.

“You know, I want to say yes. But,” he looks down at me with a flash of his obsidian eyes, “every bone in my body is screaming ‘no’. Because,” he grabs me by my face and slams me onto my back when I try and lunge at him, “you reek of desperation. You always have. You were desperate when you stole from me, when you stayed with my sister.” Slept. I slept with his sister. There’s a difference. “You were desperate when you put on your mask and pretended to be my friend. I wonder,” Xochi kneels down next to me while two more guards appear from the shadows to hold me down, “how desperate were you when you left me stranded on that gods-forsaken mudball?”

“If you’ll just give me a chance to—” my words are cut short by a club to the stomach.

“To make me some money and fame? Of course!” Xochi says with a too-wide smile. The guards drag me backwards, kicking and flailing, towards the open metal door and the cheering beyond.

No! Get out. Move goddammit, move. I yank hard and one of the guard’s slip, tumbling onto my legs. I collapse forward and they begin dragging me back by my feet, my nails scraping and ripping against the earth. I can’t let them put me back in, not like this!

“Please!” I shout past the fear bubbling in my throat. “Don’t put me back!” Xochi signals to the guards to stop, and I let out half a sob.

“That’s right, you’ve done this before, haven’t you? Not at my Extravaganza, but something similar, yes?”

“You can’t imprison a god here, you can’t,” I beg.

“I don’t see a god here. All I see is a...what’s the word?” Xochi asks, waving his hand.

“Rat, sir” the female dwarven guard suggests.

“Rat! Yes. Just a little rat, squeaking and begging because he knows he’s caught in a trap.”

“The other Immortals won’t stand for this, not against one of their own!” I shout as the guards drag me away. “They’ll come for you!” Xochi lets out his sharp, piercing laughter that echoes off the cold stone walls.

“I don’t think so! No, they’ll be watching you, Boneman.”

||||||||||

Boneman. I haven’t heard that name in forever. I thought I left that behind. Funny how your past has a habit of catching up with you like a starved bear-cheetah, huh?

“Duck!” I drop to the ground and barely avoid being simultaneously crushed and impaled by a large wooden ball filled with sharpened stakes. The man who warned me gives me an uneasy smile.

“Goose!” I shout back. The confused look on his face lasts less than half a second before it’s completely obliterated by a thick crossbow bolt.