My knees weaken, my teeth chatter; still, I walk. Step after step. My thoughts claw back toward my family. Father. Mother. Mia. I miss you—

"Showtime, lad."

My last images of family shatter as light explodes before me.

Colors blind me—blue, red, orange, yellow, violet—all flashing at once until they burn together into whiteness. The sack tears away from my head. My eyes scream with pain. I throw up my hands to shield them, stumbling backward. But before I can find my balance, a boot slams into my spine.

The ashen man drives me forward.

I crash to my knees; my chin smashes against the rough ground, skin tearing away as stone scrapes deep into flesh. Fire spreads across my jaw, the raw sting of ripped skin surging through me.

It burns. It hurts. My body aches everywhere.

Looking over, my body sinks, and my head presses to the ground. My neck stiffens, my eyes turn upward, my mouth still tasting the dust of the rough ground.

Blinking—the light shifting in hue and brightness—I push myself up, though slowly.

I spit to the ground, turn frantically, and my legs stumble backward. But again, a kick slams into me, harder this time, and still I cannot see properly, my eyes struggling to adjust to the violent changes of light.

I don't want this anymore.

Again, I crash to the ground, though this time staying there longer. My breath grows shallow, my heart feels as if it's breaking through my ribs.

Pound!

Steps close in, heavy and deliberate. A raspy voice follows, grating against my ears.

"GO OVER THERE, RED."

Not a shout, but loud enough to scrape at my skull. The one in front of me—not the voice's owner—moves, dragging himself like I do, his breath ragged, body trembling.

Forcing myself to rise, my hands scrape against rough stone, dust clinging to my palms. The air grows heavy and hard to breathe.

Pound!

Something is thrown over the shaking man's head before me. A shadow falls, the light dimming, and suddenly my sight clears. I stand hunched, still half-curled, while the man before me straightens more fully.

"NOW, KILL EACH OTHER."

The voice is deep and echoes in my bones. The larger man of other blood and the ashen creature behind me both retreat in the span of a heartbeat, leaving us alone in the open. My knees remain pressed into the grit. My mind reels, unable to comprehend.

Pound!

The shaken man rises opposite me, eyes glistening with tears, his chest heaving. He steadies himself on his knees, the same as I do.

Pound!

Then his gaze shifts—locks onto the object thrown before him. A knife. Long as a man's outstretched hand. The ashen wretch behind me lets out a mocking laugh.

The shaken man before me—curly brown hair, skin tanned, features southern, naked as I am—lunges forward, seizing it.

Pound!

His eyes, red-rimmed and shadowed beneath furrowed brows, fixate on me.

Neither does he buckle nor yield anymore. He charges. I react too slowly; a sharp sting bursts across my forearm as the blade slices me, barely missing my side. The cut is shallow but enough for blood to run down the metal.

Pound!

Stumbling backward, I panic, my gaze flicking between him and the ashen figure watching from beyond. I cannot afford for them to kick me down again.

My torso twists desperately, dodging strike after strike, though each pass leaves me grazed; my skin tears, blood streaking me. With every cut, I cry out.

Pound!

He drives harder. Faster; his steps urgent, mine erratic.

Panic makes me reckless. He thrusts again, and I throw my palm forward without thought, only to feel the blade stab clean through my hand.

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