The rattling of the bars tore through the haze in his mind. The sound wasn't just noise. It was a summon.
For the first time, he felt the weight of that name echo through him. Seventeen.
It wasn't his name, but it was what the crowd had given him, what they'd made him. A number, not a person. A thing to be broken, not remembered.
Seventeen's breath caught in his throat as he caught his first glimpse of the creature.
It was hunched low, skeletal and gaunt, its sickly translucent skin stretched tight across bones that looked ready to snap. Its long, spindly limbs jerked as it moved, claws scraping deep grooves into the dirt. The thing's head, oversized and skull-like, swung from side to side with each erratic stride, yellow eyes glowing with a hungry, feral fire.
A twisted maw gaped wide, teeth jagged and dripping with saliva as it lunged forward. Bony spines jutted from its back, wobbling like loose blades. Despite its starved, frail body, it radiated a wild, desperate energy that didn't care about pain, only survival. Its stench filled the air, a foul mix of rot, bile, and decay so strong it burned Seventeen's throat and made him gag.
And in that instant, Seventeen realized this wasn't just a beast.
It was hunger made flesh.
The creature lunged.
Frozen by fear, Seventeen hesitated for half a heartbeat too long. He tried to leap aside, but the monster's jaws clamped down on his calf midair. The impact sent him crashing into the ground, his body twisting as his head snapped back.
Pain shot up his leg, sharp and electric, tearing through muscle. He screamed. The thing yanked harder, dragging him through the dirt. He kicked wildly with his free leg, thud, crack, thud, the dull sound of flesh slamming bone.
It didn't let go.
If anything, it bit harder.
He could feel the teeth grinding deeper, scraping bone, his blood spilling hot down his leg. The creature shook its head violently, snarling, desperate to rip a piece free. Seventeen twisted, slamming his fists into its skull, thump, thump, thump, each strike duller than the last as pain numbed his arms.
He started crying and yelling, a hoarse, guttural sound tearing from his throat. His voice cracked and broke with every scream. His tears mixed with blood and dirt as they fell, his cries echoing in the pit. The more he struck, the more desperate he became, his screams no longer sounding human, just raw pain and fury.
Above him, the crowd roared, laughing, cheering, chanting for blood.
He looked up and saw their faces, eyes wide and gleaming with glee as he was being eaten alive. Their joy was unnatural, manic, and cruel. To them, it was normal, another day, another show, another body to feed the dirt. They looked like demons, their faces lit by torchlight, their mouths open in laughter as his blood stained the ground.
Every shout drove the knife deeper into his chest.
He wasn't fighting the beast anymore.
He was fighting himself.
The creature was weak, he realized. Starved, scarred, trembling.
It was just like him.
So why? Why was it stronger? Why was he losing?
Even though he was mysteriously healed and healthier than he had been since waking up, why was he the one losing? Why was he the one breaking?
His leg was going numb, blood soaking the dirt beneath him. His fists were bruised, his body screaming. And yet, when his eyes met the beast's glowing yellow ones, he saw something he understood. They were wild. Manic even. But behind the madness, there was something deeper, something he recognized.
Desperation.
Desperate to live. Desperate to eat. It didn't matter why it was trapped. It didn't matter to it why it was starved. Nothing else could have mattered except now. Now it got to eat. It didn't matter if it was beaten or that Seventeen was stronger and bigger. It chewed and gnawed because it wanted to live. Everything else was second.
And then, in the glossy surface of its eye, he saw himself.
It was pathetic.
Tears streamed down his face. His lip split, the scar running across his chin glowing red from the strain. His face, unfamiliar. Alien. His eyes sunken, cheeks hollow, dirt and blood caked across his skin like a mask. The boy staring back wasn't him, at least not one he recognized. It was a stranger, feral and broken, born from suffering.
He was going to die in a pit. Watched and cheered on by strangers who would bet on whether he lived or died. It was all entertainment to them. Their false sense of glory.
He hated it.
He wanted to die earlier, sure, but that was because he was alone and hungry. Now, even beaten, chewed on, and broken, he wanted to live. The taste of whatever he had eaten before had been divine. He wanted to taste something again, anything.
Even if he was forgotten and alone, he wanted to fight back.
Force the world to know.
Force everyone to see that he existed.
He clenched his jaw, his breath trembling, and something inside him snapped.
A scream erupted from him, raw and violent. He screamed at the crowd.
He screamed at the creature.
He screamed at the world that had thrown him here.
He screamed for himself.
His fists came down again and again, fueled by rage and instinct. Bone cracked beneath his knuckles. Blood splattered his arm. His body screamed, but he didn't stop.
The beast tore at his leg, still chewing, still desperate.
His leg was unresponsive at this point, a massive chunk already gone, the creature swallowing it whole and already biting down again, desperate for more.
And so, in defiance, he destroyed that reflection of himself,
not with wit,
not with hope,
but with violence, raw and desperate,
the kind the world had shown him, cruel and merciless,
until he took it, owned it,
and threw it right back.
He leaned forward, jaw tight, breath steady, eyes wild with something new.
His teeth sank into the creature's glowing eye.
A wet pop exploded in his mouth, followed by a gush of hot, metallic liquid. It burned his tongue, thick and bitter, coating his throat like oil and iron. The taste was vile, alive, writhing as if the creature's rage had a flavor. He didn't care.
The creature shrieked, thrashing wildly, clawing at the dirt and at him, its blood spraying across his face.
Then the creature let out a piercing screech as Seventeen's fist struck its ruined eye. The sound rattled through his skull, so sharp and violent that his eyes shuddered in their sockets. His ears rang. The screech reverberated inside his head until it felt like his skull would split. Blood began trickling from his ears.
The creature clawed at the dirt as it tried to run away, gouging deep furrows as fear flickered in its one remaining eye.
Then, that fear turned to hunger again. It looked at his mangled leg, drool pooling from its jaw. Its tongue rolled out, slick and quivering. It licked its lips, the madness of starvation overtaking its pain. And then it charged.
Seventeen's body moved before his mind did. He grabbed a fistful of dirt and hurled it into the creature's face. It stumbled, blinking furiously, blinded and staggering. Still, it came.
Seventeen pushed himself over his dead leg, his arms trembling. As the beast closed in, he kicked at its bony limbs. The kick barely landed. It wasn't strength that stopped the creature but luck, it had lifted its leg to charge again just as his foot struck.
The creature lost its balance. It stumbled, screeching, before slamming headfirst into the ground with a wet crunch.
Seventeen didn't waste time. He dragged himself across the dirt, every motion agony. His right leg pushed weakly while his arms pulled him forward, each pull leaving streaks of blood and mud beneath him. His left leg hung loosely behind him, dragging along the dirt like a dead weight. His breath came in short gasps, his face twisted in pain and fury. He looked pitiful, crawling through the dirt like something half-dead, but there was a fire in his eyes now.
The creature thrashed, trying to roll over, but Seventeen was already on it. He grabbed at its slick, cold flesh, forcing it onto its back. He climbed over its head, his knees pressing into its chest as it flailed beneath him.
The beast's remaining eye blinked rapidly, its other half-destroyed, still leaking blood and clear fluid. Seventeen raised his right arm and brought it down.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Each punch sank deeper than the last, into the soft ruin of its eye socket. The creature shrieked, clawing at his chest, his stomach, tearing at his arms. It tried to reach up, tried to bite him, but he didn't stop. He kept swinging, blood spraying across his face and torso.
It went deeper and deeper into its skull until his fist broke through. His entire arm was buried in the creature's head. Its body twitched violently beneath him, and with one final, primal roar, Seventeen raised his head and punched again, a single, untrained, furious strike driven by pure unadulterated rage.
The creature finally stopped.
Silence.
For a moment, the world seemed still. His chest rose and fell in jagged bursts. His hands shook. His breath reeked of blood.
Then came the noise.
The crowd erupted.
Screaming.
Roaring.
Chanting.
The pit shook beneath the force of it, trembling as if the earth itself couldn't contain their madness. Coins flew through the air, clinking against the rails. Drinks spilled. Fists pounded the wooden barriers until splinters broke loose. It was chaos, pure, rabid joy.
Seventeen!
SEVENTEEN!!
SEVENTEEN!!!
He looked up, vision red and swimming. In the torchlight, the world blurred into a storm of faces. Beastkin with wild fur and gleaming fangs howled and slammed their claws against the railing. Serpentine figures hissed and coiled, their forked tongues flicking with excitement. Humans, both cloaked in silk and clothed in filth, shouted until their voices cracked, their faces stretched into manic grins.
They cried, laughed, and clutched at one another as though their own lives had been saved. Some fell to their knees, trembling with fury and fear rather than joy, their faces twisted in disbelief. Their eyes locked on the creature's mangled corpse, filled with hatred so deep it bordered on madness. They looked ready to leap down and tear it apart themselves, as if killing it again would make up for what they'd lost.
Their eyes burned with greed and disbelief, shining like they'd just glimpsed treasure itself. To them, Seventeen wasn't a boy. He was the vessel of their fortune, the spark that had set their veins on fire.
The announcer's voice thundered over the frenzy, each word cracking like a whip.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! OUR VICTOR! THE BOY WHO DEFIED DEATH ITSELF! THE BEAST WHO CONQUERED DESPAIR! THE GLORIOUS, UNDYING SEVENTEEN!"
The pit roared in response. The sound hit like a wave, screaming, stamping, howling, every living creature in the stands lost in the ecstasy of victory, in the madness of gain. They didn't cheer for him. They cheered for themselves.
Seventeen fell to his knees. The cheering blurred into a dull hum as his body finally gave in. His vision flickered, and before darkness took him again, one last thought crossed his mind.
He was alive.
But in this place, that might have been the cruelest fate of all.