For a moment, the arena fell into a hollow, breathless silence. The only sound was the rhythmic, wet thud of the Lycan's blood as it dripped from the chains, splashing onto the ash-stained floor.
Then the stadium exploded. Tens of thousands of unseen spectators hammered against the stone tiers, their rhythmic chanting shaking the very foundations of the arena. They had come for a slaughter, and Rian had given them a masterpiece.
"KILL! KILL! KILL!" the chant pulsed, a wall of sound that vibrated in Rian's shattered ribs.
Rian lifted his head weakly, looking straight into those hollow eye-slits. He didn't have the energy for fear anymore, only a blunt, jagged desperation. "Well... since I did such a good job putting on a show," he rasped, "surely now I can leave."
A heavy, exaggerated sigh slipped from behind the Jester's mask. "I suppose even I, the Daily Arena Sponsor, can't overdo my tricks, now can I?"
He gestured toward the far end of the sands. The golden door shimmered brighter, its light pulsating as if acknowledging the Jester's words. "Now, go ahead. The door is right in front of you."
Rian scoffed internally. 'Even getting up is a pain and this sicko wants me to walk all the way over there? Whatever.'
Gritting his teeth against the agony in his joints, Rian used his shaking hands to push himself back onto his feet.
He began a slow, pathetic stumble toward the light. Every time Rian's leg gave out or he slipped in the bloody ash, the Jester let out a sharp, mocking giggle that echoed in his head.
'Loser,' Rian thought, his vision blurring. 'I hope I never have to see that freak again.'
After three agonizing minutes, Rian finally reached the door. The golden light felt warm against his cold skin giving a moment of reprieve.
He propped his weight against the shimmering frame and reached out, his fingers trembling as they closed around the handle.
"Finally," he whispered.
He pulled the door open, the light of the exit blinding him. But before he could take a single step into the glow, a sudden, cold shadow fell over him.
Schlick.
Rian's breath hitched. A sound like wet leather tearing filled his ears. He looked down, his eyes wide and uncomprehending, as a gloved hand burst through the center of his chest, dripping with fresh, crimson blood.
The Jester had moved in total silence. He stood behind Rian, his arm buried deep in the boy's torso, leaning in to whisper directly into his ear.
"Oh little seeker I apologize but management had strict orders to not let you live.You see, a 'twist' is only good if it ends in tragedy. That's what gets the ratings up!"
Rian's mouth opened, but only a thick, metallic surge of blood spilled over his lips.
The Jester twisted his hand inside Rian's chest cavity, a sickening squelch echoing through the sudden silence of the arena. The crowd had stopped chanting.
"Don't look so sad," the Jester giggled, his mask pressing against Rian's cheek. "You died a star!"
Rian's vision began to tunnel.
'Why am I not surprised?' Rian thought, a violent cough racking his frame and spraying the Jester's sleeve with blood.
'After spending years with my family I should've known that this world is ruthless, it only favors those with cunning and intelligence. After all, being on the receiving side of constant abuse you think I would've learned' thought Rian coldly.
Rian brought his hand to his chest, his fingers dipping into the warmth of his own blood. "You had no intention of ever letting me go, did you?" he asked
The Jester stared at Rian, his head tilting with a look that could only be described as genuine confusion. "Did you actually think I would?"
That simple sentence brought a surge of white-hot anger to Rian. It wasn't directed at the Jester, it was a searing, focused fury aimed at his own naivety.
Rian let his mind slipping into a state of sharp, survivalist delirium
With a sudden, frantic burst of movement, Rian slammed his blood-soaked palm against the golden door. The Jester let out a startled chirp as Rian, fueled by a final, desperate spark of spite, began to trace the symbol he had seen earlier.
His fingers moved with a terrifying precision, the blood acting as ink. Rian drew the simple circle, the three diagonal slashes, he drew them with the intensity of a man who had nothing else left to lose.
As the final line connected, his delirium peaked. The blood on the door roared. A blinding, incandescent white light erupted, and the symbol began to fracture. It expanded and split into thousands, maybe even millions, of separate, shimmering sigils that swarmed out from the door at an alarming speed.
Rian stared in fascination as the symbols spiraled upward, filling the entire arena and drowning out the violet haze of the arena.
The spectators' screams were silenced by the humming resonance of the white light.
The Jester took a stumbling step back, his manic composure finally shattering. "What did you do?" he asked, a sharp hint of urgency, and for the first time, slight fear, bleeding through his voice.
Rian said nothing. With the last of his strength, he weakly lifted his middle finger, a silent insult to the director of this nightmare.
The millions of symbols suddenly stalled in the air, then snapped toward the Jester like a collapsing star. They constricted around him, a storm of geometric light that bit into his silk clothes and painted skin. The Jester didn't even have time to react before the sheer density of the sigils began to crush him, compressing his form until there was nothing left but a fading, muffled scream and a burst of dark sparks.
Rian's vision began to fail. As the door behind him finally gave way, he felt his body tipping backward into the void. The arena, the chains, and the blood-soaked sand vanished as his world went completely dark.