Page 68 of Immortal Origins (Chronicles of the Immortal Trials #1)

T he entire hall erupted into chaos.

The ground shook violently and broke apart, pieces of the floor crumbled under their feet to reveal a massive cavern below.

Nobles and royals fled to the exit, servants trailing behind them, screaming, as they all rushed to safety.

The walls of the hall groaned as they shifted and pulled away from the chasm, the opening grew larger with each moment as pews rose high behind them, lining the walls with seats for spectators.

A few beings fell into the mouth of the pit that now beckoned them from where the dance floor had previously been.

Ambrose jumped out of the way just in time as the stone under her feet gave way.

The Grand Hall was falling to pieces.

Ambrose searched the crowd and almost cried out with relief when she saw Ernaline standing in the grand entryway, yelling something she couldn’t hear.

At least she was safe.

Lily was still nowhere to be seen.

Ambrose scanned the crowd and blurred faces as bodies ran all around her but Lily’s wasn’t among them.

She looked into the cavern below that was so deep, she could only just make out a ring of firelights in a circle below, any bodies that fell claimed by the pit.

She knew she was too smart to fall, but she still silently hoped Lily’s wasn’t one of them.

The rest of the Trial Champions looked just as surprised as she did, their bodies flailing as the ones who were too drunk to react fell into the mouth of the opening and they screamed for far too long. The edges of the broken floor jutting out like teeth as they were swallowed whole.

Devoured by the darkness.

Casimir laughed coldly from the perch on his new throne, intoxicated by the mayhem he’d caused.

“Go into the pit and be the last man or woman standing. Defeat the final test we have lying in wait for you in the center of the maze to claim the Champion title. Only once the final monster has been killed will the tournament end and a Champion be named. If one of you completes this and the others survive, they will walk away without a title, but alive. The survivors and winner will be brought back here to us. If any of you survive. Live or die. The choice is yours.”

The remaining Trial Champions wasted no more time as they found what weapons they could and threw themselves into the pit of death.

Adrenaline mixed with Magick pumped through her veins and thundered in her head as Ambrose tried to gauge how far the fall was going to be, but no matter how long she looked, her eyes couldn’t adjust enough to see the bottom.

“Ambrose! Take this!” Adym found her in all the commotion. She stared at him, stunned as he shoved his sword into her hand, sheathe and all.

“Adym?” Her voice shook.

She wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. To run away as fast as she could. She was supposed to have one more day.

Fingers trembling she failed to undo the buckle on his belt and cinch it around her waist.

“For gods’ sakes Ambrose,” he sighed. Taking the belt from her, he wrapped it tightly around her hips.

“Adym…” She gasped as she stared at the open abyss, growls and screams already emerging from inside—too lost in the darkness for her to see what horrors could be waiting.

“The tournament is starting,” he said as though he could feel her fear.

He made sure the sword was firmly in place before he grabbed her hand.

“Do not lose this.” He took a dagger from his other side—that she hadn’t noticed he’d been wearing and wasn’t part of his usual uniform—and sliced the hem of her dress just below her knees and in one motion cut the train from around her feet.

Then he shoved the dagger into her shaking hand.

“Fuck. I had a feeling something like this was going to happen. I asked to be placed with Casimir’s guard so I could keep an eye on him and still didn’t see this coming.

You have to go. Find somewhere to hide as soon as you can.

Don’t trust anyone once you’re down there, even if you’re familiar. Don’t get caught.”

“But—”

“Ambrose!” Adym looked at her, his blond hair unkempt and ocean eyes fierce with determination and fear. “Hide, please .” He turned around and ran back into the crowd, glancing back at her one more time. “Survive this. Whatever you do, don’t die.”

He was lost in the chaos before she could find the words to say to him.

The tournament was starting.

Started.

Oh fuck.

Ambrose peered into the pit below. Without giving herself time to think or talk herself out of it, she flung her body into the waiting pit.

Crashing into the rubble below, she did her best to tuck her arms in tight on landing. Her body rolled and her shoulder took most of the blow as it smashed into a piece of broken floor.

Biting down against the blinding agony that shot through her shoulder and collar, Ambrose fought back the waves of pain hoping she didn’t just break it and clutched it tight against her body.

She rotated her arm to make sure nothing was seriously injured and though it throbbed under the weight, it was still mobile.

All around her Trial Champions clashed in a violent display, weapons raised as bodies and blood rained down upon them. Some had clearly died from the fall, their bodies twisted and broken in horrible ways, while others had already been hacked to pieces by those still standing.

But what stood in the center of the magickal arena grabbed her attention the most as it towered among them. A horrifying creature Ambrose recognized from her studying with Ernaline but not once did it ever cross her mind that’s what they could be facing .

With leather skin the color of night, it roared at the Trial Champions surrounding it, swords and weapons held in their defense.

It stood three times the size of even Rowland, who was locked in battle with five warriors in the far left corner of the arena.

Its head, or—heads—held bright red eyes that burned through the darkness as Ambrose’s eyes adjusted to the arena and she could truly see what was displayed before her.

The creature had the body of a man, but only in appearance, as its clawed fingers swiped at the fighters lunging at it.

It roared as those claws sliced a warrior completely in half and the Trial Champion flew away in two separate bloody pieces.

Three bull heads sat on its shoulders, each one trained on a different fighter, teeth coated in the blood of the fallen as it glistened in the firelights.

The Behemoth .

The firelights surrounding the arena walls burst to life from a low glow to a blinding light as murmurs carried from above—the nobles finally settled into their seats to watch the unexpected scene.

Casimir stared down, his cold emerald eyes dancing like two sinister stars from his golden perch, staring directly at Ambrose.

Ambrose threw herself against the wall, dirt crumbling into her eyes that she quickly swept away as she scanned her left and right for any oncoming fighters. She pulled her sword from her side and her heart skipped a beat when she felt its weight in her hands and the realization hit her.

It was the same sword she’d used every night training with Adym.

He’d brought her sword.

A small laugh bubbled to the surface and she pushed the hysteria down into the depths of her.

He’d brought her sword.

He hadn’t abandoned her.

He hadn’t given up on her.

Even now, he’d found a way to protect her.

A blade sliced inches from her face and she flung her body to the side and crouched into her fighting stance, hips low, sword high.

The fighter that faced her had a wicked grin on his scarred face as he swung his sword again.

She brought hers up to meet his and sparks clashed from the blades as she pushed as hard as she could, shoulder screaming as she did so.

He must’ve been a few years older than her and she recognized him from one of the lesser noble houses, covered in scars from a lifetime of training for this exact moment.

His sandy brown hair matted to his face with sweat and blood as he lunged for her again.

Ambrose ducked beneath his strike, twirling around his body and threw herself into his back, using his own momentum to knock him off his feet as her body fell on top of him.

She brought her sword up with both hands to bring the point down on his neck but he easily countered and sent it flying away from them.

She planted her hands on the ground and called it. Called the dirt to respond before he could strike her with his blade and the dirt turned soft, melting into quicksand as it claimed his body. He screamed, arms flailing to the sides to grab the edge.

But there was no edge.

It swallowed his body as he sank like a rock thrown into the ocean. Never to be seen again. Ripples from the air of his scream broke the surface as he vanished.

She used the sand to push her legs up to the surface again and pulled herself to her feet as the ground returned to a solid.

Running for her sword, she ducked as another fighter tossed an axe at her head.

She threw her body forward and crouched as her feet slid beneath her and swept her blade into her hand, whipping around to face the warrior.

He held a second silver axe in his hand as the previous one went flying back into his other extended fist.

Another metal mage?

Stocky and awkward, it was clear he relied on the power behind his throws rather than accuracy, his movements too obvious to be anything else.

He’d grown lazy combining his magick and axe throwing, relying too much on his magick to do the work, rather than skill.

His bright golden hair flared in the light as he reared his hand back and threw an axe at her again .