Page 11

Dernin

Dernin’s tail wriggled restlessly as he watched two fighters clash in the ring. His eyes tracked their every move, analyzing their strengths and weaknesses. The shorter fighter telegraphed his punches—a fatal mistake that would cost him dearly in later rounds.

“Amateur hour,” muttered a voice beside him.

Dernin’s scales bristled at Krav’s unwelcome presence. The scarred fighter had taken up position next to him in the fighters’ viewing gallery.

“You see the way the taller fighter favors his right side? Old injury that never healed right,” Krav rumbled.

“I didn’t ask for your help.” Dernin kept his gaze fixed on the match.

“Just trying to be friendly. We’re all brothers in chains here.”

The fight ended predictably—the shorter fighter face-down in the dirt. Dernin memorized how the victor moved, the slight hitch in his stride confirming Krav’s observation about the injury.

Two more matches followed. Dernin studied each fighter methodically, mapping out potential strategies. His tongue flicked out occasionally, tasting the air thick with sweat and blood. The crowds above roared with each decisive blow.

“Your pretty little prize is watching today,” Krav said with a smirk. “Up there in Fyret’s private box.”

Dernin’s muscles tensed but he kept his voice neutral. “She’s not my anything.” The lie felt bitter on his tongue.

Another fighter hit the ground hard. Poor form—he’d overextended on a kick. Amateur mistakes could get you killed here.

“My match is next,” Dernin said, effectively ending the conversation. He moved away from the railing, his muscles already loosening in preparation.

He had promises to keep—to himself and now to Alaysia. His warrior’s spirit stirred at the thought.

Time to show these arena fighters what a true Niri warrior could do.

Dernin’s scales ruffled as he circled T’zar in the blood-stained arena. Sand crunched beneath his powerful tail while the four-armed warrior tracked his movements. The crowd’s roars faded to background noise as he focused on his opponent’s stance.

T’zar struck first, two fists jabbing while the other pair swept low. Dernin’s tail whipped him backward, barely avoiding the combination. The Darzios fighter pressed forward, using his multiple limbs to cut off escape routes.

“Getting tired yet, snake?” T’zar taunted, his upper right fist grazing Dernin’s jaw.

Blood trickled from the cut, but Dernin didn’t waste breath on a response. He coiled his tail and launched forward, driving his shoulder into T’zar’s sternum. The impact sent them both crashing into the arena wall.

Two arms locked around Dernin’s torso while another caught him across the throat. He twisted, breaking one hold but catching an elbow to his ribs. Pain flared, but he channeled it into determination.

He grabbed one of T’zar’s wrists and wrenched it away from his throat. “My turn.”

Using his tail’s powerful muscles, Dernin constricted around T’zar’s legs while simultaneously driving repeated strikes to the warrior’s exposed sides. Each blow landed with precision, targeting nerve clusters he’d learned in his warrior training.

T’zar roared and brought all four fists down in a hammering motion. Dernin rolled, taking a glancing blow to his shoulder rather than the full force. His scales absorbed some impact, but fresh pain bloomed beneath them.

They separated, both fighters breathing heavily. Blood ran from cuts on both their bodies, staining the sand crimson. The crowd’s cheering reached a fever pitch as they circled again.

“Not bad for a slave,” T’zar spat.

Dernin’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not a slave.”

He launched another attack, this time feinting with his tail before driving in close. The fight continued, neither fighter willing to yield ground.

Blood trickled down Dernin’s scales as T’zar landed another crushing blow to his ribs. His muscles screamed in protest.

“Ready to yield, snake?” T’zar’s four arms whirled in a deadly pattern.

Dernin spat blood onto the sand. “A warrior never yields.”

But his words carried more conviction than his body could support. His vision blurred at the edges, his legendary stamina finally failing him. T’zar’s next combination sent him reeling backward, his tail barely keeping him upright.

The crowd’s roars became a distant drone as Dernin fought to stay conscious. His opponent’s multiple limbs seemed to multiply before his eyes, making it impossible to track incoming strikes. Another hit connected with his jaw, snapping his head back.

Then, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, he caught a flash of red in Fyret’s viewing box. Alaysia stood at the railing, her hands pressed against the glass barrier. Their eyes met across the arena, and something ignited deep within his soul, calling to his warrior’s spirit.

This wasn’t just about his survival anymore. This was about freedom—hers and his. About keeping his word. About proving he was still worthy of his warrior’s code.

New energy surged through his battered frame. His scales rippled as he drew himself up to his full height, his tongue flicking out to taste his opponent’s growing uncertainty.

“Getting your second wind?” T’zar circled warily. “Won’t help you.”

Dernin’s golden eyes narrowed. “Watch me.”

He launched forward with explosive power, his tail propelling him faster than T’zar could react. Instead of engaging with the four arms directly, he twisted mid-strike, using his opponent’s momentum against him. His tail wrapped around T’zar’s legs while his arms locked around the fighter’s throat.

The crowd’s frenzied cheers were a distant echo in Dernin’s ears, drowned out by the primal rhythm of his own heartbeat.

“This is how a true warrior fights,” Dernin snarled, his grip unyielding around T’zar’s throat. The Darzios fighter’s eyes bulged, his face purpling as he struggled for breath.

The referee’s voice cut through the haze of adrenaline, declaring the match in Dernin’s favor. He released T’zar, watching dispassionately as the four-armed fighter gasped for air.

Dernin straightened to his full height, every inch the predator he was.

His scales were slick with a mixture of sweat and blood, but he felt invincible.

He had faced down a formidable opponent and emerged victorious.

He knew he could win this tournament now.

The crowd’s roars reached a crescendo as Dernin’s name was announced as advancing to the next round.

His eyes sought out Alaysia in the private viewing box again. Her blue eyes met his, and at that moment, he felt a connection that went beyond the physical. It was as if their shared determination to escape this hellish existence had forged a bond between them, unbreakable and fierce.

He sensed the unease among his fellow fighters as they watched him from the sidelines. They had underestimated him, seeing him as nothing more than a captive fighter, but he proved them wrong.

As he descended from the arena, a figure blocked his path. Krav stood there, his reptilian eyes narrowed.

“Congratulations, snake,” Krav said, his voice a low growl. “You put on quite a show.”

Dernin’s tail twitched in irritation, but he kept his voice steady. “It’s not about the show, Krav.”

Krav’s lips curled into a smirk. “You fight for something more. Don’t you? I saw the way you looked at her.”

Dernin shifted, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “What I fight for is my concern.”

“For now,” Krav said, stepping aside to let Dernin pass. “But we all have our weaknesses.”

Dernin ignored the veiled threat and made his way toward the fighters’ quarters. His body ached from the exertion, but the pain was a welcome reminder of his victory. He would need to rest, to prepare for the next fight. But first, he needed to meet Alaysia.

Dernin’s muscles protested as he turned a corner. He spotted a young slave sweeping up the sand from the fighters’ tunnels. The boy’s thin frame spoke of too many missed meals, but his eyes held a sharp intelligence that caught Dernin’s attention.

“You there.” Dernin’s voice carried the authority of his warrior training. The boy’s head snapped up, the broom freezing mid-sweep. “I have a message for the red-haired slave.”

The boy’s eyes widened with recognition. “The prize, Naga fighter?”

“Tell her Dernin wishes to meet her. She knows where.” His tail shifted impatiently. “Now.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy scurried off, leaving his broom forgotten against the wall.

Dernin pressed a hand against his bruised ribs, willing his body to hold together just a little longer. The fight with T’zar had taken more out of him than he cared to admit. He should really just head back to the barracks and recover for tomorrow’s match.

But he needed to see her, to talk about their escape plan. However, he secretly just wanted to be in her warm presence after his grueling match today.