Ablaze In Mirth by Matthew Thompson

Author:Matthew Thompson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: vampire, blood, adult, fantasy, short, battles, dystoipia

1.7.2019

They say practice makes perfect. I don’t think that counted in the arenas, except I did find myself more at ease as I charged through the corridors of barrel vaults within the Romanesque setting of Arena III, hungrier than ever for a kill.

And the deaths transpired to the drums of tabors. Maybe I got lucky, or maybe they got unlucky. Either way, I made a double kill, my choice of shutters twice perfect. It’s a shame there wasn’t a greater prize for such a feat, but I was content with the credits and the crowd’s approval, chanting my name once again, louder this time, becoming a regular voice now. I had grown to appreciate it – to expect it.

With that double, and the previous kill, it meant I was the sole survivor, making for a fearless trek – for a short while. See, the makers of Ablaze don’t tolerate carefree battles. Insert the human opponent, armed with UV to hunt me down. I did my best to avoid him, since my firearm and the Activation Zones were useless.

In pursuit of my freedom, I was caught unawares and fell through a trapdoor to land on a wooden conveyer belt. Chains and cogs drove me towards light at the end of the tunnel. I poured all my energy into it, on my hands and knees, going against the flow of direction. I figured it was on a timer, that it was possible to escape. And I was right. Just. The light diminished before I was taken over the edge, thankfully with nothing more than a few grazes and dust in my throat.

I didn’t hang around for another close encounter. I made my way to the elevator, only to find him heading towards me. I quickly took a turn and waited behind a pillar, listening to his footfalls, questioning if he had seen or heard me. He hadn’t, it turned out. After making sure he was gone, I bolted for the elevator with half a minute to spare.

Eighteen credits up made me fifth, equal to the competitor named Sorcerer. Leading in first was Fang at twenty-eight, three ahead of Slayer. Clearly they both had adapted well to the ways of Ablaze. Whoever they were, they were here to win.

The scent of death was pungent that night. The ash lingered on my skin and under my nails. I considered the odour a sign of victory, and to smell it was better than to not.

Vincent continued to mutter in his own dialect, staring at the ceiling. I asked him, “What’s that you’re saying?”

“Protect me, my Lord.”

“Are you afraid of death?”

“No. God had a place for me. But I’m afraid to burn alive.” He closed his eyes. “I’m also afraid of merely existing in this world, never to know what it truly feels like to live a life.”

“Yeah, I can understand that.”

“Matias, can I ask you a question, and can I have the truth?”

“Go on.”

“Would you pardon me, in the arena, if we ever meet there?”

“I would,” I said, unsure if I was lying.

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