Night's Gift by Carol E. Leever Camilla Ochlan

Author:Carol E. Leever Camilla Ochlan [Camilla Ochlan, Carol E. Leever]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Lepton films LLC
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11: The Box

The claws around Omen's throat tightened and then spasmed suddenly as a jolt of energy ran through both Omen and his opponent. Lightning crackled and pierced the creature choking him. White light spread across Omen's vision, rendering him blind while the sharp smell of burnt flesh and acrid lye penetrated his nostrils. A boom of thunder rumbled, the sound deafening.

Did something just hit me?

Another crack of lightning struck the ground next to Omen. He felt dense pressure glide over his skin, prickling the tiny hairs on his forearms.

For a moment Omen thought Templar had again called the lightning, but as his sight returned and he gasped in deep lungfuls of air, he saw the hooved form of the ringmaster approaching. The goat man's whip lashed out and harried team Luciene back to the far exit of the arena. Each crack of his whip rent the air, the wave of energy making Omen flinch away.

Nearby, Templar half-crouched, half-kneeled on the ground, blood oozing from numerous wounds on his body. There was no sign of the magical crackle of energy he'd started the match with. He's exhausted his magic.

Omen staggered upright, fighting to get his feet under him.

The ringmaster cracked the whip again. Team Luciene, snarling in rage, backed away step by painful step, their wings snapping in the air.

They're barely even winded! Omen realized, feeling suddenly nauseous. Save for a few red marks on their white flesh, the winged creatures seemed uninjured. Unlike us.

From a far distance, Omen heard a strange roaring. He shook to clear his head. The crowd, he thought a second later. The spectators were shrieking and shouting, cheers and claps and screams of — he couldn't actually tell if they were praise or protest. His ears were ringing, his mind still pounding with the remnants of battle music. Bright patterns flashed through his mind — rotating, one after another, flaring and flashing as if trying to grab his attention. His mind felt raw, his body battered.

"My goodness!" the ringmaster said in an oddly even tone.

Omen stared at the goat man but couldn't read the emotion on the creature's face. What's going on? The great black whip cracked out again. Omen flinched.

"It would seem I find myself in the rather distasteful position of having to actually enforce a rule!" the ringmaster proclaimed, stung. "I don't recall this ever happening before!"

The noise from the crowd crested. Omen tried to focus, tried to read them. He was fairly certain the humans and elves were cheering, but he couldn't be sure.

Templar carefully scooted closer to Omen. "This could go sideways," the prince whispered. "Get ready."

"Now, now. No protests, my dear lords and ladies!" the ringmaster shouted to the crowd. "Rules are rules. The mongrels scored ten points. The match has ended. If I do not enforce the rules, we risk unfriendly eyes turning upon us all! From above and below."

At that announcement some of the creatures in the stands flinched and hissed, glancing nervously up at the circle of pillars surrounding them amid the black void and the unnatural light shining from the sky.

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