Chapter Nine

Katalene left Erin and the lobotomized woman Rachelle, continuing to roam about The Sanctuary with an aloofness to everything and everyone around her. She wanted to better understand the forts’ ins and outs, thus far, she had gathered that individuals flocked to The Sanctuary in-search of alleviating their sexual and other-wise taboo desires, and that it was paid for. By the food and drinks provided for free at tables, she gathered that it was a membership based establishment, a club, of sorts, and for their payment, members could live in luxury.

She gathered that The Hollow was the group that was trafficking all the cargo, going about and snatching up vulnerable men and women, loading them up in the casket-shaped boxes and bringing them in by the dozens.

More than that, for some reason, she wanted Sheer, more than any of the others, she wanted him dead, he was the primary target for her rage.

The men and women wore scarves, all of them, which suggested an anonymity amongst them. The only individuals she’d seen without their scarves were Sheer and Erin, and with good reason, after all, Erin was killed quite violently.

The fort was huge, not enormous, which suggested a likely substantial fee for passage. She assumed that knowing the exact whereabouts of such an obscure location was indication enough, for Katalene was able to sneak in without running into very much trouble.

Every now and again, walking from around buildings, following wherever the loudest commotion seemed to originate, she did come across specially dressed men and women that caught her attention. They carried scimitars on their waist in bright-red scabbards. She hadn’t seen anyone else wear a weapon besides them, and anyone she did see with a weapon, always had the same red sheath and scimitar. Their clothes were usually darker too, which only clashed the colors and made the red more distinguished. She had to assume this was an intentional act. The only reason anyone could have for such an ensemble was simple, they wanted everyone to know about them. They were the ones in-charge of the operation.

2

Katalene stayed at The Sanctuary for the night. She wandered to the very end of the fort, then, corner to corner, simply taking in everyone involved. The feeling throughout was much different than, say, a village, for instance, in that, everyone felt like strangers with their identities hidden from each-other. They hid themselves because they knew what they were doing was bad and didn’t want to risk recognition in a more public area. This made for an intense and harrowing theme about The Sanctuary, instilled by the simple fact that everyone there only appeared to be involved to fulfill their most taboo desires.

“Do you really think it’s wise to stay there the entire night,” Sol asked, sneaking his unsolicited words into her mind.

“I never asked them much, but I always heard stories about how the city people of Jerleak looked down on small villages like Wilson. To their defense, to a commoner, Wilson smelled as bad as vomit, and, honestly, it’d take an idiot to choose that life to the other ones provided.” Katalene spoke, having a seat against one of the small buildings, the sun’s presence was starting to diminish, but her legs were sore, and she needed the rest.

“I don’t understand,” Sol replied, the small bit of confusion in his voice was about the highest extent of emotion Katalene had ever heard him muster.

“That’s because I haven’t finished,” Kat replied, biting into a kabob of assorted onions with sumac, grilled pepper, and a slice of tomato. “If they really knew the methods behind some of what we do, they might appreciate it. Bugs are harmful to the crop, and thus, we need to kill them.”

“You’re comparing The Sanctuary inhabitants to insects then?” Sol asked, and it drew a small smile from Katalene, he wasn’t as dim as he seemed.

“Thus, we create substances that kill them off. An apothecary comes by bi-monthly with chemicals that help to dispel the infestation. Something else we can do is find what draws them in and find what doesn’t. Divert them from our primary crop and take them somewhere else where they can be disposed of. This can be done through poison, through a more physical means, or by letting a more crop-friendly bug take care of them for us.” Katalene explained, as she spoke, she watched on as crowds of people began to enter their small houses. It looks as though they were shutting things down for the night.

“And, in-order to find out how to exterminate a pest, you have to find out how that pest works?” Sol inquired.

“Exactly,” Katalene remarked. “Good on you, Sol.”

“Be that as it may, the appeal of staying there while everyone is fast asleep is lost on me.” Sol countered, unable to hide his skepticism about the whole ordeal.

It was in his nature, Katalene knew. The gauntlet bound them together and instilled her a great deal of importance to him, whether he wanted it to be as such or not.

“You may be right,” Katalene said while she watched the men and women with the red scabbards begin to walk toward the tables with food on them, pushing carts.

They loaded up the remainder of food with little care for it, spilling cups of liquid onto the bread with little mind, it was clear the food would be disposed of soon after.

One person of the group glared at Katalene with mahogany brown eyes, a tremble of something close to fear overtook her. The thought that, even though her face was covered, the woman recognized her as not being one of them. The woman stood over her for a moment, looking down at her, men stood beside her, staring as well.

Katalene rested her hand over the sleeve covering her gauntlet, readying herself for a scrap.

“Girl, why are you not getting ready right now!?” The woman yelled with an authoritative tone, carrying herself with strength in her posture.

Katalene’s world stopped for a second, only enough to connect the dots for herself. The way they were gathering up all the food and how the men and women were going back to the houses, was not indicative of the night’s end, but indicative of something else about to happen.

“I lost the time,” Katalene answered nervously, climbing up to her feet and brushing the sand off from her backside.

The woman scoffed at her, clearly not amused by her foolishness. She walked away, leading her group fourth.

Katalene watched on until they went a far enough distance, then, turned herself, moving with a quickened pace, making certain to take a turn the very second it was possible, finding herself between two closely adjacent buildings.

“Something is about to happen. Be ready, Sol,” she thought to her Dragon companion.

“I was about to try and get some sleep, but, get to stay up now, how satisfactory.” Sol sarcastically replied.

“Oh, fuck you, you’ve had all the time in the world to sleep, now, you finally get the chance to do something.” Katalene countered, peeking from the side of the building to see if anybody might be approaching. Luckily, nobody was.

“My old master kept me in a cage and attacked me with a whip, but he never used such foul language against me,” Sol replied, trying and failing at humor. Before Katalene could make a reply, however, his voice went off in her head again. “Candles,” Sol commented, then, in the silence, expanded, “On the side of The Sanctuary, there are lines and lines of candles, like a ritual, a path leads nowhere, just to further out into the Whispey Deserts.”

Katalene waited. It was about all she could do, and, thankfully, night-time made it much easier to lurk within the shadows, the looming moon, while beautiful, provided little to no light whatsoever. The air shifted from hot to chilly in what felt like a second’s notice. All Katalene could do was wait.

And, in time, it happened.

Or, it started to happen.

Doors opened abruptly, hurried footsteps traveled about the sands in droves. Katalene watched on at the marching crowds of people.

She could see little of their facial features or characteristics, but did soon see that they were headed toward the exit-way. In front of the gates, the men with the red scabbards from The Hallow stood, candles making a large half-circle around them, making them easily seen.

The customers, for lack of a better term, walked before The Hallow, obscuring figures from sight and bringing themselves into the light instead. The men and women wore black robes that matched the night, but on their arms and from the back of some men’s heads, Katalene could see the diverse colors and symbols painted on each of them.

“What does The Sanctuary provide?” A voice asked at the front of the crowd, only loud enough to where Katalene could barely hear it. “The Sanctuary lets an individual act on their most deeply depraved, buried desires. The Trials of Calpera had pharaohs with god-like powers, powers like nobody have ever seen before, powers that haven’t been exhibited by a person since. There were false-prophets, pharaohs that had the gift and used it for their own selfish agendas. The Aeonians, for instance,” The man, who Katalene could now clearly recognize as Shear spoke, the mentioning of these ‘Aeonians’ was enough to gather boos from the crowd.

“The Trials of Calpera was effective in weeding out the weak from the strong, the stronger pharaohs and their people killed the weaker pharaohs and theirs, that was the natural order. But then, the pharaohs all left. They hadn’t forgotten about us, the strong ones, you can bet they hadn’t forgotten, they’re descendants could be among us, could be in this fort, waiting to recognize their strengths or reveal them to us all. The Sanctuary hopes to weed out the weak from the strong as well, to make it easier for the pharaohs biding their time for resurgence.”

“I ask again, what does The Sanctuary provide!? Recruitment.” He answered for himself in a deadpanned tone. “All of you can purge your desires in the mean-time, waiting to be saved as The Hallow decides your worthiness, and we can exterminate those we know for a fact are unworthy of saving, such as the Sensations you’ve fucked tonight,” Shear said, drawing a roar of applause, coming mostly from the men. It was peculiar, the way that Shear spoke, in such a casual, simply stating the obvious kind-of way, very carefree and laidback, even within a situation such as this.

“Tonight’s Enlistment now begins! May God bless all of you,” Shear said warmly, so warmly, it almost made Katalene forget about how he stuffed her into a casket filled with dead bodies.

The crowd roared on, and as it settled, Katalene watched on at the peculiar events unfolding before her. The men and the women would all shed themselves of their robes, leaving themselves completely naked, dressed only by the luminescent face and body paint they wore over themselves. They danced, stamping their feet and crying out ululations. It reminded Katalene of nothing she’d ever seen before, leaving her only to watch in awe of the spectacle.

* * *

The dancing and chants carried on for an astonishing duration. The biggest testament Katalene had considered was the simple dedication it took to maintain such maneuvering within the cold, night-time desert air, all while in the nude, no less. She supposed that the added body heat of all them congregated alleviated some of that, however. The visual also provided a strong representation for how many individuals were in the fort. Katalene climbed up one of the buildings, using one of the window-holes as a ledge to assist the ascent, enabling herself for a better view of them all. The attempts at counting the men and women, including The Hallow members at the front, estimated at a little over one-hundred.

In the hours that came to pass, Katalene watched while the crowd started to dissipate and breakdown. Those who left the herd of cheering and chanting did so because apparent fatigue or their own extreme discomfort. A lot of those who left were overweight, unable to sustain their dancing movements for any longer, unwilling to embarrass themselves, and others left, placing their robes back over their bodies, likely because they couldn’t handle the cold for any longer.

Before long, Katalene was aware that the morning sun would be arising soon, feeling the heaviness of her eyelids become less and less bearable. She wondered if their intention was to go until the very last of them dropped. If that was the case, then, she really regretted them putting away the food.

For a second, she wondered if this was the time to kill them all. The only individuals with weapons she saw were The Hallow members with their scimitars. The individuals would be fatigued and be far from the condition to run away from her Dragon. She didn’t, however, because a realized character flaw in herself, she was curious about what they’d do next. That, and she was exhausted, completely so, and Sol, as well, had stopped responding to the many thoughts she directed at him, implying he was no longer with her. She pondered whether she could wake him if she simply thought louder, but observed it impossible to think at any louder of a pitch.

She closed her eyes for what felt like a second, only long enough to conceptualize a small narrative in her head. Of how different things would have played out had Rooven not triggered the pressure pad that shot off the arrow. That would have changed everything for the better. Rooven would still be alive, first and foremost. They’d have all the tombs’ treasures and they’d have Sol to bring it all back to Wilson. The world would have been there’s thereafter, free to pursue their every whimsy to the fullest. Life didn’t play out the way of a fairytale, however.

The sound of a dragon’s roar was what awoke her from her trance, though, it wasn’t aloud, but in her head. She flinched, it was still mostly the dead of night, which made it difficult to conclude how much time had passed. There was a way to “think louder,” she supposed. She climbed to her feet fast when she realized she no longer heard the chanting and cheering of the crowd. All of them were gone, it looked like a literal ghost-town for The Sanctuary, with nobody brought to sight. Were they all, at last, sleeping?

“Sol, what is it, what’s happening?” She directed at him, climbing up to her feet with wearied bones, then, making a slow descend down the small sand home, once again resting her feet on the windowsill for leverage. She half-expected to see a man at his table, eating food or some other task, stare at her from inside the house as she landed, but instead, saw no one.

“They’re all gathered by the side of The Sanctuary, it looks as though something is about to start, the man in-front is saying something about it,” Sol explained.

“What are they saying?” she asked. Katalene hurried fourth through The Sanctuary, it wasn’t long until she found herself through the gates, looking at the outside desert. She turned right and immediately saw a gathering of people, fully clothed, staring idly at whatever was happening in-front of them.

“Things about the final Trial, naked men with spears and bows and arrows, a large black crate in front of them.” Sol answered.

In time, Katalene made it amongst the crowd, thankfully, they were properly dressed, which kept her from sticking out like a pale man in Wilson. Some of them still had splotches of face-paint on their skin they hadn’t fully washed away. She watched on, now hearing Shear speaking before the crowd. He stood in-front of four people still wearing face-paint and still completely naked, they were by themselves and away from the crowd.

“These gentleman,” Shear continued, then, corrected, “And, one fine lady, if I do say myself,” He said with a smile, his eyes wandering down at her naked body. The woman pretended to be flattered, or may have really been flattered, Katalene, on the other-hand, only wanted to kill him that much more.

“These are the strongest of the night, and, by my estimation, each one of them is deserving of reservations in The Hallow. Unfortunately, my opinion does not surpass long-standing tradition. The contest is simple, in the days when the Desert was not called ‘Whispey,’ but was indeed called Calpera, this was deemed as the opening event. The rules are simple, kill as many as you can kill, bring their heads back to your pike. That’s a point!” Shear announced, a small laugh that, even with everything she’d already seen, made her feel uneasy. “Winner receives a sword for the final round. In the case of a clean sweep or a situation where the first-place individual doubles the score of the next-best, they will be welcomed into The Hallow immediately and we’ll have a rare case of two individuals being initiated into the group. All of this is very simple, I explain it only for the benefit of some of our newcomers. As always, the Targets will receive a sixty-second head start, if they make it out of bounds, The Hallow leaders who are readied in their respective posts, will seize them as Sensations.”

Katalene found herself taken by the concept. She was figuring it out as it was explained and matching the scenery with said explanation. Acting as a barricade, keeping the crowd away, were lit candles. The moon offered a very small glimmer of light, while the candles did the rest of the work. She supposed that the time in which the event was held likely varied, and with that, the need for the candles being lit would vary as well. Maybe the event had times when it was stalled til the early morning, she really had no idea how long she’d slept or what other preparations were made, however.

On either side of the candle-made barricade were weapon-racks, loaded with weapons like spears and flails and maces, and from the looks of it, there were more weapon racks stationed deeper into the desert. That would be where the row parallel rows of candles ended, and the darkness of the desert began again. The sight was peculiar, but, in-front of the four people was what had Katalene’s attention the most: a giant black crate. The contents of the crate were never under question, Shear plainly said that targets were in there, that most likely meaning individuals who were kidnapped. The knocking sounds of hammering fists seemed to all but confirm said fact. What interested Katalene about this most of all was that the caged beings were, apparently, in right enough mind to perceive their situation.

Shear walked toward the black crate, accompanied by a few Hallow members, through the crowd, Katalene could vaguely see his face. He ordered around the members of The Hallow, and by such, Katalene inferred him as the leader, all the hatred in her heart personified into an object. Her teeth felt on-edge simply looking at him, but she held her composure, with everyone gathered up, she’d be killed, even with Sol helping her.

“Let’s begin!” Shear announced, and like that, it did, in-fact, begin.

The men plucked long rods from out of the crate, one-by-one, and, by the time they had removed four of them, the crate fell apart on all four sides. The Hallow members stepped away, keeping themselves out of the crossfire. Free from the crate were more than fifteen men and women, completely naked, minus the luminescent paint that coated their bodies. Katalene had never seen paint that glowed in the dark before, but was more taken by the audacity of the situation to care about such a feat. They were all painted in a bright yellow that stood out very clearly in the dark, all except for one of them, who was a bright bluish tint.

“Of all fifteen, you’ll notice one is not like the others, the Blue will be worth three of the seventeen points available. For newcomers wondering, no, you cannot off any of the participants or steal their kill. Whoever finishes the Target is the only person allowed to take the kill’s head to the pike,” as Shear spoke, the men and women ran behind him, running for their lives, it would seem. “Consider The Hallow men and women positioned around the Deserts as the referees.”

They ran off, themselves distinguished by the paint on their skin, as well as the candle-light.

Shear sat, his hands at his stomach, swiveling himself back in fourth comically with a small grin. “I think that has been enough time, don’t you!? Go ahead and begin!”

The four participants in the “final trial” acted swiftly, themselves each running to the weapon racks to grab their weapons of choice. The woman went with an easy-to-use lance, whereas, one of them went with a flail, the other a sword, and, the final, a lance, as well.

The individuals were all near the peak of physical condition, which would be expected in-order for them to withstand the fatigue from the dancing all those hours and still be able to catch up to the Targets.

The first kill came fast and was gruesome, a victim’s skull being crushed. It happened when the bulkier of the men, the one carrying the flail, through the weapon fourth, taking down the person a few feet in-front of him.

Once that happened, all the others seemed to take a page from him, throwing their weapons ahead like harpoons. The woman missed her throw by only a couple inches, but sped up to tackle the person she’d almost hit, then, revealing a knife from her pocket, slit the Target’s throat. The sword was effective as it was thrown, stabbing right through the neck, bringing the person down to their death. The man yanked his sword out from his neck and let out a loud battle-cry that drew ovation from the crowd. Everyone liked a charismatic sportsman, she supposed. The final attacker, with their spear, pierced the Target’s flesh at the back of the leg.

The bulkier man heightened his speed, running fourth in-front of the other participants and snatching the other man’s spear from the back of the Target’s legs. He quickly readied himself and plunged it through the person’s skull, killing them. “I killed the bitch, that one’s mine!”

No conflict or argument arose, even after the bulkier man yanked the lance out from the Target and flung it beyond the candles and into the darkness. They simply kept with their movements, the crowd began to move themselves, making sure not to miss out on any of the action. In seconds, the woman advanced, tackling down another Target. This Target was ready, however, flinging a handful of sand into the woman’s eyes, temporarily blinding her.

The Target, also a woman, climbed to her feet, with panicked shrieks, an ugly noise from her voice that sounded unhuman in a way. Although, having blurred decision-making, she did have enough fight left in her to lift the Woman’s spear in her hand and prepare for a strike. It would’ve happened had the man with the sword not cleanly decapitated the Target before it could. The blood spurted out, and the splatter might have been more obvious had it not gone with the Swordsman’s face-paint.

“Fuckin’ idiot, should of let the bitch get killed first!” The bulky man yelled back, then, turned his attention back to the task.

The crowd was mostly silent, except for the loud ovation for each of the kills, and, because of that, Katalene was able to hear many of the sounds coming from the Targets. Their screaming was unintelligible, and by their movements, she had to guess they were mostly going on instinct, plagued by fear and disarray.

They were about halfway through their “course”, where the row of candles ended, and the darkness began. The man with the flail continued to lead, running, he drove his weapon to the back of one person and tripped the other with his foot. Prying the flail off the person’s back, it stuck to him like a bug in a spider’s web, the bulkier man soon found himself taken off his feet by another of the participants. More specifically, it was the person he’d thrown the weapon of earlier.

The bulkier man rolled off into the sand, completely caught off-guard. Quickly, the weaponless man acted, stomping on the throat of one of the Targets, killing him, then, turning the other person on his back to do the same. “That’s two!” He yelled out, very pleased with himself.

Katalene looked over to see Shear’s reaction, wondering if that fell under “stealing a person’s kill” or not. Shear seemed undeterred by it, watching it with a smirk on his face.

The man celebrated for only a second, because, when he turned around, the bulky man with the flail smacked him in the ribs, bringing him off his feet, screaming in agony. The crowd absolutely roared at that attack. Katalene gave another look to Shear, as, if that last one wasn’t breaking the rules, the man with the flail was certainly infringing on them. Instead, she watched on as Shear clapped in loud approval of the act as well. This really was nothing except a game to them.

Meanwhile, during that scuffle, the swordsman had gotten another kill, bringing his total up to three. This put him in the lead by Katalene’s count, at three. That is, of course, assuming they weren’t counting the Bulkier Man’s murder of a fellow participant.

Eight of the Targets were dead, leaving seven, among them was the blue-painted Target.

The Woman drove her lance into a Target’s stomach, leaving the victim to scream wildly in agony of the act. The Woman, then, drove the other-side of the spear into the sand, leaving the Target leaned upright as she slit her throat with a knife.

Cheers came soon after, and Katalene’s wasn’t completely sure for why they happened. That is, until she found the Swordsman, engaged in combat with one of the Targets, a boy, likely younger than Rooven would’ve been, had taken a sword from the weapon rack and begun to fight back. The boy was filled with vigor, although, from his movements, it was clear he was far from an experienced swordsman.

This sign of life made the guilt of the whole display settle in for Katalene. She had seen so much cruelty in The Sanctuary, but, perhaps, she took some comfort in the fact that the victims no longer comprehended their torture. This small child was well-aware and was fighting for a life that had been stolen from him, unsure of his surroundings, unsure of what was happening, all he knew to do was fight. And, there was nothing that Katalene could do for him either. Sure, she might have been able to have Sol run by and save him, but that would reveal the Dragon’s awareness, that it was being led by something, and that was too precious of an angle to be used for the benefit of only a single child.

And, thus, instead, Katalene simply watched. It wasn’t as though it could end well for him, but, maybe part of her simply wanted to see the boy kill the Swordsman, even if he’d only be killed after.

Of the six remaining, three of them continued to run. The other three, however, took weapons from the rack and stayed their ground. They each grabbed spears and began jabbing them at The Swordsman. The man with the flail stood there absentmindedly for a moment, as if he was contemplating the idea of allowing the swordsman to be killed. He thought better of it, perhaps because he realized after he was gone, they’d be greatly outnumbered. Then again, Katalene had lost where The Woman had gone, so they might already have been.

The Swordsman dodged the jabs the best he could, backing away when he realized the length of attack the spears provided. The Targets with the spears almost seemed to guard the boy, which was admirable, but, in vein, as the moment the boy eased his disposition, the bulky man flung his flail at the boy’s skull, killing him.

Off the distraction, the swordsman took advantage by stabbing toward the heart of the Target’s chest. The other target with a spear reacted, jabbing The Swordsman in the throat, taking the second of the participants out from the competition.

This left The Target alone with the weaponless bulky man. The bulky man turned to look at the closest weapon’s rack, The Target did not allow it, attempting to plunge the spear into his stomach. The bulky man moved himself out of harm’s way, grabbing the spear’s handles and using his size-advantage to pull the Target forward, ramming him with his shoulder and taking him off from his feet.

The bulky man stopped over him, pinning him down with both his knees, then let out a battle cry and commenced driving his fists to the Target’s face, one after another, until, finally, no longer.

The bulky man climbed to his feet, lifting his arms up in celebratory rejoice, the crowd cheered with him. As he turned away from the crowd, however, he came to see that The Woman had not only killed one person, but had killed the only person she needed to kill to claim the whole contest.

Although, the two-remaining had managed to make it to the darkness, where they’d, then, fall victim to an even crueler fate, The Woman had killed The Target with the bluish glow.

“Looks like we have our winner!” Shear yelled to the heavens, “And, since one of our participants broke the rule about offing another participant, she makes a clean sweep!”

The Bulky Man walked toward him, “No, no, no,” He argued, “That man isn’t dead, he’s still yelling and everything!”

Shear laughed at that fact, “I suppose he is,” Shear walked toward the fallen Participant. “What does everybody think!? You want to see these three battle to the death for membership in The Hallow!?” Shear played to the crowd with charisma, and they ate it up.

* * *

By the time the Bulky Man and the Woman finished smashing the severed heads of The Targets down onto their respective pikes, the score showed The Woman as the victor, with three heads, but one being blue, and The Bulky Man having four.

Of course, the injured participant found himself unable to collect his tally, but The Bulky Man was kind enough to be accommodating, smashing two of the severed heads down on his pike.

The Hallow members arranged some of the candles into a small ring, a ring that the crowd itself, then, circled around.

Inside of it, The Bulky Man stood with a stick in-hand, The Woman had been given a sword, and finally, the injured participant screamed in agony, but was also given a stick.

The Bulky Man stared at The Woman, Katalene assumed he must have been feeling a great deal of fear. After all, one swipe, his stick would be cut through, a second swipe and so would he. The Woman readied toward him swiftly, knowing the best course of action was likely to finish him fast.

Stupidly, in a desperate act of cowardice, The Bulky Man kicked sand kicked fourth in her face, not unlike what one of the Targets had done. That didn’t stop The Woman, however, who continued to run fourth, slashing onward, she pierced The Bulky Man’s flesh, grazing his midsection.

The Bulky Man fell to the ground, one of his hands trying to stop the blood flow from his stomach. The other-hand making a desperate attempt at defense, jabbing his stick at the air, trying to keep The Woman from coming anywhere near him.

The Woman stood over him with the sword in her hand. Him, cowering back away from her, more and more.

In a display of dumb luck, however, The Woman was rendered incapacitated and defeated.

By the time she was ready to make her kill, she had backed him against the rim of the ring containing them. In his last act of desperation, The Bulky Man grabbed one of the candles surrounding them and tossed it at her head. The first one missed, but his second attempt did not. The candles being thick-glass bowls of wax made them more than a capable weapon, it allotted him the means to steal her sword and use it to off her with.

Some of the crowd cheered, but some of the crowd seemed disappointed with the fact, as if their favorite had lost. Katalene was crossing her fingers for them all to die by the end of it.

The Bulky Man stood over her with the sword in his hands, feeling the fear he once felt leave him must have been a great relief. He wore a smile from cheek-to-cheek, walking over to the fallen man who had, more-or-less, checked himself out, barely audible, hardly conscious.

The Bulky Man dropped to his knees, releasing the sword from his clutches. He held the man’s head in his hands, looking sinister and vicious, he drove his thumbs into the man’s eye-sockets, digging his fingers into them until blood began to vacate the premises. His victim did little to fight back, all he could do was have convulsions and make muffled gargling noises.

The Bulky Man started to lift, twisting and turning the man’s head, he was trying to pry it off, but was finding it more difficult than he anticipated. He had, undoubtedly, broke his neck and killed the man, but refused to end his fixation. He let go of him only long enough to carve into the side of his neck with the sword, after that, with a little extra maneuvering, he, at last, managed to pry off the person’s head, holding it up by his hair. The crowd loudly cheered, and he screamed right back at them.

Shear walked toward the man with a look that showed he was clearly entertained by the whole display. The crowd’s reaction told that they shared his sentiment. Shear rested his shoulder on The Bulky Man’s painted back, whose brow sweated profusely. The Bulky Man did not return the sentiment, instead, he simply stood, breathing heavily, an intense glare at everyone around him, holding the severed head of the final participant. Katalene looked at The Woman’s face, it was without blemish, dropped on the sand, she would’ve simply looked asleep, buried to the neck up, for some reason, that thought sent shivers up Katalene’s spine. How visually unapparent the dead looked, how, other-wise normal, Rooven looked inside the coffin.

“Ladies and gentleman, the newest member of The Hallow!” Shear yelled, The Bulky Man yelled with him.