Blood Price: Arena of Skulls, #1

By Ben Blackwell

I was a gladiator in an illegal, underground arena…

...until a rival gang attacked and turned my world inside-out.

 

When I was 17, Wright claimed me. He owned me now. I was just another fighter in his roster, his to send into the ring whenever he deemed it profitable. Countless times I had killed for him, but every time could be my last.

Then one fight became my last, but in a way I couldn't have anticipated…

***

Follow Vivienne 'the Viper' into the ring, into the legendary Arena of Skulls, where the rich and influential players in Darkhaven's underground bet on your life - or against it. But soon, she is ripped from the world she knows. After years of fighting on her own, does she finally find a team worth joining? A cause worth fighting for? Can she save her friend, or will she lose her life in the process?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ben Blackwell
• Release date: Apr 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393956440

Book preview

Chapter 1

Iducked beneath his arcing blade and lunged forward, slicing my dagger along his thigh. Cheering erupted in the crowd around us. First blood. With a slight grin on my face, I retreated two steps.

My opponent ran his hand across the cut, then snarled at me. You’re dead, bitch.

The grin on my face grew into a smirk. Anger only leads to carelessness, so all I had to do now was look for an opening, then strike fast. And while he certainly wanted to kill me for humiliating him by drawing first blood, he couldn’t. It was just a duel, not a deathmatch. And in the Arena of Skulls, breaking the rules was punished by death.

His eyes fixated on mine, his head lowering as he charged at me. Then his gaze wandered downward, and I raised my sword in anticipation. A moment later, he thrust his blade at my heart. My own blade was already there, knocking his away. But unlike him, I had a second blade at my disposal. While his sword was still at his side, I used the momentum from the block to lunge forward. My second sword bit deep into his shoulder. Immediately, I retreated, observing his movements.

He grunted with pain, but went for another blow without hesitation. He was a head taller than me, and almost twice my weight. So was his sword. While mine were short swords, sharp and perfectly balanced, his was a heavy bastard sword that, when wielded with both hands, I wouldn’t dare to block. And he knew it.

He gripped the handle with both hands, his eyes full of hatred, and kept swinging. With surprising skill, the cool steel cut through the air. Its tip often missed me by merely an inch as I dodged and retreated.

Stand and fight like a man, bitch! my opponent shouted at me between strikes. Anger was boiling up in his eyes, his movements becoming more and more aggressive. I almost had him where I wanted him.

I dodged another attack, then another. Like a ballerina, I spun back on one foot, dancing away from him while he kept swinging. Around us, the crowd was cheering again.

I was toying with him, and they knew it. So did he. With a grin on my face, I watched as the last bit of control and slipped away. With a war cry, he stormed forward, holding his sword horizontally, aimed at my heart.

I could run, but that would lose me the favor of the crowd. No, now it was time to end the game and show my dominance. They wanted blood, and I needed to win.

I fixated my eyes on his as I bent my knees, taking a solid combat stance. I raised my blades, welcoming him into my deadly embrace. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins. The whole world seems to slow down.

Two more steps, and his sword would pierce my body.

I adjusted my fingers on my swords, gripping them tightly. His posture was unstable, his center of weight far ahead of his feet. His defense nonexistent.

One step.

I breathed in and let the fire in me surge through my veins. Then I breathed out. As I released my magic, I dashed forward, ducking under his blade, then appearing behind him.

If it had been a deathmatch, his head would’ve just toppled to the ground. But it was not. Instead, I let the tip of my sword kiss his back, all the way from his waist up to his shoulder.

That’s what you got for wearing a tank top to a knife fight.

But I wasn’t done. The crowd wanted more. As he stumbled forward, confused by my sudden disappearance, I followed up with a Spartan kick in the back.

Off balance and unprepared, he couldn’t stop the inevitable. Toppled like a massive tree, he fell. I was already standing next to him when his face hit the ground. Before he could roll back to his feet, I planted my heavy boot between his shoulder blades, pressing down.

Maybe if you fought more like a girl, you wouldn’t be eating dirt right now, I mocked, loud enough for the crowd to hear.

It was a thin line to walk, as I had learned. They loved a powerful woman, cheered you on when you kicked a man’s ass. But whatever you said, you couldn’t mock their manliness, only your opponent’s. An offended crowd was a tough crowd. And gladiators who weren’t loved by their audience didn’t make long in this arena.

But right now, they loved me. Only thirty-ish people had come in today, less than usually. But like always, there were cameras, broadcasting the fights for the rest of the members who couldn’t make it or couldn’t afford live tickets.

With my chin raised, I let my gaze wander over the crowd, soaking up their approval. There was only one face that my eyes stopped at. Wright. My Pitlord. The man who owned me. As long as I won fights for him and made him money, it was all good.

But right now, it didn’t look all good. He frowned at the host, but then nodded with pursed lips.

This can’t be good.

Aaaand another one bites the dust against the infamous, the beautiful, the deadlyyy Vipeeeer, the host announced, his cheerful voice booming through the dark stone hall we were in, deep underground. But, ladies and gentlemen! You want more, and you shall have it. Today, I shall grant your wish. She has won the first round, showed the Bulldozer her fangs. But will she win round two?

Crap. Like most fights, this was supposed to be a single round. A simple duel. Bloody, but without serious injuries. Second rounds never went that well.

But wait! The host gasped into the microphone as the crowd went wild. He waited for a second, until the cheering quieted down before he continued. Can you feel it? His hatred, his humiliation. Her confidence and grace. Such a charged fight can only end one way... He stepped back from microphone when his voice trailed off, raising his arms to the side, spreading them out like an eagle as he prodded the crowd.

Obediently, they cheered louder and louder, their shouting echoing through the hall.

Death-match! Death-match! Death-match! Death-match!

Chills creeped down my spine. This was not what I had signed up for. Then again, I never had a choice in the first place. I took my boot off the bulldozer’s back and walked six steps away, as the rules dictated.

Goosebumps spread over my arms as I looked into his eyes. This was exactly what he wanted. To kill me or die trying. It was personal now. Personal fights were always the worst, but the most interesting for the watchers.

I should’ve seen it coming, should have expected it. Avoided it. Steered the fight away from it. But now it was too late. I could take him, sure. If he didn’t have any hidden talents as well, that is.

FIGHT!

The announcer’s voice boomed through the air once again, and the crowd quieted down. Was it the last time I would hear it?

Chapter 2

Unlike before, the Bulldozer didn’t immediately charge at me. With his sword resting on his shoulder, he meandered around. Slowly, he circled me, scanning me from top to bottom, looking down at me. He was taking back control.

All sounds had died down, the people around the arena watched silently. A chapter from a book came to mind while the fight was almost on pause.

In a good story, the hero doesn’t just win. Before he does, he needs to face his greatest challenge, and then come out victorious despite it.

Other people called me crazy for reading all kinds of stuff. Mastering not only the art of fighting, but making it a show. Controlling the narrative. Playing not only the opponent, but the crowd as well.

But other people didn’t live as long as I did. I was thrown into my first fight the day after I turned eighteen and had been fighting ever since. Two years of battle and bloodshed. That’s more than most people most gladiators in this arena ever reached.

But if I didn’t get my thoughts back under control and into the game, my career and life would end today.

My confident posture had cracks, my arms were lowered just a little. My smirk had turned into an empty smile. I was radiating uncertainty to anyone who knew how to listen.

And, consciously or not, my enemy picked up on it. Good.

Controlled and carefully, he stalked closer, his pose stable and balanced. He held his sword in both hands again, his left shoulder leading ahead.

I raised my swords, readying myself for his first attack. He didn’t keep me waiting for long.

His sword arced hesitantly toward