Dark Tournament_A Romantic Fantasy Adventure_Touched Saga Spin-Off Read online

  Dark Tournament

  Elisa S. Amore

  Copyright © 2018 by Elisa S. Amore

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Dark Tournament

  Prologue

  1. After the Fall

  2. The Castle Walls

  3. Hell Has Its Faults

  4. The Price of Survival

  5. Hell Is Inside Me

  6. To Each His Own Hell

  7. Sweet Poison

  8. The Queen of Hell

  9. Sensations of Times Past

  10. Battlefield

  STELLA

  11. A Reason for Everything

  12. Kahlena

  DRAKE

  13. In the Middle of Hell

  14. Hell Has Its Flames

  STELLA

  15. To the Last She-Warrior

  16. The Heart of Hell Pumps Black Blood

  DRAKE

  17. A Price to Pay

  18. Freedom Is the Color of Blood

  19. The Dark Ceremony

  20. Character Building

  21. The Mission

  22. Leveling Up

  23. The Hardest Choice

  24. A Promise with a Bitter Taste

  25. Level One

  26. The Courage of Those Who Remain

  27. May Each Forge His Glory

  28. Ghosts in the Mind

  29. Level Two

  30. Like the First Time

  31. Win or Die

  32. The Phantom Death

  Also by Elisa S. Amore

  ELISA S. AMORE

  Dark Tournament

  Elisa S. Amore

  Translated by Leah Janeczko

  Through me is the way to the city of sorrow,

  Through me is the way to eternal pain

  Through me is the way to the ranks of the sinners. […]

  Abandon every hope, you who enter.

  —The Divine Comedy: Inferno, Canto III

  by Dante Alighieri

  The Opalion

  The air smelled of sweat and blood. The dust stung our wounds as we awaited the Stage Director’s next move. It was she who transformed the battlefield and chose our means of combat. We had fought barehanded and with weapons of all sorts, had maneuvered ourselves through mud and flames. They had even sealed us in a glass cage where sharp blades protruding from the walls threatened our every move. There was no limit to the number of challenges in this duel. It was win or die, a lethal game that would have only one Champion.

  “Faust! Faust! Faust!”

  It wasn’t my name the spectators were shouting as I thudded to the ground on my back. It was my opponent’s. I spat out a mouthful of blood, its taste filling my mouth, and locked my eyes on his. Encircled by a black mustache and goatee, his lips curled into a mocking sneer as the crowd cheered him on.

  “No reason to gloat over an audience that changes sides so fast,” I grunted. Not long before, everyone in the stands had been applauding my feats and shouting my name as I defeated an entire horde of Damned Souls to then battle a giant beast with pestilential breath. It had been fucking hard to reach that point. I had taken part in the Opalion often enough to know that the first two trials had been tougher than usual. Despite that, now I was right in the middle of the third one, the worst: the duel against the challenging Champion.

  “Even the smallest victory deserves its moment of glory,” he shot back with a grin.

  “Well, they say settling for second best is a virtue. A shame it’s not one of mine.” I charged him and slid across the ground, knocking him off his feet. He was getting back up when the earth trembled beneath us and split open. We froze.

  Within seconds the Arena had transformed yet again, leaving us only a few strips of land on which to do battle: concentric rings connected by walkways in the form of spokes scattered here and there around the circumference. I moved my foot away from the precipice and looked down. Nothing could be seen in the depths of the darkness.

  “Get ready to take a dive, soldier,” Faust warned me.

  “I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.” I kicked up the staff that lay on the ground, grabbed it in midair, and twirled it over my head. “I was a pilot in the U.S. Army. I know how to bring down my enemies.” I dealt him a powerful blow and he crashed to the ground.

  A sneer appeared on his lips. “I was a firefighter. That doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy watching you burn.” He leapt to his feet and tongues of fire burst from the chasm right behind me. The heat hit my back and I instinctively rolled into a front flip, gritting my teeth from the painful burn. I looked up and followed Faust’s eyes to the Panthior, the platform of honor. It was his Amìsha—the Witch who had claimed him as her Champion—who commanded the flames. She was inside his head . . . and in his blood.

  Only three of the ten members of the Sisterhood were watching the Games from above: Sophìa, the queen of the Underworld, in her ever-vigilant role as Stage Director; the Witch of Honor, who had earned the title by defeating her Sisters in what they called “the Hunt”; and last, the member of the Sisterhood who offered her own Champion to challenge the Witch of Honor’s if he survived the first two trials. The two challenging Sisters assisted their warriors during the duel using black magic, while the Stage Director made the challenges increasingly more perilous. We were pawns in a deadly game in which the chessboard itself could do us in. As if that wasn’t enough, the other seven Sisters watched over us in their guise as black panthers prepared to rip to shreds anyone who dared set foot outside the Circle. Seven ferocious felines spread out in a ring, their eyes trained on me. Their claws were lethal for those of my kind. One scratch was enough to kill us.

  That was how the Witches spent their time at the Castle. That is, of course, when they weren’t busy corrupting the minds of mortals on Earth by granting their wishes in exchange for a piece of their souls. No one could resist the Temptation, a promise of death that sooner or later led them to Hell.

  Damned Souls weren’t granted the luxury of battling for victory—they were tossed into the Arena as fodder for the Champions or the wild beasts captured during the Hunt. The more courageous Souls came to watch the Games from the stands set aside for them in the amphitheater. Opalion celebrations were the only occasions on which Sophìa opened the Castle doors.

  Feeling the Arena’s dusty ground beneath my feet reminded me that I was still in play, ready to fight. Faust and I had battled it out, chasing each other all the way to the last ring of land. The panthers prowled back and forth nervously, keeping watch over the areas assigned to them. They were eager to sink their poisonous claws into one of us.

  The crowds cheered with surprise when I tackled Faust and pinned him to the ground, his face dangerously close to the borderline. “Not bad for somebody who’s fighting without lymphe, don’t you agree?” Elite Champions like Faust were allowed to drink their Witches’ blood, known as lymphe. That was how the Sisterhood controlled them—and made them stronger. Tightening my grip, I shoved the staff against his throat. “I’ve heard the winner gets to spend a fiery night with his Amìsha. Not a bad reward.”

  “You have to earn the title before you can enjoy the privileges of a Champion.” Using my staff as leverage, he broke free, hurling me away.

  An arsenal of swords plunged from the sky, impaling themselves in the ground. Jus
t in the nick of time I dodged one headed right at me. “Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?” I grabbed the sword and our blades rang out as they clashed.

  “Your tongue is as sharp as my sword. What a shame it won’t help you win the tournament.”

  “I’m going to do far more entertaining things with it.” I grinned at him, but a needle shot toward me and wounded my arm, wiping the grin off my face. “Ow! Weren’t the flying swords enough?” I groaned. A second later I spotted a huge shower of needles zooming in our direction.

  “Shit.” I threw myself into a somersault to avoid them and glimpsed my opponent running in the opposite direction. He was trying to reach the walkway to the first ring of land, where an entire armory of weapons had appeared. I gave chase. I had to keep him from reaching it or beat him to it. Breathlessly, I raced after him around the last ring, dodging the needles shooting toward us. The panthers paced back and forth ominously, waiting for one false move. A series of spears suddenly sprang from the ground, forcing my adversary to slow down. I pounced on him, hurled him to the ground, and punched him repeatedly. He grabbed my face and shoved it back as though he wanted to rip my head off.

  I heard a sinister hiss just as a needle pierced my ear. Faust laughed when he heard me curse. I bit down on his fingers and clenched my teeth until I tasted his blood in my mouth. He howled and let go of me.

  Pulling myself to my feet, I touched the needle in my ear. “Actually, I might decide to keep it. Bet it looks good on me.” Just then another series of needles struck my bare chest. “These, maybe not.” I gripped them all in my fist and threw them to the ground, returning my attention to my opponent.

  Time seemed to freeze along with our gazes, locked on each other. The needles had stopped, the spears had withdrawn into the ground, and the audience was holding its breath. It was just me and Faust now, ready to find out who would become the new Champion.

  It was time to put an end to the duel.

  He shot off so fast I couldn’t defend myself when he kicked me square in the back. He tried to attack once again, but this time I warded off the blow and began to punch him over and over, forcing him to back toward the edge of the chasm. Faust was a tough guy. Maybe casting him into the void really was the winning strategy.

  “Only wusses attack from behind. Hasn’t anybody ever taught you that?” I reproached him.

  “To be honest, I learned it from you.” His foot slid across the ground to the edge. I had him trapped. Gloating, I smiled. “See you on the other side.”

  Faust smiled back at me. “Pilots fly first.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and with an amazing leap front-flipped over my head, inverting our positions. I ducked to avoid his punch, barely avoiding losing my balance. This time I was the one dangerously close to the edge. I caught his leg mid-kick and he spun around in the air to break free.

  The crowds were in raptures over our dark dance.

  “What, were you trained in a circus?” I inched forward just enough to be out of the danger zone and resumed the battle more aggressively than ever.

  “This place is the most freakish circus there’s ever been. Haven’t you noticed that yet?” I shrugged. He wasn’t all wrong.

  A spear materialized not far away. It was my chance. I took a running start, slid across the ground, and snatched it up, but instead of hurling it at Faust I charged him. “You’re right. Pilots fly first.” I planted it in the ground and flew through the air, kicking him in the face with both feet.

  “Drake! Drake! Drake!”

  I turned to the audience, bowing. “I see you’ve come back to your senses.”

  Fast as a whip, Faust’s legs jerked me down and I toppled onto him. “Have a nice flight, then,” he shot back, grinning. He planted his feet on my abdomen and with a powerful shove sent me sailing over his head.

  I didn’t see it coming. The crowd gasped in shock. When I spun around, a panther pounced on me, her golden eyes sharp as those of a serpent.

  I had crossed the line.

  Her roar silenced the stands as her razor-sharp claws sliced through my chest. The poison set my veins on fire and a blinding agony clouded my brain. I heard the horn announcing the end of the tournament. Then everything went dark.

  Game over.

  1

  After the Fall

  I was once a Subterranean—a Soldier of Death—until Death claimed me and cast me into Hell, the only place from where there is no escape. Neither alive nor dead.

  When I lived on Earth my mission was to redeem mortal souls and take them to Eden. Down here there was no one to save, so I figured I might as well enjoy my stay at the Castle. Sure, the hangover after every defeat in the Opalion was a real pain, but with time I got used to it.

  The Subterraneans who didn’t rebel were treated a whole lot better than the prisoners. I’d heard their screams coming from the Torture Caverns. What good would it do me to remain locked up, being tortured? That was why I’d gritted my teeth and agreed to be subjugated. In exchange, the Witches gave me more breathing room, more freedom.

  The other alternative was to run away, which was out of the question, not to mention an insane idea. Who knew what ferocious creatures were lurking out there? There had to be a reason they called it Hell and I had no intention of finding out what that reason was.

  The battles were a whim of the Sisterhood, the harpies who ruled the Underworld, and I had been battling for one of them. The rules at the Opalion were simple: fight for your Witch or die for her. Unfortunately for us, we Subterraneans were immortal. That was why they chose us for the Games. On Earth their lethal poison was the only weapon capable of annihilating us, but once in Hell there was no place else for us to go. Tournament after tournament, death after death, I was still condemned to Hell. Only Oblivion could put an end to everything, but that was a luxury very few were ever granted.

  Feeling water choking me as I came to, I opened my eyes and jerked my head above the surface. I was in one of their healing vessels, pools of regenerating water carved into the rock walls. This was where they brought Soldiers after battles. The real magic was that the water didn’t seep out of the vertical chamber.

  “Welcome back to the living.” The image of the young woman in front of me went blurry and then grew focused again. Lenora, if I remembered right. Her big green eyes smiled at me kindly, unlike those of her friend Khetra, who looked annoyed.

  “Easy does it, Soldier. You haven’t fully regenerated yet.” Khetra pushed me back in by the shoulders so I grabbed her wrists and, to distract her, planted a kiss on her lips. They were Mizhyas, the Witches’ maidservants. The form-fitting outfits they wore looked so sexy on their toned, curvaceous bodies. Brown, like their short fur boots.

  She broke away, indignant. “You’re as insolent as ever.” She had a fair complexion and red hair, and was adorable when she pouted—that was why I always tried so hard to irritate her. Lenora was shyer but just as attractive, with her blond hair and Mizhya tattoo that made its way from her shoulder down to her breasts—I had personally verified that. Every Mizhya in the Castle had a tattoo somewhere on her body. They were all really artistic, all different, almost as though they were brands distinguishing each of them.

  I laughed and pulled myself out, dripping wet and stark naked. “I already feel like I’m in great shape. What do you think?” I asked a third Mizhya whose name I couldn’t remember. She must have been new. I winked at her and she tossed me a towel to cover myself.

  Instead, I draped it around my neck. The water in the vessel reflected my tanned image. As a good soldier I had always shaved my head, but in Hell my hair had grown so long I had to tie it up in a ponytail. The tattoo of the Subterraneans that wound down my left arm kept me from forgetting who I was. My cuts and bruises had disappeared, leaving behind only the scars from the poison. Not even when I fought in the army had I collected so many of them. Not that I’d spent much time on the battlefield, given that I’d died when I was only twenty-three. Some girls even found them s
exy, especially the two lines that cut through my eyebrow.

  Khetra grunted. Of them all, hers was the name most firmly branded in my memory, and not only that. She knew how to play erotic games with her whip that were hard to forget. I didn’t grant her exclusive rights to me, of course. I was definitely too much for just one lady. After all, I was in Hell. My soul was already good and damned. What worse could happen to me?

  “Lenora, go call the mistress and tell her the Soldier is back,” she said.

  “What’s the rush?” I grabbed the blond’s wrist to stop her, but Khetra instinctively reacted, freeing her friend.

  “Drake, do you want to get us killed?!” The Mizhya looked around, on her guard.

  “Don’t be jealous, Ginger. I didn’t mean to neglect you. We can all have fun together.”

  Mine was a dangerous game, I was well aware. That was why I found it so amusing. The Mizhyas’ lives, though, were way more at risk than mine. No enchanted pool of water could bring them back if they died. They weren’t immortal like Subterraneans were. They were Damned Souls recruited in Hell to serve the harpies.

  “You’d better not attract too much attention, otherwise we’ll sell you out the first chance we get,” Lenora said.