The Killing Marathon arena roared like a coliseum.
Torches ringed the massive stone pit, casting blood-red light across the sand. Ten alliances circled each other like wolves—blades drawn, eyes hungry. The rules were simple: survive five nights. Kill as many as possible. Top ten advance.
Tidam entered last.
Tim stumbled slightly as he stepped into the arena. His legs felt like lead. His arms trembled holding his blade. Three hours of saving Lacey had drained him completely—body, mind, soul.
Jenny steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Her touch lingered longer than necessary, fingers sliding down his arm. Even exhausted, his body responded—a flicker of heat he couldn't afford.
"Stay close to us," she whispered, lips brushing his ear.
Yuko scanned the opposition, counting heads. Her skirt rode high as she crouched, thigh muscles flexing. "Nomerci's here. Full strength. Genny's watching from the balcony."
Amy clung to Tim's arm, pressing her chest against him. "Master, are you okay?"
He wasn't. Every muscle screamed. His vision blurred at the edges. But Amy's body against his side was soft, warm, distracting in ways that made his exhaustion worse.
But he nodded anyway. "I'm fine."
Lacey walked beside them, still weak but conscious. The poison had eased enough that she could move, but her skin was still flushed, her breathing uneven. Sweat made her tank top cling to her curves like she'd just stepped out of a gym shower. She caught Tim's glance and gave a weak smile.
"Thanks for earlier," she murmured, voice still husky from all the screaming.
Nina brought up the rear, eyes darting nervously. Her spa outfit was torn from the earlier attack, showing more skin than it should. She knew what Nomerci would do if they caught her.
The horn blasted.
The arena exploded into chaos.
Alliances collided like tidal waves—steel clashing, screams echoing, blood spraying across sand. Tim raised his blade, trying to focus, trying to find the rhythm he'd always had.
It wasn't there.
His first swing was too slow. An enemy ducked under it easily, blade flashing toward his ribs. Jenny's sword intercepted at the last second, sparks flying.
"Focus!" she shouted, her body pressing against his back as she covered him. Her curves molded to his spine, breath hot on his neck.
Tim tried. But his body wouldn't respond. His reflexes were gone, burned away in Lacey's bed. He moved like he was underwater—every action delayed, every decision coming too late.
A massive brute charged him, axe raised. Tim raised his blade to block—
Too slow.
The axe crashed down. Tim barely rolled aside, the blade missing his skull by inches. He hit the sand hard, breath knocked from his lungs.
Yuko appeared above him, straddling his chest to fight off another attacker. Her skirt flared, flashing bare thigh, and Tim's exhausted brain still registered the view—soft skin, dangerous curves. She drove her knife down past his face into an enemy's throat.
"Get up!" she hissed, dismounting with a smirk despite the chaos.
Tim staggered to his feet, vision swimming. Around him, the battle raged. Tidam was holding—barely—but only because the girls were covering for him.
Jenny fought like a demon, her blade a silver blur. Her robe split high with each kick, flashing leg like those martial arts movie heroines. Sweat ran down her neck, between her breasts.
Amy darted between enemies, hoodie half-off, chest bouncing as she moved. She looked like those viral self-defense videos—cute girl suddenly lethal.
Yuko moved like a ghost, her idol-like appearance making enemies underestimate her until her knife found their throats.
Even Lacey, poisoned and weak, fought with desperate grace. Every movement made her body flex—abs, thighs, arms—like a fitness model pushed to the absolute limit.
He was the liability now. The weak link.
A woman with twin daggers targeted him, recognizing his weakness. She came at him fast, blades spinning. She moved like an assassin from those spy thrillers—leather-clad, dangerous, sensual in her violence.
Tim raised his sword. His arms felt like concrete. He couldn't keep up with her speed.
One dagger slashed his shoulder. The other drove toward his throat—
A spear shaft cracked her skull.
Lacey stood over him, breathing hard, chest heaving. Sweat ran in rivulets down her cleavage. "Stay behind me."
The humiliation burned worse than the wound.
The first night dragged on. By the time dawn broke and the horn signaled rest, Tidam had survived—but barely. They retreated to their corner of the arena, battered and bloodied.
Tim collapsed against the wall, chest heaving. His whole body shook with exhaustion that went beyond physical.
The girls gathered around him. Jenny knelt close, her torn robe showing too much. Yuko leaned against the wall beside him, leg pressed against his. Amy curled into his other side, soft and warm. Even Nina hovered nearby, her damaged outfit barely holding together.
"You almost died," Jenny said quietly. "Three times."
"I know."
"You can't fight like this." Yuko's hand rested on his thigh—comfort or something else, he couldn't tell anymore. "You're a target, not an asset."
Amy nuzzled against his shoulder. "It's not his fault. He saved Lacey—"
Lacey sat across from them, legs drawn up, giving Tim a view he tried not to focus on. "And I'm grateful. But Yuko's right."
"Four more nights," Nina whispered, adjusting her torn top self-consciously. "Can you even last one more?"
He didn't know.
Night two was worse.
Tim tried to conserve energy, to fight smarter instead of harder. But his body wouldn't cooperate. Every swing felt like lifting mountains.
A Nomerci fighter singled him out—young, fast, grinning like he'd spotted easy prey.
Tim raised his blade. The fighter feinted left, struck right. Tim's block came a heartbeat too late.
The blade drove toward his heart—
A chain whip wrapped around the fighter's wrist, yanking him off balance.
Tim blinked, confused. That wasn't any of his girls.
The whip's owner stepped from the shadows—a figure in a dark cloak, face hidden beneath a hood. They moved with fluid grace, body language suggesting curves beneath the fabric. The whip danced like a living thing, sensual and deadly.
The Nomerci fighter snarled, trying to free his wrist. The mysterious figure yanked hard, pulling him close, then drove a knee into his gut. The movement was precise, athletic—like watching a dancer execute a perfect move.
The fighter collapsed, gasping.
The hooded figure turned toward Tim. For a moment, they locked eyes.
Tim couldn't see their face, but he felt something—recognition? The figure's silhouette suggested a woman's form, but the cloak hid details.
"Stay alive," a voice said from beneath the hood. Female. Low. Almost familiar.
Then she was gone, melting back into the chaos.
Tim stared after her, chest heaving. Who the hell was that?
Jenny appeared at his side, grabbing his arm. "Did you see—"
"Yeah." Tim's mind raced. "Someone just saved me."
"One of ours?"
"No. Someone else."
The mystery figure didn't appear again that night. But Tim felt eyes watching him from the shadows—protective, vigilant.
By dawn, Tidam had survived again. Barely.
They collapsed together in their corner. The girls pressed close—seeking comfort, offering warmth. Jenny's head on his shoulder. Yuko's hand in his. Amy curled against his chest. Lacey's leg draped across his. Nina huddled nearby.
It should have been comforting. Instead, it reminded Tim how empty he felt. How drained.
His soul was drenched, wrung out, nothing left to give.
Four more nights to go.
And someone in the shadows was keeping him alive.
But for how long?