Hell's Pit.
An arena of blood, gore, and demise. A place where brutality meets entertainment in a sick, twisted combination. Where survival one day most likely meant death the next. It was like the modern-day version of the Colosseum of Ancient Rome, but more vicious. More monstrous.
The arena was hidden underground in a vast cave system deep in the forests bordering the city's outskirts. It was a massive, circular marvel of engineering, ringed with several stone seats for spectators. On the west wing of the structure, a small tower stood like a knife cut into a cake. On its summit was a sheltered area capable of holding only a handful of people—the VIPs. The main event happened right in the middle of the arena, on the wide area of red sand, where competitors clashed in an epic bout of savagery.
I hated this place.
Growing up amongst brothers and a tough father meant I'd come to know and accept barbarity as a part of life. Hence, my frequent stolen trips to Hell's Pit with my brothers during my teens were initially wild and enjoyable. But part of maturing for me was realizing the evil behind the intentions of the whole scheme. There was no redemption arc in the Pit, no chances for reformation. It was all just unhinged barbarity glorified by a zombie audience demanding more bloodshed. Countless lives were lost for the amusement of an adoring crowd.
My stomach twisted with rage and disgust.
"Ven? Are you alright?"
I gave a side glance to my brother, Darius, who was seated beside me on my left. My peripheral vision caught tufts of his silver-white hair hanging above his gray eyes, which emphasized the concerned look on his face. Despite being the youngest one, he was probably the only one who wondered why I'd accompanied them to the Pit, knowing my feelings towards the cursed place. The birthday boys on my right, however, didn't seem to care about anything other than their delight.
"Yeah, bro," Jonas added with a cheerful tone. He'd barely taken his eyes off the ongoing battle, yet he spoke like he was gazing intently at me. "You don't look like you're enjoying the fight. You wanna head back home and file some paperwork instead?"
"You should ease up if you want to stay." Jonathan, Jonas's twin, added in a calmer voice. "I can hear your teeth grind against each other like you're trying to shatter your jaw."
"In an enclosed space filled with nearly a thousand people?" I asked no one in particular. I turned to them, observing how intensely their eyes drank up the spectacle before them.
Like most identical twins, Jonas and Jonathan were hard to tell apart. But knowing my brothers for the greater part of twenty-seven years made it easy enough for me. Jonas was the easygoing, impulsive, witty, wild brother who could listen to a heartbreak rant in the middle of the night while fixing himself an omelet in his underwear. Jonathan was a more calculating person, more precise and selective with his words, and was capable of scolding a stranger like a disappointed parent if he found them smoking or littering (yeah, he's done that before. A lot).
What both brothers had in common, personality-wise, was their affinity for violence, which was why we were spending the final hours of their birthday watching people rip themselves apart. Literally.
"Don't you have some paperwork to fill out?" Darius directed his question at Jonas.
"Well," he responded while running his fingers through his reddish-brown hair, "I could always zoom through it hours before the case. Always works."
I rolled my eyes with a sigh. Sometimes I wondered how he was serious enough to become a lawyer and run an entire law firm.
The crowd around us suddenly erupted in a roar of aggressive excitement. From my position, I could see the two competitors on the battlefield—one standing bloody, wounded, but alive and defiant. The other wasn't so fortunate if such a term had any meaning in the Pit. The match was over, the victor was announced, and the next fight, hopefully, the last for the night, was to begin shortly.
Jonas's snicker drew my attention, and I noticed Jonathan wearing a scowl. His hand slid into his leather jacket and produced a credit card. Jonas grinned as he snatched the flat piece of plastic from his twin's fingers.
"They had a bet, you see," Darius explained to me in a loud voice. "Jonas's money was on the guy who won."
"And they decided to bet on their credit cards?"
"You know them, Ven. 'Go big or go home' was a phrase made with those two in mind. But if you ask me, I don't think there's anything substantial in that card."
Of course, I thought. Pranks were probably the most common characteristic of all twins. Who wouldn't want to trick someone who looked exactly like them?
I got to my feet, feeling stiff as a board. "I'm going to take this as my cue to leave. It's getting late, and I do have paperwork to attend to."
Jonas shrugged. "Suit yourself, bro. But you're gonna miss the main event."
He inclined his head towards the middle of the arena, and my eyes followed. An overhead voice, possibly originating from the VIP tower, boomed loudly as the next competitors were revealed. A large, hulking figure lumbered onto the sand. The skin of his bare, muscular upper body gleamed like polished bronze under the yellow light of burning torches set all around the cave. Long, brown hair flowed from his head, matching the wild beard covering his jawline and chin. Dark brown linen clung to his lower body loosely like a loincloth, scarcely covering him. With his large bare feet, he resembled the ancient cavemen from prehistoric times. Veins bulged in his neck and forehead as he roared along with the crowd, already displaying dominance. I already felt pity for whoever was matched up with the caveman, it would require insane mobility and skills to beat him.
The voice boomed again, ushering in the second fighter. A woman, who looked like a child standing next to the caveman. Now, that wasn't surprising; it wasn't the first time I'd seen a woman participate in the Pit. But there was something about this one that glued me to my feet. I couldn't tell if it was her feral blue eyes, her short, dark hair, or her pale pink skin. She was somewhat dressed for battle—a short, brown linen tunic covered her to her knees, and then black armored plates protected her left shoulder, chest, back, and hips. The most interesting thing was the weapons she wielded—two swords that resembled katana blades were held lightly in her grasp, slightly angled away from her body. Something about her made me believe she was in the wrong place, and yet capable of taking care of herself. Else, what kind of maniac would think of this very uneven matchup?
"Is that—?" Darius began.
"Yup," Jonas answered abruptly, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "That's the chick I was telling you about. She's called P. 205, for some weird reason I don't know, but she's a fan favorite. And if you stay for just a couple more minutes, Ven, you'll find out why."