Back in the arena, the beasts had stopped their rampage. One by one, they turned and lumbered back toward their cages, blood dripping from their jaws. Some even dragging corpses and body parts behind them as they moved.
The massive iron gates slammed shut and the walls that were broken suddenly began to rebuild themselves. It was the witch's magical at work.
She raised her arms and stones rose from the ground, reassembling piece by piece untill the cages were sealed away completely.
Within moments, it was as if the walls had never fallen at all and the green-lit areas where the survivors stood in the arena flickered and vanished.
Silence hung over the arena for a heartbeat. Then, the crowd erupted in applause and cheers so loud it shook the ground.
The survivors were all trembling, some barely standing because they were injured. They stepped slowly out of their safe zones into the open field.
All thirteen of them.
The witch floated down from above them, her grin wider than ever. She spread her arms theatrically. "All hail." she cried. "Hail to the survivors!"
The crowd roared louder with cheers and applause.
"What a spectacle we have on this fine day of the Blood Reaping." the witch continued, her voice dripping with glee. "What carnage and drama. I have not been this entertained in centuries."
She clapped her hands together. "Now, before I make the last announcements, let us take a moment to honour those who... did not make it."
Her tone shifted to something more softer than before.
"From the Ambrad Kindred of the First Realm," She gestured grandly. "we lost twelve brave souls."
The crowd hauled and applaused to honour their passing. They did this for all the tribes mentioned.
The names and tribes she mentioned are as follows: The 'Glacial Throne and Stone Wardens' of the Second Realm, the 'Shadowkin and Vampyr' of the Third Realm, the 'Lycans and Minotaurs' of the Fourth Realm, the 'Tridas and Scaled Draken' of the Fifth Realm, the 'Elven Kin and Skyborne' of the Sixth Realm and the 'Goblin kin and Demonkin' of the Seventh Realm.
The crowd roared with more cheers and applause as she mentioned each tribe. After a short moment of pause, the witch's smile faded slightly, her eyes glinting with something darker.
"And finally..." She turned toward a group huddled together in the arena. "...from the Ash Reavers of the First Realm,"
The four remaining Reavers knelt in the sand, their massive forms hunched over a pile of broken armor, all that was left of their beloved brother. It was some scraps of metal, torn leather and blood sprayed across that area.
One of them, the largest and the eldest, held a piece of the fallen Reaver's chestplate in his trembling hands. His face was twisted from grief to rage.
The others surrounded him, heads bowed and their shoulders shaking. They were sobbing quietly. The witch's voice softened, almost tender. "One Reaver fell. Slain by cunning treachery."
The eldest Reaver's head snapped up. His eyes burned with fury and anger. He stood slowly, clutching the armor to his chest, and when he spoke, his voice came as a loud cry, drawing the attention of every one at the arena.
"I swear," he growled, "on the ashes of our ancestors and on the blood of my brother,"
He raised the broken chestplate high. "...I will find the one who did this and I will tear their limbs from their body and I will make them beg for death till they are nothing but screaming meat!"
His voice cracked. "...I...will feed them to the beasts myself!"
The other Reavers howled in unison, slamming their armour. A sound so primal and full of anguish it silenced even the crowd.
The witch smiled. "I smell vengeance. How unexpected."
She turned back to the crowd. "But enough mourning for one day, am I right?"
They cracked. She nodded her head and continued. "Let us rise and celebrate because for the first time in eleven hundred years, we have thirteen survivors instead of ten. Celebrate citizens of Eryndor, for this year's Reaping is going to be the fun of a life. I tell you."
The crowd cheered again, louder than ever. Stomping their feet so hard the ground shook. The witch's eyes gleamed with delight.
"Rest well, champions. For tomorrow," She leaned forward on her broom, her grin stretching impossibly wide.
"....the true contest begins."