Death’s New Pet: Love after Life

Sin. Torture. Anguish. Death.

The words leap into my head as soon as I feel the beast’s ineffable gaze on me. My stomach twists angrily and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. Prey recognises Predator.

I’ve never been looked at like that before. A look that promises so much pain, anguish, hatred and death. Human words can’t even describe the awful look that was just fixed on me, and yet, despite the mortifying sight in front of me, no fear coursed through my veins. When you’ve lived a life of fear and suffering, it becomes your normal. Your body will adjust itself and spare the adrenaline for when it’s necessary, not when it’s normal. It’s only the spark within my heart that screams danger when everything else is numb.

His head cocks to the side and the light bounces off his chiselled face, casting shadows on the rest of his body. He doesn’t look different from a human, but the aura he gives off couldn’t be more parallel. If anything, he’s very handsome. Tar-coloured hair, dark red eyes, pale skin, and round, full lips. Inky patterns kiss his pale, exposed skin on his fingers and hands, on his neck and face and down to his chest. He wears an unfamiliar material on his torso and legs, and his huge muscular arms threaten to burst out of a raven-coloured long-sleeved top.

Beside him, he has a large, deranged weapon, shaped like a large talon with a stunning red jewel at the top. I watch carefully as he twiddles it around menacingly. I can only liken his outfit to war armour. He looks utterly breathtaking in it, oozing anger and deadly promises. A coal-coloured mist seeps out of him when he glares down at me, and I’m momentarily stunned. It reminds me that he is not human. He is something I should stay away from, I should fear, but I’ve never been one to fear the unknown. In my experience, the known is always far more dangerous.

Something in those shadowy eyes twinkles maliciously. It makes my mouth dry and my fingers curl into fists as I recognise him as a threat. My tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip, and his bleeding eyes seem to catch every movement.

I force myself to look away and inspect the other creatures in the viewing gallery too.

My gaze drifts to the oldest-looking man there who announced himself as the handsome man’s father. He seems cold and calculated, with beady little eyes darting everywhere, as though he can hear everyone’s thoughts. Slicked back hair, and paler-than-pale skin. So white that it could almost be transparent. He has a slight shadow of wrinkles which kiss his exposed skin and a hairy chest that sticks out the top of his dark suit.

He looks skittish as he rocks forward in his chair and whispers something to the lady next to him. The same older woman from the cell. Her innocent, alluring, motherly-tone has me almost drifting towards her. I have to physically remind myself to stay still as I watch the beautiful woman who seems to attract people towards her. She makes me want to spill my secrets; tell her everything she wants to know. There’s something weirdly irresistible yet terrifying about that woman.

Beside her, is Misery. She is no longer covered by large sunglasses and her fiery hair hovers beside her perfectly sculpted face. The bottom ends of her hair slither out as though they are snakes. For a split second, I see little tongues shoot out of the tendrils of hair, and I stiffen. She’s too far away to see for certain, but from here, it’s almost as if the balls of her eyes are completely white. It is difficult to see where she is focusing her attention if it were not for her little snake hairs that stare at the row of seats lower. Her beautiful face twists into a scowl as she sees something she dislikes in the audience. I wonder what things are in the arena with us that the mere human cannot see or hear.

When I look back at the handsome beast on the end, I feel his gaze trail down my body slowly. He still observes me, analyses me, and looks through me. Before he can get the satisfaction of seeing me tremble for him, I look away again and force my face to be inscrutable.

Someone sobs beside me, and for the first time, I turn my attention to the other contestants. Six men, three women. The person crying is an old lady in her mid-sixties, hands pressed together in a prayer sign as she chants.

No use down here, I want to tell her, but instead, my lips stay firmly pressed together.

The other lady must be in her late thirties, a rather round lady with a sweaty, rashy face. She cries softly to herself, but the sound is almost haunted. Snot drips from under her nose and she wipes it away with the back of her arm.

The last woman is— well, a girl. She is barely a woman with spotty skin, greasy black hair and sad, mournful eyes filled with unshed tears. Shakily, she clings to the man next to her who must be ten years her senior. He wraps her in a half-hearted hug and presses a kiss to her head, eyes scanning the surroundings for threats. When he catches me staring, he sends me the dirtiest look and bares his teeth. I do not give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Mortals,” a deep raspy boom brings my attention back to the viewing gallery. The father stands from his throne. “Which of you would like to go first?”

His thin papery lips stretch across his face in a disgusting way that has my stomach churning. Absolute silence prevails. All eyes fall on me when my hand shoots up in the air.

The quicker I win; the quicker Maximo suffers.

“Prey Ten wishes to start us off,” he bellows, his voice laced with amusement. “Remove the other contestants.”

Suddenly, the most overwhelming roar of an audience shrieks to life that even I flinch, and my fists raise instinctively. A single glimmer within the empty seats reveals the most grotesque wave of green, grey and black slimy, scaley, fiery bleeding creatures with huge menacing jaws and thousands of eyes. It looks like something from my nightmares as the flicker quickly reveals the thousands of beasts leering down at us in the audience. Just as quickly as they appear, they disappear, revealing the sea of empty seats around the arena.

My heart thumps one hundred miles an hour in my chest and the nausea rises as the weight of the situation seeps in. I don’t have a moment to gather my thoughts before the world suddenly changes around me.

Within the arena, the other mortals suddenly disappear, and the ground turns to dust and rocks. It shakes and trembles, knocking me onto my knees. I hiss as the harsh ground already tears through the pathetically weak jumpsuit supposedly designed to protect me.

“And so, we begin! You have three minutes without a weapon and then three minutes with a weapon. If you survive the whole six minutes, you pass the trial.”

My head snaps up furiously at the man howling his delight, but my anger is short-lived as the floor begins shaking again and a furious, demonic howl in the distance sends a shiver shooting through me.

As if it only just hits me, it finally sinks in that what I’m about to do isn’t normal and the dread replaces any confidence I once mustered.

What the fuck have I signed up to?