Chapter 23 Unforgiven!

(POV: Urzula)

It has been a week since I captured that strange human, or rather, Ghoul. I wonder if he is hungry. He must be famished, having realized that he will not receive any meals until he fights and wins. If he loses, of course, he will die. I settled into my armchair, feeling the luxurious leather against my skin.

"It's great," I murmured to myself as I stretched. My large body produced a symphony of cracks, each bone seeming to readjust with gratitude.

"Madam." Priscila's firm and respectful voice came from outside my room. Did she fulfill my orders? I am sure she did. Priscila is excellent at following instructions.

"Come in." The door opened softly after my permission, and Priscila entered, closing the door with a care that bordered on irritation. Her gentleness deeply annoys me; as an orc, she should be more brusque, more rude. But no, Priscila was too gentle.

"Did it work?" I asked, my voice laden with expectation.

"Yes, the man from the church has already been sold to a local noble." Priscila adjusted her glasses with a meticulous motion. A wave of satisfaction coursed through me. The sale had been a success. This noble, probably a woman full of unusual desires, would be eager to explore pleasures with other races. Well, it doesn't matter, as long as it brings me profit.

"Madam, the merchandise has already arrived. He is ready to fight." Priscila's eyes were cold and calculating, but mine shone with uncontrollable excitement. This is going to be thrilling!

"Announce that this afternoon there will be a duel to the death between two new gladiators." I ordered, rising from the armchair with renewed energy. "Excuse me." Priscila said politely before withdrawing, closing the door with the same irritating gentleness as before.

I am ecstatic. Today will be a profitable day. Two new additions to the arena always attract crowds and, with them, a lot of money.

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(Pov: Eugênio)

One week. It has been one week since I was captured and thrown into this filthy cell, where darkness and cold have become my only companions. Time drags on cruelly, each minute stretching out as a torturous reminder of my misery. One week without food, without water, with nothing but the damp, moldy walls of this prison. Hunger is a constant torment, an insidious presence that erodes my will and makes me contemplate the unthinkable. I look at the other prisoners with a dark desire, part of me fighting against the monstrosity of devouring them. But I resist. No matter how much my hunger screams, I will not stoop to that level. I am not just a monster.

My mind is a whirlwind of dark and desperate thoughts when I hear heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor. The sound gets closer, each step reverberating like a harbinger of something terrible. A guard emerges from the shadows, his robust silhouette standing out against the dim light. His expression is a mix of disdain and sadistic amusement, his eyes gleaming with dangerous malice.

"Today is your lucky day, Ghoul," he growls, his voice deep and threatening. He raises his club and strikes the bars forcefully, the metallic sound echoing ominously down the narrow, stuffy corridor. "Come on, get up."

Reluctantly, I force my exhausted body to obey. Every movement is torture, my muscles protesting with spasms of pain. I feel the stiffness and weakness of days of starvation as I stand. The guard opens the cell with a creak of rusty metal and pulls me out, his rough hands gripping my arm with unnecessary and cruel force. My body is dragged through a series of corridors, each darker and more oppressive than the last, as if we were descending into the deepest circles of hell.

Finally, we reach a massive door, its wooden planks worn and marked by countless battles. The guard pushes it open with effort, and the door creaks open with a prolonged groan, revealing daylight. The brightness blinds my eyes accustomed to darkness, and I blink repeatedly as I try to adjust my vision.

"Good luck," the guard says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He knows as well as I do that this "luck" is actually a death sentence. I was brought here to fight to the death, to entertain those who delight in our suffering. They expect me to lose, to succumb to hunger and exhaustion. But within me, a flame of resistance still burns. I will fight. Not for their pleasure, but for my own survival, for the hope that somehow I might find a way out of this nightmare.

The guard pushes me forward with a rough gesture, throwing me forward with a force that almost makes me lose my balance. However, when I take a step to steady myself, he growls with a cold, cruel voice full of disdain: "Stand still." His eyes glare into mine, and I notice the sadistic smile forming on his lips, as if he is savoring every moment of my humiliation. I stand still, my muscles protesting against the forced rigidity. The hunger that has been gnawing at my strength for days now becomes a sharp, almost unbearable pain.

Suddenly, a voice begins to echo through the environment, amplified by some sort of magical or technological system. It is a charismatic voice, full of theatricality and mystery, designed to entertain and manipulate the crowd that stirs with anticipation.

"Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for a spectacle like no other! Today, two new gladiators will enter the arena to fight to the death!"

The audience responds with a roar of excitement, a sound that reverberates off the walls of the amphitheater and makes my bones vibrate. My eyes, accustomed to the dimness of the cell, slowly adjust to the intense light. Before me, an amphitheater filled to the brim with beings of all races, shouting, laughing, applauding. The noise is deafening, a cacophony that seems to grow louder by the second.

"Today's first combatant is a cold-blooded creature with deadly skills! Straight from the depths of the tropical forests, we present to you... the Snake-Man!"

A gate on the other side of the arena opens with a heavy creak, and a slender figure emerges from the shadows. My heart tightens as I realize my opponent is a boy, half-human, half-snake. His blue hair falls in disheveled curls, contrasting with the green, scaly skin that covers his lower half. His eyes are large, bright, and full of palpable fear. He can't be more than twelve years old.

The crowd explodes in cheers of excitement upon seeing the boy. His youth and exotic appearance clearly add a macabre element to the spectacle. Every cheer of approval from the audience feels like a dagger driven into my heart.

"And now, our next gladiator! Captured a week ago, he is a human... but also a Ghoul! Ladies and gentlemen, welcome with a roar... The Human Ghoul!!"

The audience responds with an explosion of shouts of surprise and curiosity. They did not expect to see a Ghoul, and certainly not one that was also human. The guard gives me a final shove, and I begin to walk, this time without impediments. Each step I take feels like an eternity, as if time itself is dragging. I feel the eyes of hundreds of beings fixed on me, each one of them waiting for the bloody spectacle to come.

I climb the steps that lead me to the arena, feeling the weight of the crowd's expectation on my shoulders. The sight is overwhelming – elves, orcs, humans, dwarves, and so many other races, all gathered here to see blood, to see the fight and death. My eyes turn to the boy on the other side. He is clearly terrified, his hands trembling as he holds a small dagger, which looks even tinier in his childish hands.

My heart tightens even more. He is just a child, and the idea of raising my hand against him paralyzes me. How can I fight someone so young and scared? The crowd roars, eager for the battle to begin, but my feet seem glued to the ground. Every fiber of my being resists the idea of harming that boy.

The boy's eyes meet mine, and I see in them a fear and desperation that mirror my own feelings. He doesn't want to be here any more than I do. The crowd roars, growing more impatient, but all I can think about is how to save this child from such a cruel fate.

The flame of resistance within me burns stronger. No matter what happens, I will not stoop to their level. I will not kill a child. The cruelty and bloodlust that permeate this place will not corrupt my soul.