The impossible

It was a lion.

No, four lions.

The creatures that stepped out of the darkened gate were enormous, larger than any beasts Moremi had ever seen in the Mandingan forests. Their manes were thick, matted with blood, and their golden eyes burned with a hunger that sent a deathly chill through the air.

Each movement they made was like a shadow of death—a blur of muscle and menace. Their teeth gleamed like curved daggers, gnawing at them and they made a low, rumbling growl that made the earth tremble.

The silence in the arena cracked like thunder.

And the panic began.

Screams tore through the coliseum as the slaves scattered, some sprinting blindly, others falling and crawling over one another.

The lions charged forward without hesitation.

One leapt to a man, tugging him before swiping his head clean off with a single strike of its paw. Another grabbed a woman while she ran, sinking its fangs into her back and dividing it before dragging her away like a rag doll. Blood sprayed into the air, hot and red, soaking into the sand as the crowds erupted in cheer.

Moremi's heart rammed against her ribs. A massive thumping that made her think she would faint any moment if she didn't control her blood pressure.

She froze, stricken in horror, as chaos unfolded in every direction. Amara clung to her side, shaking violently. The both of them exchanged terrified glances, their breathing was ragged and their bodies frozen in place.

Moremi looked to the weapon rack.

The bows, arrows, staffs and many other tools of war she had thought were meant for them to fight humans.

But these were no humans. They were monsters.

She took a half-step toward the stand but stopped. What use was a wooden shaft against four murder-born beasts?

There was no way in hell these weapons were going to stop a wild animal like these. They would shred her before she even got close.

Suddenly, she heard a noise—a guttural snarl.

Moremi's head whipped around.

One of the lions with blood soaking its muzzle, had turned its focus on them. Its fangs gleamed red as it crouched low, its tail twitching and muscles coiling like a spring.

Her blood turned to ice.

"Watch out, Amara!" Moremi screamed.

Amara turned on alert, only to meet the lion mid-air. It tackled her with crushing force, sending her flat on her back.

The girl screamed in terror, kicking wildly, but the beast was faster. Its claw tore into her arm, raking deep lines into her flesh and blood gushed like a river.

"No!" Moremi cried out.

Without thinking, she lunged.

Her hand scooped sand from the arena floor and she hurled it into the lion's face, causing it to roar, startled, shaking its head.

She did it again.

This time, with both hands. A storm of grit hit the lion's eyes, stumbling it backward as it snarled in rage.

Moremi dropped beside Amara, grabbed her bleeding friend by the arm, and dragged her with every ounce of strength she had, across the bloody sand and towards the giant door.

Basically, she was dragging her towards nowhere.

The wound was deep, too deep and Amara's face had gone pale as she convulsed, her eyes fluttering.

Up on the podium, Princess Amelia sipped her wine.

"How sweet," she sneered. "Foolish, but sweet."

"Trying to save someone else while dancing with death," she added, chuckling.

Rhain didn't laugh. His eyes were fixed on Moremi. "Your bet's about to die, Ryker. Maybe if we're lucky, the lion eats them both." he shrugged, looking at the two that were now bathed in Amara's blood.

Still, Ryker said nothing. His gaze hadn't moved even an inch from the slave girl.

Down in the arena, Moremi tried the door.

It was locked.

"No! No, no, no!" she shouted, pounding her fists against the barrier.

The lion roared behind her and she turned just in time to see another slave—a young woman—ripped apart. Her screams were short-lived.

The lion clawed her face, her body flailing and crumpling as it bit out a chunk of flesh from her face. Blood sprayed everywhere like a fountain, making the arena reek of metallic scent.

Moremi's breath caught as she shivered with dread.

Her gaze locked with the lion's.

And this time, it didn't move on. It didn't chase another. It watched her.

Her.

Her heart crashed like a drum inside her chest.

No, she whispered in her mind.

She wasn't dying here. Not like this.

She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white.

She was a princess.

Born of fire and moonlight. Her people might not be with her now. But she was still Moremi of Mandinga. She hadn't endured exile and loss just to die in a pit like a dog.

Her eyes flicked to the others—dozens running in circles, some hiding, others trying to climb out, only to be pushed back down with stones and peels by the laughing crowd above.

There was no way out.

Unless they fought.

Unless they defended themselves from this force that had been bound on them by these pale devils.

Moremi wasn't sure if a fight could tame these beasts but she would rather die trying.

The lion roared at her and started moving.

Moremi turned and ran in a curve path, straight for the weapon rack.

Her bare feet pounded the sand and behind her, she heard the thunderous gallop of claws tearing into earth.

The lion was coming at her.

Fast.

But she didn't look back. She leapt.

The wooden rack was higher than she expected. She scrambled up, her knees bruising and her palms scraping the bars but she could care less.

As she climbed, the lion lunged. Its jaws snapped at the air just beneath her, barely missing her foot.

Up above, the crowd fell silent.

Their cheers turned to hushed whispers as they saw the girl—the black girl—stand on their level.

Eyes full of fury.

She turned, not toward them, but toward the weapons. Her hands shook as she scrambled amongst the swords and staff scattered on the structure before her hand grabbed a bow.

She held it with narrowed eyes, staring at the heavy wood. It felt foreign, not like the ones she used for practise back at home but it didn't matter at this point.

She threw it over her shoulder, finding an arrow when a sharp pain hit her temple.

"Ahh!" she cried and turned behind her.

Something had struck her.

A fruit.

Laughter echoed around her as she gritted her teeth at the crowd but held her ground, focusing on the equipment as she set the gears.

Princess Amelia chuckled at the scene, shaking her head, "Oh, look at her. Trying to play warrior. Isn't that precious?"

"She won't last a minute," Her brother, Rhaegal commented, observing how the lion became furious and began hitting the rack with it's paws, the wood slowly cracking.

Rhain leaned forward at this, a smirk coming to play on his lips as he stared at his lion with pride.

"I'll enjoy watching Tharros rip her open." He licked his lips with excitement. "Maybe then, I'll take her corpse as a trophy." he jested, evidently finding it amusing, that the one time his half-brother decided to place a bet on something, he was going to lose.

He would make it his daily goal to constantly remind Ryker of his failed wager.

Their father, the king said nothing. With his aged and frail body, one could tell why he was no longer actively participating in tournaments like these but since his younger son, Rhain had taken the most after him, he had given the man leverage, to advance and twist the games whichever way he deemed fit.

However, his cold gaze was still fixated on the girl, wondering why Ryker, of all times and people, decided today to bet—on a black slave.

Ryker, meanwhile, hadn't moved.

Only when Rhain smirked and said, "I'll take your dragon eggs if she dies," did his eyes flick sharply.

"You will not touch my eggs." The dark prince finally spoke, his voice was iron.

It silenced the podium as the siblings exchanged quiet glances, feeling the rising tension.

"Oh?" Rhain said, smug. "Getting protective, are we?"

"You made a bet, Brother Ryker," Amelia added, eyes twinkling. "You knew the rules before you made it. You can't go back on your words."

Down below, the lion struck the base of the wooden rack again.

Moremi stumbled but stayed standing. She pulled an arrow from the quiver.

Her fingers trembled as she fit it to the string.

She drew and took a deep breath. Taking one last look at Amara's broken body below, at the people who laughed at her and at the beast that wanted her blood, she let go.

The arrow soared.

Straight into the lion's eye.

It screamed, flailing wildly as it stumbled away from the rack.

The crowd gasped in shock but didn't even get the chance take in the scene as a second arrow followed fast—burying deep into its throat.

The beast roared, collapsing on the ground as a third arrow came in, directly diving into its neck again.

It struggled for what seemed like hours but was just a minute before it began to whimper, slowly becoming rigid.

Moremi's hands lowered, her chest rising and falling fast.

She scanned the arena, locking eyes with the three other lions that had now been drawn to the hollow cry of their sister as they slowly marched forward, toward Tharros, who lay on the ground, it's blood pulling, soaking the sand.

Moremi looked at the remaining weapons. There were dozen of arrows—perhaps the white men had thought none of them could wield an arrow or swing a sword which explained why they had generously kept it there before them—like a mocking item.

She reached for another arrow when the remaining lions growled angrily at her, coming to stand right in front of the rack with the three of them circling the wood in blood-red eyes.

The game wasn't over but Moremi had basically done the impossible.

She just killed a lion!