Chapter 7: The Will to Fight

Nile's heart pounded as he watched Ethan strike the tiger with nothing but a wooden bedstick.

The sheer bravery—the refusal to back down, even against an unstoppable force—sent a jolt of determination through him.

He clenched his fists.

If Ethan could stand his ground, so could he.

The beast reeled from the blow, but it wasn't finished yet.

With a snarl, it turned its fury upon Ethan, muscles coiling for one last, desperate attack.

Nile's breath hitched. He had to act now.

Frantically, his eyes darted across the room. Something. Anything.

His gaze locked onto a broken wooden table, one of its legs jagged at the end.

That will do.

Without hesitation, he sprinted forward, grabbing the splintered wood and pressing it against the rough prison wall, sharpening the tip into a makeshift spear.

Memories of yesterday's training with Ethan flashed in his mind—how to throw, how to aim, how to make every shot count.

The tiger lunged.

Nile tightened his grip, steadied his breath, and focused.

There.

A weak point—just behind the tiger's ear.

He had noticed it before, back in the arena.

His fingers burned as he hurled the wooden spear with everything he had.

A sickening crack.

The makeshift weapon pierced through the tiger's skull.

The beast let out a final, gurgled growl before collapsing inches away from Ethan.

For a moment—silence.

Then—

Ethan turned, breath heavy, and locked eyes with Nile.

Neither spoke.

Then, a small grin spread across Ethan's face. "Not bad."

Nile's arms trembled, his chest rising and falling in sharp gasps.

He hadn't expected to react so instinctively, but seeing Ethan charge at the beast had awakened something in him.

Courage.

A desperate need to act.

And now—he had saved Ethan's life.

The other survivors stood frozen, their eyes flicking between Nile and the lifeless beast.

Then—

The prison gate groaned open.

The Newcomers

A group of guards entered, their expressions unreadable.

Without a word, they moved toward the tiger's corpse, hoisting its massive body onto a wooden cart.

Through the blood-streaked air, Ethan, still on his feet, used the last of his strength to shout—

"WHERE IS ARON?!"

The raw desperation in his voice sent a chill down Nile's spine.

A sound followed—chains rattling against stone.

A guard stepped forward, cold eyes scanning the room. In one hand, he held a clipboard, methodically counting each remaining survivor.

"Eighteen."

A nod. A single gesture toward the entrance.

Then—

Two figures stepped inside.

The air grew tense.

They wore the same ragged tunics as the prisoners, but their faces were hidden beneath crude masks—one of wood, the other of iron.

An uneasy murmur rippled through the survivors.

Who were they?

Why were they hiding their faces?

The lead guard's voice cut through the tension.

"These two will join your ranks."

His gaze swept over the prisoners, lingering just long enough to remind them who held the power.

Then—a warning.

"It's almost morning."

His voice carried an eerie finality.

"The arena will resume shortly. Prepare yourselves."

Without another word, the guards turned and marched out, leaving the prisoners in uneasy silence.

The weight of what lay ahead settled over them like a suffocating fog.

Nile swallowed hard.

The real fight was just beginning.