CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.
“As you both know already. There are no rules for the Dance of the Dead, but any last words to each other?” The announcer asks as he looks between me and Darius.
Darius grins, baring his fangs as his gaze rakes over me like I am nothing but a prey to him. “I’ll enjoy ripping your chest open. Or maybe I’ll start with your head.”
I don't answer. Instead, I take a step back, spinning my staff in a tight arc, the weight of it is steady in my grip. Darius taunts don't rattle me. If anything, they only stoke the fire in my veins. Good. The world will be better with his blood spilled on this sand.
“I can make your death quick if you let me give the audience what I know they would love,” he says suddenly, just as the announcer leaves, signifying the start of the match.
“
