Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

Aggressors has half of his entire body painted deep red from head to toe. Another has red tiger markings across his back, laddering to the top of his bald head. The others are a canvas of abstract designs.

One combatant of the Carnivores is much faster than the others and snatches the ironball, followed by a quick retreat. A large sixteen-digit timepiece located high in the stands above their side of the arena ticks forward. Click…click…click. The crowd roars it’s disapproval as he regroups with the other two Aggressors on his team, all three of which stand a head taller than any of their opponents on the Iron Eagles.

“What is happening?” Astor yells, so I can hear over the boisterous mob.

“Have you never been?” I yell back.

She shakes her head.

My lips form a thin line. This was all for me. Astor doesn’t care about this sport. She’s here to offer me a taste of freedom. That is all. Selfless in so many ways. My tight sneer curls into a half smile and I lean in so I can speak to her. Not yell at her. “You win by maintaining possession of the ironball for as many clicks as is on that timepiece. Time is ticking for the Carnivores. You can see the Iron Eagles timepiece remains frozen.” I point to the timepiece on the opposite side of the arena. “They will do what’s necessary to maintain possession of that ironball.”

She nods her head, not taking her eyes off the field of combat.

“There are three positions. An Aggressor, who attacks and defends. Three of the five combatants play this role, and they’re the primary cause of brutality in the sport. They’re typically Sprhowts and see the majority of the action. Then there’s a Sleeper. His primary function is to defend the ironball, utilizing his Hiberneyt talents to secure it in any manner imaginable. And last, you have the Regenerator. He’s on the field to ensure the game lasts through the entirety of one of those timepieces. He heals any who are injured. If he weren’t on that field, this match would last but four clicks. A quarter of what we get to watch.” I point down to the Regenerator on the Iron Eagles. “That is what I want to be when I get my freedom back.”

She gives me a sidelong glance and smiles a beautiful smile. A sudden warmth consumes me. I want to move in closer. But this isn’t the time. Instead, I fix my gaze back on the arena.

The Aggressor who retrieved the sphere effortlessly tosses it to his Sleeper, who, in turn, puts it atop a wooden perch—which I’m certain wasn’t there a moment ago. Following through his throw, the Aggressor sprints to the wooden perch and grips it firmly with both hands. The perch shoots high into the air and out of reach.

Backs to the perch now, all three Aggressors form a defensive wall to retain the sphere. The Regenerator fumbles with something he pulls from a waist pouch, and the Sleeper caresses the perch, most likely solidifying its structure with petrification. They’ve secured the ironball and are building their defenses.

Meanwhile, the three Aggressors of the Iron Eagles have moved in on the Carnivore’s first line of defense. Not without caution, they fan around the much larger Aggressors of the Carnivores. They refrain from attacking. Instead, they patiently wait.

All six Aggressors from the two opposing teams are in an awkward staredown without any action. There is a low murmur about the crowd with a few flagrant outbursts as they eagerly await. Then, each of the Iron Eagle’s Aggressors discreetly retrieve something from their waist pouches. Either their opponents don’t notice or they’re fearless of what may come of it. It’s a gritty chalk powder of sorts. They rub it in their hands, creating small plumes of dust, and let the grit fall to the sandy arena. The Carnivores wait in their defensive stance, unfazed by the furtive act of the Iron Eagles.

Concurrently, the other two members of the Iron Eagles remain deep to their side of the arena, also chalking up their hands. I’m not sure what they are working toward, but it seems irrelevant to the sport.

My eyes sway back to the Aggressors after an arousal in the crowd. Iron Valour is disemboguing a brown vine toward the wooden perch harnessing the ironball. Once latched on, he gives it a solid tug. Nothing happens. Another Aggressor joins in while the other stands guard, but they remain unsuccessful. The perch must extend deep into the sandy arena floor, otherwise the sphere would be in their possession by now.

The Carnivores entertain their weak attack briefly before one of them hurdles absurdly high and grasps onto the vine about midpoint. His mass overpowers the two Iron Eagles, and they stumble forward into their third Aggressor, all toppling onto one another. In that instance, two Aggressors of the Carnivores move in to attack.

Iron Valour gets kicked in the jaw while on his hands and knees—not a typical position to see him in—and he flops to his side and rolls onto his back. He lies there, motionless.

The other two Aggressors are pinned to the ground with legs and fists swinging at them profusely. With Iron Valour out of commission, they are outnumbered. The sand around them turns a burnt-red hue as blood spatters with each blow. Survival doesn’t look realistic for the Iron Eagles. The crowd is silenced with shock.

“This is not how I anticipated this match to go,” I mutter to Astor quietly, so as not to stir any of the crowd around me with distaste. The Iron Eagles were supposed to dominate, but they’re scheming as if this were their first battle. They look like amateurs, not the professional Ironball combatants we all know them to be. What a disappointment. I hope Astor is still enjoying herself.

“I agree,” she casually replies.