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

The timepiece above the Carnivores clicks past two. Another fourteen won’t be long at this pace.

The Iron Eagle’s Regenerator bounds toward Iron Valour. The Sleeper right behind him. With only a short-lived window of opportunity before the Carnivores are on him, the Regenerator dives toward his ally and makes solid contact with Iron Valour’s forehead. I get anxious and excited because I know it was a mistake the Carnivores will likely regret. The man awakes and rises to his feet with a resounding replenishment of energy.

Astor notices my delight and raises an eyebrow in my direction.

“What?”

The Sleeper—the largest man on the Iron Eagle squad—rushes the pack of wolves feeding on his teammates. He leaps heedlessly into them with arms and legs stretched to the max. Two of the men go down while the other scuffles out of the way, but in an odd way, almost as if his muscles are tightening and disengaging his ability to move freely. The Sleeper procures enough time for the Regenerator to move in and tend to his teammates, who are a bloody mess. In that quick moment, they gain enough strength to get back to their feet.

The only standing Aggressor of the Carnivores recovers from his awkward movement and grabs the Iron Eagle’s Regenerator by his throat. Just when the Aggressor is about to put his fist deep into the Regenerator’s face, Iron Valour smashes his own fist into the back of the Aggressor’s skull, right behind his ear, and the man drops to his knees, pauses for a moment, and falls forward. The sands turn dark where his face crashes into the arena floor. The crowd roars with excitement.

Four of the five Iron Eagles retreat to their side of the arena, leaving behind the Sleeper that extricated them. “What are they doing?” I shout. That’s not common practice for any team. My doubts about this squad are strong. They have yet to gain possession of the sphere for even a click as the Carnivore’s timepiece clicks to four.

“It doesn’t look like they’re doing very well. Tell me again what the intent of this game is?” Astor inquires.

“First of all, it’s a battle. Or a match. Not a game. These men risk their lives in that arena. They don’t play as you would with your marbles.”

Her face cringes. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“As I mentioned, the first team to gain sixteen clicks on their timepiece is the champion. Or if all the opposing combatants are beaten to a pulp, that will also suffice.”

“So, why have they not attempted to gain possession of the ironball yet?”

“That’s the unnerving question at the moment, isn’t it?” I plainly roll my eyes at her.

Just then, all three of the Iron Eagle Aggressors leap into the air in unison and land with one knee down while slamming their fists into the ground simultaneously. The mob screams its approval as a plume of dust kicks up and the men disappear. Walls of vines encapsulate the dust plume, forming a miniature fortress. And several small tree-like beasts, about knee high, sprout from the ground near the Carnivores. The foes immediately take their attention away from the Iron Eagle’s Sleeper as the small beasts scurry all over the ground. They’ve two legs, two arms, hands, and a head just like miniature men, but they are bark colored and topped with a bit of green foliage resembling a hairpiece. The brown vines making up their entirety look almost like sinew and ligaments with the way they flex and retract as they scurry about. I have never seen anything like it. They’re small, but quick. A few of the arbor beasts attempt to climb the Carnivore’s legs only to be booted away. The stumps bounce right back to their feet and continue attacking. Another is kicked and soars into the lower level of the crowd, causing some screams but more so a roar of excitement from the gaping mob. Its appendages get ripped from its trunk when two belligerent men fight over it.

“Ahh… What’s wrong with those creatures? They tore the poor little thing into pieces.”

A part of me feels the same as Astor. It’s an innocent creature. But then I remember it’s just a plant. Plants don’t feel. It’s no different than squashing a vexing insect. Except this insect just re-sprouted its limbs, violated the two assholes in a manner they won’t forget, and leaped back into the arena to face its archenemy, the Carnivores.

“Oh…” Astor squeals at the sight.

Too soon, the Carnivore’s discover a method to permanently mutilate the stumps. One of their Aggressors—clearly a Dihkai, not a Sprhowt—refrains from booting them away or ripping them apart and instead degenerates them back into the dirt from which they were born. Though, with only one strategic move, the Carnivores won’t be able to defend well against the arbor beasts that continue to sprout from the ground.

The Iron Eagle’s tactic procures enough time for their Regenerator to mend them plus more. They flee their mini fortress of vines to ambush the distracted Carnivores.

Meanwhile, one of the arbor beasts wriggles its way up the perch, which up to this point has kept the ironball protected perfectly. The small creature gives the hard sphere a nudge. It plummets to the ground, unprotected. The Carnivore’s timepiece halts at 6 clicks.

“What prevents them from encapsulating the sphere?” Astor leans into me to ask the question. “You know, instead of just putting atop a pole for the taking. That’s what I’d do.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulder, using the mob’s loud intensity as an excuse to move in even closer. “The ironball must be free for the taking. No encapsulating it or pinning it or anything like that. Nor can you shrink it to an incomprehensible size or enlarge it, for that matter. The ironball itself