Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) Rebecca Grey (first e reader txt) 📖

at its backside, four legs that end in large mammoth-sized fists hold its body up where the head of a ram with curling horns snarls with a rabid froth coating its sharp teeth. Not a Hybrid but a creature of myth and legend, too much of a beast to hold class even in The Oasis. They roar, pulling at their chains as they watch us approach. Every snap of their jaws is louder than the spectators around us.

I come to a stop at the line, standing on my tiptoes for even the slightest glance around our very first trial. Without turning, I talk out of the side of my mouth toward Marcello. Behind us, the gold elevator carries the announcer up to the balcony he'll watch from, giving us only a few moments to take in what we can.

"Can you see anything beyond the creature? What is that creature?" I ask. Other teams murmur similar things.

"The wall rises too high, the creature too wide to see anything beyond, other than the start and end of a hall behind it. I think it's some version of a Criosphinx. We should be thankful these do not have wings and cannot pick us off from above." His voice is rough, a clear pallor falling over his normally tanned skin.

Speakers from every corner of the room crackle again as the announcer presses his microphone into his lips. "Welcome to the first day of The Oasis Games! After just four events, we will find out if our next king is worthy of the crown and his face will finally be revealed to all!"

"Randrend! Randrend! Randrend!" The royal surname. The crowd chants it, and every Elf on the arena floor puffs their chest, Marcello and Juilliard included. Few know who the prince is, still, every Elf here will pretend as if the name prince belongs to them, to encourage the crowd to back them during the game.

"I'd like to welcome the teams in order as they stand before you. Starting from my right." The announcer motions down to the floor below him. I glance to my left, we're the fourth team over.

"Team Marcrux!" His voice booms over the speakers.

The first team stands tall, waving frantically to the crowd. I take time to examine them, familiar with a few of their faces from watching the crowd before. Four males, two Orcs, an Elf, and a Dwarf. My eyes narrow, it’s the same fucking Dwarf that I'd kicked off the elevator yesterday! I huff out a harsh breath. I could punt that little bastard right into the mouth of the Criosphinx, happily. Two females, a Dryad looking woman whose skin is tinted a soft hue of blue with white smoke for hair, and another Elf woman.

He continues announcing each competitor by name, first name only, as to keep the identity of the prince a secret. "Thomos, male, Orcs" The green skinned man with short patchy gray hair steps forward, bowing at the waist. His muscles are so large, when he moves he threatens to burst through the material of his shirt.

"Lachlan, male, Elf." Thomos steps back allowing for Lachlan, a tall slender man with large oval glasses secured to his face to drop into his own bow. Long strands of his brown hair fall over his shoulders but stay out of his face from where it secured half up behind him.

"India, female, Elf." With eyes as dark as night and skin to match, the female steps up. Red is smeared up over her cheeks like war paint. Long braids are secured behind her in a ponytail that sways as she lowers to a curtsey. I survey the muscular build of her arms, certain that she knows how to weld a weapon well.

"Rafferty, male, Dwarf." That fucking little gremlin, I seethe. The small man steps forward, his red beard and long hair neatly combed. His large round nose is the main focus of his face underneath the metal cap he wears on his head. Other Dwarfs wear similar attire, some cultural thing I've yet to care enough about to learn, I'm sure.

"Costello, male, Orc." Rafferty is hidden all together as his teammate steps in front of him. Costello is a boulder of a man, rounded out with a thick layer of fat over whatever muscle he holds. He's a few shades darker than Thomos and has auburn hair that only sprouts from one tuft in the center of his mostly bald head.

"Lastly, on team Marcrux, Danisha, female, Dryad." Danisha is a slender wisp of a woman. Her figure alone is hazy like smoke. She twinkles like a mirage, a small haze of steam rising off of her creamy moon colored skin. White hair flows behind her in a phantom wind, her eyes large and black like a vacuum that sucked up every bit of light.

Chains rattle in front of us. The Criosphinx at our entrance huffing out a cloud of air as he strains toward us. His bindings groan, but keep a hold of him. But for how long?

"Team Riveria." Team two is announced, they wave with the same enthusiasm team one had offered. I'm not sure I can give half as much when our name is called.

All I can do is focus on the Criosphinx as I think about all the different ways I want to end it. I think about running my blade through the bottom side of its jaw, or slicing it across the curve of its long throat. My fingers dance at my side and suddenly I'm blinking, remembering that neither I or anybody else here has anything but fists and brute strength to get them through.

The Criosphinx snaps its jaw again and again, barring its sharp teeth like a rabid dog. I stare back, the announcer's voice is only a distant buzzing in my ears.

"Lux, female, Elf. Alastar, male, Dwarf. Amory, female, Orcs. Credence, male,