Number 82 of Adra

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Number 82 is trapped in Adra and she is hell bent on finding a way out. Does it just happen that she was taken by mistake or was it fait from the start. Will this deadly queen make it to the end or will the end come sooner than anticipated. Pray the demons don't get her first folks.

Adventure / Fantasy
5.0 1 review
Age Rating:

Adras walls

Water dripped into my cell block. The lovely beat of the sound like a gentle harmony passing in and out of tune, with the clang of metal and screaming to complete the melody. The smell of sweat, iron and salt complimenting the gray off set colour walls of this hole.

I’d been here for months listening, watching, and most importantly who could forget waiting. I mean who could forget there is nothing else to do… except one other thing, fight.

We’re in the heart of Adra. What is Adra you ask? It’s a giant slave market where many people are taken, sold or killed. They keep us in cell blocks, if you hadn’t guessed that already. Then they take us to an arena where we fight or die. They use us to make money this way, but after we are no longer of use, we get sent back to the slave market.

I know, confusing right? Let me put it this way. You can be a slave already and get sold again, or you can get kidnapped, taken like me. If your healthy, which I am, you get sold into the arena in Adra. They make you fight and if you don’t you die or get killed by your opponent. Even if you are the victor of the match you could be so badly injured that you can’t fight anymore. If you can’t fight, you’re not making them anymore money, if there’s no money you get sold back into Adra.

Doesn’t sound so bad to get sold back into Adra? To some snobby rich family as a house slave? Your wrong. It’s so much worse. You don’t get sold back into the slave market of Adra. Oh no, you get sold to the butchering blocks of Adra. No-one wants to buy a useless, broken slave. So, you get butchered for your magical properties. Adra is a massive slave selling, fighting, murdering hole that is not kind to us. The place is split into three parts. The slave market, the fighting arena and the butchering blocks.

You can’t lose, they make money out of you either way. Weather your new and in the fighting arena for thousands of people to bet on, a house slave to scrub floors, get abused by your masters or butchered for your magical powers, our gifts. It’s a win, well for them anyway.

Honestly, I’ve checked every possibility and they all end in death. So, I’m still fighting in this horrendous arena and winning of course. Well if I wasn’t, I would be dead.

Anyway, you’re probably wondering what I meant earlier by magical properties. We’re not normal, we are magic. Each and every one of us in Adra are mage folk. The people that sell us, beat and murder us. You can only imagine who they arehumans.

“Number 82.” Boomed the speaker box. Standing up and pushing off the cell floor the guard neared the gate sliding the key into the cell door slot turning it twice. The cell door opened with a soft click. Shuffling out of my cell block I walked over to the wall on the right where the weapons rack was placed. Analyzing the usual daggers, blades and axes I went for something style. I picked up my weapon from the rack and entered the arena.

I know what you’re thinking. Why use a weapon when we can just use our powers. Well first of all my magic would not save my sorry ass, second you can’t use your magic, not in the arena anyway. Each of us in the arena have an ankle bracelet that prevents us from tapping into our powers.

Honestly such babies, they chain us up, prevent us from using our powers all because they are afraid of what we can do. Well I can’t blame them we are deadly, even without our gifts. Not to mention some feral after being in here for years trying to survive without magic. Some barely lived without it till they were taken and then they couldn’t rely on it anymore. First rule of magic never learn to rely on your gifts. Or as some prefer quirks.

Standing firm, I held my titanium, spiked bat over my shoulder, the spikes digging in slightly. Stepping into the arena my opponent swung his axe. He had lime green hair with horns that curled down around his ears. His eyes a pale orange darted over the arena, the crowd screaming and cheering while others sneered and spat at us. He turned back to me fully focused with a determined look, as if he was not going to lose this match and I would be the one dead and he the one to walk back out. I placed one foot in front of the other stepping into a defensive position.

“I’m going to rip your throat out!” Growled the male. Just standing there I threw him a wild grin. Taking my silence as an invitation he yelled out a battle cry and lunged forward unaware of the demon he was facing.

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