The Poison Apple Princess

~*~Chapter 8~*~

~*~ Chapter 8 ~*~

For once I was thankful for the cold.

At least it made me numb; inside and out. With my current situation, I really needed that.

I watched as five more men were burned to death right before my very eyes. By their own fire, no less, and all were facing Aaron. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the air. Somehow his battles kept ending up in sectors right before me. I was always forced to watch. And for some reason I could never look away until the end—no matter how well I’d known the results.

But even the mighty Aaron was getting tired it seemed. Though, I couldn’t see why, and he hadn’t moved an inch for any of the fights. Yet somehow, a thin layer of perspiration was covering his pale skin. I was personally hoping it was because he was melting away so he could be a pile of flesh too.

And then, “coincidentally”, a few of Aaron’s opponents never even made it to their sector. “Missing” went his sixth opponent. “Suddenly fallen ill” went his seventh. And my favorite: “Crushed by a spontaneously falling tree” went his eighth.

These weren’t the only men suddenly having a stroke of “bad luck”. As the sun sank through the sky, more names were melted off without a battle ever even having occurred. Drastic measures were starting to be taken and I hadn’t feared for Solice more.

He came back from his first battle as the last male from the first batch of men called out. He’d fought the hardest one out of the lot and he looked it. He was covered in soot and some minor burns ran up his arms. People whispered mutterings of awe. He’d fought one of our army’s generals apparently, who was now in a critical condition and not expected to make it. He had surrendered. A Magmian general even having the capacity to surrender is unheard of. The word rarely registers within this country.

I couldn’t even be proud of the very person who had taught me fire combat because I knew what he was now.

A dead man walking.

He may not be killed in battle, but someone will come after him outside of the sectors. Maybe he’d be the next to be “crushed by a spontaneously falling tree”.

After all, he was nobody and a threat on top of that. No one but Lacey and I will ever have noticed his disappearance.

But still he fought on. That bloody fool would just not give up. I prayed he would surrender.

We passed the forty-eight hour mark. Elda and Rey retired to their tents multiple times, but I, I stayed right there in my throne the whole time.

About half of the men were out and half of the rock was a molten mess from being melted so much. I was not tired. My biggest nightmare would be falling asleep and then waking up to see “Solice Darkwood” no longer on that damned rock.

 And “Aaron Christia” at the top.

With those images in my head, sleep was my enemy.

One more day passed. Men began losing it. One man mistook me and my hair for an actual ball of fire (seriously) and tried attacking me—only to be dragged away and executed by the guards; right in front of everyone.

Solice did not look at me once as he kept returning to the rock, each interval longer than the last. My stomach ached and my head was like a ton of bricks, but as long as Solice was still out there I would not sleep.

The smell of rotting flesh clung in the air and onto our skin at this point. All of the talk and buzz of Magmian honor had long diminished. To me, it started to feel like a mass murder.