Chapter 95 The Mask Challenger
Samael grabbed Alberto's arm the moment the first round ended and the arena's roar began to settle into a tense murmur. He pulled him away from the edge of the pit, dragging him toward the shadowed tunnel leading to the competitors' preparation area. The crowd's cheers for Eliana still echoed behind them, but Samael moved fast, his grip firm but not bruising.
Once they were out of sight, Samael released him and turned, voice low and urgent. "Are you sure you want to do this? Look at them, Alberto. They are all bloodthirsty. Ivy and Thorne are dead. The next one will be worse. These wolves do not fight for honor. They fight to kill."
Alberto met his gaze steadily. "I will be fine."
Samael shook his head. "You say that, but you saw what happened. Eliana snapped Ivy's neck like it was nothing. Just the way Vargoth smash Thorne's head like a nut. You think you can handle Vargoth? Or any of them?"
Alberto's jaw tightened. "I have to. If I do not step into that arena, the pack will always see me as weak. As the slave. As the bed warmer. I need to prove I belong beside him."
Samael exhaled sharply. "You belong beside him because you are his mate. Not because you win some brutal duel."
Alberto's voice softened. "He does not believe that. Not yet. And neither does the pack."
Samael studied him for a long moment. "You are stubborn."
Alberto gave a small smile. "You already knew that."
Samael reached into his cloak and pulled out a human face mask. It was simple, made of thin leather dyed black, with slits for eyes and mouth. It would cover Alberto's features without hiding his expression completely.
"Here," Samael said. "The mask you asked for."
Alberto took it, running his fingers over the smooth surface. "Thank you."
Samael frowned. "Is the mask really needed? You can fight under your own name."
Alberto shook his head. "Fernando has the right to disqualify me if he deems me unfit to compete. It is in the old rules. If he sees my name on the list, he will stop me before I even step into the pit. The mask keeps things hidden until it is too late."
Samael sighed. "You are playing a dangerous game."
Alberto slipped the mask over his face. It fit snugly, the leather cool against his skin. He adjusted the straps, then looked at Samael through the eye slits. "I know."
Samael studied him. "You look like a stranger."
Alberto's voice was muffled slightly. "Good."
They walked back toward the arena together. The crowd's energy had shifted during the break. Some wolves were still cheering for Eliana and Vargoth, others whispered about Ivy's death. The sand in the pit had been raked smooth again, erasing the bloodstains.
Garrick stepped to the center once more, raising his arms for silence.
"The first and the second round is complete," he announced. "Princess Eliana of the southern ridges and Vargoth of the midnight wolf adnaves. We send condolences to the eastern pack for the loss of Princess Ivy and general Thorne of the ironclad."
A low murmur rippled through the stands.
Garrick continued. "We now break for one hour to honor the dead. The next round will begin after."
The crowd rose, some bowing their heads, others moving to the refreshment tables.
Samael turned to Alberto. "You still have time to change your mind."
Alberto adjusted the mask. "I am ready."
Samael sighed. "Then stay hidden. I will make sure your name is called as Beau Crante."
Alberto nodded. "Thank you."
He slipped back into the shadows of the preparation area, mask in place, heart steady.
The hour passed slowly.
The crowd returned to their seats.
Garrick stepped forward again.
"The third round begins."
Garrick the announcer stepped to the center his voice booming over the noise. "The third duel is between Beau Crante from the regional west pack and General Harlan from the Stormclaw pack."
The crowd's reaction was immediate. Cheers for General Harlan a name known across territories for his undefeated record in battles. He was a legend the general who had never lost leading the Stormclaw pack to victory after victory. Whispers for Beau Crante a name no one recognized a small figure in a black cloak and mask entering the arena with quiet steps.
Samael covered his mouth in shock his eyes widening as he recognized the masked figure's build and stance. Beau was Alberto. He leaned toward the front line whispering urgently to himself. "That is Alberto. The mask. The false name."
Darius whispered back to Fernando. "The small guy is done. Do you know the regional west pack?"
Fernando shook his head slightly. "I do not really work with them. Small pack. Why?"
Darius did not answer eyes fixed on the pit.
The combatants approached the weapons rack. Beau Alberto in disguise moved first his masked face hiding his expression. He picked a double flail mace the weapon heavy with two chained balls at the ends spiked and deadly. He swung it once testing the weight the chains rattling in the quiet.
General Harlan stepped up next a massive figure much built than Alberto with muscles like corded rope and scars covering his arms. He picked a double katana sword the blades curved and sharp dual wielded for speed and precision. He twirled them once the metal singing through the air.
Garrick raised his hand. "Fight to first blood or submission. No killing blows unless the duel escalates. Begin."
The two circled each other slowly.
Harlan spoke first voice deep and mocking. "You are small for this arena little Beau. From the regional west? I have never heard of you. Run home before I send you back in pieces."
Beau Alberto stayed silent his grip tight on the mace chains.
Harlan lunged first katanas flashing in a high\-low attack. The high blade aimed for the shoulder the low for the knee.
Beau swung the mace the spiked ball on the chain intercepting the high katana with a clang. The force knocked Harlan's arm back but the low blade sliced across Beau's thigh drawing first blood.
"First blood to Harlan," Garrick called.
The crowd cheered for the general.
Harlan grinned. "See? Too slow."
Beau ignored the pain blood dripping down his leg. He spun the mace chains whirling in a deadly arc.
Harlan dodged the first ball but the second grazed his arm cutting shallow.
"First blood to Beau," Garrick announced.
The crowd murmured surprise. The small masked challenger had scored.
Harlan's grin vanished. "Lucky hit."
He attacked again katanas a blur of steel thrusting and slashing. Beau blocked with the mace haft but the force drove him back. Harlan pressed thrusting for the chest.
Beau twisted the mace chain catching one katana and yanking. Harlan stumbled but recovered slashing with the other blade across Beau's arm. Blood welled.
"Second blood to Harlan," Garrick said.
Beau swung the mace hard the spiked ball aiming for Harlan's head. Harlan ducked and kicked Beau's knee. Bone cracked.
Beau staggered rib cage screaming as he landed wrong. Broken ribs.
Harlan laughed. "You are done."
He slashed again disarming Beau. The mace flew from his hand landing in the sand.
Beau fell to one knee gasping.
Harlan raised his katanas. "Submit or die."
Beau looked up through the mask. Harlan lunged for the kill.
Beau grabbed the katanas mid-swing, hands bleeding as the blades cut deep, and tightened his grip on the handles twisting with all his strength. The general's neck was exposed for a split second.
Beau surged forward wrapping the chains from his fallen mace around Harlan's neck pulling tight.
Harlan punched Beau's ribs hard the broken bones grinding. Beau coughed blood but held on pulling the chains tighter.
Harlan gasped struggling.
The crowd went silent.
Harlan's punches weakened.
He slumped unconscious.
Garrick's voice shook. "Beau Crante wins."
The arena erupted.
Beau stood blood pouring from his hands and mouth ribs broken but victorious.
The general lay still.