Young Writers Society

In the owner’s box he could see Omeloren stand up and approach the ledge.

“I thought that I would put together a small celebration for my victory today,” Omeloren began. “My champion slave has once again proven that he is the most dangerous fighter of the arena. Now I could just take my winnings and have all of you kicked off my land.”

A small chuckle swept through the crowd.

“But I thought that this might be a better parting gift. Slaves! This is not your usual match. This will not be a fight to the death.”

Do’amha released a sigh of relief.At least she wasn’t going to be killed, he thought.

“I give you this female to enjoy to your heart’s content. Do not harm her or each other. There is plenty of time for all of you to have your turn.”

Do’amha stared in horror as the ring of slaves rushed onto Vajrasha like a pack of wolves. She screamed as they dragged her down to the ground and began tearing her clothes from her. More and more of her black furred body was revealed with every passing second. Pinned down by the other slaves, as hands grabbed for her body.

Vajrasha let out a scream as she was forced to endure this torment, thrashing and kicking against the hands that held her as she begged them to stop. Her screams and his lack of power to help caused Do’amha to claw his blunt talons into the wood of the door.

“This is for your disrespectful behavior, slave,” one guard sneered into his ear.

The pair of them began laughing and didn’t pay attention as Do’amha was seeing red. His elbow lashed viciously back into the nose of one guard before he grabbed the other by his helmet and began slamming it against the stone wall repeatedly. When the guard crumpled to the ground, he felt a metal rod strike him in the back of the head, but he didn’t care. He gave out a roar as he grabbed the broken nosed guard and sank his fangs into his throat, tearing it free in a spray of crimson.

Face painted with the guard’s blood, he quick grabbed the key and unlocked the side door. The slaves around Vajrasha were already removing their trousers and watching as they waited for their turn with her. With the dropped rod in hand, Do’amha rushed out into the arena with an enraged roar.

Three of the slaves were beaten back before they could realize what was going on. Another three were quickly tackling him and beating him down. A few mentioned how they weren’t going to let him take this from them. Others said that he had been in favor for far too long as the kicked and beat him until he couldn’t move.

Do'amha didn’t know how long it went on for, but the light had ebbed away to a dull glow. He could only lay there, powerless to help her. All the while he could hear her cries for him to save her.  Deep down, he could only blame himself for the pain that she was being put through. I’m sorry, sister, was the last thing he thought before he passed out.  Her tormented cries echoing in the darkness.

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He was roused from unconsciousness with a bucket of water it was dark out. He sputtered and coughed as he groggily looked around. His vision blurry from the beating that he had taken, his body still racked with pain. His eyes finally focused on Omeloren’s smiling face. He made a weak lunge but the hands that held him kept him back with little effort.

“It seems that you have forgotten your lessons, slave,” Omeloren chided, his tone like that of a disappointed parent. “You killed one of my guards, beat another into unconsciousness, and interrupted my celebration event. Tsk, tsk, tsk. I had intended on offering you a more comfortable living arrangements, even privileges to travel outside. But if this is how you are going to act, then I see no choice but to remind you who is in charge here.” Omeloren stepped aside and revealed something that made Do’amha stiffen.

It was The Box - an obsidian container that was humming with magical energies. He weakly fought against the guards that were slowly pushing him toward it. There horrors inside were enough to drive him to the point of breaking.

“Please…please do not do this!” Do’amha begged, bracing himself against the container to try and stop the inevitable. “Master Omeloren, please! I am sorry!”

“I have been far too lenient on you. You’re in need of a reminder of whom it is you are subservient to.” Do’amha’s arms were force back and he was shoved inside of The Box.

On the inside there was a small ledge, only big enough for Do’amha to stand on the balls of his feet and just enough space for him to crouch down in a huddled position. As the door was slammed closed he stumbled a little on the ledge and his tail rose to try and keep balanced.

As his tail touched the wall of The Box a burning pain was shot through his body and he grabbed his tail to keep it from happening again. Every side, even the floor, would cause searing pain at the slightest touch.  His hands wrung around the stripped fur of his tail as he felt panic filling his chest. He was once again in the most terrifying place he could imagine. The pitch black and promise of pain in The Box brought more fear in him than fighting the troll.

A slot slid open on the door and he could see Omeloren’s eyes peering in at him. Those eyes had a sadistic joy in them as they watched Do’amha’s panicked expression. “The only reason your head is not on display is because you won me a great deal of gold. Thirty times your weight, in fact. You best remember this kindness when I see you again in a week.”

The slot slid closed and Do’amha made a plea as he jumped for it. The burning pain ran through his arms as he touched the dark material, like his blood was boiling from the inside and red hot pokers were gouging his flesh. His legs were already cramping up from the uncomfortable hunched position he was forced to take. He gripped his tail once again, like a sort of security blanket that he continued to wring again and again.

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Do’amha wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had cried for the first couple days in The Box. Even now he kept sniffling and wiping away the tears that rolled down his orange and black fur. His feelings of fear and panic had long since been replaced with rage. His fur bristled at the thought of when they let him out of here and he could rip out Omeloren’s throat with his own fangs.

A full week in The Box was even more torture than most solitary confinements. Not only was he unable to move his crouched position. He wasn’t able to sleep. Sleeping meant not constantly paying attention to being perfectly perched on the ledge. If he fell asleep he would fall to one side or the other and immediately be awoken by the searing pain that filled his body.

Eating was practically impossible. He wasn’t given a tray, bowl, or any means of containing the food. It was just shoved through the slot and if his hands weren’t there to catch it then it fell onto the floor of The Box. Once that happened, picking it up was as painful as touching the floor itself.

With the slide closed there wasn’t a crack of light anywhere. Do’amha could only imagine that this is what The Void must be like, just darkness and silence. He couldn’t tell how long he had been in the box. They never brought him food in a regular fashion. There were a couple times that he was given food and then a few minutes later fed again and had to scramble to keep from dropping the meal.

The entire crowded space reeked of urine and filth. Without having a place to relieve himself, he was forced to just do his business where he crouched. He couldn’t describe the stench that soaked into coat and drowned his nostrils. What made it worse was that when he slipped on the ledge his feet would step into the sewage beneath him and, lacking a means of cleaning himself, he was forced to let it dry into the fur on his feet and between his toes.

The slot suddenly slid open, making Do’amha jump and lose his purchase on the small ledge. He let out a string of curses as he fell to the side and then the other as he tried to right himself. Finally getting back on the ledge, his left arm now covered in the filth, he realized just how stiff and cramped his legs really were.

Looking at the slot he saw nothing at first, just the stones of the far wall that he faced. Then there were a pair of amethyst eyes peering in at him. “Do’amha?” she asked.

“You!” he said in a whisper. What did she say her name was? Carmen or something?

“Karliah,” she whispered back. “I saw what happened. I’m so sorry. I tried to do something from the side-lines but they wouldn’t listen.”

He could hear the sound of metal scraping on the obsidian door.

“I was completely amazed how you dealt with that troll. A little brutal for my tastes, but effective none the less. And that guard you killed. Ripped out his throat with your teeth. You fight like a hell cat. Damn! I’m sorry. I can’t pick this lock. It’s reinforced with magik.”

Do’amha nodded. His jaw set as his mind raced with what was going to happen next.

“I want to help you. Tell me how,” she said as she gazed into the defeated eyes shining in the darkness.

He set his eyes onto her amethyst ones and spoke in a very dark voice. "Is that offer of escape still on the table?”

“Of course it is. It’ll be even easier now with the lax in security,” Karliah sneered.

“With Vajrasha?”

“I can arrange something else for her. I can get a few of my associates to convince Omeloren to sell her. But we won’t be able to pull it off with you in there. We’re going to have to wait until you get released.”

Do’amha nodded. A few more days in The Box seemed like a small price to pay for a chance at freedom. His eyes set on Karliah’s. A fire of determination burned away the defeated glaze that had once shrouded his eyes.

“Alright…let's do it.”