The iron gate groaned as it swung open, and I stepped out into the blinding glare of the Oros sun. The heat of the white sand hit me instantly, rising up from the ground to meet the cool, artificial pressure of my latex suit. I felt the weight of the moment before I heard it. Then, the sound of fifty thousand people crashed over me like a breaking wave. It was a physical force, a roar so massive it felt like it had its own gravity, pulling the breath right out of my lungs.

  I walked toward the center of the ring, my tactical heels sinking and then firming in the warm grains. I was the only woman in the lineup, a six-foot-one tower of a gal and such a distinct platinum hair. I could feel the eyes of the entire city on me. It wasn't just a look; it was a heavy, oily pressure. The announcer’s voice boomed from the magical speakers, his words dripping with a mocking tone that made my jaw tighten.

  "And now, a mystery for the eyes! From the high halls of the Church, we bring you... Taylor! A person claiming to be from the church, a nun!”

  The crowd didn't cheer at first. They laughed. They joked about my lack of a sword. I saw men in the front rows leaning over the railings, making lewd gestures and whistling. They called out about my looks, the way the latex hugged the heavy, natural curves of my chest, and the "Daughter of the Church" title.

  "A nun? In that outfit?" a man screamed, his voice cracking with laughter. "I’ll go to confession every day if that’s who’s waiting!"

  I stood still, my eyes narrowing. A nun? Who in their right mind looked at a statuesque woman in a vacuum-sealed bodysuit and thought "religious figure"? I felt a twitch in my cheek, a small flicker of muscle that signaled my growing irritation. I wasn't for sale, and I certainly wasn't a nun.

  Then, a sudden, sharp silence fell over the stands. The announcer’s voice turned respectful, almost fearful. "We are honored! The Young Saint, Augustine herself, has expressed interest in this holy sister's trial! She will be watching this fight!"

  I looked up. In the shaded VIP balcony, I saw the golden hair of the girl from the alley. She was watching me, her hands folded in her lap. The crowd went mad for her, their catcalls turning into cheers for their living idol.

  "We have a problem, folks!" the announcer shouted, his voice full of fake excitement. "Our Owlbears are all spent! We had to scramble to find a beast worthy of a Daughter of the Sanctuary. We went deep into the iron cages and brought out... the Grey Stone-Skin Basilisk!"

  The heavy steel doors on the far side of the arena began to rattle. A low, grinding sound filled the air.

  My heart stopped for a beat. Then it started again, faster and hotter. A Basilisk. The memory of the black lizard from the mountain pass, the things I did, came flooding back. But this one was different. As the gates slid upward, I saw it. It was the same nightmare shape, but its heavy, overlapping plates weren't the obsidian black of its mountain cousin. They were a dull, chalky grey.

  Anger, sharp and cold, welled up in my gut. I hated that lizard. I hated the way it had made us feel useless. A tinge of revenge, dark and sweet, started to boil in my veins. If the mountain one was impenetratable, this one looked like brittle stone. It was vulnerable. And I was going to make it an example.

  I didn't wait. I raised my left hand toward the stands where my friends sat. With a sharp, practiced motion. A shimmer of violet light appeared, and then Widow’s Kiss, my massive, black-metal .50 caliber rifle, slid into my waiting grip.

  The crowd went silent. They didn't know what it was. In a world of carved wood and enchanted steel, my rifle looked like an alien artifact, a brutal tool of pure war. I slung the heavy strap over my shoulder and felt the familiar, solid weight of the stock against my back.

  I walked in a slow, predatory circle around the center of the ring. I zoomed in my lens, scanning the crowd. I found them. Joshua was till holding a giant bag of popcorn, his mouth hanging open. Eren was cheering, her tail lashing with pride. Barnaby were leaning forward, his faces tight with anticipation. Alan looked disinterested… They were the only ones who knew what was coming.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  "The Stone-Skin Basilisk!" the announcer yelled, his voice full of warning. "Extremely hard to kill! Its hide is a fortress that no sword can, "

  I ignored him. I wasn't going to give them a clean kill. I wasn't going to be a "Daughter of the Church." I was going to show them a skinning. I was going to be the nightmare that kept the monsters awake at night.

  The Basilisk finally lunged into the sun. It was a massive, low-slung horror, its legs churning the sand into a golden cloud. Its grey scales looked like shards of slate, and its eyes were a pale, sickly yellow.

  I dropped into a kneeling stance. My movements were fluid, mechanical, and perfect. I felt the grit of the sand beneath my knee and the steady, rhythmic thrum of my own heart. I shouldered the rifle, my cheek pressing against the cold matte-black frame.

  I didn't let it roar. I didn't let it breathe.

  BOOM.

  The first shot of the .50 cal was so loud it didn't just fill the arena; it shattered the air. The sound reverberated off the stone walls like a thunderclap, a physical punch that made the people in the front rows recoil. I heard the single, high-pitched cheer of Eren’s voice in the sudden silence that followed.

  I didn't stop. I engaged the slam-fire.

  BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

  Each round hit the Basilisk with the energy of a falling star. These weren't rubber bullets. These were real, lead-core rounds meant for stopping armored trucks. Each time the rifle kicked, I felt the vibration travel through my teeth and into my skull. My shoulder absorbed the recoil, my muscles twitching with the effort to stay still.

  The Basilisk didn't even get a chance to move. Each hit was a hammer blow that tossed its multi-ton body around like a toy. I saw the grey stone plates, the "unbreakable" fortress, shatter into a thousand pieces of grey dust. The bullets didn't just penetrate; they took the armor off in giant, jagged chunks.

  After thirty rounds, the arena was filled with a thick, grey haze of pulverized stone. The lizard was still alive, its biology was too stubborn to die easily, but it was a gruesome, raw sight. The grey armor was gone, leaving behind nothing but a quivering, red-meat mess of exposed muscle and bone.

  The announcers were awestruck. The crowd was frozen. No one in the history of the Spire had ever deskinned a monster from a hundred yards away.

  I didn't waste time. I slung Widow’s Kiss across my back and unholstered my Glock 19. I didn't run; I moved in a tactical, "rolling thunder" walk. Heel-to-toe, my hips stayed on a perfectly level plane, never rising or falling an inch. I was a steady, advancing platform of fire. Each time the Glock recoiled, my cybernetic arms sucked up the energy and snapped the sights back into alignment before my next foot even touched the ground.

  I began to fire the 9mm explosive rounds.

  POP-POP-POP-POP.

  Each small explosion tore golf-ball-sized chunks out of the lizard’s exposed red flesh. Blood and meat scattered across the white sand, turning the ring into a visceral, red map of carnage. The Basilisk was moaning now, a low, bubbling sound of pure agony. It wasn't a fight anymore. It was an execution.

  I made sure to let the arena feel every second of it. I wanted them to see the brutality of my world. I wanted the catcallers to feel the vibration of the explosives in their own chests.

  I got closer, the smell of copper and burnt hair filling my nose. I stood over the moaning lizard, my boots stained red. It was full of holes, its grey skin lying in heaps of dust around it. It looked at me with its one remaining yellow eye, a look of pure, animalistic confusion.

  I leaned down, my platinum hair falling over my shoulder, and whispered into its ear.

  "Fuck you, lizard."

  I holstered the Glock. I didn't want to use a bullet for the end. I wanted them to see my strength.

  I reached down and gripped the Basilisk’s upper and lower jaws with my cybernetic hands. I felt the hydraulic whine in my arms, a high-pitched, electric hum that signaled the maximum output of my strength. I dug my fingers into the wet, hot bone of its mouth.

  CRAAA-ACK.

  The sound of the heavy jawbones snapping was a sickening, wet crunch that echoed through the deadly silent arena. I didn't just open its mouth; I ripped the beast open from the face down. It was raw, gritty, and visceral. My arms were covered in hot blood, the obsidian latex shimmering with the red gore.

  I stood up, the dead Basilisk falling at my feet in two jagged pieces. I was a berserker in the sun, a statuesque goddess of carnage.

  The silence lasted for a heartbeat. Then, the crowd didn't just cheer; they went mad. It was a roar of extreme, ecstatic violence. People were standing on the seats, shaking each other, pointing at me with looks of pure, terrified enjoyment. They had come for a show, and I had given them a massacre.

  I felt a surge of pure, ecstatic adrenaline.

  I raised my blood-stained arms to the sky and let out a roar of my own, my smoky voice carrying over the screams of fifty thousand people.

  "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?" I screamed, though I knew they couldn't hear the words over their own noise.

  I looked up at the High Loge. Saint Augustine was standing now, her hazel eyes wide, her hands gripping the railing. Even the angel was stunned by the visceral reality of my power. Beside her, a young man with a crown smirked.

  This was cool. This was the most alive I had felt since I woke up in the valley. I turned in a slow circle, taking in the madness of the stadium, the heat of the sun, and the red stain on my hands. I had won the first round, and I hadn't just beaten the monster I had broken the city's spirit.

  I looked toward the tunnel where the guards would emerge for the next round. I was ready for all five of them. I was ready.