Chapter 248: v3- - 9: the deathly course II

"Three hundred and twelve."

The announcer’s voice rang across the Arena.

The first fighter stepped forward.

For several seconds, he simply stood at the edge of the course.

Cassian watched him carefully.

A large glass vessel stood beside the starting platform.

Sand filled the upper half.

An attendant placed his hand against it.

Waiting.

The crowd grew louder.

312 looked ahead.

Five suspended logs stretched across the first section.

They were thick enough to stand on, but each hung several feet above a pit filled with sharpened stakes.

Beyond them, the course rose higher.

Platforms had been fixed against a tall stone wall.

Further ahead, enormous axes hung from wooden frames, swinging across a narrow passage.

Beyond those—

more obstacles.

Cassian couldn’t see the entire course from where he stood.

312 swallowed.

He looked toward the attendant.

The man turned the hourglass.

Sand began falling.

A bell sounded.

312 stepped onto the first log.

It shifted beneath him.

He immediately threw his arms outward.

The crowd laughed.

312 froze.

The log continued swaying.

He looked down.

The stakes waited below.

He swallowed again and forced himself forward.

One step.

Two.

Three.

He reached the end.

The next log was separated by a wider gap.

He crouched.

Jumped.

His feet struck the wood unevenly.

The log swung violently.

312 dropped to one knee.

The crowd roared.

He grabbed the log with both hands.

For a moment, he simply clung there.

Then he pulled himself upright.

Cassian’s eyes moved toward the hourglass.

The sand was already falling.

312 couldn’t stay there.

He jumped again.

This time he landed properly.

Then the next.

He was breathing hard now.

His movements became faster.

Less careful.

He reached the final log.

It was the widest gap yet.

312 backed up.

Looked at the distance.

Then looked at the sand.

He ran.

Jumped.

His hands caught the edge.

His legs swung over the pit.

The crowd screamed.

312 pulled himself onto the log.

He had made it.

But there was no time to celebrate.

The next section waited.

He reached the first raised platform.

It was almost chest height.

He jumped.

His fingers caught the edge.

He pulled himself up.

Then another.

Then another.

The platforms became higher.

The gaps wider.

312 struggled.

His arms were shaking.

He jumped for the next platform.

His fingers slipped.

He fell.

A collective gasp swept through the Arena.

312 twisted in the air.

He reached for the wall.

Missed.

He disappeared into the pit.

The crowd erupted.

Cassian’s expression remained still.

The guards moved toward the pit.

The announcer immediately called the next number.

"Three hundred and thirteen."

Another man stepped forward.

Cassian looked at the hourglass.

The sand had been replaced.

A fresh fighter.

A fresh countdown.

And another chance to die.

--

313 moved faster.

Perhaps he had learned from the first man.

He crossed the logs without stopping.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

He reached the platforms.

The crowd cheered.

He climbed quickly.

Too quickly.

His foot missed the edge of the fourth platform.

He slipped.

His hands caught the ledge.

For a moment, he hung there.

Then one hand lost its grip.

The other followed.

He fell.

The sound of his body striking the stakes was barely audible beneath the crowd.

"Three hundred and fourteen."

--

314 made it farther.

He crossed the logs.

Reached the platforms.

Then reached the axes.

The enormous blades swung across the narrow passage.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

314 watched them carefully.

Then moved.

He slipped past the first.

Then the second.

The crowd became louder.

He reached the third.

It swung toward him.

He stepped back.

Waited.

Then moved forward.

Too late.

The blade struck him.

His body disappeared over the edge.

The crowd erupted.

"Three hundred and fifteen."

--

315 didn’t even make it past the logs.

He lost his balance on the third.

The stakes caught him before he could recover.

"Three hundred and sixteen."

316 made it through the logs.

He reached the platforms.

Then the axes.

He stopped.

The first blade swung.

He waited.

It passed.

He waited again.

The second passed.

He waited.

The crowd began to grow restless.

Cassian looked toward the hourglass.

The sand was steadily disappearing.

316 looked at it too.

He took one step toward the axes.

Then stopped again.

Another blade swung past.

He waited.

Robert murmured beside Cassian.

"He’s running out of time."

Cassian said nothing.

316 looked toward the next blade.

Then toward the sand.

He was terrified.

He took another step.

Stopped.

The final grains began slipping through the narrow opening.

316 froze.

The last grain fell.

A bell rang.

The fighter looked up.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then—

twang.

An arrow struck him in the chest.

His body collapsed.

The crowd erupted.

Cassian’s eyes remained fixed on the fallen man.

He understood.

The timer wasn’t decoration.

It was a second weapon.

You could die because you moved too quickly.

You could die because you made a mistake.

And you could die because you were too afraid to move at all.

"Three hundred and seventeen."

Another fighter stepped forward.

Cassian watched him.

He crossed the logs.

Made the platforms.

Reached the axes.

He moved faster than 316.

Too fast.

The first axe missed.

The second caught him across the thigh.

He fell.

The crowd roared.

"Three hundred and eighteen."

The seventh fighter stepped forward.

By now, Cassian had seen enough to understand the course.

The first section demanded balance.

The second demanded strength.

The third demanded timing.

And the timer demanded movement.

318 stepped onto the first log.

He moved carefully.

Not too slowly.

Not too quickly.

One step.

Then another.

He jumped.

Landed.

Moved again.

Cassian watched the sand.

The fighter was making better decisions than the others.

He reached the platforms.

Climbed.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

He pulled himself onto the highest platform.

The crowd roared.

He looked ahead.

The swinging axes waited.

318 stopped.

The first blade passed.

He moved.

The second passed.

He moved again.

The third came faster.

He waited.

The sand continued falling.

He couldn’t wait much longer.

318 stepped forward.

The axe swung.

He ducked.

The blade passed over his head.

The crowd erupted.

He had made it.

For the first time, someone had passed the axes.

318 ran toward the next section.

He disappeared from Cassian’s view.

A moment later, the crowd suddenly changed.

A roar.

Then a scream.

Then silence.

Cassian stared toward the course.

He never saw what happened.

The announcer waited only a moment.

Then—

"Three hundred and nineteen."

Robert looked toward him.

"That’s you."

Cassian stepped forward.

The crowd began to roar again.

He looked at the course.

At the logs.

The platforms.

The swinging axes.

The sand timer.

And the pit waiting beneath everything.

He understood the rules now.

There was no safe way through.

Only the way that killed you slightly less quickly.

Cassian stepped onto the starting platform.

--

Tbc