The night air was cold, but the fires at the center of the bandit camp blazed high, casting long shadows that danced across the encircled clearing. Dozens of bandits stood in a rough circle, hooting and laughing, weapons in hand, forming a wall of flesh and steel around the "arena."
At the sideline, the prisoners knelt on the hard-packed earth, their hands bound behind their backs. Karr, Mei, Vivian — all bruised and bloodied. Eric lay on the ground, unconscious and barely breathing, his chest rising shallowly. Marden Vosk, the bandit leader, reclined on his makeshift throne of wood and fur pelts, watching with a bored, expectant gaze.
A bald, wiry bandit strutted into the ring, arms outstretched like a showman.
"Alright, you lot!" he bellowed with a grin that showed blackened teeth. "Time for some fun! Time for the game!"
Roars and claps followed. The bandits stomped their feet in excitement.
"Bring out the rest!" the announcer ordered.
From behind, more captives were dragged forward — men, women, even children. All bound by thick ropes, many still dressed in rags. Their eyes were wide with fear. Some had already been beaten. Others looked too weak to stand. The crowd roared even louder at the sight of them.
The announcer raised his arms. "The rules are simple! One on one combat. You fight — you win — you go free."
Their bodies trembled, their faces etched with fear.
"But if you lose you will die." the announcer added, his grin widening, "And only the men and boys will participate. The rest? Well..."
He didn't need to finish. The jeers and laughter from the bandits said enough.
Scene Shift
Far from the bandit camp, deep within the forest, shadows moved beneath the canopy, swift and silent. The adventurer strike team known as Sharpfang moved at the front — Selis leading as scout, her eyes sharp and every step deliberate. Behind her, Rina, the archer, watched the treetops and ridgelines. Following behind, Darven, the team's warrior, and Lior, their mage.
Trailing just behind them were Darius and Garret. Darius's blue robes glimmered faintly in the moonlight, his gaze distant yet sharp, while Garret tightened the straps on his gauntlets, his face set in a silent, steely fury.
Rina stopped suddenly, alerting the group. "We're close," she whispered. "Camp's less than three hundred paces ahead."
Darius said, "We'll need to find an entry point without setting off alarms."
Selis dropped beside Rina. "I see movement. Torchlight, maybe a dozen guards on the perimeter."
Rina scanned ahead. "I'll loop wide. If they've got archers in the watchtowers, I'll take care of them."
Lior said, "But the longer we wait, the situation will only get worse."
Garret's voice was low and steady. "No matter what we find in there, we're not leaving without our people."
Darius gave a short nod. "Once Rina clears the watchtower, we hit hard, hit fast. No time for games."
Garret nodded, his expression grim as he reached back and gripped the hilt of the sword strapped across his back. "Time to bring hell to their doorstep."
Scene Shift: Back to Camp
The clearing had fallen deathly silent, the only light coming from the torches set in iron holders that ringed the makeshift arena. The bandits' jeers and laughter had died on their lips, replaced by a collective gasp that seemed to shake the very timbers of the abandoned village.
"Let's get started!" the announcer barked, stepping forward into the center of the ring. His voice rang out, amplified by the tension in the air. "First one up — you, boy!"
He jabbed a thick finger toward a scrawny child no older than ten, who trembled at his mother's side. She clutched his arm, her nails digging into his sleeve.
The moment stretched as the boy's wide eyes locked on the brutal circle of faces. Before he could gather his courage, a burly bandit wrenched him free.
"No! Please—NO!" the mother screamed, her voice raw with panic. She fought the ropes that bound her wrists, tears carving tracks down her dirt-streaked cheeks. "He's just a child! Please don't—!"
The bandit ignored her. With a vicious kick to her midsection, he sent her sprawling to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. She lay curled on the dirt, gasping for breath, unable to move.
The boy was thrust into the ring. He landed hard on his knees, small fists scrabbling at the packed earth. His shirt was torn, knees scraped raw, and his lips quivered as he struggled to rise.
"Don't look so scared," the bandit sneered, stepping up close. "I won't eat you… just hurt you a little." He flexed his fingers, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.
A sudden, brave light ignited in the boy's eyes. With a choked cry, he lunged forward, tiny fists swinging wildly at the man's thighs. The bandit laughed at first, mocking the child's feeble attempts.
From the sidelines, Mei and Vivian cried out in horror. Karr roared. "Don't do this! Stop—!"
Then he caught the boy's wrist in one enormous hand. With a cruel twist and a single, sickening crunch, he shattered the small bones.
The boy screamed — a piercing, heartbreaking sound that cut through the night.
All at once, the captives on their knees pressed their faces to the ground, stifling sobs. Mei and Vivian cried out in horror, their voices joining the collective gasp.
Karr lunged forward against his bonds, fury giving him strength. "YOU MONSTERS! I'LL—"
"Shut him up," Marden Vosk commanded softly. His voice carried easily over the stunned quiet.
A guard stepped forward, yanking a dirty cloth from his belt and stuffing it into Karr's mouth. He tied it tight, muffling the warrior's roar.
Vosk settled back into his chair, the grin returning to his scarred lips. He raised his goblet in one hand and motioned with the other. "Delightful," he murmured. "Such spirit."
Around him, the bandits surged with renewed excitement. Some pounded their weapons on shields; others howled and jeered, eager for more carnage.
The boy lay curled on the ground, clutching his broken wrist, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks. His mother crawled to him, wrapping her arms around him as she sobbed.
Vosk reclined again, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Let's see who's next."
Two bandits strode into the ring, grabbing the boy by his uninjured arm and yanking him to his feet, ignoring his whimpers. Another pulled the weeping mother up by her hair, shoving her forward. Together, they were dragged from the arena — the child clutching his broken wrist, his mother stumbling beside him.
The crowd of bandits parted to let them through, some laughing, others jeering, already eager for the next victim.