Anzil (Gladiators of Krix #2) - Miranda Martin

Chapter 1

Kiara

I’m a slave. A. Fucking. Slave.

Rage fuels my muscles. I drive the shovel into the mound of shit that is literally taller than I am, lift, twist, and dump the load onto the waiting cart.

I’m a marine. How in the name of all nine hells did I end up here?

Sticking the shovel into the ground, I stop and adjust the cloth tied over my mouth and nose, then wipe the tears from my eyes. I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, then retrieve the shovel.

I accidentally take a deep breath, and gag. There isn’t a word strong enough for how bad this smell is. Turning around, I stick my head outside, desperately gasping fresher air. Antrias, one of the gladiators, slaps another gladiator Spthifius on the arm and points so that he can enjoy the laugh too.

Smiling, I give them both the middle finger. I doubt they have any idea what I mean by it, but it makes them laugh harder. Assholes.

I get back to work. I’m not going to give in. Ductores thinks he’s gotten the best of me, but I’m going to prove his ass wrong if it’s the last thing I do. Which it might be. Bile burns its way up my throat, and I have to fight it down before I lose it.

Think about something else. Anything. Anzil… hmm, no he’s an ass too. Him I like, though. He has a sense of honor and won’t settle for being second best. That I really like. A man worthy of a challenge.

One shovel at a time. God, has no one ever cleaned out these stables? Can these… whatever the hell these things are… really shit this much? And what are they feeding them that smells this bad? It can’t be healthy. Probably a sign of terminal illness of the bowels.

The one in the stall next to me makes a low mewling sound, turning its massive head to look at me with one dark amber eye. It huffs, and I swear it sounds like it’s laughing at me too. I stop shoveling and stare back. The closest things I’ve seen to something like this is an ox back on the generation ship. It’s different, though still massive. Loose folds of tan skin are folded around its big frame. It has a horn on the end of its snout too. It bobs its head up and down then another load of god-awful smell plops out of the other end.

“You,” I growl, shaking my head, “are a son of a bitch.”

It huffs again. Turning back to the work to hand, I try to distract myself by searching for an adjective that is sufficiently strong enough to describe this god-awful smell. Noxious? Putrid? Rancid? No, none of those are right.

“Pungent,” I exclaim.

I laugh so hard and so fast, the laughter an explosion from my core, that I drop the shovel and double over. Now my eyes are watering for a different reason. Adeline had turned me onto a vid comedy series called The Office, and there was an episode where one of them was asking another if they had passed gas. It was hilarious, because as it went on, he called it pungent. The creature next to me huffs.

“You think that’s funny too?” I ask.

Great, now I’m talking to the big dumb beast. The only thing it’s good for is pulling the carts around here. How can this planet be so backwards? They have spaceships but no motors to pull their carts? This place is a shithole.

Literally.

I wipe my eyes again and resume my attack on the mound of shit. If nothing else, I’m getting stronger. My wrists especially, which I needed. The wooden swords we train with are stupid heavy.

I’m trained in five kinds of unarmed combat, including knife fighting, but none of those styles included heavy swords. Swords. I snort, instantly wishing I hadn’t when I breathe too deeply right after.

On the ship, flyboys—space-heads, we called them—wore ceremonial swords. We always said they weren’t able to get face to face with their opponent, using their long swords to keep them at bay. Of course, a marine shot their opponent long before they’d be close enough to use a sword. If the enemy did get close, I could take them out in a dozen ways from bare hands to knife.

Here on this gladiatorial hellhole they call Krix, those methods have helped, but they’re not enough. Fighting here is sport, entertainment for the mindless masses. Apparently amusement for this entire galaxy,

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