Chile Short Novel; Monsters
Chile, age 16
Aries, age 15
Clio (sister), age 11
*~*~*~*
Slipping into the alley from the sidewalk, Chile was not exactly thrilled to be doing this. In all honesty, he’d much rather be in his apartment with his sister. Reading her stories, making her food and hot chocolate now that it was getting colder outside, or making sure she’s taking her medicine and getting enough rest. Not finding his way back to an underground fighting arena in order to earn some quick cash. But he needed money for Clio’s medication. Needed money for the apartment. For electricity, for water, for heating, for groceries, for books so that he’d actually have new things to read to her. So he found himself walking through the alley and then along a beaten off path, narrow and overgrown with weeds. With decay. With hemlock and sarcodes and indian pipes.
-
He got about halfway down the path before he stopped, right in front of an old and rundown warehouse. The place of operations. In truth, the entire path had once been a walkway street, but every building had long since been abandoned from when they’d been in use by people using them for their actual purposes. Stepping into the warehouse, calling it abandoned wasn’t accurate even if it wasn’t being used for its original purpose, still he looked around the deceivingly empty room.
-
Kyle wasn’t sure what the warehouse had once been used for, there was no denying that. It had been left behind by its original owners and workers a long time before the arena started using the building. And the arena had existed for a long time before Chile ever started doing fights in it. Regardless, the ground level floor of the warehouse and the floor right above were always empty. Void of people. The only hints to what went on below were the sarcodes and indian pipes that came in from the cracks of the ground level floor during the colder months, when Chile’s own eyes would go from yellow to blue due to some of the reindeer features that he couldn’t hide or control or shift away.
-
The lack of hemlock once someone was inside the warehouse had at one point seemed odd to Kyle, but he’d since learned of why the toxic plant was only outside the warehouse and along the cracked concrete, gravel, and dirt beaten path. All it had taken was seeing someone wearing thick gloves planting the tiny white flowers and suddenly he could understand that the arena was trying to dissuade people from stumbling along the arena by accident. Of course, with the conditions caused by the arena, the hemlock had to be replaced rather often. The only plants suited to the death that wrecked the soil were the sarcodes and indian pipes that always came along in the winter, along with a few others that popped up every now and then.
-
Stepping further in, eyes sweeping around with each placement of hesitant feet. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, a smell of blood already tainting the purity of the winter breeze in the warehouse. The floor was not clean, dirt and dust making the cracked concrete beneath seem softer than it actually was. He reached the railings that showed the floor just below this one if someone leaned over to look. Similar to the floors, Chile would never tell anyone to touch them with their bare hands, dust and rust coated the metal and it was honestly surprising that the railings hadn’t collapsed under its own weight yet. Though it was obvious that it was starting to do so in some places, he wondered halfheartedly about when the arena would be forced to move their business somewhere else. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure if they ever would. Or if they’d just find a new way in should this one become unavailable. Kyle wasn’t sure which he’d prefer. He needed the money, even if he hated the way he got it.
-
He followed the railings quietly, to where the metal steps waited to take him to the lower floor. Each step creaked, the sound of metal bending under the pressure of his feet, he found himself taking the steps faster than he once had in response. The sooner he reached the bottom, the less likely it was for him to fall with the steps.
-
As soon as both feet were on solid ground, he raised his eyes from the floor dirtier than the one he’d been standing on previously up to the scene ahead. A little ways into the lower floor, where there was the illusion of a ceiling, was a door and two people stationed beside it, seemingly having a conversation until they noticed him. Chile stepped forwards, setting his pace to a brisk walk. Here, hesitance meant the end and he didn’t have enough money to afford that.
-
The two stationed at the door were both taller than he was, dressed in black and obviously armed. The one on the left had a dagger on their left hip and a gun on the right, and the one on the right mirrored this with a dagger on their right hip and a gun on the left. Kyle knew, rather unfortunately well, that the gun was never used. The noise would be too likely to bring attention where the people running this thing didn’t want it. The daggers, however? He’d been witness to their use a few times already, with a lucky loser deciding that they hadn’t been lucky and a scene being made was in order. That threatening to tell the law about the place was in order.
-
He stopped a bit in front of the door, in front of the two. And the one on the left, with dirty blond hair slicked back and brown eyes, glanced down at him before speaking. “Intent?”
-
The indifferent tone was just about the only reason Chile had been able to go through with this the first time, if he were being honest. The way that they didn’t care who you were. It was the same reason he was still able to go through with it now, even after months of coming here. So he spoke with the same tone, shoulders squared with fake pride to cast away any sort of predatory glances others might’ve sent his way. Weakness meant death, and he couldn’t afford that right now. Nor would he be able to for a long time either. “Fighting.”
-
“Name?” The same one asked, watching for any confusion. Any sort of reason to explain what he’d meant. It was a good way to ask if it was someone’s first time or not without asking outright. After all, asking outright could put a target on someone’s back. Kyle had seen it happen.
-
“Lutatius.” It had taken him just as long as he’d been fighting for, for him to choose a name to go by here, as one’s actual name wasn’t allowed. The one on the right, with black hair and magenta eyes, reached to the door handle without a sound, and then the door was opened. And Chile was being waved inside, permission granted.
-
He stepped through the threshold quickly, feet easily finding the staircase in the dimly lit hallway leading down as the door was shut behind him. Lower into doom he went. The smell of blood and death permeated the air much harsher than the first floor of the warehouse. The steps here though, did not creak. Did not bend. Did not give any clue to his presence or to the presence of the arena itself.
-
He stepped out through the doorway at the bottom of the staircase, and into the lobby. Probably the smartest move made by the place was how they ran the areas outside of the actual arena. The smell of blood and alcohol wasn’t a favorite of Kyle’s by any means, but letting the people only there to watch the fights drink? It was smart. They’d be more willing to bet during the fights. And that meant it was more likely that the winner would actually get paid for the fighting. And he couldn’t complain about that, not when the money earned here helped pay for more than he wanted to admit.
-
He weaved through the crowds quietly, tuning out the many different conversations and laughs that flitted through the air. He caught bits and pieces, rumors and jokes, quips and insults, threats and promises, but tried to keep focus mainly on moving through the crowd without getting dragged into anything. If he could reach a seat in the lobby somewhere, then he could wait for one of the guards to call out his arena name, he could wait for a fight. He wouldn’t be here long, just long enough for two or three fights himself. Then he’d leave, go back to Clio, plan out what he needed to do for the upcoming week, figure out how long he could last before coming back to this wretched place. The longer the better.
-
He was barely halfway through the crowd when he saw them all start moving in the way they did right before a fight. Where they all moved to get a look at the fighters, to decide ahead of time who was likely to win so that they could start putting down bets. Chile never made a habit of following, of actually watching the fights. So he continued to weave through the crowd, doing his best to block out the murmurs, the rumors, the conversations that meant nothing to him. He still heard as the announcer’s booming voice spoke.
-
“For our next fight, we have quite a match! We love to see ‘em in our corner, it’s our esteemed gatekeeper, Stamatios!”
-
Chile stopped, feet planted firmly on the ground, refusing to move from their spot. Stamatios only ever fought one type of fighter here. Stamatios was everyone’s first fight, and many people’s last too. Famous for winning by killing, Chile had barely managed to knock him out during his first fight. The gatekeeper, indeed. So even though Kyle never watched fights, even though he never wanted to be dragged into the same state of mind as most of the onlookers here… It had been a while since Stamatios last fight, and he couldn’t help but wonder… What unlucky soul had turned to the arena? Who was about to face death and meet their doom? His feet managed to unstick themselves from the floor as he began to weave through the crowd once more, this time towards the edge to try and get a look at whoever was about to end up dying as the announcer continued on in the background.
-
“And, of course, let’s not forget about our beloved gate’s opponent! Tonight, our gatekeeper faces off against new blood, everyone welcome— Khorne!”
-
He managed to reach the edge, opting to ignore the glare one of the people he’d pushed past was giving him. Some of the ones that had gathered to look at the fighters, Stamatios and Khorne, were making their way back towards where they could put their bets in. With a front row seat, Chile peered down into the ring.
-
“Go ahead and call the win, everyone! You got two minutes to put in bets before the fight starts!”
-
The high pitched noise signaling the end of the broadcast from the announcer rang out, and more people started moving. Kyle stared down though, eyes sweeping across the two fighters, taking them in.
-
Stamatios looked about the same as he had during Chile’s fight against him. Short, dark burgundy hair, bright red-amber eyes with black scleras much like his own, and scars showing just how long the man had been fighting for. Dressed in a loose black shirt, black gloves to help with their grip, form-fitting pants, and bright red shoes that he knew had spikes on the bottom… He looked as ready to kill as he had when Kyle had fought him months ago. After their first fight, Chile had the horrific honor of actually speaking to him. The man was just as bloodthirsty as his reputation made him out to be, here not due to any need for money, but a need to fight. A need to fight and win. The one saving grace was in the fact that man seemed almost righteous, speaking of killing the new fighters in order to flush out the weak. Flush out the ones that would be destroyed, and devastated, and torn limb from limb by other fighters. By fighters more experienced, too far gone without humanity. There were no rules once in the ring, after all. And the fight would go on until someone was either dead or unconscious. Up to that point, everything was fair game. Stamatios at least tried to make it quick according to the man himself.
-
Chile had seen a fight where someone didn’t. Where they prolonged their opponent’s death for as long as possible, giving the audience a show. The audience that smiled and cheered and laughed. He did not like to be here. He did not align with their views, their amusement and entertainment. But he needed the money, and Stamatios had proved to be nice enough to offer support should he ever need it. Because Chile had won, had earned his place in the arena and proven himself. And now, watching Stamatios grip his beloved sickle and dagger to face off against this newcomer… A sort of dread came over him. He did not want to see the one that offered him support kill another, he did not want to taint that offer with that sight, so he looked over to the opponent Stamatios would be facing.
-
Khorne. They were younger than Stamatios, that much was obvious. Immediately obvious. But they were almost the same height too, so taller than Chile automatically. Regardless of that, they had shoulder length hair that was blood red and eyes of the same color with bags underneath that looked more like bruising. And the scars that spoke of violence from before the arena, because this was Khorne’s first fight here so the scars couldn’t be from the arena. A large, jagged one across their neck. One at the right corner of their lip. A crooked nose that looked like it had been broken too many times to ever really fix. One cutting across their left cheek and nose to the corner of their right eye, barely missing the eye itself. And plenty already adorning their arms of all shapes, types, and sizes.
-
They were dressed in similar attire to Stamatios, as was typical of fighters. A loose black t-shirt, more or less form-fitting pants, black boots that seemed a bit worn through from where Kyle stood, and makeshift gloves made of gauze to help with their grip. The long blood red hair was obviously knotted and nowhere near taken care of, but it was tied up to try and keep it out of the way. They had either hand curled firmly around a dagger, a purple ribbon hanging from one and a red ribbon hanging from the other, and their stance spoke volumes about their experience… Just how many fights had this Khorne already been in before coming across the arena?
-
Suddenly, Chile wasn’t sure what the outcome was going to be. But Stamatios had years on the obviously younger fighter, and the general advantage of knowing how the arena worked. Not to even mention his ability. Regardless of how many street fights Khorne had been in, the arena worked differently. And even if they got the same rundown that Chile had gotten before his first fight, it was much different when you were actually fighting in the ring itself.
-
The sound of the announcer coming back on to start the fight was right in time for most of the crowd to come back. Chile pushed away from the edge, ready to go and find somewhere else. Somewhere he wouldn’t have to watch the fight take place from, somewhere he wouldn’t have to watch the new fighter be killed from, but he ended up finding himself trapped where he was by the excited crowd.
-
“Your two minutes are up everyone, so take a seat or stand, and get ready to watch an exciting game full of bloodshed! If everyone’s ready, let’s go ahead and start the match! Our beloved gatekeeper, Stamatios, versus new blood in the ring, Khorne! Who’s ready for the fight?”
-
The screaming cheers seemed far too loud in his ears as he watched the two in the ring begin to move around each other, the distance between them no more than twenty-five yards, waiting for the bell that would start the match. Chile did not want to be there at all, with his narrowed eyes and prickling skin, surrounded by bloodthirsty onlookers waiting for their bets to come to fruition.
-
“Enough said, let’s get into it and see which one of these will walk out of the ring!”
-
Regardless of how loud the cheering of those watching the fight was, the bell that marked the actual start of the match was impossibly louder than the crowd, deafening in its promise of blood and pain. No matter how much Kyle wished he was at his apartment with his sister, he was stuck watching a fight that he was already fairly certain of the outcome to. Stamatios was always a good bet, and the crowd knew that too.
-
Down below, in the ring, as soon as the bell had rung out, Stamatios was running forwards. Wisps of red spoke of his power, Khorne standing stock still spoke of it even more. It would be a quick fight, near no one was able to move out of the way in time, even when Stamatios let them move. Chile tried pushing back again, ready to find somewhere else to wait, right in time to see Stamatios bringing the sickle up to slice off the face of the newest body to his count, power switching off in preparation to use more focus in ending a life quickly, dagger poised to stab the opponent in their chest at the same time.
-
Khorne stepped back, narrowly missing the worst of the attack. Blood ran down their face, right across the bridge of their nose. It’d be a nasty scar if they survived, Chile didn’t count on that. And then the twin daggers were being used to catch Stamatios’ attacks, a swift knee to the stomach giving the two distance further added to by Khorne slicing through the air, a long cut on Stamatios’s arm from the wrist nearly all the way to the elbow, forcing his grip on the sickle to falter and fall. Khorne didn’t move, Stamatios using his ability again to try and get his ground back, his remaining dagger planted into their shoulder in a blind motion as he reached for his sickle.
-
The multitude of actions the gatekeeper was trying to pull off ended up forcing his power off again, and the blood red opponent was moving. A twin dagger with a ribbon of purple was plunged into Stamatios’s chest, right under the sternum, before he could grab the handle of his sickle. The outcome of the match suddenly seemed much less clear to Kyle. Especially as the new fighter delivered a kick directly under the new stab wound, using it in order to pull their dagger out, putting Stamatios on the floor. He reached for his sickle, grabbing it in time to ward off an attack from Khorne and kick them away himself. Slicing through the air now that he was back up, the newest fighter was pushed back into retreat, new injuries slowly being added to the young opponent. Up until the sickle was coming down in a large motion, going for their face and twin daggers caught it in haste to ward off defeat.
-
Time slowed for a moment, as Kyle watched Stamatios stab his dagger forwards towards the new face. As he watched Khorne take a step back at the same time, feet prepped and a kick ready to be delivered. A worn black boot intercepted the dagger, and the sickle was being forced away by the twin daggers, one of them getting caught up in the curving of it. The dagger with the red ribbon continued moving though, finding its way to right between Stamatios’s eyes. The boot was pulled back, dagger falling from where it had been planted, and both of Khorne’s feet were on the ground. The dagger was pulled out of the gatekeeper’s face, and he fell to the ground, blood running down. The sickle didn’t try to move again, and the dagger with the purple ribbon found its way out from the curve.
-
Khorne stayed standing, returning their daggers to a place at their side, not even glancing at the body of Stamatios. The crowd had gone uncannily quiet only a few seconds before the gatekeeper fell, but had since then picked up volume in their cheering, screaming, and laughing. Chile felt sick, watching as the victor of the fight stood there and the announcer spoke.
-
“And the winner through death is, to no doubt everyone’s surprise, Khorne! Make sure to collect whatever you won from your bets and we’ll have the next fight in five minutes as soon as we get the corpse out of the ring! Enjoy your stay everyone and welcome the absolute monster that’s slain the gatekeeper, our victor of this fight, to the arena!”
-
People finally started to move again, and Kyle doubted that many had managed to actually win a bet. Still, it was his way to get away from the crowd. To get away from the ring. To get away from the soulless victor that stood in the middle, uncaring of the life they’d just taken. He felt sick, nauseous to his core, there was a reason he never watched the fights. He didn’t want to see the truly bloodthirsty ones, the ones that only fought before they wanted to see the blood that spilled. That only wanted to kill. He wished Stamatios had won and had kept another monster from being added to the ranks of the arena.
-
As he moved away, retreating through the crowd to get somewhere else to wait for his own fight, he didn’t look back at Stamatios’s murderer or the workers moving the corpse out of the ring. He didn’t want to see them dispose of him as if he was nothing, as if he hadn’t been a favorite of the crowd here. He wanted to go back to Clio, to the safety of his apartment, but he still had two or three fights of his own before he could.
Fall 
Day 
Hurricane
