218: Familiar Faces
The rock platform that Beatrice and the shirtless masked man approached was approximately three hundred feet in diameter. Many smokeless flames, big and small, shot up one after another around the platform, creating a spectacular and at the same time terrifying, blazing hot light show.
The platform was leveled, but the surface was uneven. Of course, not a single safety measure was set up along the edges that overlooked the dark abyss. Six narrow bridges connected the platform to various other paths and platforms that spread out around it like a circular maze. The whole scene gave off an aura of a hellish gladiatorial arena with various spectator stands set up at different levels around it.
The masked man took only a couple of steps onto the arena before stepping aside to let Beatrice pass. As soon as Beatrice stepped off the narrow bridge, the masked man said to her, “Stay with the others and await instructions.”
Without another word, the man walked back the same way that he came, leaving Beatrice with the other participants that were spread out on the arena.
Now that Beatrice was closer, she counted no less than fifty other participants. It really looked like anyone was welcome. Men and women, young and old. A few men looked barely any better than the old doorman back on the surface—shriveled husks that looked barely alive compared to some other participants whose builds resembled walking double refrigerators.
One teenage girl caught Beatrice’s attention by virtue of not looking like she belonged amongst the pathetic, desperate, or stupid. With dark shoulder-length hair, crimson eyes, pale skin, slender figure, and a fancy dark blue outfit that showed off her long legs, the girl looked like one of those fantasy vampires or some dark magician that should have been mingling with the elite, not slumming it in illegal underground fights.
Beatrice blinked twice and rubbed her eyes when she thought she saw the pale girl pop a bubblegum bubble, but she did not see another bubble emerge from her colorless lips, nor did the girl seem to be chewing anything.
Beatrice also saw that very few people had visible weapons in their possession. A few daggers, a couple of clubs, one long steel spear. While Beatrice could not discount the possibility that the others might have simply concealed their weapons, it looked like many came here weaponless, like Beatrice. Yet, if the weapons were not permitted, nobody seemed to have bothered to confiscate those weapons that were brought.
Beatrice had a feeling that fair fights were not something that she should expect nor what all the people had gathered here for. The succubus was mentally prepared for some arbitrary rules that would leave some participants fighting barehanded against fully armed goliaths. Still, Beatrice wondered how many of those gathered here had some form of magic abilities like she had.
Beatrice saw no reason to engage in conversation with any of the other participants since most of them would probably be dead before the night was over. And it seemed that Beatrice’s train of thought was followed by most of the participants, as very few of them casually chatted with one another. Most of the participants even avoided eye contact.
What Beatrice did not expect, was to see a familiar figure amidst the participants, sitting on a rock, hugging one knee. Beatrice did not recognize the girl at first, as she considerably increased the amount of skin her outfit showed off by reducing her outfit to the bare, modest minimum. However, her bleached hairstyle was unmistakable.
“Olivia?” Beatrice quietly called out to the girl as she approached her from the side.
“Huh? Who are you?” Olivia asked.
“What do you—oh, right!” Beatrice remembered her own item’s description. It’s that effective? Beatrice was amazed. The succubus looked around to make sure nobody was too close to hear, leaned forward, and whispered to Olivia, “It’s me—Beatrice!”
Olivia’s eyes went wide in surprise as if a veil had been lifted. She let go of her leg while her gaze involuntarily fell to Beatrice’s giant bosom that was right in her face and she stuttered, “I-it is! How… How did I not realize it?”
“A little trick, but that doesn’t matter right now,” Beatrice said, deciding not to reveal the secret of her mask for now.
“After all your big talk, I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up!” Olivia said.
“As if! But what are you doing here?” Beatrice asked.
“Same thing as you, I guess,” Olivia shrugged. She then looked away and quietly added, “I need to prove something.”
“To who?”
“To myself.”
“Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen!” a loud, high-pitched female voice echoed through the mines.
Beatrice would not have had any idea where to even look for the source of the voice, however, she saw several participants, as well as most of the spectators all, look up at one particular spot. And—looking in the same direction as the others—Beatrice spotted another familiar face. Or rather, Beatrice saw a familiar, five-foot-tall white hairball approach the railings of the highest located platform, high above the arena.
The hairball moved aside her absurdly long and fluffy hair that reached all the way to her feet, revealing that her face was also covered by a black mask. However, this mask had a blue flame painted across it instead of the red one that Beatrice’s guide had.
“My name is Thelicia Fundershnauf!” the pint-sized girl announced as she spread her skinny arms to the side while her disproportionally large fluffy ears twitched with excitement. “It is with the greatest pleasure that I welcome you all to the Forge of Champions!”