Beyond the Limit (DC) Chapter 29: 29

Nimokar lunged forward, sword slashing horizontally.

Joseph rolled beneath it, grabbing a handful of arena sand and flinging it into the Branx's eyes.

Nimokar roared, blinded.

Joseph seized the opening, slamming his knee into the warrior's gut. It barely staggered, but it was enough—Joseph spun behind it, grabbing the Branx's sword arm and twisting with all his might.

Nothing happened.

Nimokar lifted his arm with Joseph attached, and with its other three arms, it lashed out, catching Joseph's shoulder and sending him flying into the arena wall.

Joseph hit the ground, gasping. His body scread in protest.

The Branx warrior hit like a truck. Its reach was bigger. Its durability was better. Joseph couldn't see a way to win, especially with no weapon.

Then—sothing stirred.

A surge of foreign energy.

Not Nova. Not the Speed Force. Sothing else.

It coursed through his veins—hot, electric, overwhelming.

His injuries were healed. Strength flooded his muscles.

Joseph got to his feet—faster than before.

Nimokar charged again, but this ti—Joseph t him head-on.

Their fists collided, sending a shockwave that scattered the sand around them.

The Branx stumbled back.

Joseph didn't.

He moved, faster than before, slipping past the Branx's defenses. A fist to the ribs. An elbow to the throat. A tug on the sword followed by a kick to the knee, buckling its leg.

The Branx collapsed.

Joseph stood over his opponent, sword in hand.

The crowd erupted.

Joseph couldn't make out all the languages, but what he understood sent chills down his spine.

"KILL HIM!"

L-Ron's voice oozed with glee.

"Oh dear! It seems our Homo sapien is hesitating! Poor, poor thing—does it not understand the murder-ism of our beloved arena? If it does not kill, it will be the one to die!"

Joseph's grip tightened.

He felt sick.

He had never killed before, even though he'd been tempted to many tis before.

But he wasn't going to die here.

Not as entertainnt. Not on a faraway planet where no one would even rember his na.

He raised the sword.

A clean cut.

The Branx warrior's head hit the floor.

The arena shook with cheers.

"EXCELLENT! What a delightful display of execution-ism! Our Homo sapien proves itself worthy of another round!"

Joseph's hands shook.

The shackles around his wrists clicked together.

He wasn't free.

Just bought more ti.

He clenched his jaw.

No matter what it took—he was getting out of here.

**

Joseph had been escorted back to the cells from which he awoke.

When he was initially roused, he hadn't had much ti to look around, still groggy and confused, his mind clouded by whatever the Gordanians had used to sedate him. The cold, tallic atmosphere of the facility had barely registered as he was forced out into the blinding arena.

Now, however, he had ti. Ti to notice.

Hundreds of captives, beings of various alien races, each confined within sterile, high-tech cells about ten feet by ten feet. The walls shimred faintly with so kind of energy field, ensuring that none could escape. The cells were uniform, each containing a simple tallic slab for a bed and a structure resembling a toilet and a shower combined. Minimal accommodations for beings expected to kill or be killed.

Joseph was shoved forward—rather forcefully—by the sa Gordanian guard who had kicked him into the arena.

He stumbled but caught himself before hitting the ground. He turned, glaring at the reptilian brute, his hands twitching at his sides. For a mont, he considered retaliating, lashing out. But the mont passed.

What would be the point?

Anger flared, then faded. Then ca the despair. The hopelessness.

Sleep eluded Joseph that night. Every ti he closed his eyes, he saw the Branx warrior's decapitated head, those lifeless eyes burning into him, judging him.

He had killed. And the worst part? He would have to do it again.