Hey, I've set an uploading schedule for all of my stories so go check out my profile! (Also, a slightly bigger chapter than normal, so (: )

Jennifer was on the first row up in a sea of red gowns, and she figured this did not bode well for her.

Blood - at least a look alike, but she was gonna say blood - splattered the floor. She guessed you could have sat about two basketball courts in the room, but maybe less. She could see across to the other side, where different choice weapons hung on hooks.

Wait. That was it - why her vision was so blurred. She could see - and her eyes had been messed with in Yellow during her first time here, when the tortured were sent down to the labs for a certain experiment - but more importantly, her blindfold was off.

This was probably going to end badly.

Weapons, blood stained floors, easy access to what looked like the medics through another set of metal doors.

At least she could fight - but she was rusty and she doubted they had weapons suited for her heritage. One girl was crying - maybe five people down, to her left. Jennifer internally winced at the punishment she would get. She didn't look like a fighter, either - more like the more peaceful of Demeter, and a legacy at that - looking like she'd been born into this world, her parent probably giving birth in this hellhole.

One, two, three...

A gong, or something along those lines, went off. Silence, then. Complete and utter silence, as if everyone was collectively waiting with bated breath.

They called out a number. Then another. 73, and 31.

What was her number? JJ wondered as two kids stood up for on opposite sides of the court - hair unnaturally long, one a pale brown and another blonde - and stood in the center opposite each other with dead eyes and blank stares.

Two weapons were handed to each - spears, it looked like, but it could have been two long swords - and then both took about five steps back after the gong went off again, ringing in the otherwise completely silent hall.

Fight! an older, deeper - ancient - voice sounded, and like ripples in a stream a collective cry went out through the crowd. The voice - two dangerous to be even a Titan - was Him.

The pit, for lack of a better term, because he was no longer a canvas of sky washed caves and crying vultures and fire rivers and creepy goddesses.

So they had to fight. Wonderful, so totally wonderful.

She was so totally fucked, if the stories were true.

Jennifer wasn't that bad of a fighter - even reaching to be one of the best in her generation - so that wasn't the problem, even with how screwed up her eyes were.

But her heritage, the part the required connection to the ocean, was.

One, her weapon needed to be balanced for her to fight well, which needed to be tied to the ocean, so the sword could balance. She doubted the monsters would provide her a usable weapon (maybe they'd give a bow, just so they could laugh).

Two... her father. One of three to survive Him, The Pit, (she dared not to say his name aloud) alive and one of two demigods ever to see the pit, and defy him, in a form that could physically fight them.

Her mother was one of the other three, and the other one from the two. Jennifer, for all her abilities, was so totally fucked.

And when was the last time she had eaten? That barn, but how long ago was that truly? She counted days by when they came to get her, and survived mainly on the ambrosia and nectar she was given - just enough so she wouldn't die when the wounds were that severe. What about the times she passed out, and woke up with more wounds - how many rounds of days had she been passed out for then, just taking the blows while her brain shut it out?

She couldn't survive after the sip of nectar she'd been allowed what she counted as weeks ago - and the bottle of ugly water she'd been handed as she left the medical bay later in that "week", the water so stripped of everything in the sea God's domain she had been given enough to not die of dehydration.

But still - she watched the match in front of her, mind wandering before snapping back to the fight.

(How many seats were there, lining the room? Was that the amount of demigods and legacies forced six years ago when he rose to watch the fights - just in the torture range? What had happened to them all? Did they die during the fights?)

What seemed like ages after she had that last thought she got her answer, the kid with brown hair skewering the other with their spear, a sob echoing around the hall from the both of them.

The gong went off, and the brunette was walked off the arena, a dead look in their eyes. The blond haired person - they looked like a demigod, a child of Hermes - fell to the floor, and what was probably a child or legacy of Apollo approached them, chains keeping their wrists together while they kneeled next to the blonde.

Jennifer's attention was pulled away from the scene when the gong went off for the third time. Numbers rang out, 19 and 52.

Nineteen. Jennifer thought numbly, standing and walking down the bleachers as her hands tapped against her thin thighs, That's my number.

And it was. She could remember it now.

When she reached the circle where she was supposed to stand, parallel to her opponent, the children of Apollo and Hermes respectively were gone.

The next few minutes were a blur as she was handed a weapon - a sword, thankfully, but it felt wrong in her hands, unbalanced - and her opponent was handed the same standard that the Legion was given when they first started out, back in New Rome.

It was a split moment before the pit said to fight, in that horrible crawling voice, that Jennifer looked up, readied her stance, and looked into the face of her cousin, Isabelle.

Love you, see you next week. :)