11. CAPTURED

Chains.

That's all he listens to as the wagon wheels across the muddy land. Light wouldn't be surprised if he's being brought back to Kami. The collar around his neck has been fasted too tight, but he dare not risk a lashing should he complain of any discomfort. If he does somehow survive through this mess, he hopes to never hear chains again. They've become a sound of annoyance.

The wagon reeks of all the things he'd rather not smell—piss, shit, mud, rotting flesh. Two Shinigami slaves sit on either side of him. Each time the wagon's wheels hit a rock, one or both of them fall into Light, invading his personal space. He groans subtly enough that nobody notices except the person sitting across from him, who has his knees hiked up to his chest.

Light glares at Ryuzaki, doing everything in his power to make sure the expression tells the pale man precisely how irate he feels. Ryuzaki should consider himself lucky. If not for their imprisonment, Light would have thought about strangling him. This is, after all, his fault.

"Never seen Shinigami like you before," the slave to Light's right says. Its four red eyes focus on him. "Didn't think any human-like Shinigami existed." It raises a finger to poke Light's face, and Light jerks away, threatening it with his eyes.

"We're not technically Shinigami," Ryuzaki answers.

"Oh? Then what are you?"

The two men exchange glances.

"Nothing that would be of concern to you," Light snaps. His temper sizzles. "Now where does this wagon lead?"

"To the city."

"The City of Gods?"

The four-eyed slave nods, and a sidelong smile crawls up Light's face. It may be the most unorthodox and embarrassing means of entry, but at least he's heading to the correct destination.

"Good," he breathes.

"Good?" another slave with pig's head for a face says. "How in any way is this good? We're slaves. We're not going to be treated like royalty. Nobody's going to pull the red carpet out for us. We're going to the bottom of the fucking barrel." It kicks Light's foot for emphasis.

Light pulls his knees into his chest. "Where exactly is that?"

"The Pits."

The name is enough to make Light's stomach churn.

"Sounds like a grand ol' time," Ryuzaki quips. "Too bad I forgot to dress the part." He flutters his cloak.

"How can you make a jest of this?" the pig-faced slave asks, flabbergasted. "The Pits are where we'll be sold like cattle and then tossed into a fighting ring where they'll bet on us. The one who walks away with most of his limbs will be lucky enough to find a master willing to take them out of the fray."

Light frowns. "Since when has the slave trade existed? I thought all Shinigami do is gamble and write mortals' names in their Death Notes?"

"True. But the boss thought we could use some more methods of…entertainment. Fighting is a big deal in the human realm, so the boss got the idea to bring it here."

"You mean the god king?" Light asks, and the pig-faced slave nods. Light's jaw tightens. His eyes wander to Ryuzaki, who looks as if he's trying to decipher Light's expression. As much as he wishes to punch the pale man, Light needs to form alliances. And the closest thing to an ally sits across from him, staring at him like he wants to cut Light's throat open and spill all his guts across the wagon's floor. How welcoming.

The wagon jerks forward, coming to a halt. Light falls into another slave, who shrugs him off and shoots him a leer with its black eyes.

Sounds like footsteps come around the side and open the wagon doors to the gray world.

"Everybody out," the slaver's voice rumbles like thunder, making the majority inside the wagon jump to their feet. A black mask obscures its face. The whip in its hand cracks, frightening the rest to their feet. "Come out one at a time. Anybody who tries to run will get five lashes."

The slaver tugs on the nearest slave's chains, pulling him out. One-by-one, the wagon empties of its contents. Light jumps out after a Shinigami in between him and Ryuzaki and takes immediate notice of the large amphitheater before them crafted entirely of bone and jagged rock. It looks like the remains of a colossal beast. Blue torches light its perimeter.

The slaves are shoved into a single-file line. Light only turns away from the spectacle when a whip cracks next to his ear, startling him into attention. The handcuffs around his wrists tighten, as if sensing his evolving dread. When the slavers aren't paying attention, Light turns to look at Ryuzaki, who appears unusually morose.

One slaver goes down the line, tossing something in front of each slave's feet. Light's gaze falls to a shining piece of metal. A knife.

"Pick it up," the slaver orders.

Light obeys. The blade is sharp enough that he cuts his finger. It bleeds, and Light expects the wound to heal in moments, but it doesn't. His brow furrows.

"Surprised, whelp?" the slaver says, kicking Light back into line. "It's a special kind of knife drenched in a special kind of salve that's capable of hacking the toughest hide. Not even immortal gods like you are impervious to it." A low chortle escapes through his mask as he continues down the line.

This truly is like he's been cast away and thrust back in time to ancient Rome. Light admits to himself that studying the settlement had been one of the few highlights of his education. He possessed an uncanny fondness for the culture and the arts. Had he been given the opportunity, he would've gladly traveled abroad for a semester to Italy during his time at university. But that was back when he didn't need to worry about looming perils. Now he stood before the amphitheater, unprepared to fight or even wield a weapon. In his past life, no matter how cornered he felt, he never dared hold a gun. Here, this knife will surely be his only ally unless he can devise a feasible plan soon.

He needs Ryuzaki for this.

No, Ryuzaki might do something impulsive.

But if Ryuzaki wants to find his purpose in life…

Light's mind vacillates between doubts and possibilities until another crack of the whip snaps him out of his reverie.

One of the doors to the amphitheater opens, and a Shinigami with a huge fissure on its head and teeth that could rip through flesh quicker than the knife in Light's hand steps out. Its head seems to be held together by stitches, perhaps an old battle scar obtained in the Pits. A red cloak embroidered with the skulls of small animals hangs over the Shinigami's shoulders. Its seven-foot tall figure takes a seat on a throne that several followers have pulled out for it. If Light had once thought Ryuk's appearance was terrifying, Ryuk would look pathetic in comparison to this monstrosity.

With a flick of monster's wrist, the two slavers go down the end of the line again, shoving the farthest slave forward in front of the looming giant. The slave falls to his knees.

"You are in the presence of Kinddara Guivelostain," one of the monster's followers announces. "Overseer of The Fighting Pits, Left Hand of God, and the Queen of Blood."

Kinddara. So she's the one Light must speak to regarding his Death Note's whereabouts. But, given his predicament, he can't seize a chance. Instead, he decides to observe.

An eerie silence wedges through the land. The slave remains still, perhaps fearful that any sudden movement will cause its head to fly off.

"Stand." The voice that comes out is unexpectedly rich and feminine. "What's your name?"

"M-Methos," the slave stutters, standing on wobbling legs.

"Is this your first time here to the Pits?"

Methos nods.

Kinddara opens her hand, and one of her followers slides a Death Note in between her fingers. "Is this yours?" She dangles it between her pointer finger and thumb.

"Y-yes."

With another flick of her wrist, a match lands into her other hand. Kinddara lights it against the corner of the Death Note, and the entire notebook goes up in flames.

Methos begins screaming. Not crying. Screaming. His body catches in blue flames, and he trips and falls and rolls around the floor in a feeble attempt to douse them. His rolling form shrinks in size until there is nothing left of either Methos or his Death Note.

Several slaves, including Light, shrink back in horror.

"Get back in line you damn maggots!" one of the slavers demands, cracking the whip.

Light and most others hastily obey, but one slave hesitates and gets a lash across its back, making everyone around it jump in fear of similar treatment. Kinddara's maw seems to expand in response.

The line continues, and Light watches as some slaves manage to impress Kinddara enough to survive a torturous end, while others slip up and say something that doesn't please her.

Finally, Ryuzaki is pushed forward.

Kinddara examines him a few seconds longer than the rest. "You're neither rotting nor rotten. Name?"

He doesn't respond.

A slaver kicks him in the back. "Answer the queen, maggot!"

"Ryuzaki."

"Is this your first time here in the fighting pits?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever killed a man?"

"I've killed men," Ryuzaki corrects. "Shinigami."

Despite having no visible eyes, Light feels Kinddara narrow hers at Ryuzaki, searching for any sign of deception. When she holds out her hand for a Death Note, her followers hesitate.

"What is it?" she demands.

"We have no Death Note of his in our possession."

Kinddara cocks her head to the side. "And why's that?"

Her followers exchange looks.

"Perhaps his had been destroyed before the rules were changed," one follower suggests.

"I don't have a Death Note," Ryuzaki explains. "I was brought back to life by your so-called god king. I don't care for any Death Notes or weaknesses or boring chatter. If you want me to fight, I will. If you want me to kill, I will. That's all I know how to do. It's what I'm good at."

The entire land falls silent for a moment, and then waves of gasps fill the air. It feels like something has disturbed the very world itself. As if the sky has been split in half by Ryuzaki's ignorance alone. Light tenses, afraid his companion has dug his own grave. The brand on the back of his shoulder aches. He wants to look away but can't.

All of a sudden, a burst of laughter escapes Kinddara's maw, shaking the ground beneath Light's feet, startling him and others.

"You I like," she says with jubilance. "It's been a while since I've seen anyone with such thirst for bloodshed. I will have my eye on you in the fight to come."

The slavers push Ryuzaki back into line, and Light catches the subtlest grin on his gaunt face.

How can he possibly find this amusing?

The next one up is the pigheaded Shinigami.

"Name?"

"Buta, Your Highness," he replies, steadying his shaking voice. Despite being twice Light's size, he's barely able to hold himself together before Kinddara.

"Your Highness?" she says, impressed. "I like the sound of that."

Buta smiles. "Yes, yes, Your Highness. My Queen. Your Grace—" he's cut off by her raised hand.

A Death Note slides its way in between her skeletal fingers. "Have you ever fought in the fighting pits before?"

"N-no, Your Highness."

"No?" she says. "Well, that is unfortunate." She opens the Death Note and peels a piece of paper out. Buta winces. "The Pits are created based on customs from ancient human civilizations. People would pay to witness other people kill each other. They'd root for the most brutal, the most feared, and the most inhumane. They'd never root for the weak, petty, or docile." She strips the piece of the Death Note in half and then into quarters. "The weak are nothing but pieces of meat to be hacked apart." Once she has broken the piece of paper down into tiny crumbles, she lets the wind carry them off, scattering them. "You're large in size, but you lack what I need. Fire."

Buta opens his mouth to say something, but Kinddara tears his Death Note in half and feeds it to the mud. Buta's body splits apart as if an axe has cut through him. One half falls to one side and the other to another side before a black mass of nothing consumes his being.

Light steadies himself on shaking legs at the realization that he now must face Kinddara. A slaver pushes him forward, and the look Ryuzaki flashes him is not one of good fortune.

The slaver pushes Light into the mud before Kinddara's throne. If his hands had been freed from the chains, he could reach out and stroke her cloak of animal skulls.

Like Ryuzaki, Kinddara takes time to inspect Light over before saying, "Name?"

"Light Yagami."

"Light Yagami," Kinddara says in an amused tone. "What are you supposed to be? Your weird name would imply you've done something quite impactful."

Some of her followers cackle.

Light has surmised by the way Kinddara reacts and slaves react to her that any sign of weakness is a strict no. Should he stutter or hesitate, he'll risk a one-way ticket to hell. Real hell. He can feel Kami's eyes lurking. "Actually I have," Light says, standing. "Ever heard of Kira?"

Kinddara pauses, and her teeth grind together as if in thought. He senses that she knows the name. "Perhaps. Why?"

Light smirks. "Because I am Kira."

Whispers.

"Are you?" Kinddara leans forward. "Prove it."

But Light shakes his head and lifts the chains around his wrists. "With all do respect, Your Highness, I cannot showcase my talent while bound."

"I'm sure you can make do, Kira," Kinddara mocks.

Light frowns. Playing nice won't work. He has to take the plunge. "As Kira, I demand you release me. I was the god of the new world. I eradicated the unlawful. I turned the judicial system on its head. I changed the way society lived. I do not take orders. I command them. I will give you blood. I am absolute."

A painful silence squeezes through. One can cut it with a knife. It feels like an eternity passes before Kinddara replies, "I think I can make do without." She flicks her wrist and nods.

A slaver grabs Light by the back of the neck and raises something long and heavy above its head.

Light is dumbfounded. He had done everything accordingly. Why must he get the axe and not Ryuzaki? "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Your rambling bores me," Kinddara says matter-of-factly. "You die."

"No," Light screams. "If I die then he'll die, too!"

The slaver hesitates.

Kinddara nods again, and the large shadow over Light's head disappears. "What are you babbling about now?"

"If I die, Ryuzaki dies."

Kinddara fiddles with the embroidery on her cloak. "And why's that?"

"I can prove it," Light says, gesturing with his head. "Look at the back of my shoulder. Look."

Kinddara taps her finger on the chair, and her maw expands as if grinning. "Fine, I'll play along."

The slaver rips Light's long coat from the collar and pulls it down so everyone can see his naked back. Light feels all eyes on the L-shaped brand, trying to decipher if he's bluffing or speaks the truth. He has visual proof. Now how to convince them that it works without having to sacrifice himself first?

Kinddara whispers something to a follower, who shakes its head in response. "How do I know they're connected?"

"We could kill him," a slaver proposes.

"We could," Kinddara agrees.

"Are you sure you want to risk losing a good means of entertainment?" Light asks, doing well to intone his voice so as not to sound too smug or too shaken. His voice comes out perfectly symmetrical.

Kinddara pauses and then lifts her head as if looking over Light's shoulder. "You. Ryuzaki, was it? Is this true? If he dies, you die?"

A mass forms in Light's stomach. Ryuzaki will never side with him. He closes his eyes in defeat. It feels like the world around him evaporates and he's freefalling into nothingness. Soon, Kami will come for him.

"I can't exist without him," Ryuzaki replies.

Light's eyes shoot open.

After some thought, Kinddara says, "Very well." With a subtle command, Light is pulled back into line next to Ryuzaki and the judgment of slaves continues as usual.

That night, when the gray sky darkens, and the surviving seven slaves are placed into holding cells, Light sits down next to Ryuzaki, who has found a perch near the lone window.

"Why did you save me? I thought you hated me."

"I do hate you." Ryuzaki's dark gaze remains on what's outside of the window. "But without you, I don't have anyone to use as a punching bag—at least in the meantime. A part of me couldn't stand the idea of you dying in such a pathetic way. Feels like I'm the one who loses if I don't kill you myself." A sigh escapes through his nose. "Where is there a world where death is a friend instead of an enemy?"

Light follows his companion's eyes out to the gray world beyond the window. The amphitheater is in sight. The blue flames have dimmed, resting for the eve. "Death is absolute."

"Just like Kira?"

Light has a retort but lets it disappear into the back of his head. "Just like Kira," he echoes.

Ryuzaki faces him. "When you had the power of Kira, did it ever cross your mind to stop?"

The question comes out faster and more nonchalantly than Light expects. "No," he admits. "If I had stopped, the power of Kira would have been given to someone else. Someone unqualified."

"Unqualified?" Ryuzaki says, pressing his finger to his bottom lip. "So you're saying you couldn't let the world make its own choices? You had to interfere—to change it somehow? You couldn't just accept that some things in the world are meant to be unfortunate?"

"That's not true," Light hisses. "I was given a purpose. I was the only one who could rectify the world's evils. I had to do it."

But Ryuzaki doesn't seem convinced. "Believe what you want, you're not Kira anymore, and you never will be again. You can't keep clinging to a ghost."

"At least I know myself," Light snaps back.

The look Ryuzaki shoots him is murderous and raw, and Light prepares for his head to fly off his shoulders. But the pale man leans back and sighs, returning his attention onto the mundane world outside. "I suppose it's useless trying to convince you with words. You'll learn soon enough that power you possessed will no longer aid you. And when you do realize it, I'll be there. That is the day I'll respect you as Kira—the day of your death. The day you accept that you were a pathetic, weak-minded boy with pathetic, weak-minded dreams. Justice will serve you."

Light nods. "That's fair. Kill me, butcher me, and take your revenge as you see fit, but I won't go down groveling. You're not L, and you never will be. L was more terrifying than your petty threats. He didn't need a weapon like a sword or scythe to defeat his enemies. His mind alone was enough. As is mine. I respected him, and, to this day, I'll always remember him as the only one capable of challenging me. We're equals on opposite sides of no man's land."

A crooked smile crawls up Ryuzaki's face. "What a monster you are. I wonder what kind of charade you would have used had you never picked up the Death Note. Or was it the notebook that corrupted you? Did your family ever figure out what you were? They must have been mortified."

Light remembers the faint words of Ryuk echoing in his head. Saying that he'd be the one to kill Light. He shrugs. "Why does it matter? You've seen what I am. You're a part of me. You have my memories. You could decide for yourself."

"I've already decided," Ryuzaki says.

Light tenses.

"I've decided that you're going to lose tomorrow."