I'm having trouble fining motivation to work on Nice To Be Loved when The Files are much more interesting right now. I'll have to work on it sometime though or your guys will hunt me down and kill me. Then you'll bring me back to life and make me write more. (laughs)


The Files of Kazdan Kalinkas

Book One: Not By Choice

Chapter Eight: Threat


UnderWorld Rule #8: Strike first, strike fast, strike hard, and never ask questions.


"Why didn't you hit Ulmar?" Chaor repeated for the fourth time when I didn't answer him. I still did nothing, just sat on my knees on the floor, hands balled into fists and blood slowly dripping out of my nose, "Why didn't you hit Ulmar?"

"I'm not a killer." I mumbled, hoping he wouldn't hear me. He did and I was once again writhing in agony.

"Now, why didn't you hit Ulmar?" I glanced up at them all, standing in a circle around me. Chaor glowering down at me, demanding respect I wouldn't—couldn't—give him, Rothar sneering at me, and Ulmar looking at me like an experiment, confident that I would never hit him.

I got to my knees again, sniffing, trying to stop the blood running out my nose, and looked around at the tiny, demented Creature. I guess he saw something in my face because that "I'm better than you" expression fell into one of wide-eyed shock. He took a step backwards, looking from Chaor to Rothar to me and back at Chaor again, begging them to stop me.

I grabbed the front of his jacket before he could think to attack me, hesitated for a split second, and swung my fist.

I closed my eyes a second before impact.

Felt my knuckles hit skin…

Felt the fabric of his jacket ripped from my fingers…

Felt myself fall forward onto my hands, head bowed…

I had done it.

I had obeyed an order. Indirect as it may have been but an order all the same.

That was the most significant moment in my life in the training barracks. That was the moment the broke me.

And he knew it.


I won't bore you with any more bloody details of my training.

For the next two months, I slept in the barracks, I ate in the barracks, I trained in the barracks.

Every morning I got up with the rest of the trainees and ate breakfast. Then we all headed out and, under Faltin's direction, did basic training exercises. After lunch, another Creature would show up and drag me away for special training. Sometimes Chaor and Ulmar came along but most of the time it was just me and another Creature.

I learned how to fight in the light and the dark, how to strike in just the right spot so that an enemy was knocked unconscious instead of killed, how to effectively use a meld of hand-to-hand and Battlegear style fighting, how to make good use of the Destiny Claw and the gun I eventually ended up calling The Ripper, and I learned how to kill.

I never knew how many different ways there were to kill until I trained in the UnderWorld. I could kill someone quickly and mercifully or I could make them die slowly and in agony, begging for death. It was a horrible thing, not something any living person with a shred of feeling should have learned. But to ensure my own survival, I had to take the lives of others.

There was another thing I learned in the training barracks.

I learned to stop caring.

As long as I didn't get attached to anything, I couldn't lose it. That was my creed. Or I would have liked it to be that way. I still clung to the hope that H'earring had gotten into contact with Tom, Sarah, and Peyton and they were hatching some desperate plan to set me free and get me home.

Ah, the fantasies of those with false hope.


My last night in the training barracks and I wouldn't even be sleeping. It was a tradition for UnderWorlders to celebrate the joining of new soldiers to their ranks; especially those with talent like Varris'. The dog-faced Creature had grown fast and powerful, able to gather light into the third eye on his head and sending it blasting outward again, blinding his foes. A good move to have in a tight spot.

So anyway, the trainees last night in the place we'd called "home" for who knew how long (three months for me) was spent partying.

A huge fire was built in the center of the marching grounds, meat roasted at its edges, food and drink of all kinds were laid out lavishly on heavy rugs, and a group of UnderWorlders sat together playing flutes and drums and singing.

I sat in the shadows, watching the festivities and eating by myself. I'd learned to keep my own company among those who did not like me.

Listening to the UnderWorlders sing was an interesting experience. You wouldn't think ruthless, bloodthirsty warriors could sing but these guys were as harmonized as any professional choir. The first song was in a language I didn't understand (I was later told that it was the UnderWorld victory song sung in the traditional language of Perim) but the second was in English, or Common as the Creatures called it. Of course, it was a song about war and conquering land but it was a slow tune that made me think maybe not all the UnderWorlders were as nasty as they made themselves out to be.

"Hey, whatcha' doin' over here by yourself?" Varris and a couple of his companions sat down around me, cutting off my spaced-out thoughts.

"Eating." I responded, licking juice off my fingers from the meat I'd just consumed. Like I said, UnderWorlders don't believe in cutlery.

"Try some of this!" One of the Battalion UnderWorlders shoved a wooden goblet filled with crimson liquid that smelled of apples and spices under my nose.

"What is it?" I took the cup and eyed the drink with suspicion. Ulmar hadn't tested it, but I was pretty sure that if I got killed by poison, I would still regenerate without any problems.

"Blood Season," Slurred another Battalion with a lopsided grin, "Bestest drink in the UnderWorld!"

I closed my eyes and tipped the Blood Season into my mouth.

Holy Crap! was the first thing that popped into my head. It was as sweet as candy but with an aftertaste that left my mouth feeling thick and slow. One gulp of the stuff was enough to make my head buzz.

"Alcohol…?" I muttered, blinking several times because my head felt so weird and it was messing with my vision.

"Ahahahahahahahahahahaha!" Varris howled with laughter, "Look at 'im! One drink of Blood Season and he's knocked for a loop!"

"Here have some more!" I watched as more red liquid sloshed into my cup. I stared at it, unsure. Then again, what was the risk? There was no such thing as underage drinking in the UnderWorld. And I didn't think they even had alcohol anyway. It was probably just some really strong spices.

I gulped the Blood Season down.

The night blurred after that.

I can vaguely remember parts of it: teasing and cat-calling with Varris and his group…dancing around the fire…watching some female Creatures twist and turn in some sort of exotic ritual dance…getting into a fight with a Battalion UnderWorlder and winning…falling over, unable to stand…laughing at my own helplessness…singing and dancing…playing a drinking game with Varris…losing…keeling over…the sky spinning…


I paid for my merriment the next morning with a killer headache and a sick stomach.

As soon as I got up from my place in the dirt, I ran to the back of the nearest building and hurled. Then, arms wrapped around my stomach, I stumbled back into the marching grounds, groaning like a zombie.

"Never…" I moaned, sinking back to the ground, "Never ever…I'm never getting drunk ever again…I can't believe people like doing that…"

There were other trainees scattered across the marching grounds, all of them either sleeping, throwing up, or moaning on the ground like me. Varris was no where to be seen. I made another attempt at getting up but the sick feeling that washed over me made me collapse again. I probably would have sat there all day if someone hadn't shown up.

Chaor.

I looked up at him blearily through the filthy, ragged strings of my hair hanging in my face. I was a complete mess. Dried blood was stained across my chest plate and caught in cracks in the metal bands on my arms and legs, so much dirt and grime covered the steel that it no longer gleamed, and there were scrapes and scratches and dents in it all over the place. If I got killed and regenerated, it would probably look brand, spanking new again.

"What do you want?" I muttered, a nasty taste in my mouth that hadn't come from me being sick behind the building. I'd come to associate Chaor's visits with pain, suffering, and anger. Lots and lots of anger.

"Enjoyed the celebration, didn't you?" He was smiling and I never found that to be a good sign.

"What if I did?" I grumbled, looking away from him and closing my eyes so I could focus on not throwing up on his feet. Then again, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.

"I've got a present for you." The tone in his voice made me think it was more like a present for him than it was for me.

"I don't want it." Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut?

Chaor's attitude changed in a second, "Get up!" He growled, "And come with me! NOW!" I clambered upright, swaying on my feet, stomach churning, and stumbled after him. Some of the trainees watched us go with glazed and uncomprehending eyes. Even the Battalion guards at the gate were hung over.

"Where're we going?" It wounded like a whine but at this point, I could have cared less. I was sick and had a headache like there was no tomorrow. There wasn't much Chaor could do to me that would make me feel worse.

Or so I thought.

I followed him obediently through the streets of the UnderWorld, ignoring the stares and hissing whispers of the Creatures that we passed. I had given up the foolish notion of running away. Chaor would shock me to death before I could get anywhere near the borderlands.

My gaze flickered to his hand and, sure enough, there was that stupid, cursed rectangle. Hatred and anger bubbled inside me. I wanted to smash that thing. My stomach turned over and I decided I felt too crappy to be angry. So I spent the rest of the journey watching the stone covered ground pass beneath my scuffed up boots.

I looked up when the sound of roaring cheers reached my ears.

The Coliseum.

I glanced at Chaor and he caught my eye. And bared his fangs in a savage grin. I shuddered and looked away. What was he planning now?

"Go on, Kaz," He nudged me forward and I nearly fell. The world tilted crazily under my feet for a second and then settled. I looked back over my shoulder at him. That grin was still on his monstrous face, "Get going, Kazzy. Ulmar's waiting."

Crap.

I really didn't have a choice. Swallowing my fear (sort of), I slipped inside the Coliseum and walked through the back area until I found Ulmar standing outside a room where Battlegear was stored. He sniggered when he saw me and I glared at him.

"None of that now!" He said, holding out the Destiny Claw, "Put it on." I took it, hesitated, and slipped my left hand into it. It felt familiar now; I bent my fingers, curling the needle sharp points of the gauntlet, and then looked back at Ulmar.

He held out The Ripper and its holster, a heavy meal band that clipped around my waist with holster for the gun itself settling at bottom of my back. I put it on too and automatically checked that the Battlegear slid in and out of its holster easily. When I realized Ulmar was watching me with a pleased expression, I stopped and crossed my arms over my chest.

"What am I doing here?" I huffed, blowing a few strands of hair out of my vision. Ulmar sniggered again and I could have punched him except where would that get me; round after round of punishment from Chaor, that's where. I only hit when I was told to.

"Chaor doesn't think you're ready." Ulmar said, trying to keep the laughter from his voice and failing, "He thinks you're still too weak! So you're going to go out there and kill!"

I froze, starring at Ulmar.

Kill?

Now?

Here?

Why?

Who?

Kill?

What?

When?

How?

My mind flicked through every way I'd learned to take a person's life. But learning them and executing them are two completely different things.

"You'd better get out there or Chaor'll shock you." Ulmar sounded like he wanted it to happen. Which he probably did. But I wasn't going to give him that pleasure. So I turned and walked past him towards the door, careful to "accidentally" kick him as I went by. His curses followed me out into the arena, lingering in my ears like the smile that lingered on my lips.

That smile vanished quickly when I saw who was on the other side of the arena.

Varris.

Chaor wanted me to kill Varris.

"No…" I whispered, staring at him from across the arena, "No way…"

Varris cocked his head at me as I stood there, stupidly staring at him. The look on his dog-like face was clear: he wanted to know what I was doing here. I felt cold, despite the burning heat that made the air shimmer around me.

"Fight to the death," Chaor's voice boomed across the Coliseum and his words were met with a roar of bloodlusting approval from the crowd and sick sensation from me, "Neither one of you is leaving this arena until one of you is dead! FIGHT!"

Varris charged me, spinning a rapier in his hands. I dodged out of the way and lashed out with the Destiny Claw. There was a crash of steel on steel, a flurry of sparks, and then the shattered pieces of Varris' weapon tinkled to the ground like shards of silver ice. The Destiny Claw had sliced right through the sword.

Varris stared at the useless hilt in his hand and then threw it to the ground with a ferocious snarl. Then he formed the trademark fireball of the UnderWorld. I stumbled backwards, shaking my head.

"Varris, please, no, I don't want to fight you!" The Creature paused, perking one ear up in confusion, "I don't want fight! I don't ki—kill!"

"Then what are you doing here!?" He snarled back, raising his hand to throw the flames at me.

"I don't have a choice!" I shouted, "I don't want to be here!"

"If you're not going to fight me then I'll just kill you in cold blood!" And he fired the attack at me. I rolled out of the way, landing on my hands and knees. Varris was racing towards me, his howls mingling with the shouts of the onlookers.

"Stop and think a second!" I jumped up swiped the air with the gauntlet on my left hand. Varris, having seen what it did to his Battlegear, skidded to a halt and glared at me, "You've seen what happened when Soulna killed me! Think about it a second! I CAN'T DIE!" It ached to say that but why, I couldn't tell.

Varris looked at me uncertainly for a while, trying to figure out where I was going with this. Honestly, I didn't think he was that stupid. I straightened out of my fighting stance, letting my arms drop to my sides. Varris tensed. He didn't trust me. I wasn't asking him to.

"Think about it, Varris." I said, "This is a fight to the death," My voice hitched, my eyes burned, my chest hurt. I wasn't going to cry, "I can't die."

"It's…a set up…" The Creature murmured, eyes widening, "Lord Chaor…he set this up…there was never any way I could…win…"

"See, it's pointless! I'm not going to kill you and there's no way you can kill me so—!"

"Oh, Kazzy," I winced and looked up at Chaor who was towering above everyone in his "box seat." I felt a nauseating fear bubble in me and clamped my mouth shut so I wouldn't be sick. My head hurt, throbbing with each bet of my heart, "If you don't kill Varris, I'll find you friends and do the same thing to them I've done to you."

Horror.

He wouldn't…

Anger.

He wouldn't dare!

Disbelief.

I was about ready to scream at him and he knew it because he leaned over the railing and sneered,

"And if you do kill him, I'll let you go…"

Go?

Go…home?

Just like that?

No way.

It's a lie.

Home?

Really?

Had to be.

Truth?

Maybe not.

Hope?

Yes.

Home.

I looked away from Chaor and back at Varris. The Creature was staring at me with a mixture of confusion and anger. There was no way he could win this and he knew it. The stacks were set much higher for me than they were for him. He knew that too.

But was I ready to kill him?

That we were both unsure of.

"Kill him, and you're free." The voice hummed in my mind, goading me on, "Fail, and you damn your friends to the same fate as you!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head. To kill or not to kill? To be free or to make my friends suffer? To stand up or to be a coward?

Once again, I didn't have a choice.


The chapter would have been longer but this seemed like such a cool place to stop. I keep playing on the theme that Kaz doesn't get to chose what he wants to do anymore. Poor guy, now he's got to kill Varris.

What do you think of them Snickerdoodles?