The Combat Codes Read Free Page A

darkness filling the folds of his cloak as he made his way to the base of the stadium.
    Murray stopped abruptly, standing in front of Lampai’s entrance. He stared at the old concrete wall and the black wrought-iron gates. He craned his head up at the stadium’s rafters towering above him.
    Murray placed his hand against a gold plaque on the gate. It was cold to the touch. It read:
    Lampai Stadium, Construction Date: 121 P.A. Let this be the first of many arenas, to serve as a symbol of our sworn Armistice and a constant reminder of the destruction we are capable of. Here shall Grievar give their blood, in honor and privilege. They fight so that the rest shall not have to.
    “We fight so that the rest shall not have to,” Murray whispered. He had once believed those words. The first precept of the Codes. He would repeat the mantra over and over before his fights, shouting it as he made entrances into stadiums around the world.
    The Mighty Murray Pearson. He’d been a force of nature, a terror in the Circle. Now he was just another shadow under these rafters.
    Murray inhaled deeply, his chest filling with air. He pushed it all out again.
    *
    Murray returned to Thaloo’s every day that week and saw more of the same. Just like it had been every year before. The well-nourished, stronger Grievar brood beating down the weaker lacklights. There was little skill involved, the brutal process pitting the weak against the strong. The strong always won.
    Eventually, the weaker brood wore down. Patrons didn’t want to buy the broken ones, which meant that Thaloo’s team of Taskers was wasting their time training them. Thaloo was wasting bits on their upkeep. So, like rotten fruit, the slave Circle owner would throw the kids back to the streets where he found them. Their chance of survival was slim.
    Murray’s head throbbed as he stepped back to the edge of the Circle. Spectrals gathered above as the light intensified on the canvas.
    The first Grievar emerged from the side entrance, stopping by his Tasker’s corner. He looked to be about fifteen, tall for his age, with dark skin and cut muscles. He had all the hallmarks of purelight Grievar blood—cauliflowered ears, a thick brow, bulging forearms, bright eyes.
    The boy’s head was shaved like all brood at Thaloo’s to show off the brand fluxed on his scalp. Like any other product in the Deep, patrons needed to see his bit-price. This kid looked to be of some value—several of the vultures were eying him like a slab of meat.
    The Tasker slapped the boy in the face several times, gripping his shoulders and shaking him before prodding him into the Circle. The boy responded to the aggression with his own, gnashing his teeth and slamming his fist against his chest as he stalked the perimeter. The crowd clapped and hooted with anticipation.
    The second boy did not look like he belonged in the Circle. He was younger than his opponent and gaunt, his thin arms dangling at his side. A mop of black hair hung over the boy’s brow. Murray shook his head. They’d just taken the kid off the streets, not even putting in the effort to brand him yet.
    The boy walked into the Circle, without expression, avoiding eye contact with his opponent and the crowd around him. He found his designated start position and stood completely still.
    “The taller, dark one—name’s Marcus. Saw ’im yesterday.” Calsans pulled up to Murray’s side again, like a parasite. “Nearly kicked right through some lacklight. This little sot is gonna get thrashed.”
    The skinny boy stood motionless, his arms still straight by his side. At first, Murray thought the boy’s eyes were cast at the dirt floor, but at second glance, Murray saw his eyes were closed. Clamped shut.
    “Thaloo’s putting blind kids in the Circle now…” Murray growled.
    “Sometimes, he likes to give the patrons a show,” Calsans said. “Bet he’s workin’ on building Marcus’s bit-price. Fattening him up for sale.”
    The fight