Into the Fray!
Khimi eyes Lumi with a mix of anger and disappointment. He should have known that Lumi, left alone for even a single moment, would find a way to bring catastrophe upon them. He cannot understand why he couldn’t just ask for coin or seek his help rather than put himself in danger. It had become a reoccurring theme in their life, and one that Khimi is certain would repeat. The thrill of the arena gradually pushes these worries from his mind. Despite his anger, he knows he can never truly be angry with Lumi, at least not for any particular length. It is a realization that has slowly dawned on him the longer they spent together, it is as if every part of him yearns to see him happy.
Lumi twirls the staff in his hands, his loincloth flapping with his movements. The crowd erupts into resounding cheers and applause. Khimi feels a surge of envy, his gaze narrowing as some members of the crowd gawk at Lumi. Lumi is not theirs to watch. Hells. What am I thinking? Khimi rarely feels such envy, but with the crowd shouting and cheering, he can’t shake the thoughts from his mind.
After listening to Lumi’s explanation of the events that had occurred, Khimi knows that there would be no simple transaction that would free them of their obligation. He pulls the scimitar from its sheath. The wooden gates across the arena creep open with a menacing screech. The crowd’s roars grow even louder, the excitement building by the second. It had been many years since Khimi last stepped foot in the arena, but he remembers the cheers and excitement all too well. He knows the arena would usually pit challengers against bandits and thieves who had been apprehended within the territory. Should the challenger manage to survive and win at the end of the event, they would be gifted a percentage of the earnings. However, should they fail, injury or death is guaranteed.
The eight wooden gates around the sandy arena finally open with a thundering thud, revealing their opponents: eight figures clad in drab linen garbs with scars and markings covering visible parts of their bodies.
Lumi turns abruptly to Khimi. “I’m sorry, Khimi… I-I didn’t mean for it to be like this—” he stammers as the roar of the crowd drowns out his words.
“It’s fine,” Khimi sighs, watching as the men approach; a motley crew with rough and rugged appearances. “We’ve faced worse.”
The image of the shape-shifter mimicking Ziad appears in his mind like a taunting nightmare. All of Khimi’s training had vanished during that battle, years of combat and expertise lost the instant the shape-shifter took to Ziad’s form. It had only served to make Khimi more aware of a weakness he knew he had no control of.
“I heard th-they’re all murderers,” Lumi stutters nervously, drawing closer to Khimi and pressing against him with hopeful eyes.
A snort escapes Khimi’s lips, filled with both amusement and disdain. “Cutthroats aren’t skilled combatants.” He scoffs, dismissing the potential danger of their enemies. “Just cowards. Besides, I’m sure most of them are just petty thieves.”
Khimi draws parallels between their previous fight against Dolman mercenaries and their current situation. They had managed to survive by working together as a team, but at that time, their partnership was still new and untested. In the past months, however, they had learned to work together even more efficiently and seamlessly. The mercenaries from Dolmas were trained soldiers, whereas these criminals posed little threat to their skills and abilities.
Khimi steals a quick glance at Lumi from the corner of his eye. Any sign of fear on Lumi’s face quickly dissipates while he flashes a grin, his ears twitching energetically with anticipation. How will you fare without magick this time? Khimi wonders silently, knowing that Lumi’s would be unable to rely on his gifts. As if reading his thoughts, Lumi lets out a heavy sigh and reaches for his choker, a conduit of his magickal abilities. His fingers trace along the vibrant rubies on the golden band while he whines in frustration.
“We’d better not die, Khimi,” Lumi whispers softly, looking up at him once again with pleading eyes filled with determination.
“We won’t,” Khimi says, his eyes narrowing on the rapidly approaching figures. His babouches slide effortlessly through the sand, testing the weight of the blade in his hand.
The crowd’s cheers grow, the men rush forward with their weapons raised. A mass of feet stomp against the sandstone arena, creating a cacophony of sounds. Khimi relaxes his grip on the scimitar and attempts to ignore the energy of the crowd. He pushes his focus to the heavy footfalls of the man approaching at the head. Fingers tense on the hilt, he pushes himself in front of Lumi. The man’s crude spiked maul comes down without consideration. The scimitar catches against the length of steel, Khimi’s knees stagger under the force.
“Lumi!” Khimi shouts with clenched teeth. “Move! This isn’t a game, they’re playing for their freedom. They don’t give a shit if you live or die!”
Lumi snaps out of his stupor. “R-right!” he shouts, the other men begin to close in around them.
Khimi’s blade slides along the length of the maul’s handle until the club smashes into the sand. The man grunts, then Khimi side-steps, bringing his chipped blade across the man’s chest. Blood splashes across the sand from beneath the man’s leather jerkin. He glances back, cursing under his breath.
Lumi swings his staff from side to side, kicking the sand under his feet back while he evades the oncoming assault. Two men in dark linen shirts make their move, attempting to flank Lumi from either side.
The man before Khimi grunts loudly. The spiked maul unhinges from the sand in a show of brute strength. The man, easily twice his weight, swings again, the maul smashing into the ground while Khimi steps backwards. Get hit by that and it’s over. Khimi reaches into his kaftan, removing a small blade from the inner lining. Daggers had never been his weapon of choice, but there is a time for everything. He shoots another look back at Lumi and grits his teeth, watching the panic clear on Lumi’s face. He hurls the small blade at the maul-bearing man. The blade finds its mark, lodging firmly into the man’s throat. Without a second thought, he turns to Lumi.
The two figures encroach on Lumi, their backs to Khimi. He descends upon them. Merciless, his steel bites through the thin leather jerkin of the first man, a pained groan departs from his lips, and he falls to the ground with an uncomfortable jerk, a lengthy gash ripping across his spine. The crowd roars, hungry for blood. The other turns to Khimi, swinging his sword in panic. The wooden staff bashes against his jaw from behind, knocking him onto the sand. This fight is unlike those he can recall from the arena in the past. In most instances, healers and trained chirurgeons would be waiting for injured opponents, yet there are none in sight. Perhaps a change in arena ownership?
“I yield!” one of their opponents shouts, dropping his sword and holding his hands up in surrender.
Lumi groans; his staff smashes across the man’s temple, leaving him face down in the sand. “He spoke too late,” he says with a shrug, and a coy grin. “Khimi… they’re trying to kill us?”
Khimi narrows his eyes at the approaching men. “It does seem that way.”
“But I can heal them after—”
“Save your stamina,” Khimi mutters, and he looks at the man with the maul. The man lies on the floor, his hand on the dagger lodged deep in his throat, drowning in his blood. “They aren’t worth your pity.”
Lumi’s brow furrows. “It’s my fault,” he whispers quietly, almost inaudibly beneath the rage of the crowd.
“The arena isn’t what it used to be,” Khimi replies, walking around Lumi and slinging the blood from his blade.
“I just wanted to save Ebo,” Lumi admits quietly, watching Khimi as he prepares for the next wave of attackers.
A heavy length of chain flies from overhead. It smashes between them in the sand with a heavy clonk. The man wielding the chain smirks through his thick beard and lugs the length with great force, the chain whips in Lumi’s direction unexpectedly. Taken off guard, the chain belts across Lumi’s back, knocking him forward into the sand. Red welts mark his back in a thick line. Khimi wants to reach out, but his attention is forced to the other figures rushing to engage with him.
“Lumi—”
“I’m fine!” Lumi calls from the sand.
Khimi shakes his focus back to the assailants. One of the figures, carrying a heavy club, claps it against his palm with a dangerous look in his eye. The other edges toward him, shirtless and with ratty sarouel, a long spear pointing at him. Khimi had always hated fighting against enemies with spears. If the fighter is adept and quick enough, it becomes increasingly difficult to close the gap to land a blow. He knows he should remove the spear from the fight sooner than later, it is just a matter of how.
The crowd roars again, screams erupting. Everyone stands and cheers, while others call out in anger. The men approaching Khimi turn to look around the arena. Khimi takes a glance. He sees Lumi pulling on the chain against his aggressor, length after length of chain piles to the floor with each of Lumi’s tugs. Khimi is shocked, having witnessed Lumi’s lack of strength it seems almost impossible.
Khimi shakes himself out of his stupor and snorts. He’ll be fine, he thinks, then pushes forward. He knocks the tip of the spear to the side, the figure still caught off-guard from the exuberant crowd. The scimitar slices over the thick fingers like tender meat, the digits fly into the sand. The man yelps but manages to hold his spear firm. The length of the pole slaps against Khimi’s side, but he pulls back and puts himself on the defensive. Finding himself in the precarious position between both men, Khimi stands ready for either man’s movements. He takes a deep breath and sweat drips over his glistening brow.
An uncomfortable droning silence comes across the crowd, the two men begin to rush him in unison. Steel crashes against steel, the scimitar catches the handle of the club. The club scrapes against the blade, forcing Khimi to his knee. The muscles strain in his arms, the sharpened edge creases from the force of the blow. The club raises in the air, ready for a second strike. Khimi pushes himself to his feet, a sharp, dull ache in his legs.
Black spots form in Khimi’s vision, the haft of the spear smashing against the side of his face. He staggers, narrowly evading the club. He wishes he could invoke Enan’s magick. This would have all been much more simple if only he could just extend his hand to them and whisper a simple incantation. His hand tightens on the hilt of his scimitar, his knuckles turn white. There is too much to live for now, too much that he cares about.
Khimi’s roar echoes through the arena, spittle flying from his open mouth. His mind is consumed by a primal rage, drowning out any other thoughts or sounds. The once deafening silence in the arena is now filled with the pounding of blood rushing through Khimi’s veins. Each step he takes on the yellow sand sends it scattering in all directions, creating a chaotic cloud around him.
As he charges towards his opponent, a fierce numbness spreads throughout his body, familiar and expected. The scimitar in his hand feels like an extension of himself, it slices through flesh and bone, leaving a trail of crimson gore behind. The raised club of his enemy falls to the ground, forgotten amongst the chaos.
With a frightening expression, the spearman stumbles back in fear, but Khimi’s scimitar finds its mark. A scream of protest escapes his lips before being abruptly silenced by the curved steel blade. Khimi lets out a triumphant roar, standing over his fallen opponent, panting erratically. He had not planned to enter the arena again, let alone take a life in front of an audience. But here he was, overcome by adrenaline and instinct.
The sound of chains rattling brings Khimi back to reality. Lumi! He sees his partner wrestling with his opponent, the chain wrapped tight around the man’s neck. With a grunt of effort, Lumi pulls with all his might until the man’s face begins to flush. Bit by bit, he tugs the chain until his opponent falls into the sand. The remaining combatants quickly drop their weapons and raise their hands in surrender, while Khimi rushes to join Lumi’s side.
A glint of steel catches Khimi’s eye, a blade falls into the sand beside Lumi. Khimi’s head whips in the direction from which it came. One of the remaining opponents stands poised and ready with another small blade in hand. The edge of Khimi’s babouche slips beneath the haft of the spear beside him. He sheaths his scimitar and knocks the spear up towards his hand. Trotting forward, he aims the spear like he would a javelin. It leaves his hand with a fierce whistle and moves through the air within seconds. The crowd lets out a gasp, the man plummets backwards, knocked clear off his feet. The man begins to push himself back up, and Khimi marches through the arena towards him, once more removing his scimitar from its now bloodied sheath.
“I-I yield!” he calls out, his eyes shaking with panic. He does not seem to pay the spear jammed into his abdomen any mind. His eyes are set on Khimi, who steps towards him with an intimidating purpose. “I yield!” he announces again, his voice panicked. The man calls out to the crowd for help.
A loud snap reaches Khimi, and he turns in time to see the chain-bearing man’s neck turn awkwardly, his limp body falling on top of Lumi. The figure does not move, and Lumi struggles from beneath the lifeless corpse. Confident Lumi would be fine, he turns back to the man before him. The crowd screams and cheers, he raises his blade to land the final blow.
“Khimi! It’s over!” Lumi calls out from under the dead man. “It’s over!”
Khimi looks down at the man. He must be about the same age as himself. His appearance is rough, the years have been unkind to him. They must have been for you to end up here. Full of anger, Khimi’s nose wrinkles, his blade raised again. It will be a mercy. The man cowers beneath him. The blade comes crashing down.
“That’s enough!” A voice calls from the side of the arena.
Khimi turns, and the man scampers backwards, kicking the sand underneath him. A tall pantera in a patchwork kaftan comes from a dark hallway along the outskirts of the arena. His voice booms with authority. He walks to the center of the ring, while the crowd speaks in hushed tones at his entry. Lumi finally manages to push the man off of himself, forcing himself to his feet while the pantera looms just above him.
“It’s you!” Lumi shouts, brushing himself clean of sand. He leans forward with an angry scowl.
The pantera raises his brow, then pushes his hand through his dark hair. “It is me,” he says plainly.
Lumi puffs his cheeks. “No! I mean, why are you here… ?”
He laughs before he squats to meet Lumi’s eyes. “I run this place… in case you haven’t gathered. I am kind of the boss here.”
Khimi strides toward them, a haste in his step. “What is this, Lumi?” Though, a familiar feeling hangs about the pantera, one he can not quite put a finger on.
Lumi brushes the sand from his skin. “He’s the guy who kept Ebo locked away!”
“Guilty!” The pantera smirks and raises his hands above his head, while he turns to Khimi. “But just remember at the end of the day… it’s just a lion.”
“And you’re just an asshole—” Lumi’s words are interrupted by Khimi’s hand covering his mouth.
A small detachment of guards appears behind the pantera, crossing the arena at a slow pace. The pantera takes in the wreckage of the battle, the bloodstained sand, the groaning wounded, before glancing toward the roaring crowd.
“The people seem plenty satisfied with the outcome… let Lumi be done with this farce,” Khimi says with intense authority.
“Farce?” The pantera scoffs. “A farce is you being in the arena again,” he mutters, a horrifically wide grin forming across his lips. “Khimi.”
Khimi stiffens. His eyes rake over the pantera’s features, those brilliant, calculating eyes, the smooth cadence of his voice. The realization hits like a fist to the gut. His breath catches. “M-Mattias?” The name escapes his lips, disbelieving. “Is that you?”
Lumi looks between the two of them with a cocked and curious brow. “Should I heal the wounded?”
The pantera laughs, ignoring Lumi. “So you do remember me after all!” he wrings his hands. “I’ll let the announcer finish up here. You two will follow me. We have some business to discuss.”
Mattias
The walk through the sandstone maze feels like a journey through another world. The path twists and turns, leading Khimi and his companions through dark corridors that seem to go on forever. As they make their way, Khimi can’t help but feel out of place, unable to see in the darkness like Lumi and Mattias. Lumi grasps his hand in the darkness while they walk and though he knows Lumi has good intentions, he pushes him away, wanting to keep the distance between them. Mattias had once been a fighter in the arena, a regular spectacle for the crowd, and though he never had the chance to fight against him, he had heard of his reputation. Mattias had been known for being unpredictable, he was one who would always follow his whims, no matter what they may be.
As they continue on, a faint light glimmers in the distance, growing brighter with each step. With a determined stride, Mattias leads them through a partially open door into a spacious study. The room is in disarray, with scrolls scattered across the floor and shelves left bare. Snippets of light filter through dusty windows, revealing an assortment of empty plates and cups half-filled with moldy liquids on the desk.
Lumi looks at Khimi with a raised eyebrow, silently questioning the state of the room. But before either of them can speak, Mattias motions for his guards to wait outside and makes his way through the mess to sit behind his unadorned desk without offering any sort of hospitality.
“So you got me pretty good,” Mattias mutters, breaking the tense silence. “I wasn’t expecting The Khimi to show up in my arena… not here, not now. And then going against eight rounds of criminals with just the two of you? That’s bold.”
Lumi can’t help but ask, “Were they really all criminals? Did any of them actually harm anyone?”
Mattias grunts dismissively. “Does it matter? Some of them were burglars, thieves… a few were even bandits. The one with the spear… he killed his own wife just a year ago.”
Lumi bites his lip, clearly troubled by the revelation. “I thought… I don’t know, I thought an arena like this would have healers to tend to the wounded.”
“We do have chirurgeons who come after the fights to treat the survivors,” Mattias responds defensively.
“But you don’t have any healers on hand during the fights?” Khimi interjects, raising an eyebrow.
Mattias shrugs in the ragged chair. “I never did away with them,” he snorts. “The last healer who served the arena returned to Sidi some years ago. Probably upset she couldn’t see the fabled Khimi romping around shirtless anymore.”
Khimi’s interest is piqued by Mattias’ comment, and he asks, “Why did she leave?”
“Because the arena wasn’t seen as necessary to her gods,” Mattias explains with a wry smile. “She was only there temporarily, and once she had enough coin, she moved on.”
“And why do acolytes need coin?” Lumi chimes in, his tail curling around Khimi’s ankle with curiosity.
Khimi sighs and covers his face with his hands as Mattias begins to chuckle. “Cub, do you think those grand temples just magickally appear? Or that they can afford luxurious silks and satins?” He leans forward, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Or even something as simple as your precious little loincloth?”
Lumi looks taken aback at both Mattias’ words and Khimi’s attention turning towards him. “I don’t think it would be that—”
Khimi looks down at Lumi, eyeing the curious cloth. There is truth in Mattias’ words. The cloth is unusually heavy for being cut from such little fabric. It is made of a sort of heavy silk that has a curious tensile strength. He feels the thick fabric of his sleeve, recalling the softness of Lumi’s loincloth.
“Either way, if it was coin they wanted to stay, you should have offered them more,” Khimi says and presses his hands flat on the desk. “Mattias, I don’t mean to sound rude or abrupt, but I’d rather be done with this business—”
“Listen, Lumi… was it?” Mattias says sternly, ignoring Khimi’s plea. “You really shouldn’t have come here.”
Lumi growls in frustration, “But I had to…”
Mattias looks at Khimi. “I am assuming that… he is your friend?”
Khimi nods. “Something like that, I suppose.” A bit of color fills his cheeks. He notices Lumi’s look of disdain. “Well, maybe something more akin to his guardian…”
“Guardian… is it?” Mattias asks, his thick black tail swaying against the sandstone floor. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. The aslan caused a bit of a stir and was told he’d be taken for a prisoner and put into the arena… but I wasn’t expecting this.” He motions to Khimi. “How’s about you coming back to the arena? You put on such a show!” he cheers with an excited tapping of his feet. “The crowd hasn’t screamed that much in years. The violence in your eyes… the bloodlust,” he says with an air of eagerness while he sucks his teeth.
Lumi looks at Khimi, his ears twitching. “We’ve got a lot of stuff going on already… we’d like to leave.”
Mattias laughs. “Little cub, whatever happened tonight… that was nothing that we arranged. Khimi interceded on your behalf. I’d hardly say you met any punishment at all. Although I must say, perhaps there should be some sort of public display as reparation for causing chaos like this? The people do love a good lashing.”
“What! That isn’t fair at all!” Lumi cries, his voice sharp as he lashes out.
“We can come to some sort of agreement, surely—”
Mattias silences Khimi with a raise of his hand, then rubs his chin. “I’d love nothing more than to have you both in the arena,” he purrs. “It could be like a regular show—just imagine it.” His hands move expressively, painting a vivid picture. “The lion and his shield!” he exclaims, his expression sharp with intrigue.
Khimi scoffs incredulously. “Mattias… surely you can’t be serious.”
Leaning in, Mattias fixes his eyes on Khimi with a predatory intensity. “Deadly,” he declares. “The Arena draws throngs to Betset, but what we need is something grander—this kind of raw excitement. Imagine the spectacle! And imagine the wealth you’d amass!”
Lumi, exasperated, covers his eyes and shakes his head, his ears twitching in annoyance. “Khimi doesn’t need any more—” he protests, his tone mingling frustration with concern.
Khimi grips the back of Lumi’s neck. “What he means is that… we’ve got our own business together. I took up the life of a merchant after the arena,” he says, turning to Lumi with raised brows.
“What are you on about?” Mattias asks, his eyes darting between the two of them. “What’re you hiding?”
“Yeah, Khimi. What are you saying?” Lumi asks before the realization suddenly dawns on his face. “Oh yeah… we’ve recently started traveling through the Desert Cities together.”
“It’s a really hard business,” Khimi insists, gently placing his hand over Lumi’s shoulder. “And… Lumi left the temple to travel with me.”
Mattias raises a brow. “Khimi… is this true, you’ve truly given up the sword and become a mere merchant?” he asks, a flicker of amusement crossing the pantera’s face. “Hells, that is too funny to be true.”
Khimi’s lips curl slightly. “Right… so it’s been hard for us as is.”
“We were attacked by sahuagin, bandits, all sorts of nasty things!” Lumi nods in agreement.
“If you’ve dealt with sahuagin, then you should consider yourselves extremely lucky to be alive,” Mattias mutters, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “But, that makes this all the more exciting! See! You two were built for the—”
“Mattias… I don’t mean to cut you off. But no.”
Lumi claps his hands together. “I’m really sorry Mattias… but we have other plans,” he says, offering a generous bow of his head.
The pantera’s face screws up. The chair falls to the ground behind him while he stands with a sudden flash of anger. “Were your plans to come into my arena and injure my men!? Cause a commotion!?”
“No, that wasn’t the plan—”
“See! Plans can change. Now I am offering you both the chance of a lifetime to settle down here in Betset. You could put the life of the traveling merchant behind you an—”
“There are a lot of people waiting for us back home,” Khimi interrupts, his brow pinching.
Mattias raises an eyebrow, leaning over the table with a certain curiosity. “And where exactly is home for you both?” he inquires.
Khimi’s voice softens as he speaks, tasting Mattias’ growing suspicions. “Sidi,” he begins, his tone betraying a hint of guilt.
“Rhaz!” Lumi chimes in simultaneously.
But Mattias isn’t fooled. He shakes his head, crossing his arms. “You’re both terrible liars. I’ve dealt with enough of them and thieves for years. What are you hiding from me, Khimi?”
Rolling his eyes, Khimi lets out a frustrated sigh. “Are we finished here?”
Lumi’s pleading voice cuts through the tense atmosphere. “Please?”
Mattias’ arms tighten across his chest as he considers their request. “I suppose I couldn’t keep the champions of the arena imprisoned. It would reflect poorly on me… but if you stir up any more trouble here, I’ll make sure your days are spent in Betset.”
“But isn’t the winner usually granted freedom or a percentage of the earnings?” Khimi asks innocently, fiddling with the scar on his cheek.
“You would remember that,” Mattias sneers. “But some things have changed… we make sure the real criminals never leave the arena.”
Lumi’s ears perk up. “Huh! Why’s that?”
Mattias sneers, his voice sharp. “You want murderers wandering the streets?”
“N-no, no one would want that,” Lumi whispers, then grabs hold of his tail. “So… how do you make sure they don’t leave the arena?”
Khimi sighs. “I am assuming it’s some sort of set up?”
“Precisely!” Mattias says cheerfully. His ears perk up at Khimi’s words. “In most situations… we poison the opponent’s weapons or make sure their weapons are of weaker craftsmanship.”
“Certainly… everyone must have figured this out?” Mattias says with a casual, almost mocking tone. A sly grin tugs at his lips as he shrugs nonchalantly. “I am sure many citizens have noticed that when a true criminal steps into the arena… we ensure they never win. It would be such a shame to simply execute them in public when their very life can serve a greater purpose—funding Betset.”
Lumi fiddles nervously with his tail, his voice faltering. “That almost sounds—”
Before he can finish, Khimi swiftly places his hand over Lumi’s mouth, silencing him. “Sounds like a brilliant way to handle a tough situation,” Khimi interjects coolly.
Mattias arches an eyebrow, his eyes glinting, but then dismissively shrugs it off. “Right,” he agrees with a measured drawl. “We could always just hang them outside the city gates, but that doesn’t look too good for us, does it?”
Lumi struggles to speak, his words muffled under Khimi’s firm grasp.
“Let him speak,” Mattias grumbles.
With a feigned smile, Khimi relaxes his grip ever so slightly and quips, “Oh, it’s okay—he thinks you’re brilliant.”
Lumi pushes Khimi’s hand from his mouth. “I just said that it seems unfair to give them false hope!”
“It’s unfair… but at least the crowd receives entertainment, and it’s hardly as harsh as some other Desert Cities,” Khimi whispers.
“What do you mean?” Lumi asks, tugging on Khimi’s kaftan for support.
“Khimi has the right of it.”
Khimi puts his arm around Lumi. “Depending on the severity of your crime, you’ll oftentimes find death or servitude to be your only options. Thieves… well your hand will be removed or even a foot so you can no longer run. If you commit a crime in Sidi, depending on the ruling of the Saint of Balance or the paladins who enforce her authority, you might find yourself strapped to a pole in the burning desert heat. Outside the vineyards of Sidi are poles that remain to remind the citizens of what happens to criminals.”
“So there you have it,” Mattias says, crossing his arms. “Don’t do anything to upset the Order of Balance in Sidi.”
Lumi shivers. “Do you think it’s alright we leave now?” he whispers to Khimi.
Mattias let out a sigh. “Khimi, I hope I don’t need to see you again. But for now, you may go.”
“Thank you!” Lumi mutters, turning away.
Khimi’s hand catches Lumi by the chest, turning him back to the smirking pantera. Khimi bows slightly and Lumi follows his movements. The pantera returns his seat behind the desk, slumping back into the chair with steepled fingers. Khimi places his hand on Lumi’s shoulders and marches him through the crowded slop and into the sandstone hallway. They give a brief greeting to the guards, passing them without meeting their eyes. They make their way through the maze-like passage. The maze seems endless and while Lumi walks ahead, Khimi pauses, noticing drops of blood dripping from Lumi’s hand.
“Lumi…”
Lumi winces and apologizes, “I am so sorry—”
In the darkness of the corridor, Khimi pushes Lumi against the wall, his anger palpable as he presses his forehead against Lumi’s ear. He grips Lumi’s shoulder tightly with one hand while taking hold of his bleeding wrist with the other.
“Don’t ever do something so foolish again!” Khimi spits out angrily.
“It wasn’t intentional!” Lumi pleads, casting nervous glances up and down the hallway. His normally perky lion ears now droop in fear. “I’m sorry!”
Khimi’s eyes flash with anger. “What if you had died, Lumi? What if something happened—”
“But nothing did! Nothing happened!”
“But it could have, you stupid… stupid lion!” Khimi growls, lifting Lumi’s injured hand. “And you’re bleeding.”
Lumi looks up at the ceiling, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “It… it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I wasn’t thinking—”
“Damn right you weren’t!” Khimi cuts him off in a low whisper. “Don’t ever do this to me again. If Mattias found out who I really am, he could put me in a terrible position. He could ask for anything… demand anything!”
“But he didn’t! Nothing bad happened!”
Khimi shakes Lumi roughly, causing his back to collide with the rough sandstone wall. “But it could have. And you were forced to kill again. And… now you’re injured.”
Lumi’s ears twitch, a pained expression on his face. “It’s not the same… he was trying to kill me.”
Khimi lets out a sigh and presses a tender kiss against the wound on Lumi’s palm. “Just promise me you won’t do this again…”
Lumi mumbles, still looking up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry…”
Khimi’s hand snakes into Lumi’s hair, pulling it back and forcing him to meet his intense gaze. “Promise me.”
“I-I can’t,” Lumi mutters under his breath.
Khimi forces Lumi against the wall, pushing himself firmly against him. Beneath Khimi’s grip, Lumi squirms and pushes back against him, standing on the tips of his toes. His fingers scratch against the coarse stone walls while Khimi’s body brushes against him. Khimi’s hands move down his body, grabbing the supple and soft skin of his ass and pushes between his cheeks.
“Promise me…” Khimi repeats.
“I can’t…”