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“Kill him if you can. Try not to die.”
“Destroy him!” the turtle said, through a mouthful of gravel. “Scatter his ashes around the arena! Crush your enemy, drive him before you, hear the lamentations of his—” “I will do what I can, Orthos,”
From the wall of people, a girl stumbled out. She was slender and a little taller than Yerin, with her hair pulled back into a long black ponytail. She wore white-and-black sacred artist's robes, with a breastplate of smooth purple armor over her chest. The armor matched her eyes, which were a startling, vivid purple. The eyes looked human, not as though she'd borrowed them from a sacred beast through a contract, but he couldn't be sure. She carried a staff in one hand. It was as tall as she was, thick as her wrist, and made of smooth-looking black tendons. The tendons coiled up to the top of
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She walked up to the turtle as the remaining members of the successful fifty made it through. "What rolled him over?" she asked. Orthos spat him onto the ground, where Lindon groaned upon landing. "He needs a shell," Orthos said.
