The Power of Five Oblivion

club.
    “You don’t want to linger,” the chairman remarked. “As a matter of fact, I’m taking you to him now, although I should warn you, he’s not a pretty sight. He’s being punished for what he did a while ago. You’re part of the punishment. You two are good buddies, aren’t you?”
    Richard didn’t reply.
    “We’re almost finished with him for now, but before we stop, we want him to watch you being killed. We want him to see you die.”
    So they were going to kill him. Richard received the news quite calmly. The blade was pressing against his flesh, under his shirt. Well, he would use it to take the chairman with him when the moment came … and maybe the two guards as well. But first he wanted to see Matt.
    “The two of you should have a couple of minutes together,” the chairman went on. “We’re going to kill you as slowly and as painfully as possible. We have two professionals who are waiting for you just around the corner. I’ve set them to work on other prisoners and I can assure you they’re very good at their job.”
    “Is this how you get your kicks?” Richard asked. It was hard to talk. His mouth was dry, his heart pounding. But he had to say something. It helped to hide his fear.
    “Not really. No. I serve the Old Ones. I do as I’m told and I survive. Actually, people have been doing horrible things to each other for a very long time, Mr Cole. You might say it’s part of being human and I’m just the same as everyone else. Kill or be killed, that’s what it all comes down to. I guess you made the wrong choice.”
    The stairs emerged inside a vast chamber filled with people … thousands of them. They were packed together on benches or swaying on their feet, dressed in the same bits and pieces they had worn when they attacked the World Army. Many of them were holding their swords and shields, banging one against the other. This was the noise Richard had heard. There had been an extra food ration. They were drinking wine out of skins which they passed along the rows, tearing up thick slabs of bread and meat with their bare hands.
    Richard looked up. The ceiling was so high above that it was invisible and he realized that he must be in one of the towers that he had seen across the ice shelf, that this was indeed the fortress, the very heart of the Old Ones’ lair. Blue light, shining with a harsh almost radioactive intensity, was pouring in through caverns and grottoes that had eaten into the walls all around. Stalactites, needle-sharp, hung down. Narrow ledges – pathways – connected the different entrances and there were crumbling, uneven staircases connecting all the levels. The crowd continued all the way to the top, disappearing into the shadows. Every step, every patch of ground was occupied by men and women with long, straggling hair and wide eyes, screaming, laughing, waving their fists or pounding their shields, all of them fixed on the spectacle below.
    A boxing ring, with wire instead of rope, had been constructed in the very centre of the cavern and the crowd was arranged on all four sides of it. Richard felt a fist punch him in the small of the back and he continued forward. Grief tore at his throat and heart.
    Matt was there.
    He was standing up with his arms outstretched, tied to a wooden frame so that the crowd could see him. It was impossible to guess how much pain he had already endured. His clothes were in rags and his body was a mass of lacerations. Richard barely recognized him. Matt’s hair had been shaved off. His face was horribly swollen. His nose had been broken. Barbed wire had been twisted around his neck.
    Two men, dressed in butcher’s aprons, stood close to him. One was holding a knife which he had taken from a trolley, waving it first at the audience for their approval before using it on Matt. As Richard drew closer, approaching the edge of the ring, Matt’s eyes flickered open. He was still conscious, but he showed no emotion. He didn’t even seem to understand what was happening any more. But he knew Richard was there. Something deep inside him – it might have been sadness or it might even have been acceptance – appeared briefly in his eyes. Yet even as Richard began to climb up, his head lolled forward and the audience jeered and booed.
    “Keep going,” the chairman said. “I want you to be nice and close.”
    Sick, hollowed out, Richard climbed the short flight of steps that led into the ring. The crowd fell silent as the