What she did know was she had taken an interest in the newcomer. Being naked around other women had never really bothered Darla, especially not in a locker room shower type situation, but the unmasked intensity of the woman’s stare was becoming rather unsettling.

“Uh, can I help you?” she finally asked as diplomatically as she could manage.

The woman took that as an invitation to come closer. Far too close for Darla’s taste. She reached out and touched the human’s fresh tattoos, sliding her fingers along the lines, tracing them to their interconnecting patterns. Darla’s skin tingled with goosebumps, but at least the incessant itch had finally completely gone away.

“These are unlike any runes I have ever seen,” the woman said. “Where did you get them? Who is the artist?”

Darla looked at the markings the woman was speaking about and noticed something strange. These weren’t the now-familiar runes Heydar had tattooed onto her. These were something new. Something different. The patterns had a decidedly unique flow to their lines, and rather than accenting a darker hued pigment, the powerful white ink had taken on the primary role. And it was faintly glowing under the woman’s touch.

That alone was noteworthy, but the most shocking thing was these designs were not drawn by any Skrizzit. Somehow, they had formed completely on their own.

“There was no artist,” she finally replied. “These ones just sort of showed up.”

“Showed up?” the woman repeated, her shock clear. “That is not possible.”

“Hey, unless one of you inked me in my sleep, it looks like the pigments kind of did their own thing here. I guess it’s still settling in. But that’s not totally weird, is it? I mean, the ink does move around sometimes. I’ve seen it on other people.”

“It lives within us, yes, but never like this.”

“Let me see those,” Shalia said, joining the pair. She poked and pulled on Darla’s skin, examining her closely. “Were you serious about these forming on their own?”

“Why would I lie?”

“It’s just weird, is all.”

“Pretty much everything that’s happened in the last few weeks is weird, so you’ll have to give me a little slack here.”

Shalia chuckled. “Okay, that’s a fair point.”

The door to the bunkhouse flew open with a crash and three Dohrag guards filed in. The women, many still in a state of undress, covered themselves as best they could, but the Dohrags leered at them lustfully, regardless.

“You lot, get dressed and follow us.”

“Where are we going?” Darla asked.

“You are to have the great privilege of serving General Barzin during the evening’s display. Now, get dressed. That is, unless you wish to provide additional entertainment. I’m sure the men wouldn’t object.”

The women gathered themselves quickly, dressing in the still damp clothes they had just rinsed off and hung to dry. It seemed they would be working later than normal today, but what serving the general entailed was anyone’s guess.

Darla heard the shouts and cheers of the Dohrags well before she and the others stepped into the dining area. She hadn’t been here before as it was a prohibited area of the camp, but today things changed, though not necessarily for the better.

The troopers not on duty were gathered at the tables, eating and drinking and laughing, greatly enjoying the show being put on for them. It seemed the majority of them had taken the evening off to enjoy the spectacle, leaving their armor in their quarters, only a few actual guards toting weapons.

Darla wondered what exactly the occasion was when she saw where she had been led. She quickly took it all in and felt her stomach sink when she realized what was going on. It was worse than she’d anticipated.

A makeshift arena had been formed in the center of the tables. A fighting ring, clearly, the ground spattered with drops of blood. Fresh blood, whose provenance was made clear by the two prisoners beating one another in a bare-knuckle brawl.

It was barbaric, but then, given what she’d already seen of the Dohrags, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

“Gather trays over there,” the guard directed. “Serve the men. Their plates should never be empty and their glasses always full. You got that?”

The women nodded as one.

“Well? Get to it!”

Darla hefted up a platter of some sort of cooked meat and began making rounds, piling the steaming food on plates as she moved through the ranks while the fighters continued to pummel one another until one finally fell unconscious to the ground. The moderately inebriated Dohrags cheered and yelled, their money changing hands as the exhausted victor was led out to clean up while his vanquished opponent was unceremoniously dragged away.

“Do they do this a lot?” she quietly asked the four armed, green-skinned woman handing out food and drinks like a multi-tasker extraordinaire.

“No. They are violent people, but they generally do not want to damage the merchandise. Perhaps their men captured more males recently and they can afford losing a few to injury. I really don’t know.”

“No talking!” the man at the seat nearest them growled. “Do your jobs and get out of the way. The new one is up, and I have coin riding on him.”

Darla cowered and backed away. “Of course. Apologies, sir.” But something he had said caught her attention. The new one was fighting, and if this brute was willing to bet on a newcomer, she had a pretty good idea who would be entering the ring next.

Heydar strode into the crowd to hoots and cheers, along with a fair amount of insults from those betting against him. He was shirtless and already glistening with sweat even as the evening air had dropped to a cooler temperature. Clearly, they had warmed him up before his match, and his muscles had responded, rippling beneath his skin like serpents ready to strike.

Darla felt the dull ache between her legs return at the sight of his pulsating runes slowly moving across his body. He locked eyes with her, quickly scanning her, assessing her status. She was uninjured, at least for now, but his concern was clear.

Darla wanted to run to him, to talk to him, but all she could do was watch helplessly. But even that moment of revelry was cut short when his opponent, a hulking beast of an alien with boulder-like shoulders and thick, meaty hands, was led into the arena to the joy of his supporters.

His skin was deep red, almost like brick, and his hair was jet black, just like his eyes. He held his arms up wide, reveling in the cheers. Clearly, he had been through this more than once before and was a crowd favorite. And by the look of him, Heydar would have his work cut out for him.

He sized up the enormous red alien and took a nervous step back. The crowd howled with laughter. Heydar’s darting eyes seemed uneasy as they looked every which way.

The Dohrags laughed even harder, though those who had bet on him were less amused. It seemed their hopeful to defeat the champion was not quite what they’d hoped he was.

“Begin!” the general bellowed without further pomp or ceremony.

The red menace lunged forward, sending Heydar scurrying away, slamming into a table before redirecting to the other side of the ring.

“Don’t run! Fight, you coward!” the man whose drink he’d just knocked over yelled.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the crowd chimed in.

Heydar was having none of that, running away as best he could, but he slipped on a patch of blood, and his opponent seized the opportunity, grabbing him by the arm and throwing him across the ring.

The crowd cheered but Heydar rolled up to his feet unharmed. That is, until the fist already heading his way connected with his ribs, followed by another to the jaw. Somehow, he stayed on his feet, but only just. He fell onto another table, wild-eyed as he looked at the Dohrags cheering his eventual defeat. It was clear to all the outcome was all but a given.