Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King novel Chapter 34

Chapter 34 

Chapter 34 

The crowd is a beast of its own–roaring, stomping, rattling the walls with its insatiable hunger for violence. Sweat, blood, and the sickly–sweet scent of adrenaline hang in the air, thick enough to coat my tongue. The dome vibrates with every crazed chant, every guttural scream demanding bloodshed, and in the center of it all- 

Enoch. 

Bound. Bruised. Barely conscious. 

And yet, despite all that, when his eyes find mine through the chaos, he smiles. 

Not the twisted, cynical smirk I’ve come to associate with him, nor the blank, disconnected expression he’s been wearing since losing his memories. No. This one is pure. Soft. As though he’s just found the only thing in this gods–forsaken place worth looking at. 

My stomach twists. He shouldn’t be smiling. Not when there’s a literal fucking monster standing beside him, cracking his knuckles like he’s warming up for a damn feast. 

“Eyes up, Enoch,” I whisper under my breath, uselessly. My hands clench into fists, nails biting into my palms. He’s too distracted. Too unbothered. Too fucking happy to see me. 

His opponent wastes no time. 

The bald, disease–ridden fuck lunges like a rabid animal, his fists colliding with Enoch’s ribs with a sickening crack. The sound makes my stomach churn. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste copper, my fists clenched at my sides as Enoch is sent flying backward. 

And Enoch, still bound by those iron chains, doesn’t even try to move. 

He slams into the iron bars, his head snapping back against the metal with a dull thud. The whole goddamn dome vibrates with the force of it. 

The crowd erupts. 

I can’t move. 

Not when the champion raises his arms like some victorious gladiator, eating up the deafening cheers. Not when Enoch, still bound by chains, staggers, barely keeping himself upright. And definitely not when he turns those strikingly blue, barely lucid eyes back toward me–smiling. 

Why the fuck is he smiling? 

‘The crowd loves it. They roar with sick satisfaction, shaking the dome, screaming for more. And Plague Rat soaks it in, throwing his arms up and howling like a fucking animal, basking in their applause. 

Eat shit, you rogue. 

My pulse slams against my throat, my body screaming at me to do something. But if I so much as make a sound, Kallias will have me locked back in his room before I can blink. 

And Enoch… Fuck. 

But fuck, it’s hard to stay quiet when Enoch takes another hit. A knee to the gut. A fist to the jaw. His head snaps to the side, dark hair falling over those blue eyes, but his gaze still flickers toward me. 

I want to cry. I want to scream. This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted to save him, to get him out of that forest, to let him fucking 

heal. 

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Chapter 34 

And yet here he is—chained up, thrown into some barbaric fight club, getting the absolute shit beaten out of him while I stand here, useless. 

He doesn’t even lift his hands. He doesn’t move to defend himself. He just stands there, like a goddamn idiot, taking the next hit to his ribs without flinching. Then another to his gut. And another. 

My nails dig into my palms. This isn’t a fight. It’s a fucking execution. 

The defending champion, drunk on the crowd’s adoration, grips Enoch by the neck and slams him back against the bars. The iron groans under the impact. 

I choke back a sob. 

“This weakling is your bet?” A deep voice startles me, and I nearly jump. 

Shit. 

A figure moves beside me, the heavy clank of armor barely noticeable over the frenzy of the crowd. I stiffen, forcing myself to stay still, to act natural. 

My borrowed armor hides my form, my mask obscures my face, but if I so much as twitch wrong, I’ll blow my cover. 

“I don’t know why the Alpha even bothered putting him in there,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. “Man’s a fucking joke.” 

I don’t respond. I can’t respond. 

Because in the ring, Enoch’s body crumples to the ground. 

And this time, he doesn’t get back up. 

I don’t respond 

to the man beside me anymore. I barely even hear him. 

Every muscle in my body is drawn tight, every breath stuck somewhere between my ribs. My fingers dig into my arms as I watch Enoch lay there, motionless, a goddamn punching bag. 

Blow after blow lands on his body, each hit making the air crack with the sheer force. 

And yet–he just takes it. 

I don’t get it. I don’t fucking get it. 

He’s stronger. I know he’s stronger. He could snap that man’s spine in half if he wanted to. But he doesn’t even raise a hand. He just absorbs every strike like he’s waiting for something. 

Like he’s waiting for me. 

The defending champion, covered in blood and arrogance–grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The crowd roars around us, their excitement turning into something sharper, more feral. 

They can smell the end of the fight. 

Enoch is going to die. 

The champion steps forward, massive hands reaching, and in one clean motion, he lifts Enoch off the ground. His fingers close around his throat, thick, veiny arms flexing as he strangles him. 

No. 

Enoch doesn’t move. His arms hang limp. His legs dangle uselessly. His face–expressionless. 

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Chapter 34 

No, no, no. 

The roaring crowd fades. The air in the pit thickens, pressing down on me. My heart is slamming against my ribs, but my body is frozen. 

This isn’t how it ends. 

I won’t let this be how it ends. 

“NO!” The word rips out of me before I can stop it, a sound so loud it splits through the chaos like a blade. “FIGHT!” 

The pit falls into eerie silence. 

One, 

Two, 

Three 

F— 

And then–he moves. 

It’s so fast I almost miss it. One second, Enoch is dangling, lifeless, the next–he is not. 

His hand, large and brutal, latches around the champion’s wrist. 

Crack. 

The sound is grotesque. The champion’s face twists, his mouth opening in a silent scream as his arm snaps unnaturally to the side. 

Enoch doesn’t stop. His other hand slams into the man’s chest with a force that sends a ripple through his entire body. Bones give. The man shudders. 

And then Enoch moves again. 

This time, it’s not a fight. It’s a massacre. 

He steps forward, the heavy of his body collapsing the champion’s knee inward. A jagged pop echoes. The man howls. Blood spills from his mouth. 

Enoch doesn’t even blink. 

He yanks the man down by his broken arm, slamming his knee into his face. Blood splatters in thick, warm spurts. Rat face barely has time to react before Enoch drives his elbow into his throat, crushing whatever pathetic attempt at breath he had left. 

It’s horrifying. It’s glorious. 

It’s over in seconds.