by Aaron Oster
The Leopard hissed as it staggered back under the assault, and Arthur darted in, using his Drilling Blows. The cat was nimble, though, and managed to avoid any serious damage. Arthur snarled, using Poison Touch yet again while taking the cat’s raking claws across his chest. Blood streamed from the cuts, but he didn’t feel it, his mind too focused on taking down the beast before him and inflicting as much pain as he could before he died.
The Leopard staggered back, yowling in pain and hissing as Arthur landed a particularly nasty blow on its nose. He stepped forward to press his attack, when he was tackled from the side and borne to the ground.
He was so surprised that he didn’t even fight it as guards dragged him back to his feet, pinning his arms to his back. He was vaguely aware of the Leopard being shepherded out of the arena and led back to wherever it was kept.
Instead of being dragged back to the holding cell as he’d expected, he was dragged to the center of the arena where he was forced to his knees. A second later, five spearpoints were at his throat. His hair was then yanked back until he was staring up at the box, where the orator was shouting and carrying on, screaming for the guards to remove his head.
“Wait.”
A deep, commanding voice echoed out across the arena, and all noise instantly died down as a figure rose from one of the plush chairs.
There was an air of command around this Feline, and even the orator, whose face had grown red from his shouting, calmed somewhat.
As the figure walked up to the edge of the box, Arthur got his first good look at Baron Clive. That it was the Baron, he had no doubt. The Feline was tall, as most of his kind were. But whereas most appeared to be more beast than human, he looked more human than beast.
His skin was a light tan, his features chiseled and noble, and his bearing, confident. His eyes were golden, and his pupils were slitted. His hair grew wildly behind him, flowing out and reaching down to the middle of his back. But those were the only signs of his animalistic nature. Well that, and the aura of menace that seemed to flow off him in waves.
The Baron stared down at him with the utmost of contempt, as though he were worth less than dirt and was annoyed that he was being forced to waste his time on him. But he had an image to maintain, and it wouldn’t look good for him if he just had Arthur killed outright. It would make him look weak in the eyes of his subjects.
“This…thing,” he continued, gesturing to Arthur, “thinks himself above the Feline Race. He has no respect for our sacred arena and the rules we as a nation hold dear. He attacks without warning, like the wild beast that he is. He dared to kill three of our brethren and, even now, attempted to kill another. I ask you, does a beast like this, truly deserve to live?”
The crowd erupted into jeers, calling for his head. But Arthur knew it was all a show. A performance put on for the masses. He already suspected what was coming next, so when the Baron continued, he wasn’t surprised.
“I sympathize with you all and would gladly order my guards to remove his head right now! But,” he said, holding up a finger. “Would that be fair to those brave souls who died at the hands of this creature? No! A quick death would be too merciful a punishment for this…thing! That is why, in three days’ time, he will face our Champion, Raucus, the master of Blades!”
The arena exploded with noise as the Felines rose as one, cheering and howling the Baron’s name.
“Now. Get that filth out of my arena!” he roared, his voice shaking the very walls with its sheer volume.
He then turned to bask in the adulation of the crowd as the guards dragged him towards the open gates. They made sure to drag him through the pools of blood and viscera left over from the dead prisoners, much to the delight of the crowd, who continued chanting the Baron’s name and calling for his head.
The guards didn’t bother beating him this time, throwing him into the holding cell and slamming the gates shut behind him. The cheering of the crowd was only slightly diminished by the thick stone walls, but Arthur ignored them, walking over to sit by his spot against the back wall. The quest completed notification flashed before his eyes, along with the requirements for the next in the chain.
Quest Completed: The Pits - II
Rewards: 7,500 XP. Next quest in the Chain “The Pits”
Level Up!
Congratulations, you have reached level 15. You now have 5 new Attribute Points to allocate.
Quest Available: The Pits - III
You’ve survived your second fight in the pits. But it seems you’ve now gotten the kitty in charge’s personal attention. Now you’ll be facing the Champion of the pits: Raucus, the master of Blades. You’re probably going to die, but hey, everyone’s gotta go sometime!
Objective: Kill Raucus, the master of Blades
Failure: Die
Difficulty: B+
Rewards: 10,000 XP, Variable
Note: This quest has been automatically accepted.
Arthur noted apathetically that this seemed to be the last quest in the chain. Not that it really mattered. Even the system was telling him he would die.
The empty feeling that had momentarily vanished during the fight returned in full force as he was reminded of his place here. He was a prisoner, destined to die for the Feline’s entertainment. When he’d first been brought in here, he’d had plans, been sure that he could find some way out. But after two weeks of seeing so many die senselessly at the hands of the Felines, his hopes were long gone.
He would be facing yet another challenger, and it was one that he was sure he’d be unable to beat at his current level. At least they wouldn’t make him wait another two weeks this time.
A shadow fell across him as he stared listlessly down at the ground, but Arthur didn’t bother looking up. He honestly didn’t care who it was.
“Get up,” White’s voice sounded above him.
Arthur ignored the scarred Feline, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor.
“I said, get up.”
It seemed that the cat wasn’t going to leave him alone until he responded.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“Exactly what I said,” Arthur replied.
“So, you’re just going to give up, let yourself be killed?”
“Looks like it.”
“And what about your friends?”
“They’ll be fine without me,” he replied, now very much regretting having mentioned them to the Feline.
“And how do you think they’d feel if you died?”
Arthur finally looked up at the big cat, feeling anger spark in him for the first time.
“What do you want from me? Weren’t you the one who called me a corpse? Now you’ll finally get your wish. So just leave me alone!”
The Feline stared down at him for a long moment, his one good eye seeming to pierce into his very soul. Arthur felt the fight leak out of him.
“Just, leave me be,” he said, curling in on himself and closing his eyes.
A couple of seconds later, the light brightened slightly as the Feline left. Deep down, Arthur wished he would have stayed, but he knew there was no point. White couldn’t help him, and if his friends were still alive, they would do better to forget about him and move on. This was no game. The Animal Kingdom was a brutal and unforgiving place, and he was just its next victim.
31
White strode through the corridors of Raya’s prison, his back straight and his arms tucked behind his back. Guards shot him dirty looks, whispering amongst themselves as he did so and occasionally snickering, but he ignored them all. He knew what they thought of him, a Feline stuck in the past. A relic of a time long gone. But he didn’t care.
He turned a corner, heading out into the main corridor, leading to the prison’s exit. Cells lined this corridor as well, each containing their fair share of people who didn’t belong here. Had he been younger, perhaps more naïve, he would have tried standing up for them, but he’d been around for long enough to know that it
would do him no good.
The worst part was that he was old enough to remember when things had been different. When the Felines lived peacefully with the other Races of the world, but that may as well be ancient history. Ten years of the new King’s rule had erased centuries of goodwill.
The guards at the gates didn’t even bother looking at him as he passed, too engrossed in whatever they were doing. Not that they would stop him, anyway. Hated, he might be, but no one would be foolish enough to start a fight with him.
His pace increased once he was outside the prison walls, and soon, his walk had turned into a flat-out run. His time was limited. Arthur would be forced to face the arena Champion in just three days, and his will to live was all but gone.
When he’d first met the boy just two weeks ago, he’d simply dismissed him as yet another prisoner who’d be killed off in the pits. But after surviving the first round by attacking first, thereby robbing the nobility of their fun, his opinion of him began to change.
He’d watched as the boy was tortured, being forced to watch one slaughter after the next. He tried talking with him about his life, but Arthur was oddly secretive. He did learn one thing from their conversations, the reason he’d ended up here in the first place.
He’d come here with a couple of friends, looking for those who killed one of their parents. White didn’t really care much for revenge. The dead were dead, and avenging them would solve nothing. But it seemed that the boy was dead set on that path.
White had lived for nearly ninety years, his training and leveling granting him a long life, and in all that time, he’d never met someone quite like Arthur. He’d tried to brush him off at first and keeping him at a distance. He’d made the mistake of getting close or sympathizing with prisoners in the past, and it had only ended in heartbreak.
But after watching the boy, who’d been full of defiance and life just weeks before, reduced to a shell of his former self, someone who was willing to allow himself to die, was just too much for him.
The old dynasty had died along with the previous King, but in him, White saw something he’d never thought he’d see again. Hope. Hope for the future of the Feline kingdom and hope for all Races in the Animal Kingdom.
He didn’t have the power to drag Arthur from his apathy and depression, but his friends most certainly could. All he could do now was hope they were still among the living and that they were still in the city.
***
Two weeks. It had been two entire weeks since Arthur had gone missing, and Talia was nearing the end of her patience.
She and Hopps were currently sitting in the bar where they’d first encountered The Rat, but someone must have tipped her off to their presence. Either that, or she was just occupied elsewhere.
She lifted the mug, foaming with an unknown liquid, and took a deep drink. It was vile, one of the worst she’d ever had, but it was strong, and it numbed the pain. Hopps sat beside her, his face pressed against the bar and light snoring coming from his bloated form.
They’d looked high and low, checking every nook and cranny they could find. She’d made inquiries in the marketplace, asked around at the local taverns, and beaten down more thugs than she could count. The two of them had been forced to kill more than one guard patrol, and they’d both grown as a result.
She was now level 17, just a few points away from reaching the level where she would be able to choose the Class she wanted, and Hopps was now at level 15. Not that it really mattered to either of them. Without Arthur, she realized, the two of them were lost. Despite only knowing him for a short while, she’d grown to depend on him.
Sure, she was smart, resourceful, and strong, but he had something she was lacking – leadership. She’d never been a leader, nor had she ever wanted to be one. She’d always been happy taking orders, and the past couple of weeks affirmed that more than ever. Hopps had to be ordered around, not that she could blame him. He was only two and a half years old. He wouldn’t reach maturity for at least another year, no matter how many levels he gained.
She raised her mug to take another sip but found it was empty.
“Give me another,” she said, her voice slurring as she shoved the mug at the bartender.
The ani-human didn’t ask any questions or tell her she’d had enough. So long as she had the money to pay, he’d keep serving her. And since it was only around five in the afternoon, the bar wasn’t exactly packed with paying customers.
Talia picked up the now full mug, taking another big gulp. It was just as bad as before. Worse, in fact, now that the awful taste was coating her mouth. That didn’t stop her from polishing it off and asking for another.
This was her eighth such mug, and she was finally starting to get a buzz. Whereas Hopps had passed out after drinking only a single mug, it took a lot to get her drunk. She wasn’t sure why but guessed it probably had to do with her massive Strength attribute, though it would make more sense for it to be affected by her Constitution.
Talia was special, though, and her attributes worked a bit differently than others’ did.
The door swung open, and Talia half-turned to see a stark white Feline with an eyepatch walk in. She ignored him, going back to her drink.
Felines walked in here all the time, either looking for trouble or a drink. Her hammer was close by if she needed to fight, but odds were that he wouldn’t be bothering her. The only Felines that had done so thus far had been the ones dressed in uniforms.
A few of the patrons had tried making a pass at her, but after she’d sent one of them through the far wall, no one had bothered her.
The Feline took a seat at the bar, thankfully at the far end, and knocked a couple of times on the counter to get the bartender’s attention.
Apparently, he was a regular, as the ani-human pulled a dusty bottle from under the counter and brought it over to him.
Looks like I’m right. He’s only here for a drink.
Talia turned her attention back to her own mug, about to take another sip, just as the Feline started talking.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Aren’t we all?” the bartender asked.
“It wasn’t funny the first time, and it’s not funny the seven hundred and forty second time,” he replied smoothly.
“Still keeping count, I see,” the bartender snorted.
“Are you gonna help me or not?”
“You’re no fun. Did you know that? Probably why you’re always looking for people and never finding them.”
When the Feline failed to respond, the bartender simply let out a long sigh.
“Who are you looking for?”
“I don’t have any descriptors, but I’ve got names. That good?”
“So long as I’ve heard ‘em.”
The Feline leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice, not that it would really help him. She was partially ant, so she didn’t really need to hear with her ears to understand what he was saying. She could feel the vibrations in the air and through the counter that he was leaning on, and her brain would translate them into words for her.
“Talia and Hopps. Have you heard either of those names?”
Talia didn’t let any outward signs show that she’d overheard what he’d said. She didn’t doubt the bartender knew their names. He seemed like the type of man who was very aware of his surroundings. And the two of them had been here often enough over the last two weeks for him to find out.
Add to that that their names weren’t exactly common and that they were new to the city, and it would be pretty obvious that they were the ones he was after.
Placing her mug on the counter, Talia casually reached for the hammer sitting next to her at the bar and nudged Hopps under the table. The frog grumbled, opening his eyes and glaring at her.
“What do you want?” he demanded sullenly.
He was still partially inebriated and, thus, in a bad mood. She made a mental note not to allow him near alcohol again until he was an adult.
&nb
sp; The bartender didn’t say anything, but his eyes flicked to the two of them. He may as well have pointed and shouted dramatically, for all that was worth. Talia was on her feet in a second, her hammer in hand as she prepared for yet another fight.
Hopps swayed drunkenly, hiccupping as he got off his stool.
“Put your hands up, you bloody wanker!” Hic. “I’ll take you all on with my tongue tied behind my back!” Hic. “Wait. Where are we? Are we at a play?” Hic. “Because if we are, the acting is terrible! Did you hear me? You, sir, are a terrible actor!”
“Why is the frog yelling at that barstool?” the Feline asked, looking at Hopps oddly.
“None of your business,” Talia replied, her voice slurring audibly. “Now tell me what the hell you want with us, or get lost!”
The Feline stared at her for a long moment, not rising from his seat.
“So, you are Talia, and I assume that drunk frog is Hopps?” he asked, popping the cork off his bottle and taking a long sip.
“As I said, it’s none of your business,” Talia replied, brandishing her hammer threateningly.
“I’ll take that as a yes then,” the Feline said, fixing her with his one good eye. “It wasn’t easy to find you, but I’m glad I did.”
Talia knew she should be scared that they’d been tracked down by this Feline, but by this point, she was too drunk to feel fear.
“So, you came to fight me?” she demanded.
“No, actually. I’m here for a different reason. I’m here because I need your help.”
“What?” Talia stared at the cat in incomprehension. “What the hell would a Feline need our help for?”
“Well, it’s not me that needs help, if I'm perfectly honest. But rather, a mutual friend.”
Talia squinted at the Feline, not quite understanding what he was going on about.
She opened her mouth to say as much, but it was at that moment that Hopps yelled, “Come at me!” and proceeded to attack the barstool he’d been insulting.