Domains of the Chosen 02 Bloodlust: Will to Power

by C. P. D. Harris

  The Flayer's throat was slit and leaking blood. Three of its mouth tentacles were severed. But it was not dead. Hate surged through it, bringing bile forth to spew out of its neck and maw. Gavin's shield was out of position, and the Flayer vomited its tainted slime all over him. Wherever it touched his skin or leaked through his armour hideous growths erupted. A tumorous boil swelled on his cheek. As Gavin struggled, half-mad with pain, it burst, blinding him with noxious fluids. Horror beyond words banished all rational thought from him and he punched, kicked, and lashed out with magic as he shoved the Flayer away from him.

  Gavin stumbled backwards and fell as the Flayer, mortally wounded, slumped, his spear still stuck deep in its side. Blood pumped out from around the haft. Yet, unconcerned for its own life it crawled towards the Gladiator.

  Gavin fought for calm. Half-blinded and aflame with pain, he could no longer move his shield arm or his left leg, which were covered in vicious growths now developing tiny appendages that were busily attacking their host.

  “NOW THAT'S CARNAGE!” shouted Baron Bones. “Perhaps we'll get a double kill!”

  “DOUBLE KILL! DOUBLE KILL!” shouted the crowd.

  Gavin's right hand fumbled for his short sword. It too was gone, not at his side. He was blind. He was crippled. He was sword-less. He willed himself to be calm, thrusting aside panic lest death take him. He had other senses, after all. Reaching out with the Gift he could see the pattern of the Flayer. It was closing in on him. Gavin had no sword but he had other weapons. He battered it with a mental blast as he hefted his shield with his functional arm.

  The Gladiator felt something clamp around his left foot. With a roar he used his good leg to leverage himself upwards to standing. Then he pitched forward, using the razor edge of his shield like a guillotine with the force of his entire weight behind it. The shield bit into the Flayer's back. It warbled and convulsed as the edge cut deep. He kept up the pressure until the creature stopped moving.

  Gavin stood, hearing the Baron's sneering voice followed by the incoherent roar of the crowd. He could make little sense of the sounds, but he knew that some, at least, were cheering for him. He raised his shield. Then he fell to his knees vomiting, before passing into blessed darkness.

  o-----

  Cleothera and Lina did not take any chances with Gavin's life making sure that he received immediate attention under their watchful eyes. He lived. While he healed, he dreamed of tainted magic and rebellious limbs, of Baron Bones' taunting voice, and of his enemy Valaran.

  Chapter Fifty-Four: The Victor's Mercy

  1149/05/05AR Dregs, Supplicants Arena

  “There's plenty of cheating in the Death-Leagues, but here we consider it fair because everyone cheats equally.” commonly heard in Dregs

  “Above all, Sadira, know that I love you...” The first line of Gavin's will

  It took almost six weeks for Gavin to recover from his match against the Flayer. The strange growths and weeping pustules from the tainted spittle played havoc with his healing factor. Training was slow and painful during this time, and although he found his odd afflictions disturbing and nauseating, Gavin still felt good about winning his tough fight against the warped monstrosity. He liked to think that the man who was once the Flayer would be happier dead.

  Sax noted dryly that he had made a bit of money betting on Gavin. Betting in the Death-Leagues is exceptionally popular. It the sort of venture that arises naturally in the harsh atmosphere of places like the Dregs. There is a certain callous sense of style in wagering on the suffering of others. In addition Deathmatches come under greater scrutiny and cheating is rare, which is attractive to gamblers.

  Gavin also learned that monster hunters and monster-makers for the Death-Leagues arenas gained a huge reward when their beast won. It was a grim little industry. The Flayer had defeated two other Gladiators before Gavin, as well winning a number beast fights and rabble matches. At the time Gavin did not know what a rabble match was. He was focused on rising high enough in the Ranks of the Death-Leagues so he could challenge Valaran directly.

  o-----

  The Gladiator's quarter in Dregs was an angular, fortress-like building. There was no evidence whatsoever of Faction affiliations within, save for perhaps a few mementos or trophies among the possessions of individual fighters. The Death-Leagues eschewed all Faction support, at least officially.

  Lina stayed in a small room attached to Gavin's acting as his vassal and tending to him while he recovered. As a native of Volcanus, her knowledge of the area proved invaluable for everyday tasks. A wrong turn in Dregs could land one in a great deal of trouble. It would not do to wander into a gang war while trying to procure dinner. Lina's friends and family visited when they were able. Gavin usually excused himself from these meetings, they were bittersweet at best, since Lina's life was so much better than that of her relatives, and it pained him to see her guilt.

  o-----

  When Gavin entered the arena for his second match, a random draw Deathmatch against a Gladiator who went by the name Choker, he noticed more than a few Golds in the comfortable upper deck seats, and Valaran sitting in announcer's box next to Baron Bones.

  Gavin stopped for a moment, staring at Omodo's killer. He felt a surge of hate, white-hot. Valaran smiled back at him, eyes cold, and held up an object for him to see. With disgust, Gavin realized that it was Omodo's horn, hacked from the Armodon's body in his fatal match against the Champion of the Death-Leagues. The two Gladiators stared at each other for a long moment. Choker shouted something at Gavin but he ignored it. Instead he raised his spear and pointed it at Valaran in an unmistakable gesture of challenge.

  The crowd jeered him for this, but he detected a ripple of admiration in their underlying thoughts. The people of the Dregs were forced to rely on their belief in perseverance and ambition just to carry them through another ugly day; they seemed to enjoy the idea of their newest Gladiator having lofty goals despite their outward dislike for “new blood”.

  Baron Bones hopped up. His cultured voice carried over the din of the crowd as Gavin and Choker met in the centre of the arena and turned to face him.

  “Welcome supplicants,” said Baron Bones. “Today is a good day for one of you to die.”

  “BLEED FOR US SLAGFUCKERS!” shouted someone nearby.

  “I WANNA SEE YOUR GUTS!” came another voice.

  “They're talking about you,” said Choker, his voice singsong and mocking. A Shadow-Elf, he carried a heavy whip made from metallic cords and a short, brutal-looking serrated sword. Gavin knew that his opponent was a skirmisher by training, versed in life magic and dirty fighting. It was Gavin's guess that, unlike his beloved Sadira, Choker had developed his natural shadow manipulation abilities: such powers were just too useful to a Gladiator who relied on misdirection and manipulation. He could not guess at what other training the man might have.

  Gavin ignored the jibe.

  “We have a special guest today,” said Baron Bones. “Our Champion, Valaran diVolcanus has a few words, but first, The Deliberative, wonderful people that they are, requires me to remind our fighters that this is a Deathmatch. These are the Death-Leagues boys, not some uptight, tedious, limp-wristed Faction League. We are the last Bastion of the True Games. Welcome to Dregs.”

  The crowd booed The Deliberative and then burst into laughter as Baron Bones continued. After he finished speaking the Baron smiled, bowed, and gestured for Valaran to stand.

  “This is for me,” said Gavin. He spoke just loud enough for Choker to hear.

  Valaran stepped forward. He raised his hand. Silence fell over the arena. He looked down at Gavin, the source of so many of his problems, and snarled.

  “I came here to welcome you, Lionfag,” he said. It was a terrible quip, but these were low minded people. The whole arena laughed. He was their Champion. “Welcome to the Death-Leagues.”

  “YOU'RE GONNA DIE HERE!” shouted someone.

  “You came here to fight me,” said Valaran. He sho
ok his head as if he couldn't understand. “You think you can just come here and challenge me?”

  Gavin thought nothing of the sort. Valaran was still under suspension for a few weeks. His popularity among the broader fan-base had been damaged by his treatment of Omodo, as well as the fact that he had not fought for some time. They both knew that Valaran could not afford to fight a relative unknown like Gavin on his return match.

  Gavin raised his spear again, repeating the challenge. Part of him felt bad for Choker who must have been thrown off by the exchange, to say the least.

  “I killed your friend,” said Valaran. He lifted the severed horn for everyone to see. “He was barely worthy of my blades. I was tricked into fighting by corrupt faction rules. That won't happen again...”

  “Does this discussion have a point?” said Gavin, interrupting. “We're somewhat busy here.”

  Valaran stared at him for a moment, shocked to hear him speak. Scattered laughter rippled through the crowd. Baron Bones hid a smile. Even Choker chuckled appreciatively.

  Valaran fought down his anger. “SHUT UP!” he yelled. The crowd became silent once again. “This is my arena Lionfuck. You want to fight me, you need work your way up the ladder. Volcanus may belong to Chosen Moltar, but DREGS IS MY DOMAIN.”

  The crowd roared its approval. Gavin did not need to read minds to know that the downtrodden and ruthless people of the Dregs appreciated bravado. Valaran stared at Gavin, eyes full of hate until Baron Bones, sensing the mood of the crowd, slid around him.

  “Never a dull moment,” said Baron Bones. “Our Champion here has put a bounty of sorts on Lionfang. Choker, have you ever heard of the Dancer Flamina?”

  Choker, happy that he was no longer just an observer in his own match, smiled.

  “A worthy reward!” he said. The Shadow-Elf lifted his wicked blade in salute to Valaran.

  “Excellent,” said Baron Bones. “Now let’s get down to it.”

  The Baron lifted his hand and a lone trumpet rang out, signalling the beginning of the match.

  Choker, unlike most skirmishers that Gavin had faced, wore heavy armour. He was bigger than Gavin, but not especially large for a heavy. His armour was rust coloured, with subtly wrought blades and spikes on his greaves and bracers. As he shifted Gavin saw whirls of iridescence appear on his armour, giving it a slightly hypnotic effect.

  “Nice enamelling job on your armour,” said Gavin. He locked eyes with Choker as they circled. “I have to admit, using decoration as a distraction like that is fairly brilliant.”

  Both men channelled power, but Gavin waited to try to disrupt any spell that his opponent might use. Choker for his part, waited for Gavin to commit himself to a spell so that he could avoid such a disruption.

  “I'd direct you to the artist,” said Choker. “But, I don't think you'll have much use for her after this.”

  Choker slid back whirling his whip. It cracked inches front of Gavin's face. The sound and the speed of the motion set Gavin on edge. He noted that the whip, though made of metallic strands was not a heavy striking type, but rather a more flexible weapon, useful for snaring and harassing an enemy.

  After a couple of loud snaps, meant mostly to distract and annoy, the whip snaked out again, this time catching hold of Gavin's leg. Choker gave it a quick jerk, tugging Gavin's leg out from under him. Rather than resist, Gavin fell back in a controlled manner, kicking free of the whip and then rolling backwards. Choker was on him quickly, slashing at him with his vicious blade as Gavin gained his footing. Gavin parried with the haft of his spear. He got his shield in front of Choker's next strike, a low thrust. A coil of shadow magic, too subtle for Gavin to counter quickly, blurred Choker's third attack. Gavin pushed himself backwards, avoiding the hidden blade which cut the air in front of his eyes. He counter-thrust, forcing Choker back, then wove a quick mental blast spell.

  To Choker it felt as if something grabbed and squeezed the inside of his head. He felt blood dripping from his nose as he parried a series spear-jabs. He knew he had to make the most of the moment though; Lionfang had a fearsome reputation as a skilled spell-breaker, and so he cast a small enhancement before Gavin was ready to counter again. A primal surge gifted him with vigour, and he shouted with glee as verdant strength flowed into his limbs.

  Gavin clamped down on him with a quick mind vice spell, then readied to disrupt again. Choker was content to keep feeding power into his primal surge. They clashed a few times and circled, both men taking small wounds. Neither of them was willing to commit to an all-out attack. Choker knew he had to conserve his energy, lest the lighter armoured Gladiator use the long time limit to tire him out. Gavin was wary of the skirmisher's tricks, his whip and his shadows. Both looked for weakness in the other, waiting for an opportunity. The crowd cheered and jeered, hungry for violence.

  After deflecting a jab from Gavin, Choker pretended to stumble. Gavin took the bait, lunging forward aiming a spear-thrust at the Shadow-Elf's throat. Choker sidestepped the attack and whirled his whip, catching Gavin’s face and neck with a deft coil.

  “Now you'll learn why they call me Choker, meatsack” he said, sneering as he batted Gavin's spear away again and pulled the whip tight.

  Gavin struggled for a moment. He tried to cut the whip with the edge of his shield, but the enchanted material was too durable. Slashing at Choker's midsection was his next course of action. Choker caught the spear with his sword. The whip tightened. Gavin's head pounded. He grabbed at the whip with his shield hand, but it was slick from an enchantment, and he could not get a grip. Choker was surprisingly strong and he was running out of air.

  Of course, Gavin still had his magic, and wove spells as he struggled. He hit Choker with a pair of mental blasts, staggering the skirmisher. The whip went slack after the second attack and Gavin gulped air. Choker wove a regeneration spell.

  “You're fucked now,” growled Choker, wiping blood from his nose.

  “I was expecting something a little more clever,” said Gavin.

  Choker snarled and cracked the whip in the air near Gavin's face again. They circled. Choker's enhancements were now in full effect; he was faster, stronger, and healed quicker. Gavin gave up trying to counter his spells and just pummelled him with mental blasts. Adept at weaving multiple spells, he added a few enhancements of his own during this barrage. The constant, pounding attacks made Choker dizzy and angry. He whirled his whip at Gavin, hoping to create an opportunity to strike.

  The first stroke of the whip caught Gavin's arm, drawing blood. It was, however, only a trivial wound. He parried the second snap, aimed at his eyes, with his spear. The whip coiled around the haft.

  Sensing an opportunity Choker yanked on the whip. His superior mass and ensorcelled strength gave him a distinct advantage in the tug of war. The spear slipped from Gavin's grasp.

  Choker howled in triumph.

  Gavin's hand moved to his short sword.

  The spear stopped in mid-air, as if held by an invisible giant.

  Gavin drew his sword and threw himself at Choker. He held his spear in place with the mind-grab spell, trapping Choker's whip along with it.

  “Chosen's Cunt,” cursed Choker, letting go of his whip and drawing his dagger as Gavin powered into him. As soon as he let go Gavin launched the spear at him, but Choker danced aside. Following up, Gavin slammed into him with his shield, doing little damage but staggering him off balance. His sword cut into unarmoured flesh as the Skirmisher pushed him back with a surge of enhanced strength. The two Gladiators whirled, attacking in a frenzy. Neither backed down. Gavin kept attacking with his spear held telekinetically, unwieldy but still dangerous, quick jabs of his sword, and slashes of his shield. Choker hacked and thrust with his blades, trying to get through Gavin's formidable defences.

  Gavin obscured a thrust with his shield, scoring a deep blow to Choker's thigh.

  Choker wove a veil of shadow, hiding a kick that sent Gavin reeling and allowed him to score two cuts on Gavin's arm.


  The crowd roared as blood flowed and the two men fought. Neither seemed willing to give way before the other.

  In the end Gavin won because Choker started to tire. In such a close fought duel, endurance was telling. Choker's heavy armour and the strain of his enhanced musculature wore him down. Gavin would beat him by outlasting him, as defenders were trained to do. Without his whip, he was at a clear disadvantage. Another mental blast rocked him. He tasted blood.

  Desperate, Choker tried a complex double feint, slashing with both blades, using shadow veil, and switching angles mid-swing to confuse Gavin. Gauging that the slashes would not have strength enough to finish him, Gavin let them hit and opted to lunge. One blade bit into his shield arm, severing the flesh to the bone. The other bounced of his shoulder armour as Gavin's short-sword rammed home, a perfect thrust right through Choker's belly, severing the spine as the point burst through his back.

  Choker's eyes went wide. Lionfang had performed flawlessly, accounting for the impact of his blades and pain while delivering the fatal blow. It was a master-stroke, almost unbelievable in Choker's eyes. Gavin let go. The heavily armoured Shadow-Elf dropped his weapons and toppled, hands tugging at Gavin's sword. His mouth worked but only blood came out.

  Gavin's spear flew into his hands. He looked down at Choker.

  “KILL HIM!” came a shout from the crowd.

  “MAKE HIM SUFFER!” came another.

  “BLEED HIM, BLEED HIM, YEAAAAHHH!” another shout.

  Gavin's eyes met Choker's. He saw defiance and acceptance there, a strange mix. He supposed that very few Gladiator's came to the Death-Leagues expecting to lose. The thought of killing Choker filled Gavin with disgust. He thought of Omodo on the ground, hacked to pieces, a gleeful Valaran getting ready to foul the corpse. Gavin did not want to be like that; he was tired of pointless killing. He placed the tip of his spear at Choker's throat.