A massive spell pattern stretches over the entire arena, and there are dozens of translucent images hanging above the walls. The images are showing scenes of the action on the arena sands, from at least ten different angles. The DokkAlfar's setup may be better than the current video coverage in Earth's sports stadiums.
Graham looks down on this as a barbarian culture. Probably, most Earthlings would as well, but seeing this makes me want to laugh in their faces.
In the middle of the arena, Mungo and his butt buddies are facing off against another group of gladiators, but they all seem more interested in disabling rather than killing each other. They are battering away at on another, but not really making any life-threatening assaults.
A single DokkAlfar in rich robes, surrounded by spell auras, walks around the edges of their battle. He ordered the start of the battle, but I am not sure what else he does. I have a few vague memories of DokkAlfar like him from Talon's remaining memories, but no clear memory of them doing anything other than starting the battles.
After over five minutes, Mungo's group finally wins, with four of them still standing. The DokkAlfar in the robes throws some ropes to Mungo, which the Blood Rose gladiators use to tie up the other gladiators.
With their opponents stripped and hogtied, Mungo and his faggot buddies start strutting around and mocking them. It almost looks like something out of old time professional wrestling. The spectators are going wild in the stands, screaming and yelling incoherently.
As Mungo turns in a circle, with his hands in the air, the crowd slowly quiets down.
“DO YOU WANT TO SEE IT?!”
The crowd roars out what sounds like a dozen different responses.
“I CAN'T HEAR YOU! DO YOU WANT TO SEE IT?!”
“YES!” The response is ragged, but understandable.
“DO YOU WANT US TO FUCK THEM?!”
“YES!”
As Mungo and the other gladiators take off their codpieces and strap them on their heads, the roars from the crowd go even more wild. The cheering does not stop, until they have ass-raped all the losers multiple times.
After Mungo's group and the losers are cleared out of the arena, two teams, all humans, are brought in from gates under the side boxes. Each team has four men and four women, and they are all unarmed. While the women are completely naked, the men are wearing codpieces like Mungo's group.
Once this battle ends, the winning men rape the losing women, and the winning women use the phallic codpieces to ass-rape the losing men. Compared with the homosexual rape, this group is driving the crowd into an even wilder frenzy.
Between Earth's fucked up culture and what I saw during the my years in the Lands of Despair, I have seen a lot of fucked up shit. This is more fucked up than most of what I have seen, but I am not surprised to see people fighting for the chance rape other people.
Another two groups are sent out, all women this time. Once the winners have the losers tied up, the winner are given some of the phallic codpieces, and again, they rape the losers.
“So, that's the prematch entertainment.” My voice is flat.
“The rape matches are just the finale. It started hours ago, with feeding criminals to beasts or having them tortured to death by gladiators. You don't seem to have enjoyed it much.”
“I've never been too interested in watching other people fuck.”
“You'll be sent out in about a hundredth.” The Throd'nahk's voice is emotionless.
Until the call comes, the Throd'nahk waits with his back to the bars, as he looks us over. Behind me are nine gladiators, who are neither exceptional nor terrible. They are nothing but filler. Elan'fer'sha does not expect me to lose, and I do not expect to lose either.
“Brand, do not let the Mistress down. You are one of the most dangerous Gladiators in all of Gor'achen. Kill all of them!”
When I walk toward the gate, the Throd'nahk points at me. “Free his Power!”
One of the DokkAlfar guards takes out one of the black rods and points it at my collar. The glow disappears from the sigils, but that has no effect, since this collar has never sealed my power.
The Throd'nahk opens the gate, and I step out onto the black sand. I feel tens of thousands of eyes focus on me. I do not like being the center of attention. Too many years of chickenshit little ass fuckers staring and mocking me have made me dislike the feeling of being watched.
The crowd seems a little surprised seeing me walk out naked. There are a lot of conversations and arguments taking place, as they point in my direction. Probably, they are not used to seeing new meat come up first in the battle of champions part of an arena match.
As I slowly walk to the center of the arena, a rash of new betting seems to be taking place. My guess would be that they are betting against me, but I could be wrong. They may be taking a chance on a long shot.
The enemy champions are all dressed in Power infused armor and wielding Power infused weapons that are of a standardized design. Unlike Elan'fer'sha, this Hakspar'Eldek'char seems to spend gold on equipping his gladiators. All of them seem to be mana users, but then there are not many ki users in the Battleground of the Damned.
Stopping near the center of the arena, I take a better look at the box where Elan'fer'sha is sitting next to the other DokkAlfar. That other DokkAlfar female is dressed in chainmail made from the standard oily black metal. Like all Alfar, she is more than humanly beautiful, but she falls short of Elan'fer'sha's beauty. It may be the harsh domineering lines of her face that lessen her appearance, or she may just not be as naturally attractive.
Whoever that DokkAlfar is, she seems to be quite close to Elan'fer'sha, and the two are chatting together like a pair of old friends.
Standing behind the DokkAlfar female is a DokkAlfar male that I did not notice from the tunnel. He is tall, around 6'6” or average for a DokkAlfar male. Dressed in odd black clothing, he reminds me of the stereotypical butler image from video programming. His jet black hair and eyes just as black give him a sinister impression, and his predatory features dispel any illusions of femininity or androgyny that DokkAlfar males normally have.
The Half-Alfar is not as beautiful as either of the DokkAlfar females. Even bare ass naked and writhing, while being finger fucked by the other DokkAlfar female, she pales next to a clothed, if you can call it that, Elan'fer'sha, but she does have bigger tits. They are almost big enough to be a C cup, which is massive for any female with Alfar blood. Her pale pink nipples are engorged with blood, and a trickle of blood is running down her chin from where she is biting her lip. More interesting than watching her get finger fucked is the fact that she is a Possessed.
Elan'fer'sha and the other DokkAlfar female notice me watching them and turn their eyes toward me. The soft smile on Elan'fer'sha's lips is cold and sultry at the same time. Her manner toward me has changed over the last few days, but I am not sure what the change portends.
The other DokkAlfar's intense interest pierces me almost like a weapon. No that is a weapon. It is her psi, trying to probe my mind, but I do not know how to stop her.
*Stay out of his mind, Aluras'bektsh'tar!*
The force of Thrall's psi slapping the DokkAlfar's psi out of my mind rattles my own mind painfully.
*Smith, what are you doing? You dare to attack the Mistress!* That blast of anger comes from the DokkAlfar dressed in black.
*Brand is my disciple. If you who are already striding through the Circles of Coalescence attack him, I will retaliate.*
*Canth, be at ease. We are no match for the Smith.*
The murderous expression directed at Thrall by Canth would be enough to kill someone with a weak constitution. While Thrall seems to be indifferent, there is clearly no love lost for him on the part of the DokkAlfar.
From the other end of the arena, ten gladiators form the Diamond Empress Stable approach, and one struts ahead to stand opposite me. He has about six inches and close to a hundred pounds on me, but his mana is weak compared to my own. He seems a bit a
nnoyed that I am watching Elan'fer'sha's box and not paying attention to him.
The DokkAlfar in robes stays between us, so that we cannot begin before he is ready.
“Staring at the Wytch won't save you new meat. You had the bad luck to wind up in her stable. Most stables will start you out in the fuck fights. Less chance of dying there.”
“You sound jealous that I get to fuck her every night.”
The other gladiator bristles, and I smirk. Even with me looking at Elan'fer'sha, he can clearly see my smirk in my profile.
The DokkAlfar in robes seems more annoyed than the gladiator. He glances over his shoulder at Elan'fer'sha's box, where Aluras'bektsh'tar nods to him.
“Begin!” The DokkAlfar steps back as he issues the command.
My left hand sword is out of its sheathe, its point lined up with the other gladiator's throat, before he even has his hand on the hilt of his own sword. He is a sword and board fighter, but his shield is not even half way up, before my slide toward him is complete. My sword pierces his throat and comes out the back of his neck, severing his spine in passing.
The DokkAlfar in robes immediately begins casting a spell and his eyes glow with a faint silvery sheen, as he stares at me.
I smirk. “I haven't begun to Coalesce my Power. You're just to used to seeing shitty fighters that suck.”
“Watch your mouth, animal. Unless, you want to end your arena career right here.”
My smirk gets ever broader, as I gesture toward Elan'fer'sha's box with my chin . “If you attack me, you'll just piss of the Smith.”
I can feel the DokkAlfar's burning hatred. It almost feels like having a blow drier blowing in my face. Is this a side effect of my spatial awareness training? Or is it because of what Thrall did to the scars on my patterns?
“Next gladiator! Begin!”
The next fighter is nowhere near close enough to begin an exchange. Like almost ever gladiator I have seen, he is taller and more heavily built that I am. His style is axe and shield, and the axe is surrounded by a field of Power that looks like a heat shimmer.
Since activating my mana, I have not released it. Instead, I have kept if flowing through my body, mind, and soul like I would with my ki. It feels a little odd, but this way, I can use it at will.
“My heart is steel. Steel is the blood and bone of the Smith. While the flame of my soul burns, the steel of my sword will never break and never dull.”
“The hammer falls, shaping the steel. The steel remembers the force. The steel releases the force.”
As the two glowing fields surround my blades, the axe-man's eyes narrow. He is almost certainly trying to identify the nature of my style by its appearance. Does he understand the Power of a Smith?
There are less than thirty yards between us, and I charge forward. Moving in the Shadow of the Od, I have a semi-incorporeal appearance, as I appear to float across the sand.
The axe-man catches my first strike on his shield. With a thunderous rumble, his axe deflects the trajectory or my second sword enough to avoid any injury. Considering the volume is loud enough to hurt my ears, even if my armor can withstand the impact, it could be devastating to take a blow from that weapon. Sonics have a nasty habit of bypassing everything but energy based defenses.
My fifth strike draws his shield out of position and my sixth goes through his left knee.
“AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!” His howl of pain fills the arena.
As I move past the axe-man, my lips part in a death's-head grin, and his face pales. With one good leg, he cannot turn to counter me, and my slash severs the muscles in his axe arm. As the arm drops, unable to hold the weight of the axe, my lateral strike sends his head flying.
“Next gladiator! Begin!”
This one is wielding dual short swords, but his skill is abominable. He barely stops my first thrust, and the second pierces his heart.
“Next gladiator! Begin!” The DokkAlfar seems to be more irritated by my continuing survival than anything.
A gladiator with a weapon that is somewhere between a glaive and a guandao in size and shape moves forward. He is different from the others. His smooth movements are those of someone who has spent long years honing his skills not his Power based combat abilities. The way his steps cover several yards with each one is a sure sign that he uses his mana for physical enhancement.
As soon as he is in range, the polearm wielder attack with a thrust. As I dodge, he follows the thrust with a slash, forcing me to block. Alternating attacks between thrusts and slashes, with the length of his polearm, he keeps me from getting close enough to retaliate. His speed is around Cletus' level, without having to do it in bursts, but without having the reach advantage of the polearm he would never be able to keep me at bay.
In less than thirty seconds, he attacks over a hundred times, but I cannot see any exploitable patterns. I wait for a strong thrust and block it with both blades, as I step past him and spin. He tries to get clear of me in the direction I came from, but I keep close on him. As I attack, he spins and starts blocking my attacks. By alternating between the blade and the butt, he manages to hold me off for more than fifty blows.
Drawing his attention high, with strikes aimed at his head, I snap a kick into his knee. He pulls his shin up to block, and my toe warps his greave, staggering him. As he steps back to regain his balance, I slash high with both swords, and when he blocks, I kick his other leg.
The impact causes the polearm wielder to stumble, and I slide my swords down the haft of his weapon, shearing off two fingers on one hand.
“AAAARRRR! You fucking bastard!”
He cannot control his polearm properly with the missing fingers, and I batter it aside, before stabbing him in the biceps of the same arm.
He growls and jumps backwards, trying to escape me. If it was not for my training my body with ki, I would be forced to step through the Shadow of the Od to keep up with him. As my own jump closes the distance with him, his eyes narrow, and he swings the polearm in a sweeping slash, with his one good hand.
Blocking the slash with both swords, I drive a thrust kick into his stomach. As he staggers back, spitting up a mouthful of blood, I slash both of my swords into his arm in staggered strikes, severing his forearm.
Seeing his hand and weapon fall to the ground, the former polearm wielder's eyes widen from surprise, before the pain hits him.
“AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!” He clumsily grabs his forearm with his mangled hand, trying to stem the blood flow.
My kick to his balls drops him to his knees, and my kick to his chin shatters it, while flipping him onto his back. Stabbing both swords into his groin, I twist the blades as pull them out.
“AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”
“My parents were together until the day they died, eunuch.”
After destroying the former polearm wielders knees, I turn to look at the remaining champion for the Diamond Quest Stable. “Which one of you faggots is next?”
Stupid faggots think they are better than Brand. Brand should cut all their balls off!
Be quiet, Perzey. You are dead, but I am not going insane yet. At least, I do not think I am going insane, but if you are insane, can you actually tell you are insane?
The remaining gladiators' eyes move between the ruined body of the still moaning polearm wielder and myself. The fear in their eyes gives me a warm fuzzy feeling, as I grin viciously.
“Diamond Empress Stable concedes the duel of champions.” The condescending DokkAlfar voice coming from my left is obviously enhanced by Power.
As I look at the box where the Hakspar'eldek'char is sitting next to another DokkAlfar in their throne-like chairs, they are both glaring at me. Their hate is even more intense than the DokkAlfar referee or whatever the hell the robed DokkAlfar is supposed to be.
“Blood Rose Stable is only sending out three gladiators for the general melee. We do not need any more to deal with Diamond Empress Stable.” Elan'fer'sha's beautiful voice sounds soft, even while being ampl
ified by Power.
The hate and rage filled glares of the Hakspar'eldek'char and his patron fixate on Elan'fer'sha's box, but they do not say anything.
The robed DokkAlfar referee stares at Elan'fer'sha's box for a moment. “If one your chosen three falls, Diamond Empress stable earns four points. If two fall, Diamond Empress Stable earns eight points. If all three fall, Diamond Empress earn the full ten points.”
Elan'fer'sha smiles coldly at the DokkAlfar. “My gladiators will not fall.”
The nine other gladiators return to the ready room, while Tyrend and Graham join me. Tyrend is grinning like fiend, but Graham looks nervous and embarrassed. He is probably still not used to running around with his dick hanging out, while tens of thousands of people stare at it.
While waiting for them to reach me, I watch the DokkAlfar with Elan'fer'sha finger fucking the Half-Alfar. I never understood wanting to fuck around sexually with the same sex. There is something completely unnatural about it, but I have to admit that DokkAlfar bitch is persistent.
“What's so interest . . . not bad for such a skinny Half-Alfar.” Tyrend's grin becomes purely lecherous.
“Alva?” Graham sound thoroughly incredulous. His face is flushed, when I look at him.
“She's not a bad piece of ass, nice tits too. Is she a good fuck?”
From the way Graham glares at me, I do not think he has fucked her yet. I guess they are not lovers.
Tyrend gestures negligently in the direction of the Diamond Empress Stable's gate. “We should kill them, before you kill Graham.”
“So what do with the weak link here?” I point at Graham.
Tyrend smirks. “We could put him in the middle and let him be defensive.”
I shrug. “That works. You take left and I'll take right. Get in between us, Graham.”
Graham looks from one of us to the other, before drawing his sword and standing in the middle.
The Diamond Empress gladiators are advancing toward us in a line. The six in the middle are sword and board, with the ones on the outside using two-handed weapons, two greatswords and two great axes. Not one of them is a dual-wielder.
Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) Page 14