Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2)

by Brian McGoldrick

  The DokkAlfar referee is looking at us like we are dogshit that he scraped off his shoes. “You three stay where you are. Diamond Empress gladiators form a circle around them.”

  “Facilitator, what do you think are you doing?” That intensely hostile voice belongs to Aluras'bektsh'tar.

  As the facilitator turns to look at the box where she is sitting, his features become even more bloodless than his natural pallor.

  “Clan Mistress?”

  “Line them up normally.”

  The facilitator bows. “Yes, Clan Mistress.”

  His eyes are filled with hate, when he turns back to us. “Form two lines at thirty paces distance.”

  “Begin!” As soon as we are in position, the command comes.

  The six in the middle begin to advance in a tight formation, only the tips of their blades sticking out from between their shields. The two on each wing spread out to give themselves room to swing their massive weapons.

  “This isn't the time to hide your real skill Tyrend.”

  Tyrend laughs. “You are actually talking about someone else hiding their real skill? You have not even touched your real Power today.”

  Pushing off the side instead of forward, I attack the great axe wielder on the outside. As his axe swings down at me, I slip to the side in the Shadow of the Od. When it hits the ground, a seismic wave radiates outward from the point of impact, causing me to misstep. The axe wielder is already hacking toward me in an upward oblique angle, when both my swords' points pierce his chainmail and transfix his chest.

  As I pull my swords from his body, the axe wielder falls to his knees, with a look of blank incomprehension on his face. Trying to stand again, using his axe like a crutch, he tumbles forward, face down in the black sand.

  The tableau seems frozen for a moment, while the other Diamond Empress gladiators stare at us without advancing further. Then, without any voiced commands or coordination, the two sword and board users on my side of the line separate to support the greatsword wielder. At the same time one sword and board user on the other side separates to support the two great weapon users on his side, and the three remaining sword and board users advance on Graham.

  Tyrend's scimitar-like blades burst into flame and he charges the axe wielder on the outside. His speed is nearly the equal of Cletus, when he was using his speed burst, but for Tyrend it does not have the feel of a short duration ability.

  I step clockwise around the greatsword user, putting him between myself and the other two. He immediately attacks with a series of thrusts, intended to keep me at bay, and the other two split to either side of him.

  I reverse my direction, moving to the outside of the sword and board user on my left, and thrust over the top of his shield. Even though he does not move his shield, a shimmering field of Power generated force stops my sword. There is a matrix similar to a spell pattern backing the shimmering field, which is visible only with my left eye. As I continue to circle, three more of my thrusts are blocked by the shimmering Power.

  As the other sword and board user moves to shut down my movement, I flood my body with ki and lunge at the throat of the one in front of me with both blades.

  BOOM!

  A brilliant glow flares from the shield, before a detonation of uncontrolled force knocks both of us backwards. My entire body feels like it has been slapped hard, but I am not really injured. The sword and board user is dazed, with blood running from his nose and eyes. He must have suffered a heavy backlash, when he lost control of his Power.

  Tyrend has already left the axe wielder as nothing more than a corpse, with dozens of cauterized wounds all over his body. Even his heavy chainmail seems to have melted, where Tyrend's scimitar-like blades sliced through it.

  Graham is retreating to avoid being flanked and seems to a lack a technique to penetrate the shimmering force fields of the three facing him.

  As my other sword and board opponent charges me, I slip past the edge of his Power shield and drive a kick into the shield of the first one. With a muffled grunt, he flies at Graham's opponent that is closest to me.

  Crunch!

  As Graham's opponent turns and shield slams his stablemate, the sound of multiple breaking bones fills the air. Taking advantage of his opponent's distraction, Graham lunges, his sword briefly sinking into his opponent's exposed neck. As Graham returns to his guard position, blood fountain's from the hole in the sword and board user's neck.

  Swoosh!

  I dive and roll back to my feet. Spinning, I parry the followup slash form the greatsword wielder, as he chases me. Anger, frustration, and fear turn the gladiator's face into an ugly mask, as he desperately chases after me. He probably thought his first slash at my unprotected back would finish me, but with my new spatial awareness, my back is no longer truly unprotected. At least, I am always watching my back.

  His continuous series of stabs and slashes are too fast for me to easily slip between them. As his thick muscles contract and extend, he begins swinging the greatsword faster. I slide around the outer edge of his attack range, keeping him focused on trying to chase me down. The second sword and board opponent is using the pressure the greatsword wielder is putting on me to give himself the chance to maneuver around behind me.

  As soon as my sword and board opponent is between myself and Graham's two remaining opponents, I attack. When I turn almost translucent to his eyes, he halts reinforcing the Power in his spell-like shield.

  BOOM!

  The point of my lead sword hits his shield with even greater force than I used against the other one, causing an even larger detonation of raw force. Black sand showers outward from the epicenter, leaving a ten foot diameter depression in the arena.

  This time I am not driven back by the uncontrolled force and lunge forward with my left-hand sword. The gladiator is still in midair, when my flickering sword catches him and pierces his chest.

  “AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!” His horrified scream of pain seems to echo for a second, before the bloodthirsty roars of the crowd drown it out.

  Even though the wound is not instantly fatal, he will not last another minute. As I pull my sword out, fountains or rich red blood spurt from his chest in time with his heartbeat.

  Both of Graham's opponents are half turned, as I continue my line of attack. Using the distraction, Graham shield charges one, knocking him off balance. Even if he does not have enough focused power to break the shimmering shields, the force of the impact is enough to cause his opponent to stagger. Graham has more than enough strength to knock one of them around, if he does not have to worry about being flanked by the other two.

  I do not meet the other sword and board user head on. Relying on the speed of Shadow Fist, I slip to his side, as he tries to spin around and stop the lunge I never attack with. Still on his flank, my sword lashes out, opening the veins in his neck.

  Tyrend used the momentary distraction of the explosion to emasculate his greatsword wielder, and he has started toying with his sword and board user.

  Graham is taking out some frustration on his last opponent, battering him around despite his Power based shield.

  With my greatsword wielder watching me, I sheathe my swords and walk over to the great axe lying on the sand. Picking it up, I examine it. Including the haft, the entire weapon is made from steel. Though, it was forged as two pieces: head and haft. It has been Patterned, but it is still only a common Item of Power.

  I love axes. They are terror weapons. Strong men see an axe-man coming after them, and their bowels turn to water, especially when the axe is as big as this one. The haft of this axe is over five feet long, and the double-bitted head has two foot long cutting edges.

  SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH!

  As I swing the axe one-handed, testing its heft and balance, my swings are faster and heavier than the greatsword wielders were two-handed.

  “Common wisdom says that if an axe-man and a swordsman meet, if the axe-man can't end the fight quickly, the swordsman has the advantage
. Why don't we put that to the test?”

  I advance on the greatsword wielder, with the axe lightly held in a two-handed grip. Watching me stalk forward, his face is shadowed with fear.

  “YYYAAARRR!”

  Yarr? What is he? A fucking pirate?

  The gladiator launches an overhand strike, from his high right toward his low left, trying to advantage of his greater height and mass. My axe rises from low right to high left. Its appearance is more like a shadow than a solid object, as it ruthlessly batters the sword aside. My counterattack cleaves the swordsman from right shoulder to left waist, separating his body into two halves.

  “You were a stupid fuck. You could have made a good fight of this, but you panicked, like some bitch faggot.” He probably cannot hear my words anymore, but I say them anyway.

  Except for the sounds of battle between Tyrend, Graham, and their opponents, the arena is dead silent for a good ten second. Tens of thousands of beings stare raptly at the two halves of the gladiator's corpse, with the pool of blood and reeking viscera between them.

  “His name is Brand, Champion of the Blood Rose Stable.” The soft, beautiful, malicious voice belongs to Elan'fer'sha, and her Power has projected it so the entire arena can hear the words.

  A few voices start to cheer, and the sound spreads until tens of the thousands of beings are cheering. It does not matter what stable they support, the way I killed the last greatsword wielder was the kind of brutal, tyrannical kill that will stir their passions.

  “BRAND! BRAND! BRAND! BRAND! BRAND! BRAND! BRAND! BRAND!” Tens of thousands of living beings are chanting my name.

  Having finished off their opponents, Tyrend and Graham walk over next to me. Tyrend puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “How does it feel?” Tyrend has to shout to be heard.

  “If I was weak-willed, my dick would be getting hard.”

  Tyrend laughs, and grabbing my wrist, he raises my hand over my head.

  The chant devolves into a cacophonous roar, before another chant slowly takes over the arena.

  “BLOOD! ROSE! BLOOD! ROSE! BLOOD! ROSE! BLOOD! ROSE! BLOOD! ROSE!”

  The Clan Mistress' Request

  *** Gor'achen Citadel - Battleground of the Damned ***

  Return: Day 199

  We gladiators are being kept in the ready room, while waiting for Elan'fer'sha to arrive. Most of the gladiators from the Blood Rose Stable were nothing more than filler, but they are still jubilant over the victory.

  Tyrend laughs derisively. “We fight, but all of them will still get to fuck the slave-girls along with us.”

  “Besides us, only Mungo and his butt buddies fought today. It feels like we've been insulted.”

  After staring at me for a few seconds, Tyrend laughs, before looking toward the cell where Mungo and his faggots are celebrating, with broken-shoulder as the party favor.

  “They're unnatural, but the Masters accept any unnatural practices, as long as you are strong. I've seen gladiators fuck the wounds of the fallen or fuck corpses in the middle of the arena, while the crowds roared and cheered them on. Faggots are twists, but at least, they aren't that twisted.

  “You should be happier, after this victory the Mistress will certainly provide us with a good supply of pussy and wine tonight.”

  “What's so special about today's win?”

  Tyrend is looking at the tunnel leading to the arena, and his perpetual grin has turned vicious. “The gladiatorial stables are an ugly place, but many of us still have friends here. The six shield adepts were the last the Diamond Empress Stable's shield wall. Before running afoul of the Ogre, there were sixteen of them. They wiped out our strongest team for the general melee last season, along with a dozen or more other stables. It wasn't until the Ogre killed off ten of them that they lost.”

  Tyrend looks at, with a flat expression. “You're going to have to face the Ogre, before this season is over. Worse than the Ogre, you're going to be facing the SvartAlfar. No gladiator has even put a scratch either of them. Their owners seems to have an agreement and do not use those two against each other, but they've been gutting every stable they face. The Mistress kept Cletus out of the lineup when we fought them last season, but I doubt she'll do that with you.”

  I look toward the Throd'nahk. He mentioned both of those names, after I beat him. He thinks I can beat the Ogre but is unsure about the SvartAlfar. Why are they so dangerous? If no one who has reached the First Circle of Coalescence or above is allowed in the arena, they cannot be unbeatable. I beat the Throd'nahk, who is at the Second Circle of Coalescence. Since I beat him and he does not know if I can beat the SvartAlfar, that must mean he does not think he can beat the SvartAlfar.

  The Throd'nahk himself is in the opposite corner of the ready room from where I am. He is standing with his arms folded and his head half-turned away from me, but he is watching me from the corner of his eyes.

  As Elan'fer'sha enters the ready room, her smile reflects a warped mix of beneficence, malice, and bloodlust. She has one of the most twisted personalities I have ever encountered. Without a word, she takes the reins of her crippled hippogryph and mounts.

  “Gladiators! Form up!” The Throd'nahk's yell prompts everyone into action, and the parade forms up again.

  “Brand, come walk next to my stirrup. The next Gladiator Champion of the Atran'ler Empire should not be hiding in the back.” Elan'fer'sha's soft voice cuts through the commotion in the ready room.

  I feel multiple sets of eyes focused on me, as I walk over to her mount. Surprisingly, there is not much hostility in those stares. My performance in the arena seems to have made an impression, but what the long term results will be remains to be seen.

  Without any other words, Elan'fer'sha sets heels to her mount and begins to leave the ready room.

  “Gladiators! Move out!” The Throd'nahk's command sets the rest of the parade in motion.

  A different feel to the other eyes gazing upon me draws my attention to a corner of the ready room. Thrall is standing there, with his arms crossed upon his chest. With all the people moving around in the ready room, he managed do his appear out of thin air routine without alerting me to his presence. A slight smirk lifts the corners of his mouth, with inordinate self-satisfaction. His stare never leaves me, until the tunnel blocks me from his view.

  It seems like a simple little event, but I will have to always remember it. No matter how all-perceiving my spatial awareness may seem to be, it is quite possible to still avoid being detected by it.

  The crowds of supporters for the different stables are even thicker than before the match. The volume of both the cheers and the insults has become near-deafening. Their hostility toward opposing factions is more intense as well. The Third Layer has become an orgy or sex, violence and rape.

  A company from the regular military forces surrounds our stable's parade, keeping the commoners from getting too close. If they were not doing this, our stable would probably be at the center of a full scale riot. Even with their cordon, it takes close to three times as long to reach the ramp leading up to the Blood Rose Stable's entry tunnel, as it did to go from the ramp to the arena.

  A group of human women are gathered at the base of the ramp, wearing little to nothing but some jewelry. Most of them are average at best. Though, several of them are attractive, and a few are close to beautiful. I have seen enough of their kind in the Battleground of the Damned and the Lands of Despair to recognize whores when I see them.

  “I told you it would be something special. This time we get some proper whores, instead of some overly used slave-girls.” Tyrend's voice is barely audible over the noise of the still thick crowds.

  The leader of the groups is wearing a translucent red gown and appears to be in her late forties, even if you can never be sure about ages in the Labyrinth or Yggr. Unfortunately, the gown is revealing too much of already sagging tits and wrinkled leg and ass. Her long straight black hair has the flat tint of hair dye, and her makeup is caked on lik
e cement. I do not understand how anyone could be so desperate that they would want to fuck her.

  The one in the red gown curtsies to Elan'fer'sha. “Mistress, congratulations on a masterful victory.”

  “Lavinia, your sluts may join the procession.” From Elan'fer'sha's expression, one would think she is staring at an interesting pet. That is probably the general DokkAlfar opinion of humans. In their eyes, humans are pets at best and vermin otherwise.

  “Thank you, Mistress.”

  The whores spread out, mixing in with the gladiators.

  “Tyrend, my love, you've survived again.” The whore is as tall as Tyrend, with huge tits that are sagging under their own weight, like three-quarters full water bladders. Her hips and legs are thick enough to make two normal sized women, and her belly looks like she has a beach ball inside of it.

  From the grin on Tyrend's face, you would think that whore was the sexiest thing going, and he does not hesitate to fondle and lick her sagging tits. Sensing my eyes on him, Tyrend looks at me, while still grinning.

  “A woman has to have some padding to be worth fucking. Those bony little things just dig into you with their hard protruding edges.”

  I cannot help but shake my head, as the whore glares at me.

  One of the whores approaching me draws my attention back to the front. She is young, maybe fifteen or sixteen. In most of the cultures in the Labyrinth of Yggr, girls her age are married with a kid or two. The ones who are not married are generally considered to be spoiled goods or out of control bitches. Many of the ones considered to be spoiled goods become whores. Some girls who are whores this young were born into it, the daughters of other whores.

  Because of Taereun: Battleground of the Damned's general lack of strong female role models, The Nameless Entertainment, Inc. came under fire numerous times for their so-called “sexist game design” from the political correctness zombies. It turns out the game was sexist, because survival in warring medieval societies does not conform to the rules and mores of modern society. Families need a lot of kids, if they want to survive in the harsh conditions of the Labyrinth. When you need as stable a society as you can manage with a lot of kids, unimportant things like feminism get thrown away.