by Abel, Regine
“As for your question,” he said, looking at me over his shoulder, “I hope you prevail.”
With one final enigmatic smile, the Prince walked away.
* * *
Morning came quickly. Instead of the regular small meals our guard usually provided for us, they brought highly nutritional energy bars, similar to the ones consumed by gladiators before battle. It made sense as, while spectators enjoyed watching the warriors spill blood all over the Arena, seeing them puking their last meal held no appeal whatsoever.
I chowed down my ration, grateful for the surge of energy the meager portions of the last couple of days had deprived me of. Barely a half-hour later, the shouts and cheers of the crowd above us confirmed the day’s festivities—or at least shows—had already begun. From the sounds reaching us, I surmised gladiators were facing off against some roaring beasts, although different from the ones caged in our section of the holding areas. It baffled me that the latter didn’t rattle in their cages to try to get at us. You’d almost think they’d recognized us as predators like they were.
Three guards came to fetch my men and me, each one stopping in front of our respective cells. To my annoyance, my guard spoke a command in Sarenian, and my shackles immediately activated, forcing my arms and legs slightly open before lifting me a couple of inches above ground. Helpless, I levitated towards the guard. He turned around to head towards the entrance to the battleground. Although the shackles kept me immobile, they also kept me floating at a safe distance behind him. The other two guards repeated the process with Zartag and Yulan.
Near the gates, a mean looking Guldan stood by a large crate sitting atop a hovercart, waiting for us. By the time we reached the gates, the clamoring had stopped, replaced by a single male voice addressing the audience. I couldn’t quite make out his words, but from what little I perceived, he appeared to be announcing us.
The gates parted, giving me a first view of the massive arena, triple the size in length, and double in width of that of the usual gladiator battlegrounds. But then, considering the size of some of the beasts that had been caged around us, it made sense to give them some wiggle room for combat. Oval shaped, with large monitors giving a perfect view to spectators regardless of their seating position, the Arena had seen its fair share of spilt blood as evidenced by the darker patches on the oddly grainy texture of the ground. It seemed hard, but I couldn’t tell for sure, levitating as I was.
To my surprise, an almost solemn silence greeted our entrance. My gaze roamed over the people in attendance—mainly Sarenians with the odd humans, Guldans, and Aveans scattered in their midsts—before zeroing in on the imperial box. Emperor Nemrox sat on his throne, flanked by two stunning Sarenian females, and surrounded by a few high-ranking officials and guards. On each side of his large box, slightly smaller and lower boxes contained more nobles. But it was the one on the left that held my gaze. Prince Zerien sat in a lesser version of his sire’s throne. Beside him, as would a consort, my Siona had settled on a cushioned bench. A couple of meters to her right, the Sarenian Juntel sat next to an empty bench. I assumed it belonged to the Guldan Ambassador Hartuk currently standing by the railing of the balcony, a hovering microphone floating before his face. And further right, my beautiful Hope stared at me with wide eyes, sitting with her back straight next to Faolen. Like with the Emperor’s box, a number of other guests and guards filled the back of the Prince’s box.
Despite the jealousy burning in my gut at the sight of the Hunter next to my woman, relief flooded me to see both my females unscathed. I pushed the negative sentiment to the back of my mind and focused on my current predicament. As we approached the center of the Arena, three circular panels on the ground opened, and tall metal poles rose from the openings. My guard led me between the two tallest poles located directly in front of the Imperial box while his companions led my men to the shorter poles on each side of my pair.
The Guldan with the hovering crate stopped next to me before opening the container. The sight of the chains and whip within finally put an end to the mystery. With undisguised eagerness, he hooked a chain to my left wrist shackle. I suddenly contracted my biceps. The male recoiled, foolishly thinking I was about to strike him when he knew better that the shackles effectively prevented me from reaching out and snapping his neck.
“Let’s see how smug you are when I whip the skin right off your back, you savage,” the Guldan hissed in response to my mocking smile.
“Do your worst,” I said provokingly. “By the time I leave this arena, your blood will cover me far more than my own.”
The sliver of fear in the Guldan’s pale green eyes only fueled the pre-battle adrenaline slowly building within me. He mumbled something unintelligible then went to hook the other end of the first chain to the left pole. Repeating the process, he attached a chain to my right wrist and hooked it to the right pole, leaving me with my arms spread wide open. Only then did the guard disable the levitation from my shackles. Planting my feet firmly on the hard, gravelly ground, I braced for what would follow.
Unlike me, my two clansmen weren’t stretched for a flogging but had both wrists bound by a single, two-meter long chain to the short pole in front of them. It gave me hope they would be spared my ‘punishment.’
“Clan Leader Krygor Aldriss, as a High Councilor of Braxia and representative of Magnar Ravik, you are hereby sentenced to one hundred lashes for the torture and brutal murder of Ambassador Lorik Zorak perpetrated by your King, as well as the assassination of his men by yourself, your clansmen, and other Braxians,” Ambassador Hartuk said in the hovering microphone.
Considering Lorik’s horrible actions, which had indeed earned him a slow and agonizing death, the sentence was laughable. However, arguing it would be pointless.
“This first part of the sentence will be carried out by Kenor Lorik, Ambassador Lorik’s brother to avenge his family’s honor, and by Juntel Lenaen, in retribution for the torture, maiming, and humiliation Anton Aldriss has subjected him to,” Hartuk continued in the same solemn voice. “For the second part of your sentence, as you had condemned Lorik’s men to face a horde of rabid joarkals while weaponless, so will you and your clansmen face off against the most vicious Sarenian wild beast with your bare hands. May the Goddess have mercy on you, for we shall give you none.”
Even as he spoke, Juntel rose from his seat and approached the left corner of the box. He climbed a handful of steps only visible on the inner side of the balcony, and then he took a step forward. From where I stood, it looked as if he was walking off the ledge, but he ended up on top of a hovering platform that took him down inside the Arena. I itched with the need to rip his spine right out.
My eyes flicked to my woman who appeared engaged in a heated discussion with Faolen. I didn’t need to hear her words. Her body language screamed her outrage at the ‘punishment’ about to be meted out on me.
If she only knew…
The Guldan—Kenor—picked up a pair of bullwhips from the crate, drawing my attention. He then moved the hovercart carrying the container a little further out of the way while Juntel made his approach. That leather would bite hard and would definitely scar. And yet, no fear entered my heart; only the anticipation of crushing my enemies. I exchanged a glance with my men, silently warning them not to waste their strength trying to break free too early. Despite our tremendous strength, without battle rage, breaking these chains would require us exerting too much energy with no guarantee of success.
Juntel walked in front of me with a sadistic grin. Unlike Kenor, who took position behind me, the Sarenian stopped slightly to my side, clearly wanting to see my face while they carried out their ‘sentence.’ That suited me just fine. Looking at my prey would get me into berserker mode faster.
I took in a deep breath and allowed my mind to sink into the warrior’s trance taught early on to our young, a state of consciousness that kept the warrior focused on the battle at hand instead of pain, on his technique, and both the strong and w
eaker parts of his body to know what to protect and what to leverage.
The whistling of the whip was followed by a snapping sound of the leather making contact with my flesh and Kenor’s voice calling out “one.” The sharp sting made me smile. Considering the Guldan’s size, I had expected him to put far more muscle into the lashing. This would be a cakewalk. My smirk visibly infuriated Juntel. Shouting “two,” the Sarenian lashed at me sideways, striking my lower back, the tip curving around my waist to hit my right rib. My smile broadened at his even weaker blow.
The two males unleashed their fury on me, alternating blows and calling them out loud. I embraced the pain, dampened by the adrenaline and endorphins building within me. A slow chuckle escaped me, gradually turning into full on laughter. It both unnerved and enraged my tormentors, who accelerated the speed of their lashes and attempted to increase the strength. But already, after barely fifteen lashes each, the men were tiring, which only made me laugh harder. It was a deep, powerful laughter, invigorating and liberating, but that sounded completely deranged, even to me.
“That’s the best you could do, worms?” I asked at last, my words slurred by the beginning of battle rage descending upon me and the endorphins flooding my system. “I’m going to bathe in your blood.”
As I gave myself over to the warrior’s bloodlust, I embraced the throbbing pain in my back and along my sides, further fueling my fury. All coherent thoughts fled my mind, replaced by a single thought: obliterate. A deep, rumbling growl rose from my throat. Low at first, the sustained sound grew gradually in volume as my skin heated to feverish levels, my blood boiled, and my muscles bulged with primal energy.
Hands fisting around the chains attached to my wrist shackles, I began to pull with an animalistic roar. A gasp rose from the crowd that had mostly been silent through my ‘punishment,’ aside from the occasional mumblings.
Startled, Kenor and Juntel temporarily faltered in their lashing. The Sarenian exchanged an uneasy look with the Guldan who I couldn’t see behind me.
“You cannot free yourself from your restraints, you freak,” Juntel said in a voice that failed to come across as confident and contemptuous as he’d hoped.
The delectable scent of his blossoming fear made my nose twitch and my bloodlust perk up another notch. As the two idiots resumed their ‘torture’ on me, my own men began screaming under the effort of pulling on their respective chains. As a Berserker, once I’d gone into battle rage, members of my clan—or anyone I deemed as such—would benefit from the same enhanced strength and endurance to pain as I did so long as they remained within range of my Berserker aura.
Despite the growing panic on Juntel’s face, the Sarenian pursued the lashing, calling out the thirty-sixth blow. And then, with a loud clinking sound, one of the chain links gave way, freeing my right arm. Without missing a beat, I whipped my arm behind me. The chain still attached to my wrist flew out and wrapped around the legs of the Guldan behind me. I yanked hard. With a terrified cry, Kenor fell on his back and stared in horror as the chain quickly dragged him to me.
The crowd erupted in a savage roar, an even mix of shock and excitement that only galvanized me further.
When the Guldan tried to get back on his feet, I backhanded him, reveling in the sound and the feel of his cheekbones crumbling under the strength of the blow. He screeched in agony and fell back down. Stepping on the tip of the chain wrapped around his legs, right beneath his knees, I yanked the chain still attached to my wrist with all the strength I could muster. His bones shattered beneath the metal’s tightened grip, eliciting another high-pitched scream from my prey. The divine sound echoed straight to my cock, which hardened as the metallic aroma of metal wafted to me from the open wounds where his leg bones protruded through the skin.
Leaning down, I caught the Guldan by the horns and, pressing my foot to his face, I pulled… hard. Kenor’s hands helplessly clawed at my leg and arms while emitting gurgling sounds. And then he went limp as his horns gave way. I stumbled back, blood spraying over me and my former tormentor’s mangled face. One horn held in each hand, I turned toward the Sarenian.
Eyes wide with horror, mouth gaping, he slowly backed away from me, his head shaking in denial. I wiped the blood trickling in front of my eyes with the back of my hand, then licked it, my gaze never straying from my prey. The whip slipped out of Juntel’s hand, falling to the ground with a soft thump, then he turned around and fled towards the VIP box.
On instinct, I attempted to pursue my prey, but the wretched chain on my left wrist prevented me from giving chase. But I would taste his blood along with that of the Guldan’s I’d just wrecked. Still holding on to the severed horns, I grabbed the remaining chain with both hands. I pulled with all my might, an enraged, drawn out cry all but tearing my vocal chords until one of the chain’s links finally gave. I stumbled back and, flowing with the movement, spun around to dash towards my fleeing target.
Juntel had already reached the wall. Seeing him stepping onto the hovering platform gave me wings as I ran faster than ever before, the roar of the crowd spurring me on. By the time I reached it, the Sarenian was already almost at the top of the wall. Without breaking stride, I jumped as high as possible and, using the horns fisted in my hands as pickaxes, I climbed the wall after him.
Panicked shouts rose from the box as I caught up to my quarry. The sound of chairs toppling over and people scrambling back reached my ears as I reached the edge. Holding myself on top of the stone railing with one hand, I snagged Juntel’s ankle with the other before he could jump off the ledge into the box. He screamed and fell forward, almost bashing his head on the floor. Hanging on to the ledge, he screamed for help.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw Faolen stand protectively in front of my woman and Prince Zerien do the same for my daughter. The guards rushed forward, their weapons trained on me, but the Prince lifted his hand in an arresting gesture.
“Juntel is not inside the box,” Zerien said in a cold voice. “Until he has completely exited it, all is fair within the Arena.”
“My Prince! Mercy!” Juntel cried out.
With a savage grin, I let myself drop down the wall, my weight too great for the Sarenian to keep hanging on. I let go of my prey’s ankle right before hitting the ground so that I could lessen the impact of my fall into a roll. Juntel slammed into the ground with a loud thud, the wind knocked out of him.
“What were you saying about fucking my mate?” I asked, my voice so thick and growly the chances of him understanding a single word that came out of my mouth were slim to none.
Half-stunned, Juntel attempted to scramble back onto his feet, but my own coming down brutally onto his lower leg snapped his tibia in two. The Sarenian collapsed, his high-pitched scream like nails on glass due to his messed up vocal chords. Slowly, methodically, I snapped the joints of each of his limbs before lifting him by the neck and bashing the back of his skull against the stone wall of the Arena. It exploded like an overripe melon, splattering blood and gore everywhere.
Dragging him over a couple of meters behind me, I flung him with all my strength to the middle of the Arena. I’d initially considered throwing him into the box, but even through the madness that fogged my mind, the thought his corpse might hurt my mate or daughter kept me from acting.
Turning around, I faced the Emperor’s and the Prince’s boxes, although my gaze remained locked onto the Guldan Ambassador Hartuk. My men, who had finally managed to break their chains free of the pole restraining them, came to stand on each of my sides.
Without a word, I licked the blood and gore off my hand, then spread my arms wide. A smug grin stretched my lips as I taunted the Ambassador.
Here I am, you son of a krillik. Your move.
Chapter 13
Hope
I stared in awe at my giant… my beast. Covered in blood and gore, Krygor stood defiant under the cheers of the crowd. Instead of fear, disgust, or distress at the sight of such violence perpetrated by my man, pride fi
lled my heart. Strangely, I also felt some kind of bloodlust. It had begun as an odd tingle all over my skin at the same moment Krygor had started emitting that growling sound before pulling at his chains. Even now, energy coursed through me, and a part of me regretted he hadn’t prolonged Juntel’s execution.
Still, the sight of his back lacerated by the lashes disturbed me. And yet, Krygor seemed oblivious to what had to be excruciatingly painful.
“Interesting spectacle you are offering us, Ambassador,” Prince Zerien said in a slightly mocking tone.
The young prince confused me. We had only met him when Gatina and a small contingent of guards had escorted us to the Arena. The way he’d looked at my daughter, like the Goddess herself had appeared before him, threw me for a loop. So far, he’d shown nothing but respect to my child and none of the lurid, sleazy looks or gestures I’d expected. Like all Sarenians, he was stunningly gorgeous. Young, fit, polished, under different circumstances, he matched the type of young male I would have loved my daughter to bring home—at least, based on his behavior so far. But I couldn’t forget why we’d been captured in the first place. Nevertheless, he could have saved Juntel but chose to let my mate exact his vengeance. For that alone, the Prince had scored quite a few points with me.
Ambassador Hartuk turned rather stiffly towards Zerien, a controlled expression on his face. He ran a hand over his left black horn before flicking some wavy locks of his shoulder-length silver-white hair.
“Indeed,” Hartuk conceded with a nod. “Now you see why, despite their resistance, Braxians must be subdued and brought to our side. When the Great War begins anew, we do not want to fight against them. Hopefully, your sire will see the wisdom in committing to our side to bring these savages into the fold.”