Editing Dark Recruit (section)

== Part 2: Slave ==

Burning. 

My body, on fire, everywhere. 

Gods it hurts. 

Can’t see.  Eyes are closed.
  
Sounds.  Screams and laughter.  So many screams, my own amongst them.

Can’t move.  Breathing is… hard.  

GAH!

What the hells was that?

Shards of ice digging into my chest.  

Hot.

Cold.
Hell.  I’m dead and this is hell.

Daemons all around me, laughing.  They’re cutting me, cutting into me, cutting me to pieces.  

If I open my eyes, I’ll see fire and monsters.

Monsters.

Those black monsters killed me; pierced me with their agony-sticks. Overwhelmed by pain I died.

And they dragged me to hell.

I’m going to open my eyes.  I have too, but they feel like lead.

Open.

Open.

Gods curse you, OPEN!  

Light. Praise be to the gods I can see light!

Not very bright, though.  My eyes open completely.  Everything is a blur. 
 
I’m… I’m in a room.  There’s no fire.  A-am I alive? 

If this isn’t hell, where am I?

A blur moves towards me; I can’t get out of its way.  It’s above me.  Gods, why can’t I focus? 
 
It’s there, standing above me.

It’s standing above me.  I’m on a bed.  It’s standing over my bed.  But the bed is cold. Why would a bed be cold?

Table.

It’s not a bed at all, it’s a table.
I can’t move.

They’ve tied me to a table.

Bastards.

Part of the blur moves towards me.  It’s going towards my chest; I can’t see it anymore.

Ice water. 

It’s pouring ice water into me.  It’s pouring ice water into my wounds.
The burning stops as the water fills me up.

It’s… almost nice.
The burning stopped.  The cutting stopped.

Everything is fine now. They tied me to a table, but they don’t want to hurt me.  They’re making me feel so… so good.  I could almost laugh.

I close my eyes again.  This feeling is nice.  I could just… drift... off… to… sleep…
Thank them.

I have to thank them for making me feel good.

I open my eyes.  Everything is in focus.  I’m in a dimly lit room of black and silver metals.  Everything is sharp looking, blade like.

I turn towards the blur, but it isn’t a blur anymore.

It’s a…

God’s what the hell that is?!  A horrible monster of flayed flesh and dripping blood!  Scars riddle its long, angular face; like a labyrinth of parted flesh.  To gapping holes for a nose.  God that mouth!  Purple lips with black veins; yellow teeth, chipped and sharpened.  Fangs.
But those eyes.  Black.  Completely black.  Oval saucers as dark as night, no light gleams there.

It… it looks down at me.

It laughs.

Panic.  I mustn’t panic.
  
Oh gods, it has some sort of… blade in its claw.  That’s not a hand, that’s a claw, dammit!

What is it doing?!  It’s bringing the blade to my neck.  It’s going to cut my throat!

No!

I won’t allow this!

Struggle!  Move!  Bite! Kick! Curse! Spite!

Stupid body, why won’t you MOVE?!

It’s at my neck; I can’t move!  I close my eyes. This is the end…

It… it doesn’t hurt.  I can feel it part my flesh and dig its way into my neck, but it doesn’t hurt.
Warmth.  It’s putting warm into me, displacing the cold water.

What’s going on?  Why is everything getting dim again?  What’s going on?  Wha… what’s g-going o-





GAH! 

A sharp pain in my foot jerks me into wakefulness and I curl up reflexively, moaning at the pain in my foot and aching joints.  I push myself into a sitting position and pull my towards me as I examine the sole; it’s hard to see it in the dim lighting, but  there’s a shallow, horizontal cut halfway from the heel to the toes.  That wouldn’t be a problem in itself, but now my head is swimming like the day after a drinking binge and every part of my body aches more than I would have thought possible.

I put my had to my chest to see if there are any loose pieces of leather I can use to wrap my new injury-

Why the hells am I naked? 

No britches, no jacket, no moccasins.  No weapons.  I am completely naked and defenseless.  All I find is a metal collar around my neck and an identical, albeit smaller, bracelet on each wrist and ankle.

I pat my head and find it bare of hair; likewise my groin, pits, and the rest of my body.
I here a snort and some movement behind me and twist sharply to face the danger, only to start seeing stars as the poundings in my throbbing head reach new levels of intensity.  As I grip my head in both hands and try to resist the urge to strike it repeatedly against the cold floor with utmost vigor, I realize that I am still alive and that whatever is out there hasn’t attacked me yet.  At his revelation I slowly raise my screaming cranium and take in what scenery there is to be had.

The first thing I notice is the smell; the pungent aroma of human waste mixed with sweet and dried blood fills my nose and almost causes me to wretch.  But doing that would just make it all smell that much worse.
 
In the gloom I can just make out the back wall of the room I find myself in, some three or four spear lengths away.  In between it and me are a motley collection of human bodies, all naked and bald just as I am.  At a glance they appear identical in every way save their size; some are as large or larger than myself, while others are much smaller.  Once I get a closer look I see that there are people of all walks of life, adults and children of both sexes sprawled out on the floor sleeping or crying as they will; a few grunts of pain and pleasure by the back wall hint at fornication of some sort or another. 
 
Something, though, seems strange.  Here before me is a young girl gripping her mother’s arm like a limpet.  There by the fat, pasty man a woman cradles the head of her lover in her arms, weeping silently to herself.  Further still sit a group of young boys, huddled together for warmth while a sickly, gaunt fellow hugs his legs and rocks back and forth not an arms length away.
Ah, I see. 
 
There’s no old people, and there’s no babes.  I see boys and girls that could not have seen more than five summers and scarred men that may have seen as many as thirty or forty, but no one older or younger.

Well, what else should to see in a slave pen?

Slave pen.

Slaves.

These are slaves; I am a slave.

I am a slave!?  Damnation.  I’m a prisoner now, am I? No!  I’m a warrior!  How dare someone take me prisoner, take me for a slave!   I’ll rip them to pieces, I’ll cut them to bits, I’ll crack their skulls and damn am I hungry.

Hell, I’m really damn hungry.  Maybe someone here has some food.

I stand only to find my limbs weak and my head still roaring with vigor.  After a second of wobbling I begin to fall backwards, away from the wall, and raise my arm to steady myself.  Just then a claw like hand whips out and pulls me back in the other direction; the unexpected assault leads me to fall atop my attacker punching and biting.  I’ll not go down without a fight!
Strong hands grasp my wrists and I only just manage to stop myself from kicking out as I hear a gruff voice calling out, “Easy brother, easy! I’m a friend!”

I cease my counterattack and stare at the man I find myself entwined with.   In the dark, with the customary long hair and short beard of my people absent, it’s hard to be sure; but that strong jaw and dark, hawk like eyes are unmistakable.  Although I know him not, this man is my kin, a fellow hunter and raider…  I think.

“What kind of friend,” I ask with a voice far too hoarse a gruff to be mine, “drags jerks his kin to the ground as a form of greeting?”

Now sitting and nursing a bruised jaw, he points behind me, “Take a look at yonder wall and answer that yourself.”

I turn my head warily behind me, in the direction my feet were pointed as I slept, and find that I am not in a room at all.  Somehow, in my pain, weariness, and disorientation, I failed to notice to line of vertical blades that encage me in this long cell.  It sits in a little alcove in the wall of a long, metallic, poorly lit hallway about an arms length above the ground.  Hundreds of thin blades reach from the ceiling to our floor are locked into place and point inwards, each one less than two finger widths apart. 

Had this man not pulled me back and forced me to fall in the other direction, I would have been cut to pieces when I hit the bars.

I sit back and land on my ass with a thump; my eyes wide with shock and my hands shaking.
“O-oh… my thanks, friend.”

“Mention it not,” he replies with a shrug.  I’d of told you earlier but you awoke while I slept.  Seems we’ve just got poor timing, don’t we?” I give him a smile to match his own at that.
 
Grateful for the chance to talk with someone, I continue the conversation, “How long have I been in dreamland?”

“Hmm? Oh, let’s see,” he scratches his chin as he thinks, “the Beasts,” his face darkens at the word, “dragged you in about three feedings ago; and since I think the next feeding will come any time now, I’d guess you’ve been out for about two days.”

Feeding. That got me hungry again, “They feed us, do they?”

“Oh, aye.  They feed us alright,” he scowls, “But you’d have to be near starving, like they keep us, to want to eat the shit.”

“That bad?” I ask, somewhat disheartened.

“Well,” he begins with an uncomfortable repositioning of his body, “It’s not so much the taste. In fact, it hardly smells or tastes like anything.”

“Then what’s the problem?” my questioning voice is getting impatient.

“Weeeeeell…” he draws out the word as he stares blankly at the ceiling to avoid my eyes.

“Well?” I ask, starting to get angry.

“I’m almost sure I saw a finger in it the first time.”

That stops me cold. “A-a finger?” I ask tentatively.

“Yeah; and the third time, I KNOW I saw a finger.  Chewy bastard, that,” he starts picking his teeth.

I just stare at him, mouth open wide.  They feed us people?!  By the gods, that’s one of the worse sins a man can commit in his lifetime.  Back home, a cannibal is skinned alive, dumped in salt, then burned at the stake!

Noticing my look, “Oh, come now. You’ll be eating it soon if you don’t the first time,” he says darkly.  “You’ll want to be keeping your strength up for other things…”

What things? I try to ask but am cut off by the sound of metal scraping on metal. 

“Stand up, now!” he urges me with an intensity that causes me to do so without thinking.

The lighting in the room gets much brighter, forcing me to squint.

“What’s going-”I whisper before he cuts me off.

“Shh!” he orders, “Inspection!”

I’m about to open my mouth when a section of the wall outside of our cell lifts up and disappears into the ceiling with a jaw clenching scrape.  With nary a word a dozen of the black skinned monsters march in, a pair much more finely decorated than the rest sauntering forward at their head.

Their faces are different than the others; they lack the pointed black, nearly featureless heads sported by their fellows.  Instead they have pale, humanlike skulls and features; albeit far more delicate and angular and long.  Elaborately arranged hair of jet black grace the tops of one of their heads, while the other is bald save a flowing ponytail sprouting from the very zenith of its cranium.  The first has skin entirely unlike any I have seen before; so pale I can almost see purple veins pumping blood, supple breasts rest behind a thin veil of clear, white fabric, red, piercing eyes stare forward into the slave pen with a predatory hunger while fine, delicate hands place a clear chalice to voluptuous lips painted a dark purple.  Thin, serrated blades rest casually slipped through the thin belt of fabric around its curved hips, touching its bare skin.

I am surprised to see such a humanlike beauty amongst such monstrous Beasts.  I am even more surprised to see that it is a woman!  And a near naked one at that; why, if a girl or woman walked around like that back at the village she would be stoned to death as a whore and a witch!

My heart beating heavily in my chest I almost fail to regard the other one until it begins to talk.  He, at least I think it’s a he based on the small goatee sprouting from its angular chin, has a bird like face; triangular and dominated by a predatory feeling that makes my spine tingle in fear when he looks my way.  His eyes are wells of black, soulless and empty, just like the monster from my nightmare.  Apart from its face, which is pale and at least appears to be flesh, the rest of its body is akin to its fellows, black and oddly ‘made-looking.’

A thought occurs to me, what if the blackness is some sort of formfitting clothing?  And what if what I first mistook for heads are actually some sort of mask that covers the entire skull?  What kind of magic would it take to make something like that?

Before I can think any further the male gestures with its hand and my arms shoot straight up towards the ceiling!  Try to pull them down but find that they can only move side to side.  Worse still, my feet seem to be bound to the floor in a similar manner; I cannot move them at all.  A stolen glance to each side tells me that all of the prisoners are similarly affected.

The two unique ones converse in their own tongue.  The sound of the words, of their voices, is like nothing I have ever heard before; it feels and sounds like running water with shards of ice flowing along with it as it pours over you.  I suppress a shudder.

They speak and point to slaves and laugh and speak some more as they walk up and down the length of the hallway.  Suddenly I spasm and give out a shout as a jolt runs down my arms from the brackets on my wrists down to the ones on my ankles.  I shake involuntarily and dimly register that the other hanging slaves do the same, but not all of them.

The male raises a short baton and points out each one that failed to move or make a noise; they fall to the ground in heaps and rest there, silent. Dead.

The masked ones, a dozen strong, march down the isle and take up positions at equal intervals along its length.  They stand there and raise those strange, blade-bedecked spears and point them towards the slaves.  I hear whimpering behind me.

The two talking ones continue their conversation, oblivious to the current happenings, as the bars in front of the waiting guards slide noiselessly into the ceiling.  At the edge of our shelf where the blades once stood the metal noisily slides down until it is just a hand’s length higher than the floor. Directly behind them, the new edge of our floor descends until it is a hand’s length above the first; and so on and so on until a small, steep stairway is formed.

One of the stairways is just to my right, and the guard stationed outside points his weapon directly at me.  Whatever magical force held me upwards disappears and I drop to the ground ungracefully.  The guard just stares at me and I notice that my new friend and kinsman has been releases as well.

He looks behind us and nudges my shoulder, “Come, we have to collect the bodies.”  I follow his gaze and see a pair of bodies behind us.

Together we walk towards the first one, a young man that seems vaguely familiar.  I hear sobbing next to the corpse and see the woman I saw before, the one cradling her lover’s head.  Apparently he didn’t make it.  I just shrug and grab his feet as my friend does the same with his shoulders.  Then we slowly march him back to the front of the cage and down the stairs, taking much care in avoiding the remaining blades.

I reach the bottom first, only just managing to avoid tripping, and try to figure out where we place the stiff.  My friend gives me a nod to his left and I notice a black metal slab resting on the ground.
  
Strange, I know it wasn’t there a moment ago.  I shrug again and we drop the corpse onto its waiting bed; we then repeat the process with the other body assigned to us, this one a boy a head shorter than me. 
 
Our task completed, I turn back to go up the stairs once more, toying with the idea of attacking our guard and stealing his weapon, only to be jolted by the bracelets and collar once more.  I fall to the ground, choking, and tilt my head towards my friend questioningly.

He stands there at attention, but I catch his eye and notice that he gestures for me to stand next to him.  I stand meekly, rubbing my now sore neck, and take my place.  As soon as I do our hands are pulled towards the ceiling again, locking me us in place.

We don’t wait long before the talking pair saunter over to us and start giving us a close look.  The male turns towards his companion and raises an eyebrow.  At a word from the female he starts poking and prodding me.  Here and there he feels up my muscles and joints, all the while cheerily talking away like a Trader at market, selling his wares.  By the time he opens my mouth and sticks his finger inside I realize that he is doing exactly that; he’s inspecting my like a cheap grox!

Without thinking I bite down in my anger.  Quick as lightning he rips his digit out of my jaws and whips around with a backhand blow to my face; followed shortly by a long jolt from the bracelets and collar.  I am dimly thankful for my body being devoid of food as I feel it attempt to void my empty bowels.  As it is, piss for a second before drying up.  

Strange are the mercies of the gods.

I hang there, no longer able to stand, as he mumbles an apology to the female; who in turn is laughing with cruel mirth at his expense.  He gives my friend a quick inspection gives me another jolt as he turns to leave; but the female stops him with a word.

He says something quickly and motions to the guard, whom quickly salutes with a raised weapon and marches into the pen.

A moment later he returns, dragging the sobbing girl from earlier behind him.  He pushes her next to me and she quickly straitens as her bracelets raise her arms into the air.

Another word from the female and the salesman gives her a once-over as well; the poor bitch weeping all the while.  Apparently satisfied, the female says something else, he nods, and the two glide over to the next pair of corps-haulers.

The girl and I, in turn, are prodded back into the cell by the guard after he releases us from the magic holding us upwards.  I notice my friend is does not follow and begin to protest, only to be jabbed in the stomach and shocked once more.

Back in the cell, the girl and I quickly find our hands returned to the sky as we await the Beasts’ departure.  It takes them awhile to finish the inspection; and although I cannot see them from my position, I hear half a dozen more prisoners being dragged out of the cell over the next few moments. 

Without looking back, the talking pair, salesman and customer, walk out of the room.  Trailing behind them, followed closely by prodding guards, go the chosen slaves, my friend amongst them.  To my surprise, the metal slabs raise themselves off the ground and silently follow the procession out as well, the doors closing behind them.

With the slavers gone, the slaves are released, many of them falling to the ground.  The girl beside me lays on the ground and weeps as I massage my aching joints. 

As I rub the weariness out of my arms I pat my chest.

My chest!

By the gods, how could I have forgotten?

I look down and stare blankly at the newly formed scar tissue growing out of my front side.  There’s nothing but a bunch of scars.  It’s all healed?  But I was punctured by, I take a moment to count the new scars, seven.  Seven of those agony sticks cut into my flesh.  How in the name of the gods could I heal so quickly?  I’ve only been here two days, right?

Between the sticks of pain, the pulling bracelets, the flying machines, the slabs that float on air, and this whole accursed cell made entirely out of metal, I find the implications of these Beasts’ magic staggering.  Will I even be able to fight them, when the time comes?
Gods I’m hungry.

Dimly I notice that my headache is nearly gone as I hear a loud ‘clank’ behind me.
I quickly turn and crouch at this new development, seeking to challenge whatever is coming next.  The other slaves, however, start crawling and waddling over to the back wall.

Curious, I follow them.  Once I come within a spear’s length of the wall, I notice that a small shelf-thing has folded out of it across its length.

Little holes appear at regular intervals and it swiftly begins to fill with a thick, white, junky fluid that the others all begin to greedily dip their hands into and pour into their mouths.  Realizing that this is the food my friend mentioned earlier I kick a few of the others out of the way and eat my fill.

I remember my friend’s words; I will need my strength for what lies ahead.

That, and I was getting damned hungry, I think as I start gnawing on a fat toe.



The lights dimmed again when the feeding was done.  I was worried about my new friend, worried that I’d lost the only person I could talk to in this accursed cage.

I needn’t have, though.  I soon found half a dozen of my kin after a quick trip down each side of the cage and back.  All I had to do was call out in my own tongue; no one but my kin could speak it, so only they answered me.

We formed a small circle near the middle of the pen, about where I had awoken earlier.  There I learned some more facts about our current situation.
 
First, the Clanlord was dead.  As soon as the Beasts, as we have come to call our captors, had realized he was our leader, they flayed him alive in front of his men.  My companions told me of a horrible, hunched creature with jet black eyes, sharp teeth, more wrinkles and scars than an entire village, and a laugh that pierced the soul like a dagger to the heart that conducted the execution; I am all but sure that it was this monster they described that I awoke to on the table whilst I was injured.

But, whereas it healed my, I think, it took our chief apart slowly and methodically.  They say he screamed for a day and a half before the monsters let him die.  

I then learned that we had been captured five and a half days ago.  Only one of the raiders present had been taken whilst conscious, while trying to fight off the Beasts they trapped him in a net that cut into him as he tried to move; he pointed out many thousands of tiny cuts and scabs and forming scars across his body as proof.  He says they dragged us all onto their flying boats and flew us far away, across rivers and forests and lakes and mountains to a massive red and black building hidden in a valley of mists.  They took us into this building, which looked like a huge fish covered in scales of swords and blades longer than our village according to our witness, and stripped us of our weapons and clothes.  Then they separated us, the dying and the healthy, and shaved off every hair on our bodies.  Having taken all of our dignity, they took him and the few healthy others to this cell.

After the third feeding they started to bring the others, those that were at deaths door during the sorting, back to the cell as well; unconscious, but with their wounds mysteriously healed or healing.

The scarred witness says he is the last of the healthy ones left, in this cage, at least; he says that there are many, many others that he glimpsed before they shoved him into this one.  Hs says that it was then, just after they had dragged away the Clanlords mangled corpse, that they started to do the inspections; taking away this one or that one, without any explanation.  All of the others, he says, have been taken already, and that he fears he is next.

“Be that as it may, what happens to those that are taken?” I ask delicately.

The raider in question merely hugs his scarred legs, shaking his head, “I know not, but sometimes I hear their screams…” Then he just looks forward, “They never come back, never.” Then nothing, silence.

Hopeless.

Before I can continue my line of questioning, we hear the scrape of the door and all rise as the lights brighten once more.  This time, however, I make sure to stand further in the back, to avoid notice.

The Beasts return, but without the unmasked male or female from before; no buyers, I guess.  Are hands are once again raised by the invisible magics of the Beasts and again the dead drop to the floor. The corpse removal goes more quickly this time as the guards forgo the examination.

Instead, another pair enters, bearing a stumbling human figure between them.  Without a word they pass him to a pair of corpse-movers and head back out the door.  They, in turn, help the figure up the stairway and into the cell, where he collapses.
 
Curiosity overcomes my growling stomach and I make my way towards the unmoving figure as soon as our hands are freed.  As I come near, I see that it is a man.  He is about my height and is bald like all the rest.  His thin frame sports several fresh, pink scars.

“Well, what do we have here?” I ask mostly to myself mockingly.

“Aw, shaddup you ass,” I stop dead at the sound of his voice.  He turns his head towards me ever so slightly, just enough for me to see his face, “Just help me up, will ya?” asks my friend and kinsman.

I stand there; staring blankly for a moment, then rush to his side.

“By the gods!” I exclaim, “W-what happened?!”

I carefully pull him to his feet and throw his arm over my shoulder, then, grabbing his left arm with mine, get a tight grip on his chest with my right arm and slowly walk him back to the circle of our kinsmen.  He says nothing but pants the whole way back.

By the time we reach the circle, the feeding is done; and I didn’t get any.  My stomach is rumbling already.

I place him on the ground gently and take a seat at his side as our fellow raiders, now slaves, fill in the circle.

“Who’s that,” one of them asks, pointing.

“One of us, the one I met when I woke up.”
 
Silence. They all stare at me, then him, then me again.

“What?” I ask nervously.  The tension in the air is rising to almost palpable levels.
One of them looks to the others, then back at me. 

“I thought,” he starts slowly; “you said they took him before the last feeding.”

“They did, now they’ve brought him back. I don’t see what the probl-“

“The problem,” he replies, louder this time, “Is just that.”

“W-“

“No one. No one, comes back.” His eyes, all of their eyes, are cold as stone.

I sit there, silent, for a moment.  I look down at the man; I don’t even know his name.

“Okay, but he did,” my words come slow and deliberate, “And he’s kin. We should wait until he wakes up, then we should ask him what happened.”

“Fine.”


And that is what we did.

We waited.

We were fed.

We waited.

Two of were taken away, we were fed.

We waited some more.

We were fed again.

Then, then he woke up.  After a day and a half, he finally woke up.

I walk back to the circle wiping my mouth of the human-paste, its other members in tow, when we see I see him there, sitting up and nursing his arm.

The raiders around me tensed and slowed, then picked up their pace.

“Gods I could use a bite,” he says with mock cheerfulness. 

One of the others knocks him over.

“What the hells?” he protests weakly.

“Yes, ‘what the hells?’” one of the others parrots.

I push them away from him, roaring, “Leave him alone! Just let him talk!”

Yet another one of them knees me in the kidney, and another wraps his arm around my neck, “You shut it, little bastard,” he whispers in my ear.

“Now,” one of them, the largest, begins, “It’s time to ‘talk.’”

He walks over to the coughing, now kneeling man and kicks him in the ribs.  By now, all of the nearby slaves have begun to pull away from the violence.

The large one kneels down next to the reeling man, “So tell me, kinsman, why did the Beasts let you, out of all those taken, live?  Can you tell me that?  Can you tell me what’s so special about you?” He backhands him in the face, then grabs him by the throat. “Make a deal with them, huh?!  You go free, come back here alive, and what did you give them?!  What in the hells did you give them you goddamned bastard?!” he roars.

“Ah-ah-“ the poor bastard chokes out.

“I can’t hear you!” he loosens his grip slightly.

“Arena,” he says, “Arena.”

He drops him on the ground and stands up, a question on his lips, “What the hells is that supposed to mean?”

The now-slave lays there for a moment, coughing and grasping at his throat.  After a moment, he pulls himself up into a sitting position.

“T-they took us to room, a dark room,” he begins.  “We were there for awhile, just sitting, wondering what was going to happen.

Then the door opened and they shuffled us out into a circular room, with a ceiling as clear as air.  T-they gave us weapons, and a slave translated for them.  They told us, told us to fight. They said the winners would go back to the cell, wouldn’t die.

Then a bunch of those Beasts filled into the room above us, and started staring down.

W-we fought.  We started into each other and didn’t stop until- until only three of us were left.  Then they stopped us, told us to stop.

A-at the end, m-my hand…” he held up his left arm for us all to see.

“I-it got cut off,” we could plainly see the deep scars circling his arm just above the elbow.
“Then they took me to the healer, and they fixed it; they put it back on.”  He flexed his fingers then pulled his arm in to his chest.

We all stood there for awhile, unmoving.  The slaves around us were still nervous.  
No one seems to know what to say, what to do.  We just stand here, watching him as he fingers the scar on his arm, a few tears streaming down his face.

Then the door screeches again, and the lights brighten once more.  Now we’re nervous.  It hasn’t been long enough; they shouldn’t be back for another half a day!

What’s happening?

Our hands jump to the ceiling unbidden.

As the door opens the hallway and the cell fill with laughter, one person’s laughter, echoing off the metal surfaces and resounding through each of our souls.

The unmasked male Beast saunters into the room, half a dozen of his cronies and a petite human slave, a young girl, clothed only in a thin white sheet in tow.

He passes right over to us and stares into the cell with a manic gleam in his eye.  With a slight wave of his hand he summons the girl to his side.  I see that her eyes are gone, and wonder to myself how she new he had called.

“Interesting,” he begins through her, “We’re all quite feisty in here today, aren’t we?”  That smile he gives us makes me want to claw out his eyes.  “Well if you wanted to play, all you had to do was ask…”

I close my eyes as his humorless laughter rolls over us again.



Here we sit in the pitch-dark room we were told about, sitting, sweating, and listening to each other breath.  Our hands locked together at the bracelets a mere second after we were released from our standing position.

There’re five of us here, all told; myself, and the four other surviving raiders I had found in the cell.  My fifth kinsman, the one who saved my ass when I woke up in that cell for the first time, was left behind.  When I asked the Beast why, he responded through his slave that the man was too weak to be of any use.  He told me that, and then shocked me with his magics.  Our feet locked together once the door into this room was shut behind us.

I quickly shield my eyes as a shaft of light streaks through the now opening door.  Without a sound the bench beneath me is withdrawn into the wall, I barely catch myself before I fall to the ground.  A mumbled curse from one of my fellows tells me he was not so swift.

We reach our feet for but a moment before the back wall of the room begins to push forward with an audible ‘click’ towards us, just as the magics holding our feet together were extinguished.  The moving wall quickly dislodged us from its dark bosom and forcing us into a world of bright lights and loud shouting.

We were roughly jostled forward by unseen figures.  After a moment or two our eyes adjust to the light, the cheering dies down, and I take in my surroundings.

I suspect we are in the circular room my kinsman warned us about.  We stand in its center, a good ten spear lengths away from any point on the wall.  He failed to mention a few particulars, however; the shagged wall-spikes being chief amongst them.

Above our heads, just as he said, stand a group of well dressed Beasts seemingly standing on air.  They look down upon us like predatory birds with empty stomachs.  They drank deeply clear cups of a fine, dark liquid; naked human slaves weaved in an out of the opulent lot refilling glasses and waving fans for their masters.

Somehow I am unsurprised to see the male Beast from the cell and the she-witch lounging amongst their number.  His demeanor is cheery as he socializes with his evil ilk.

Behind us stand a pair of scantily clad Beasts armed with trident and net.  They back away warily from us into the room we just exited; its wall now receding before them.

I stand here, cautious, ready for anything.  I hope.

After a few tense moments, Slaver, the man-Beast from the cell, begins speaking to his peers.  He bows a few times and flourishes his hands with a twirl.  They clap delicately.  He gestures downwards, towards us, and they clap louder.  He nods politely to the Witch, the she-Beast from the cell, who gives a delicate bow in return; they clap louder still.

Slaver claps his hands and at once a pair of guards march into the center of the room, just above our heads.  Each carries a trio of serrated blades in his arms, at least I think they’re males, it’s hard to tell when they’re clothed.  With a word from their master they begin to casually drop the swords to the ground; blade first.

They pass through whatever invisible surface the Beasts stand upon and dig their way into the ground at our own feet with a slight spark.  At a cry of pain behind me I turn to find one of my kinsmen taking a knee and nursing his foot; a foot now short three toes.
Above us the Beasts all laugh with their cruel, sharp voices.

Slaver shouts another few sentences and the small crowd around him bursts into the most vigorous applaud yet.  Seconds later, a hidden door before me opens and steps forth a…
By the gods!

Now THAT is truly a monster!  It perches on all fours like a hound; its huge fangs dripping thick saliva as its massive head moves side to side.  I think it’s trying to pick up a sent.  Two massive, yellow eyes dart here and there independently as it claws at the metal floor beneath its gargantuan paws. Most sickeningly of all, it has no skin!  Pulsating veins and muscles ripple as it tugs at the spiked collar around its thick neck. 

As it stalks towards us I catch a glimpse of its handler; a lithe, graceful figure with pale skin, tender curves, and long, flowing hair.  She is clad in armor that covers far too little of her muscular body to provide and real protection, but what clothing is visible is colored brass and red.

She holds aloft a trident in salute of the Beasts above, then crouches into a fighting stance as she inches closer too us.

Faced with this monstrous duo, I reach towards the sword nearest to me.  I breathe a quick sigh of relief as the bracelets on my hands part once I near the blade.
 
With a jerk of my hand the blade is freed, just in time for me to jump sideways as the demonic quadruped is released by its mistress and lunges forward.  Its claws miss my by a hair’s breathe it pounces on the raider behind me.

His shriek is cut short as the monster’s jaws close upon its head with a sickening crunch.
Without thinking, I lash out at its midsection with my blade; flesh and bones part, but my cry of victory is cut short by its roar of pain and anger. 
 
I hack at its head as it brings it to bare, trying to keep it at bay.  A quick glance behind it shows me its mistress impaling my seven-toed comrade as she leaps over his bewildered head.  The (true) beast snaps me back to attention with a clawed swipe to my left thigh; five furrows are dug deep into my flesh and I cry out in pain.  I fall back and roll, just moments before it almost lands on top of me.  
I slash awkwardly at its head in desperation and am rewarded with a blow to its eye.  With a howl of rage it leaps clear and starts shaking its head vigorously while clawing at its face.

Seizing my change, I quickly pull myself to my feat, point my blade at its midsection, and charge forward after it.  I twist my sword at the last second so its twin blades are pointing towards the floor and invisible ceiling respectively; just seconds before my blade impacts its side.  The point passes easily through its flesh and between its ribs, straight into its heart.  
It howls a final time, now with a torrent of gore streaming from its mouth.

I collect my sword from its side with another sharp tug and marvel at its beautiful craftsmanship as I catch my breath.  Its silver-steel blade is finer than any I have ever seen; it puts the bronze blades of my people to shame.  I am sure it could shear a hair down its length.

Laughter on the other side of the arena draws me out of my reverie, and my head jolts towards its origin.

The final raider-slave is cornered between the blades walls and the three points of the she-Beast’s trident.  He bleeds from a score of minor injuries as he flails wildly in front of him.  A similar scene flashes through my mind and I smile wickedly as I jump into action.

Sparing only a moment to collect a fallen raider’s sword, I rush to my kinsman’s aide.  The bitch raises her trident, I fear for a final blow, and stares down her injured quarry.  

I challenge her with a furious roar and she half turns her head towards me.  Without thinking I fling my blade overhand at her face; but she quickly spins and knocks it out of the air with a swirl or her staff-weapon. Right into my trap. 

The raider to her rear leaps forward without a word jabs his blade down the back of her neck into her chest.  Her mouth opens in shock, her eyes roll back in their sockets, and my second blade takes off her head with a sideways slash.

It tumbles to the ground with an audible smack and rolls off towards the wall.
She learned the hard way not turn her back on an enemy, wounded or not.  Especially not a raider from my clan.

The crowd above goes silent.

Slaver stares down at me, mouth and eyes open wide.  He snarls in anger and points in my direction with a shout.  Hidden doors open all across the arena walls and dozens of black clad guards stream in.  All carry wicked swords or spears.  All points them at my surviving kinsman and me.

Slaver raises his hand to give the kill-order…

“That won’t be necessary, Ra’Zul,” chimes a faint voice in my own language, not a hint of accent detectable.  “If memory serves,” says the voice as I try to locate its source, “Our Mon-Keigh friends requested ‘tougher meat’ with the next batch. I think these will do quite nicely, don’t you?”

Slaver sweeps his hand to his side and bows deeply to the Witch.  She ignores him and stares down directly into my eyes and smiles.

Her white, fang-like teeth are clearly visible between her black lips.