Micheal was confident in spite of the stakes. True, this was his first time in a duel of servitude, but it was hardly his first time in an official duel. Over the last few weeks alone he had entered more and more of them in an attempt to polish his skills both with Samantha and Dawn, but also himself. They were proving an excellent means to brush up on his martial talent that he had been letting slack ever since he had become unrivaled in the lower hall.
Added to that, he could not let the man in front of him live. It hadn't been the first time he had been threatened by some chosen or other that felt they had the right to treat him like trash. In fact, it hadn't even been the first time in the last month. It was a daily occurrence to be spoken to like a literal animal as one of the lost.
To the briny blue, it wasn't even the first time someone had threatened to have the both of them raped or killed.
Despite that, something inside of him burned at that arrogant smile. The way his lips curled back in an animalistic grin watching Samantha. The hungry eyes that looked ready to devour her. Even the way he played to the crowd for their support; the chants of 'kill the whore' still shaking the foundations of the stone structure. They disgusted him. Yes, it wasn't the first time he and his friend were the subject of this kind of treatment. The Gods had seen well enough to that on the day they had been gifted with their eyes. But it was different. He had the power to do something about it. Some part of him relished in the anticipation of revenge against them all. The revenge that he had dreamed about for so long, enacted solely on the wretched thing across from him.
Even Samantha's face, twisted in a facsimile of kindness as she looked upon the man, spoke of that same eager anticipation of revenge. The urge to simply tear the thing limb from limb was nearly maddening.
What was worse was that he deserved it. There was not a soul above them chanting the word whore that would have held themselves back were they in his or Samantha's place. They were animals. All of them. They, especially the thing waiting for the fight to begin, deserved to be torn apart.
Still Micheal was hesitant.
Death was natural to him. From the day he had become aware of himself, he had been in an orphanage, with nothing but the faintest wisps of a life that came before. And in that orphanage as one of its legion of lost, there was death. It was the sole and acceptable fact of his home. Lost were nothing but tools to satisfy those higher on the totem pole.
Chosen, the Gods, even other lost. If you were lower than them then you might as well have been nothing but a walking piece of meat, ready to be torn apart. It was as natural to Micheal as to any one of the lost that he had seen killed over the years.
His friends, acquaintances, everyone that he knew had been victim to that life. Even his beloved sister, crushed at the whim of Nero-Un himself. Death was simply what life was.
Where Micheal fell short was his ability to participate.
He had only a single death to his name, and that was a death that he would never have taken back no matter the cost. Richter was a man unworthy to have been called human, and it sickened Micheal even then to have shared the ground he walked on with that animal. Standing across from another animal, that same feeling was rearing its head once more, but Micheal still felt as though it was different this time. He had a choice. And then he looked at Samantha.
Still smiling as she waited to tear into the man in front of them as they finally cleaned the blood off of the floor, she looked inexplicably sad. She had been effected by the words of the man for a moment, but she had recovered quickly enough when she had moved into anger. In anticipation for the fight she had truly dropped the shackles of offense, including offense for herself.
In spite of that, she was sad. The words of the man, even though words they had heard a million times before, were still sharp like barbs. No matter the toughness of her skin she was still wounded by the unbidden malice of the petty creature that had decided to spew his empty hatred.
And as he saw that look of sadness he saw too the looks of every single lost that had been the victims of that malice before her.
Kids that had never had the fortune to bear a name of their own, killed for sport by chosen with nothing better to do. The other orphans, being subject to the beatings that the first and second halls had liked to dish out.
Even himself, crying in the mirror after one of the chosen had struck his sister and being too weak to do anything but run away, shielding her with all that he could.
With those memories, it was enough. It was more than enough.
As the last vestiges of the body were taken from the arena, and the judge was finally in place, both he and Samantha faced the man that had become the symbol of their hatred. A man who had wanted to take them and make them his for his own sick pleasure. A true animal.
That animal smiled as the hammer struck the bell, licking his lips in joyous anticipation.
“Are you ready, bitch? I might not even wait for you to submit before I start having my way with you. You are real pretty for an animal, you know? Real pretty,” the thing said in the voice of a man. He smiled all the while. A sick, toxic thing. Like a human face stretched over a beast likening it into a smile. An imitation so divorced from the reality it meant to depict.
The man stood stock-still, content to bask in the attention of the crowd. He was clearly not an experienced duelist, given how easily distracted he had become from the attention. That made sense enough if he really was a baker like Micheal suspected. It was probably only the fact that he assumed them both to be lost that he had dared enter the arena at all.
He was just some sheltered little middle-class scumbag that had decided to pick an easy target while he watched some of the spars. He probably thought he would get a little action from Sam and be on his merry way. the thought that either she or Micheal would deny him had likely been entirely foreign to him.
“So he definitely doesn't know what he's doing,” Samantha said beside him.
“Oh, yeah. No clue. He probably hasn't seen a fight since he was a waddling in his diapers,” Micheal responded, eliciting a grin from his friend.
“So how do you want to do this, Mike? Want me to run support while you play with him for a bit?” She asked.
“Sounds good. I want him to really feel his mistake. You in?”
Samantha turned to him with a smile, before pulling the metal pipe she kept at her side and arching an eyebrow at him.
“Does this answer your question?” She said.
Seeing the rusted blood on the end of it, Micheal figured that it did indeed answer his question.
The animal, still basking in the glory of the crowd, seemed happy to let them discuss their strategy in front of him. He more than likely figured that any strategy they came up with would be useless against him in any case, and was content in letting them delight in a false hope.
Micheal decided that with the essentials confirmed, he was about ready to get things started.
He walked out into the arena, approaching the man in his side, still playing to the crowd with a smile adorning ear to ear. He shouted like a preacher, screaming his gospel of obscenities onto the watching masses with a fervor, delighting in each screamed response.
“Who wants the first turn at the boy! Only two coppers for each round!” He shouted to the screaming enthusiasm of many of the watching women. A few of the men, too joined in with that one.
Micheal continued his approach undaunted by the cries of joy and lust of them crowd, with Samantha following in not far behind him, her face set in a pleasant grin. “Hear that, Mike. You're popular,” she laughed from behind. Micheal sent back a joking frown.
With the moment of conflict quickly approaching, the anger seemed to have left them somewhat. Now only a practical joy was left behind. What underlying anger was left just the fuel for the fire that was to come.
“And how much is it for a run of you, you sick fuck,” Micheal shouted from his place in the center of the square.
The man turned a frown at him, annoyed that he would possibly dish out the same abuse that he had given to them. “You really do like to mouth off for an animal. Maybe if you had learned your place early on, this wouldn't be happening to you,” the thing said to him.
“And maybe if your parents hadn't birthed a monster we wouldn't have to do the decent thing and kill it,” Samantha said to the thing, grinning ear to ear as the mans face pinched into a rage.
“Shut up! Don't you dare talk about my parents you whore!” He shouted, finally giving up on the crowd long enough to charge at Samantha. His temper was clearly too short for his own good, because he sent out a killing blow, faster than what any lost could have possibly been able to dodge, right at Sam's head.
His body charged the lost girl, and his fist rose in an arc, ready to take off Sam's head in a single blow. Without even bothering to make use of his apostle, the man tried to kill the girl he had threatened to enslave and sell to everyone in the crowd.
To Micheal, he moved as if through tar.
Micheal shot out his own hand to intercept the attacker, shoving his enemy's hand off its trajectory slowly enough that he might have confused Micheal for a particularly fast lost. The man wasn't particularly quick for a bone-ranker, so Micheal figured he might be able to get away with it, especially if he was inexperienced as they both figured.
The man fell over himself slightly as Samantha finally moved to dodge the death-blow, too late to have actually dodged it if not for Micheal's intervention. “Shit,” she breathed, shocked at nearly dying only a few seconds into the duel. It was a sobering reminder that Micheal had been in the same position only a scant few months ago.
“You little fucker! Who in the briny fucking deep are you to touch me?!” The man shouted, falling over himself because of his own incompetence. The thought occurred to Micheal to end the whole thing then and there, killing the thing before he was even aware of the danger he was in.
The roaring laughter of the crowd at the man's mistake was simply too beautiful an opportunity to pass up, however.
“Who the fuck are you to touch me, more like it,” he said, causing the man's face to split into a mask of maddened fury once more.
“That's it. I think its about time to shut that filthy mouth of yours for good. Then we can work on opening the mouth of that pretty friend of yours,” the thing spat, venom curling the words into a toxic hate. Micheal responded only with a grin at the man's impotence. Threatening though he tried to be, Micheal saw him for what he was.
A petty thing Stumbling about like a fool attempting to take the image of a real man.
In his next attempt at feeling big he finally activated his apostle, surprising absolutely no one in either the crowd or arena. It was common enough for bakers or cooks to be chosen of the lesser God of flames or even cooking itself. For a baker it was mildly impressive to have taken command of the apostle of lesser flame, as much as a bone-ranker could claim to control their apostle, anyhow.
A wave of heat spread through the arena to the cheering applause of the crowd, who shouted in lust-filled anticipation at the prospect of the dire violence to come. Some teens burning alive was something that was rare to see for the average joe, after all. The screams put most chosen off of it, he had heard. Even lost screams sounded human enough for them, he supposed.
Seeing it in a duel, though? That was distance enough for them if the shouts of hungry delight were anything to go by. It had become a buffet of depravity, and they were eager participants.
Distance was enough that even lost screams were nothing more than entertainment for a hungry beast.
Samantha Rushed back from the oncoming wave of fire, but Micheal stood firm, confident in his ability to withstand the strength of a miserable wretch such as the man in front of him.
In a rage the beast sent his flames in Micheal's direction, forgoing the delicate control of the baker in favor of the rage induced madness that was his truer self. Beasts such as lost were not deserving of civility or weakness, and should be dealt with as only a beast would be.
Micheal felt at first a gentle warmth, like the sunlight on a summer day. That warmth became the heat of a hearth too close for comfort, and then the screaming agony of a brand on his flesh.
Every nerve screamed at the exposed pain, none being left out from the party of dancing agony that tickled each and every fiber of his being. That a baker could exert such power was beyond Micheal's wildest thoughts. It was the grim reminder of a chosen's full strength when they left the illusion of civility behind.
Looking at the maddened glee that was the man's expression, Micheal knew that he had long since reached that point. It was animalistic rage that powered his strength at that moment. It wasn't finesse or practice that allowed for the inferno that tore into his being, but the superior power of righteous fury. Exaltation at bringing pain to the deserving.
Micheal noted that Samantha had made it away easily enough as the dangling strings of fire brushed against him. He noted also that the man was weakening himself in the attempt to burn him alive,
If it weren't for the scream that threatened to escape his throat should he open his mouth, Micheal figured he would laugh then and there. He couldn't be burnt alive. His skin was stronger than it had been. No longer was it the skin of the lost, but the skin of a chosen. It wouldn't be burnt down by a weak thing like the one in front of him.
He would burn, yes. Layers of skin would melt and blister, but he wouldn't be killed. No-where near it. Crystal had infused itself into his skin and made it more than it was. Flesh had given way to a more reinforced variety, too resistant to be burnt away.
Even with the pain that threatened him, Micheal sent a smile at the man, as though being burnt alive were a spa day. Even within the heart of the inferno, the man could see it. A look of concern flashed onto his face as he finally came to the conclusion that his great inferno was a wasted effort. Useless even against the body of a lost.
It was that look of concern for his own power - doubt finally breaking through that unshakable arrogance, that finally set free the cackling laughter of a mad man. Screams mixed with laughter, as pain and amusement became indistinguishable from each other. The beast, seeing this, finally let go of his apostle, allowing his greatest feat to trickle away from him.
Wisps of flame fell to the ground without the fuel to burn, leaving the floor no different than it had been and without hint of what had happened. All that should have been left behind was the blackened corpse of someone the Gods had seen fit to die.
Instead, a boy of seventeen laughed with pink and burnt skin at the attempts of a monster to burn him away. Crystal could not be burnt by men, just as he could not be burnt by the sickened mind of a monster that had convinced itself it was a man.
Samantha looked on from a slight distance staring at Micheal with a mixture of pride and worry. He knew she wondered if he had slipped back into that empty madness that had been his home for so many weeks in the first hall, but he also knew the affect it would have on the thing in front of them.
He sent her a wink as he turned and bowed to the crowd, who's shouts finally bled away into a stunned silence. A lost stood where there should be only bones, which meant there were only two options to be had. Weakness and strength.
Either Micheal was stronger than they thought, or the flames were weaker than they felt.
Seeing the stunned man standing away from the two lost, the crowd could only guess. Only Micheal rose in triumph as its visage turned from confusion to horror as realization dawned upon him. He had figured out Micheal was not as lost as he had guessed, which meant that the game could finally begin. It was time to see how far they could go before he gave in to them and became their official slave.
At least, before he tried to become their official slave.
Samantha ran in before the man's sense of shock could resolve itself, giving neither the man nor Micheal warning as she drove a kick right into the nose of the man. His being taller than the lost had been no obstacle, and with all the power a lost could muster she broke his nose with a wet crunch.
Micheal barked a laugh. He hadn't even needed to land the first hit.
The thing broke out of its stunned state and sent a flaming hand at Samantha, again far faster than she would have been able to dodge. Again Micheal was there to stop him, striking him in the jaw with enough force to turn his head.
The man's flew wide and Samantha was able to duck in time, sending a kick into his ribs. It didn't carry the force to break them, but Micheal knew for a fact it would hurt the weaker chosen.
The attempted follow up by the baker was blocked by Micheal once again as he kicked the man lightly in the knee, causing him to stumble over himself. Samantha made use of it and sent a second kick to the man's ribs in the same spot, winding him. Micheal grinned at the gasping sounds the thing made as he fell to his knees as he desperately tried for air.
Again the baker's dueling experience was lacking. He should have made some distance to catch his breath, but he instead flailed wildly as he sucked in the surrounding air with a quiet desperation. Samantha panted lightly in exertion and smiled at her handiwork as they both backed off for a moment.
“Is that everything you've got for us? Pretty weak effort, don't you think?” Samantha said between deep breaths. The man continued panting on the floor with a face of twisted rage at being mocked, finally spitting out an empty rebuttal.
His pathetic wheeze was too weak to hear for the two of them, and they only sent a barked laugh at the thing, turning to each other with a smile, pantomiming wiping a tear from their eyes.
Micheal ended the laughing by turning to the crowd, who still watched in a stunned silence as they beat down their paragon hero into the dirt. Looking between him and the wheezing baker, Micheal shifted his expression into a severe frown, before he turned his gaze back onto the man who finally gathered himself enough to stand.
“Do you want to have a little fun now?” She asked him. Micheal pretended to think it over as he stalked over to the man, who was standing on shaky feet as he watched his approach. He was wary by now, but still not fully aware just how screwed he was. Micheal figured he probably thought the whole thing was a fluke.
The previous cowardly understanding had melted off the man's expression, replaced with indignation at being brought to his knees by two mere lost. Micheal wondered if the jig was up yet, but the wild fist that the man sent toward his stomach was answer enough.
He sent crystal to the location of impact, tearing at bone, muscle and skin to break out in an explosion of sinew and blood. He didn't need the fine control of his apostle for this, so he didn't bother infusing his blood with it this time, simply allowing it to break out in a random mess of jagged edges.
The man struck it with his fist, crushing his hand on each of the pointed stalagmites in his stomach, eliciting a gasp of surprise from the crowd and a scream of agony for the man. His face twisted in a rage as Micheal's twisted into a grin. The crowd watched with bated breath as Micheal lifted his fist, and sent it down onto the man's shoulder in a hammer-strike.
He struck the shoulder with a meaty thud, allowing his fist to continue on until the shoulder was pushed out of its socket entirely, dislocating with a truly beautiful pop. The face of the man, already contorted with pain, cried with agony at the fresh wave of torture that was sent through it.
Micheal nearly winced in sympathy. He'd had both of his shoulders dislocated multiple times by a few of the girls from the second hall that had enjoyed seeing him squirm. It also made it so that he didn't fight back as much when they did as they wanted.
Seeing that look of agony painted on a man that had threatened his best friend with rape? He struggled to find the sympathy in his cold, cold heart.
As the thing cradled its shoulder and stalked away, letting the tears flow freely, Micheal backed away once again, this time to the shock of the man. He had finally outed himself as found, though he had wanted to save the reveal for a little bit later, the look of surprise on both the face of the thing and the crowd watching were priceless enough.
It had been well worth toying with him for a little bit. Part of him even debated letting Samantha have a little more fun, but from the look of the despicable wretch they wouldn't be getting much longer. He cried openly at the pain, wailing all that he could manage with a broken nose. He rolled about on the floor, avoiding his dislocated should and bruised ribs as best he could.
Samantha looked over him with a contemptuous ease as she looked from him to Micheal. Admittedly, Micheal was a little worse for wear himself. Allowing oneself to be burnt alive was something of a questionable strategy, he supposed. His pink and red skin, interspersed with crystal he had yet to let fall away and blackened burns gave him the look of a monster, in his own opinion.
The look of the man, seeing that very monster, more than made up for the pain.
He scrambled away weakly, and the two of them let him.
“I'm sorry,” he wheezed quietly through his broken nose. “I'm sorry...” He repeated, over and over, sobbing weakly at the sound. Samantha smiled at each word.
Micheal turned to the crowd again, looking up at the viewing platform. “Did you hear that? He said he's sorry!” He shouted up to them, causing a light ripple of laughter to spread throughout the stand. “I better stop now. He is sorry, after all,” he repeated, to their mild amusement.
“I wouldn't want to hurt the little baby,” he mocked, causing a rising laughter out of them. He continued his petty mocking as the man piteously whined, begging and apologizing over and over. He played to the crowd, acting every bit the arrogant victor they expected him to be.
Eventually the laughs grew to a crescendo, a raucous laughter spreading with each of his jibes. He wore the smile of a showman as he made fun of the man on the floor. Only Samantha kept a neutral face through it all.
At the end of another joke, when the laughter began to die, he began “I really better spare him. He is such a sorry guy. He's really, really sorry, in fact,” he said, causing the man to look up in a genuine hope. The crowd laughed again, amused at his tone, devoid of any joking intonation.
He looked on with his best approximation at legitimate sympathy for the man, and Samantha even walked over to help him up. Micheal saw the hesitation in his face at being held up by the lost girl, but it quickly disappeared as he believed himself saved from torment.
“I'm so sorry,” he whined to Samantha. “I didn't know,” he moaned.
“It just makes me wonder,” Micheal began again to the crowd, deadly serious once more. This time the crowd didn't laugh. The man froze. Samantha walked a step away from him, brandishing her pipe in a stance that mirrored an executioner.
“It just makes me wonder how many times all the lost he killed and had his with said that to him,” he said, growing quieter with each word. Looking away from the crowd and into the eyes of the beast, he went on.
“How many times did they beg you to stop?” He asked as the man's face grew confused. “How much did they cry out for you to end it all? To leave them alone. How many lost did you 'have fun' with, Alric?” He asked.
With a final look of understanding, he begged, screamed at them both. “I'm sorry! I didn't kn-” he was cut off by Samantha swinging down her pipe onto the crown of his skull.
A crunching, squelching sound echoed in the silent hall as his skull and brain matter became acquainted with his best friend's steel pipe, ending the duel of servitude by default. Samantha tore out the pipe to a stunned crowd. She walked to Micheal, blood and gore leaking from the end of her wicked instrument, and together they bowed to the crowd. As though actors before a beloved audience, they bowed to a crowd screaming indignation, smiles wide on their faces.
Perhaps it had been wrong to kill that man.
He was a baker, a father. A son. Maybe his mother cried for him. Perhaps he had a wife and daughter that would cry when their husband and father didn't come home. A mother would explain to a child that daddy would never come home again. Maybe they would cry. Maybe they would never again move on from such a loss.
At least, that was what the crowd saw.
Micheal and Samantha imagined the faces, contorted in pain as a man brutalized them. Kids, too young for a name of their own, being taken from the world. Lost that screamed and cried just as anyone did, the pain they felt ignored by an unfeeling monster.
They both imagined those faces, and smiled knowing that he would not create a single one of them ever again. Perhaps it had been wrong for them to kill him. Maybe it drove them closer and closer to becoming exactly as monstrous as he was.
Seeing his brain covering the length of pipe in his best friend's hands, Micheal didn't particularly care about that. He was happy for this to become the next body that ended up in his wake.