With the second tournament ready to begin, the horn booms across the colosseum as the first team is ushered in. A massive sandglass is flipped over next to the announcer, signifying the start of the time-limit.

With time limited, the first team takes the safest option. They rush towards the wolves which growl threateningly at their approach. The wolves, numbering ten, do not approach even as the [Gladiators] are in range. Instead, they wait for the five to get closer. Just as the first of the [Gladiators] is in range of grabbing a piece of equipment, the wolves rush to surround them. The [Gladiators] take a defensive stance with their backs to each other against ten wolves.

For the next five minutes, the fight is bloody with half the wolves getting killed and two of the [Gladiators]. After the second [Gladiators] death, the remaining three quickly retreat out of wolf range. Then the trumpet rings and the first round of the day is complete.

Once the remaining [Gladiators] leave the arena for treatment, a team of armored veteran [gladiators] rush into the arena. The wolves, seeing them, quickly scurry away, allowing the men to remove the both human and wolf corpses.

“Are the wolves replaced?” Quasi asks as the veterans leave.

“No,” Gond answers. “Those who go first have the greatest risk but also the first choice of equipment. Ten wolves for five [Gladiators] should have been dangerous, but doable with proper skill and planning.”

“Yea, huddling together isn’t good when you’re practically naked. It makes it difficult to dodge.”

Gond nods. “A could reliably take out all ten myself.”

“Same.” Quasi answers, getting a raised eyebrow from the retired [Gladiator] but choosing not to comment.

The next round begins, and the [Gladiators] finish off the remaining wolves with only a single leg injury on one of the [Gladiators]. From there, they quickly rush to the pieces of equipment. It is here that Quasi notices that some of the larger equipment is tied or chained down. The [Gladiators] use their weapons to free said equipment, picking it up, and then quickly moving to the next.

Then I hear the trumpet and all five stop what they are doing. Everything in their arms or on their body is theirs. They leave the arena with their haul of mostly pieces of leather armor.

Once gone, the corpses are removed by the veterans.

“The next team will rush to see what’s left. If not enough, they’ll then need to fight the salamanders.”

Quasi focuses on the five alligator-sized lizards. They remind him of larger Komodo dragons with thicker scales.

“They don’t seem that much more dangerous than wolves.”

“They’re easier than wolves if you’ve got a good weapon. If not, getting through those scales will be difficult and take a bit of time. They are also quite deadly if they bite. The pressure they exert from their mouths is enough to crush bone and bend metal.”

Just as Gond predicted, the next team rushes where the wolves were at, find nothing of significant interest, and then they move to the salamanders. Unlike the previous team, this one is more professional and goes in with a plan of action. Unlike the wolves, Salamanders don’t use tactics. Once the [Gladiators] are in range, they group rushes towards them. The [Gladiators] separate as do many of the salamanders. Those chased by more than one are tasked with distraction. Those who have only a single salamander or none work together to strike them down using superior numbers and the two great-axes on their team. In minutes, the salamanders are taken care of and the team rushes to the equipment. Unfortunately, it’s clear the fight against the salamanders took too long, for the trumpet sounds just as they reach the equipment.

“The next team is very lucky.” Gond says. “They won’t need to fight anything.”

Once the corpses are cleaned up, the next team is ushered into the arena. A team Quasi knows so well.

The crowd, seeing Boriss, starts cheering loudly. The big man, towering over the rest of his team, waves at the crowds with his usual Russian grin.

“Seems your crewman is quite lucky,” Gond comments.

Quasi chuckles. “No, no he is not.”

Gond glances at the cat and frowns. “Why?”

“Cause Boriss is the only one smiling.”

______________________________________________________________

The [Announcer] looks down from his elevated position at the fan favorite, Boriss. The man is large, broad shouldered, and has the posture of a veteran [Gladiator]. His impressive display yesterday has ordered the powers at be to make sure the man survives long enough to enter into the finals. Hence, the man is given three experienced [Gladiators] and has had his position moved to the fourth team to enter the arena. As the fourth team, the likelihood of getting killed isn’t too high and the equipment that can be obtained is adequate to get far in the tournament. Though, the [Announcer] wasn’t expecting the previous team to finish off all the salamanders.

“Looks like you’ve got it very easy.” The [Announcer] says without activating the runes on the podium to extend his voice.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

With a flick of his fingers, the sandglass is flipped over and the trumpet is blown, signaling the beginning of the match.

It is here where the crowd's cheers quickly die down as the group of five don’t rush left, where the salamanders were defeated. Instead, they rush right.

From left to right, the order of beasts goes from wolves, salamanders, lions, griffins, chimeras, basilisk, and finally the royal wyvern Hellion. The group rushes towards Hellion, arguably one of if not the most dangerous beast on the field. The only thing that might be more dangerous is the basilisk, but only because Hellion is old and injured.

“He’s insane.” The [Announcer] mumbles, his voice resonating to the audience with the same thought as most of them.

The five run towards Hellion, and the wyvern notices this. He stands up and growls towards the approaching [gladiators]. As they enter Hellion's ranger, four of the [Gladiators] split to the sides while Boriss rushes to what most believe is his death.

Though wyverns aren't as intelligent as a pegasus, or even a griffin, the royal variants are. Unfortunately, the royal variants are also far more aggressive. With an ear splitting roar, Hellion charges Boriss. The man grins as Hellion takes the bait. Then just as Hellion reaches the man, Boriss jumps. Not your expected two-meter jump. No, the sand gives way as Boriss leaps five meters into the air, avoiding hellions lunge and lands on the wyverns spiked back. Then he rushes to the neck and swings his weapon, cracking scales and nothing else. Hellion feels this and roars. He rolls to get Boriss off, but the man safely jumps off at the moment the roll starts.

In the meantime, the rest of the team ignores the fight. Instead, they rush to the chain keeping Hellion restricted to his location. They fold some of the chains up over each other and then insert their weapon into the links.

“Boriss, it's ready!” Gino screams.

Hearing the call, Boriss throws his greatsword at Hellion and smacks the wyvern in the face. Then he starts running away. Hellion, seeing what just happened, roars and rampages after Boris, violently kicking up sand.

As Hellion chases, the chain keeping the wyvern chained begins to straighten and tighten. Then, as the chain extends to its maximum, the force of Hellion's rampaging form tightens the chain, tightens the inserted weapons, and then the force cracks and shatters, breaking the bounds that keep Hellion’s movement restricted.

Gasps descend from the audience at the sight of a untethered, very pissed off wyvern the size of a carriage.

Now, for most, this would be considered death. But Boriss isn’t an idiot. Fighting a royal wyvern at his level? Impossible. But he doesn’t have to fight it. Boriss rushes to the basilisk- a massive legged serpentine larger than Hellion. The Basilisk see Hellion approach and then rushes to engage. Boriss, once again, jumps in the air, over the basilisk, and then rolls the landing before continuing to run.

At this point, Hellion’s target shifts from the puny human to the deadly basilisk. The two alpha predators begin a deadly dance of claws and teeth, ripping scale and flesh with gory ease.

With the two beasts distracted, Boriss makes his team, picking up his greatsword at the same time. While the beasts fight, the group of five rush to pick up the quality armors, many of which are made of metal instead of leather. Some even have runes on them, though what the runes do is yet unknown.

Eventually, the fight between Hellion and the basilisk ends not with a winner, but a double loss. The basilisk's mouth lies grasped around Hellion's crushed chest, oozing blood and poison. As for the basilisk, it lies dead, its spine severed by the aged wyverns' powerful jaws.

The crowd is completely silent, unwilling to make a sound at what incredible violence they’d just seen. The silence is only broken by the running out of time and the resounding echo of the trumpet.

Even the [Announcer] has been distracted and would have continued to do so if not for the call.

“There you have it! The fourth match of today and the defeat of not only one, but two of Gladius' most dangerous beasts! Lets give this team the applause they deserve!”

The crowd breaks out of their stupor and you could hear a collective breath. Then the cheers and screams resonate throughout the stadium, louder than ever before. What they’d just seen is something nobody will ever forget.

Not the people.

Not the [Announcer].

And especially not the Royals in charge of sourcing these extremely expensive beasts. Specifically, the basilisk. Hellion is old and has been getting weaker and weaker every year. The fact it survived for so long is impressive on account of it’s tenacity, but it’s wounded form no longer impresses the crowd. But the basilisk is young and not even at its prime yet. It would have grown larger and more dangerous- a perfect beast for the upper-level fights. Now it’s dead and the Royals are having an emergency meeting.

__________________________________________________________

“How did this happen?” Flamentine Christof, the [Governor of Games] asks his compatriots at his table. A total of three others who rule Gladius alongside him.

“You underestimated him,” Stavros Cosmeas, retired [Gladiator Champion] and current [Gang Leader] of the Warrior. “That man, Boriss. From what I hear, he’s either some extremely high-level [Spy] that can lie about his class, or he’s an experienced combatant that’s never been stressed enough to get to that final level.”

“His class is [Skirmisher] and he went into the match at level eighteen,” Loukia Chondrotzi, [Gang Leader] of the Crusts explains. “He’s also a crewman for a [Captain] Quasi Eludo of a rune frigate named Timbergrove. The [Quartermaster] Cillian Wallace has placed incredibly large bets on Boriss, all of which are paying off. I believe the crew knows Boriss is extremely capable and expects him to win his rounds.”

Flamentine frowns. He turns to the last member on the table. “What are your thoughts?”

An older, skinny man with a long flowing beard leans over the table. Miltiadis Rossallis, the first and only [Gang Leader] of the Royals grins at his great-grandson. “Whether he is a [spy] or not matters little. What matters is that we win at the end. Allow this Boriss to win and gain the crowds love and trust. They will bet money on him, and with each win, more and more bets will be placed. Then, near the end, Boriss will find himself against a foe of a level far higher than he can hope to surpass.

“That’s when we bet against him and make enough trist to easily afford several basilisks,” Loukia says. “Brilliant.”

“I’ll prepare the opponent,” Stavros says. “Just find a [Mage] who can cast [Glamor] and we can easily switch him out with one of our contracted [Gladiators].”

The [Governor] sighs at the ease of which his advisors move to subterfuge. He wishes he can just focus on making the tournaments fun and engaging instead of constantly being forced to manipulate the games so as to maximize profits.

“Just don’t get caught,” He warns and ends the meeting.