The crowds were shouting, roaring too loudly for the unnamed to understand their words. Rhythmic chanting filled the building, a rabid din accompanied by the thumping of heavy shoes against wooden planks.
From what he’d seen of the blood pits on their way into the structure, they consisted of one vast underground chamber divided into several smaller sections by large walls of pitted iron and wood. Wooden stands ran in tightly packed rings above each pit, filled to the brim with masses of screaming, bloodthirsty spectators.
The prisoners were led through narrow corridors with brick walls and a low-hanging, curved roof. The floor was fashioned from hard packed earth covered with sawdust and old memories of bloodshed. The tunnel reeked of urine and fear, made more vivid by the occasional dried bloodstains on the walls alongside thick grooves made by blunt weaponry. The sounds of clanging weapons echoed off the walls, drifting through the tunnel from some nearby chamber.
There were no brave souls among the pitiful group of prisoners, none but the hulking form of Naleth Who Tends. He walked hunched over at the head of the group, his horns almost scraping against the ceiling. In contrast to the rest of the slaves, Naleth seemed quite sanguine about the situation.
That fact was more troubling to the unnamed than anything else in this place. If the giant was happy to try his luck in lethal combat, happy to die at the hands of some monstrous creature even bigger and more dangerous than he was, one could only imagine what circumstances had driven him to the pits in the first place.
The prisoners shuffled together behind Naleth, each lost in their own thoughts and plagued by regrets and complaints of what should have been. In the unnamed’s case, he expected to be elbow-deep dish soap, scrubbing plates, or cleaning tiles, maybe sweeping lofty halls in the upper tiers of Havenspire. At worst, he’d feared being given bathroom duty, forced to scrub toilets all day. Dying in a blood pit hadn’t even entered his mind as a remote possibility. Even cleaning an arena like this hadn’t been something he’d considered.
The group was led through a rounded tunnel into a large adjoining chamber where dozens of what looked like experienced fighters were limbering up and tending to their wounds. Big, well-muscled men sparred with one another, fighting with staves or wooden training blades, filling the room with the constant click clack of wood cracking against wood.
A half-orc was bent over, leaning against a nearby wall, while a foot-high imp pulled savage-looking barbs out of the bloody flesh of his back. The orc didn’t flinch as the imp did his work, only growling as a series of four-inch barbs were wrenched free.
The newcomers received hard stares from the warriors in the chamber. It reminded the unnamed of every establishing prison scene he remembered from popular films and television shows. Some of the brutish figures snarled and a few grinned and muttered the word meat as the prisoners were led through the chamber. The unnamed half expected someone to give him the kissy, kissy gesture or make some crude comment about making him their bitch.
It all seemed to staged and surreal and yet, at the same time, it felt vividly and terribly real. He could smell sweat and blood, could feel the cold aggression in the room, the hard stares leveled at him and the other prisoners.
As they moved on, the unnamed saw more injured fighters. Elves and dwarves being tended to by medical imps, their bodies littered with gashes and cuts, some missing fingers and hands. They all looked brutish and accustomed to lethal combat, hardened warriors who had long ago come to terms with their lot in life.
None of them wore the same head popping collars he and the other slaves had. So unnamed guessed that these were willing participants in the enterprise, or perhaps there was some other means of keeping the combatants in check within the Blood Pits complex itself.
They passed a sleeping area lined with bunks and the unnamed noticed three or four warriors lying on their beds, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Nearby there was a small group of brutish-looking horned figures squatting around a small table playing a card game of some sort. There, at least, he could hear laughter and some semblance of comraderies. They drank and spoke too loudly with one another, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Most were male, but there were females here and there. All bore the scars of repeated fighting and some also had mechanized appendages in place of hands or other body parts. In a simulated world where magic was possible, the unnamed found himself wondering why there would be a need for a mechanical, prosthetic limb. Why have bandages and doctors when surely you could just magic up a healing spell and fix the problem in a moment?
“Rule number one, maggot! Don’t get it wet!”
The unnamed turned to see a stocky female dwarf standing by a stone bowl sitting on a pedestal. There was a pristine white powder in the bowl which looked like flour. The figure standing opposite the dwarf was a tall, lanky elf with a savage scar across the lower portion of his face. The scar was so pronounced that it looked like the two halves of his face had been badly glued together. One of Frankenstein’s earlier attempts, perhaps.
The elf had a sticky goop hanging from his nose, which he was attempting to pull off his face. The grayish-white goo was so tacky that his fingers were bound together, and a string of the substance led from his nose to his hand, like a giant booger.
“We use the shine before we head out to fight,” the dwarf lectured, motioning to the bowl of white powder. “Keeps us alert and clearheaded.”
She jabbed a finger at the elf’s face.
“Just a pinch and never after a fight. Because shine with sweat makes a sticky mess and you’ll spend the next ten minutes clearing the stuff off your face. Got it?!”
The group moved on, but the unnamed lingered, his eyes locked on the curious white substance, the gears of his mind turning. He took a step toward the bowl but a shove from behind sent him staggering forwards.
“Quit ya gawpin’ and keep movin’, rat!” the slaver bellowed, drawing looks from the warriors nearby as the unnamed stumbled after the group.
They were led up a series of stairs, through a narrow tunnel that led out into a large arena. Old wood creaked underfoot as the unnamed followed Naleth and the others out onto a seated area by the edge of the pit. A raucous sound assaulted them as they edged out onto the viewing platform, shouts and jeers along with clapping and laughter.
“Behold the Darksteel Sister! Scourge of the Everwood, and one half of the dynamic Darksteel duo! Watch out folks, she’ll chew you up. Darksteel Lia is a MANEATER!”
The slaves were pushed out onto the shallow seating area and forced to stand against the edge of the arena wall. They were about ten feet above the arena floor, close enough to smell the lingering scent of blood and to clearly see the lithe female figure standing in the middle of the pit, hands raised as the crowd roared in delight.
The woman wore a black robe, its hood covering her head and draping her face in shadow. Squinting, the unnamed could make out tattoos on her arm and legs where they showed beneath the robe, but it was difficult to make out any detail.
“For the second fight of the evening, Darksteel Lia has agreed to fight without her primary weapon. That’s right folks, no swords!”
The crowd cheered in delight as the announcer continued. Unnamed looked around at the stands. A baffling array of different figures could be seen. Some wore festive garbs and sat in the better seats higher up in the stands, while others with less ostentatious clothing were situated along the lower levels. It brought to mind the Colosseum in Rome, but on a far smaller and less grandiose scale.
Many of those in the crowds had faces tinted with blue light as they scrolled through information on holographic screens rising up out of tattoos on their wrists like the one the unnamed had. It looked to him more like a crowd at a Taylor Swift concert than a bloody arena, driving home the absurdity of the situation.
“With no swords, she’ll be limited to non-bladed attacks unless, of course, she manages to take a weapon from one of her foes. And, given the Dread Sister’s reputation, I’d say that’s highly likely folks!”
Laughter rose from the arena.
“The Darksteel Sister will limit her attacks and abilities to Tiger’s Claw, Shadow Step Uppercut, Iron Fist Strike, Thunderous Palm Smash, Sweeping Kick, and Viper’s Fang Jab. Remember that folks as you lock in your bets because there will be bonuses for anyone who predicts the exact sequence of abilities Darksteel Lia uses!
A series of large holographic screens appeared above the arena, each showing a cartoon figure demonstrating a different hand to hand fighting technique with the name of each listed at the bottom of the screen.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Personally, folks, I’m a sucker for the Tiger’s Claw! If you’ve never seen a fighter rip out someone’s throat with one hand, you’re in for a treat, friends.
The screen showing the Tiger’s Claw ability enlarged to three times its former size. The nondescript figure in the footage raked a hand towards their opponent’s throat, sending gouts of blood gushing from the wound as their foe clutched the wound and fell to the ground.
Owww, now that’s gotta hurt!
The holographic screens vanished as the announcer continued.
Now, if the Darksteel Sister is able to secure a bladed weapon, she will be permitted to use simple strikes only, with no special abilities. That means a little slashy slashy and some basic poking, but nothing to exotic!
Once more, the crowd began to laugh, as though they and the announcer were both nodding at an inside joke. As she turned around, the unnamed caught sight of the fighter’s face and saw that she was grinning broadly. The woman was still cloaked in shadow, but he could make out the flash of white where her teeth were showing.
Another holographic display showed up above the figure’s head as she turned back around. The display showed basic stats, written in luminescent gold writing, which were large enough for everyone in the arena to read.
Name: Darksteel Lia
Rank: 7
Title: NA
House: Darksteel
Class: Blade Dancer
Guild: NA
Position: NA
Constitution: 10
Strength: 4
Stamina: 10
Agility: 18
Intelligence: 0
Overcharge: 0
Feats: 2
Contracts: 49
Dungeons: 12
Permitted Abilities
Tiger’s Claw (Watch your throat!)
Shadow Step Uppercut (Take your nose home in a napkin!)
Iron Fist Strike (You’re basically done!)
Thunderous Palm Smash (Did someone order a pizza face?)
Sweeping Kick (Not the balls! Please not the balls!)
Viper’s Fang Jab (You won’t see it until it’s too late!)
“Okay, folks, let’s get this bout started!”
The arena erupted in a deafening roar as figures moved into the pit from an archway on the opposite side of the structure to where the unnamed and his companions stood. Two half-orcs, bristling with weaponry and armor were the first to enter the arena, each hefting an axe in one hand and a dark club in the other. They raised their weapons high, mouths open as they roared.
Three more figures entered the arena, following the half-orcs. The first was a thin creature with dark red skin and horns that curved up over the back of her head. She looked like Hellboy’s younger, smaller cousin, a demon dressed in simple crimson robes and clearly a magic user of some sort. She held a ball of fire in one hand as she moved toward the center of the arena.
The last two figures couldn’t be less similar. The first was a stocky male dwarf holding a double-handed axe and wearing chainmail, his face surrounded by a bright red beard that ran in plats down to the ground. The second was a giant, only a little shorter than Naleth, the unnamed guessed, but human in appearance, despite his oversized dimensions. The brute held a single long sword, its blade longer than the dwarf’s whole body.
Cheers rose from all around the arena as the final combatant entered the pit and the crowd began to settle in anticipation of what was to follow.
Now’s the time to lock in your bets, folks. Once the fight starts you won’t be able to adjust your wager. Just a reminder about our jackpot too. If you correctly predict the manner in which all dead combatants are dealt the death blow, and the order in which they die, you’ll be in the running for the pot. If more than one person wins though, we’ll carry it over to the next bout.
The giant stared at Darksteel Lia as he walked toward the middle of the pit, scowling and rolling his prodigious shoulders. Arms wrapped with thick muscle bulged as he slowly swung the double-edged sword back and forth, limbering up while the other warriors fanned out and surrounded Lia.
The unnamed realized his mouth was hanging open. He was gripping the railing of the arena barrier so tightly that his fingers were beginning to hurt. He tried to relax a little, but the rumbling of the crowd and the palpable sense of impending violence made it impossible. He could feel his heart thudding wildly in his chest while sweat began to bead on his brow.
“Commence!” the announcer shouted, his voice distorting.
The five combatants circled around Lia, weapons held ready, eyes focused on the lithe woman as she stood completely still in the center of the arena. The unnamed couldn’t be sure, but he thought her eyes were closed. She seemed perfectly calm, standing in a state of Zen while her enemies closed in.
The demon mage was the first to strike, sending a ball of fire toward Lia as the dwarf and half-orcs charged toward her. Lia dropped to the ground a moment before the fireball hit her, allowing it to pass overhead as she swung her legs around and used the momentum to carry her up into a kick that connected with the closest half-orc.
She followed up by sliding beneath the orc’s legs and striking out, tripping the hulking warrior and sending him tumbling to the ground as the other half-orc came at her with his axe. Lia spun away from a brutal axe swing as the second orc tried to cleave her head from her shoulders. She moved like a dancer, gracefully stepping aside as the orc swung a second and third time.
She stepped inside the half-orc’s defenses, ducking down like a coiled spring, her body momentarily turning to shadow, a smokey, indistinct shape that exploded with force as she suddenly drove her fist up into the base of the warrior’s jaw. Blood sprayed into the air as the orc’s head snapped back, teeth flying and bone crunching.
“Shadow Step Uppercut!” the announcer boomed. “Wow folks, you really won’t see it done any better than that! Flawless execution!”
The crowed roared in delight as the struck orc dropped his axe as he fell, his jaw ripped apart and one tusk jutting from the top of his head, as if it had been smashed all the way through his skull. Before his body hit the ground, Lia snatched his axe out of the air and threw it end over end toward the mage.
Light flared around the demon mage’s body as the axe hit some kind of shield. The sorcerer was preparing to shoot another fireball, but the blow had knocked her off balance a little, giving Lia sufficient time to drive her knee into the second half-orc’s face as he tried to stand. As the orc’s head was knocked back, Lia danced to the left, ducking around beside an axe blow made by the dwarf. Lia used her momentum to shove the swing aside, so that the axe buried itself into the chest of the struggling half-orc.
She grabbed the dwarf’s beard, twisting it up in her arm as she flipped her body around the diminutive figure, pulling him close as a fireball engulfed his body. Using the hapless dwarf as a shield, Darksteel Lia charged toward the mage who was, once more, preparing an offensive spell. The dwarf’s legs dug into the sand as he tried desperately to push back against their momentum, but Lia was too strong and pushing too hard.
The unnamed squinted, trying to see clearly through the haze of smoke left by the smoldering dwarf as Lia drew back one hand. Still riding the dwarf horizontally like a sled and holding him with her left hand, Lia’s right hand closed into a fist and shimmering light burst to life around it. In the moment before she thundered into the demon mage, using the dwarf as a battering ram, her fist seemed to change color, glinting with metallic light as the dwarf crashed into the sorcerer.
Lia punctuated the impact by driving her fist into the back of the dwarf and punching with such force that the blow sent a shockwave out from the middle of the arena. The unnamed felt a rush of wind, accompanied by the sickening smell of blood as the shockwave hit the slaves and rolled up the surrounding stands. A moment later, the sound of cracking bone and tearing metal reached the unnamed, sending a chill up his spine.
“Behold the Iron Fist Strike!” the announcer shouted, prompting a swell of cheering from the crowd. “If I’m not mistaken, I think it’s actually… Yes, folks, that’s two for one on the Iron Fist Strike!”
The dwarf lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, his chainmail twisted and torn, body broken and buckled as blood pooled in the sand beneath him. The unnamed could just make out the twitching limbs of the mage poking out from beneath the dwarf’s body, smoke rising from her crumpled form.
Laughter rose from the center of the blood pit, an unexpected baritone rumble as the giant rolled his shoulders and approach Lia. She stood perfectly still, breathing evenly, her head still hooded, arms and legs positioned in a dancer’s pose as the towering figure lumbered forward.
The giant moved with deceptive speed, striking forward with the sword and slamming his foot into the ground with a loud thud. Lia ducked to one side, the blade only an inch from her face as she ran forward, jumped up in the air and hooked her legs around the giant’s arm.
Held upside down and horizontal, she kicked out at the towering figure, bloodying his nose as he reached for her with his other hand. Darksteel Lia twisted her body like a snake, striking out toward his hand with a biting blow and drew blood from his palm and caused the giant to re-evaluate his approach.
He shook his arm violently, trying to dislodge the woman that had latched onto him, but unable to shaker her. Once more, she kicked against his face, this time with such force that he staggered back. In one smooth motion, her kick drove Lia backwards. She used her momentum to grab hold of his sword hand and wrench two of the fingers back with a sickening crack.
The giant roared in pain, pulling back his hand, only to find that he no longer held his sword. Lia stood hefting the huge blade for a moment before, spinning around like a ballet dancer doing a pirouette. She spun so fast that the sand around her was kicked up into the air, forming a whirlwind around her body, with the glinting edge of the giant’s blade protruding from the tempest.
The unnamed held his breath as the whirlwind swallowed the giant. There was a loud snick and the huge figure’s head flew into the air, a look of shock on his face as it fell to the ground and bounced twice before coming to a halt. The sandstorm settled and Lia stood beside the sword, its blood slicked tip jutting out of the arena floor as the giant’s body fell hard against the ground.
The crowd erupted once more. Lia raised her hands, walking around the sword while the giant’s headless body gushed blood onto the sand.
“Stormblade Whirlwind!” the announcer shouted, his voice verging on outright laughter. “Now, I’m afraid that’s not allowed, Darksteel Lia. Naughty, naughty!”
Laughter spread through the arena as Lia raised her right hand and slapped it playfully with her left hand.
“That’s a two point deduction to the Darksteel Sister for the illegal use of an unsanctioned skill, dropping her total tally to… Let me see here. Two thousand points! Versus…Well, zero, considering that fatalities wipe out your score and no one else seems to be standing.”
The unnamed watched in abject horror as figures in dull brown cloaks emerged from the edge of the arena and started dragging off the dead bodies, leaving bloody stains in the sand as they went about their gruesome work.
“Put your hands together for our reigning champion, folks. Lia Darksteel, Blade Dancer extraordinaire! Isn’t she something!”
The crowd showed their appreciation as the robbed warrior made her exit, walking with cat-like poise from the blood pit while three of the attendants struggled to drag the giant’s corpse from the center of the arena floor.