They charged out onto the arena floor and were met by blinding lights and the roaring of a boisterous crowd. The unnamed lifted a hand to shield his eyes, blinking as his vision began to clear. He’d expected scaled monsters with horned heads and clawed hands, dire wolves, or something worse. But as the fighting pit resolved ahead of him, he saw only two human figures at the heart of the arena, standing back-to-back. One of them he recognized, and that recognition chilled him to the bone.
“Now it’s time for a pallet cleanser, folks. A little light entertainment to keep your spirits up. Betting will continue in this round until there are three slaves still standing. The house will pay triple for anyone who correctly identifies the last three survivors in order of when they die and in what manner the death blow is struck.”
The crowed ooh’d and ah’d as the unnamed and his fellow prisoners spilled out into the pit, looking left and right like frightened animals.
“But we like to keep things interesting here at the Blood Pit, folks. Keen eyed observers will not that we’ve got ourselves a troll on the ticket here tonight, in addition to the regular bout. Beefy lookin’ fella, isn’t he?”
Naleth stood in front of the unnamed, scratching his backside with one hand as he looked around the arena, looking every bit as calm as he had been the first moment the unnamed had met him.
“While we’ve got a fresh batch of newcomers for the twins to carve up for your entertainment, I know many of you are looking forward to seeing that troll in action. Well, the good news keeps on coming, because we’ve arranged a special bout for our troll friend. While the meat contends with the twins, he’ll be squaring off against a full-blooded Sharek!
The unnamed couldn’t believe that the roaring of the crowd could possibly get any louder, but that’s precisely what happened with the news of the Sharek. Feet thumped against the wooden floorboards in the stands, adding a percussive rhythm to the cheering which sounded like a storm breaking.
The collar hanging around the unnamed’s neck vibrated slightly, as did the other collars on the other slaves. A display opened up in front of his face a moment later, glowing with soft amber light and showing a list of absurd stats. They looked similar to the Custodian stats he had seen earlier but had been modified.
Location: Blood Pits, Arena A
Rank: 0
Class: Custodian
Meticulousness: 0
Efficiency: 0
Persistence: 0
Courtesy: 0
Temporary Bonus: +1 to ingenuity
Special Skills:
Gusher Level 1 - The ability to die quickly whilst spraying as much blood onto the arena floor as possible.
Shriek Baron Level 1 – This fighter displays a willingness to scream bloody murder whilst being…murdered.
Trail of Fear Level 1 – Will he pee himself or won’t he? That’s the question!
He tapped the display next to the bonus ingenuity point and a smaller box popped up.
A temporary bonus to ingenuity in recognition of a cunning act. This won’t save you from certain death, but it might win you a few seconds with which to contemplate your life and all the decisions that have led you to this sticky end.
He closed down the display. A quick look around confirmed that the other slaves had equally as absurd stats. No one in the group was laughing though, but the unnamed could hear raucous cheering and laughter rising from the crowd.
“Alright, folks, it’s time to lock in those bets! Just a reminder that the Twins are allowed to use all of their abilities in this little bout, including the Stormblade Whirlwind we witnessed in the last fight. Extra points will be given for flare and style, and combo moves will significantly increase individual scores. This is brother and sister in an exhibition bout to see who is the most stylish killer in the family! They won’t be fighting each other, so only bragging rights will be awarded at the close of this fight. Now, let the challenge commence!”
The unnamed walked beside Naleth, peering out from behind him to see the two figures standing perfectly still in the center of the arena. A male and female, they stood back-to-back, heads bowed as though they were each offering a silent prayer. They both had short, dark hair and tattoos wrapped across their shoulders, and both looked positively serene as they stood with their eyes closed. The pair wore skin-tight outfits which consisted of tightly wrapped bands of black fabric, and both had a line of dark paint smeared across their eyes. Each had a long, samurai-style sword in one hand that they held perfectly upright beside their bodies.
Even without her robe, the unnamed recognized Darksteel Lia. If possible, she looked even more menacing now that she was freed from that robe. She and her companion stood with a dancer’s grace, perfectly controlled, mind and muscle working in exquisite unison. He couldn’t help but remember the way she’d taken five enemies apart with her bare hands.
Imagine what she could do with that sword!
A large holographic display came into being, hovering above the pair. As with the previous display it listed a series of statistics sitting beneath a vertical sword which looked to be a copy of the blades they both held.
** TRIFOLD TALLY **
Name: Darksteel Lia
Rank: 7
Title: NA
House: Darksteel
Class: Blade Dancer
Guild: NA
Position: NA
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Constitution: 10
Strength: 4
Stamina: 10
Agility: 18
Intelligence: 0
Overcharge: 0
Feats: 2
Contracts: 49
Dungeons: 12
Name: Darksteel Liam
Rank: 7
Title: NA
House: Darksteel
Class: Blade Dancer
Guild: NA
Position: NA
Constitution: 10
Strength: 6
Stamina: 10
Agility: 16
Intelligence: 0
Overcharge: 0
Feats: 1
Contracts: 49
Dungeons: 12
Special Abilities
Biting Blade: A simple attack which inflicts 100% weapon damage with an additional bleed effect of 60% damage over 10 seconds. Get bit by this and you’ll be feeling it for days. Well, you’ll be dead in minutes, but you get the point!
Blade Flourish: A finishing move, where attack damage relates to the aesthetic quality of the strike. Maximum damage of 360% for a successful Blade Flourish strike. What a beautiful display of power, athleticism, and precision. But you won’t see it because your head won’t be on your shoulders anymore!
Stormblade Whirlwind: A devastating attack combining kinetic and thaumaturgic force, wherein the attacker spins in a clockwise direction generating a blade storm effect within the whirlwind. Maximum damage of 500% which can be doubled if successfully combined with the Blade Flourish ability. Batten down the hatches, head to the storm shelter, and crack open a can of beans, because a storm’s a’ commin’! Then bend over and kiss your butt goodbye, because you ain’t comin’ back from this one!
The display read like character stats from innumerable video games, illuminated in flickering golden light. In that moment, the unnamed felt the full weight of actually being in a game rather than simply a standard afterlife simulation. Havenspire was a competitive, game-based simulator, after all, so it made sense that these kinds of gaming features abounded, but it was still somewhat shocking to be fully immersed in a world like this.
The unnamed had no clue how the two sword-wielders’ numbers stacked up, because he had nothing to compare them with, other than his own meager status. Full zeroes for the custodian class. It wasn’t even in the same universe as these Blade Dancers. As the announcer had said, he was just meat to these people.
Meat.
Like the woman in the dark red robe had said when he’d first been captured.
Meat.
He stared at the twin figures standing statuesque at the center of the arena, wondering whether being killed in an extravagant way would do anything whatsoever to pay off his debt. He doubted it very much and the thought of a hundred years having his head repeatedly lopped off did nothing to ease his anxiety.
“This isn’t right!” he hissed, unable to hear his own voice amid the din of the crowd.
The unnamed looked up at the surrounding wall. It seemed twice as tall from down in the pit. He’d thought that perhaps he could climb up on Naleth’s back and jump into the stands, where he could make a run for it, but there were two problems with that plan. First, he was still wearing the head popping restraint collar, so the trip wasn’t likely to last long. Second, it would take three Naleth’s to reach high enough for him to climb up into the stands.
He clutched the small cloth bundle in his right hand, resolving himself to the fact that running wasn’t going to be an option. The only path forward was to die well, as the slaver had said. He had to be at least one of the last three survivors. If he could do that, it would be a start.
The first step would be to put himself in between the enemy and as many of the other slaves as possible. If he could stay behind Naleth, that would be best. As he was mapping out his approach in his mind one of the slaves at the back of the milling group yelped, pushing through the prisoners and running ahead, followed closely by a second, then a third. More and more of the group started running and the unnamed found himself frustratingly carried along by the crowd once more and heading directly for the lethal figures at the center of the arena.
Why on earth would they run directly towards the Blade Dancers? It made no sense at all. The unnamed tried to shift directions and run against the group but saw that three big bruisers with whips had entered the edge of the arena and were taking swipes at the stragglers, herding the prisoners like cattle. The unnamed cursed and turned back around, jogging in the middle of the group and still clutching the parcel of powder in one hand, wondering if he’d ever get the chance to use it.
The statuesque pair didn’t turn or even open their eyes as the prisoners jogged toward them. They stood motionless, an island in the storm of shouts and jeers, thunderous applause, and stamping feet. The unnamed couldn’t make out the people in the stands above, but he felt their urgent hunger for bloodshed like a physical force.
Ahead of the group, Naleth had moved to the side of the arena and away from the serene pair, already knowing what was expected of him. The metal portcullis opened in the wall opposite the huge brute and a creature, large and many-limbed, burst from the darkness. Fangs bared, claws flexing, it charged at the giant without warning.
The impact of the monstrous thing hitting Naleth shook the floor of the arena. The prisoners instinctively ran from the sight as the horned brute wrestled with his enemy, receiving a savage cut above his left eye within the first second of the fight as the beast swiped its claws in a rabid frenzy. It moved with impossible speed, lunging and clawing at Naleth with ferocious intensity, a blended monstrosity, part lion, part demon.
Wow! Did you see that, folks! Incredible! We told you this bout wouldn’t disappoint, and we were right! You paid for the whole set, but you only really need the edge, folks!
The unnamed turned back to the center of the arena to find that the twins were missing. Instead of statuesque figures standing back-to-back with their eyes closed, shadowed wraiths move through the arena, their long blades slicing a wicked path through the throng of hapless newcomers.
Blood sprayed from a dozen wounds, vivid red against stark white tunics as three of his fellow prisoners died within the first few seconds of the fight, falling like stricken reeds to the floor, their bodies twitching and writhing.
He ran from the center of the pit, heading for the edge of the arena and skirting around the wall, desperately trying to find safety, or at least outpace those running behind him. This was zombie attack rules now. He didn’t need to win, he just needed to stay ahead of the closest slave. The problem was several of the other slaves had exactly the same idea.
A tall man in a blood-flecked tunic elbowed the unnamed in the gut, shoving him against the wall just as the female sword-bearer danced her way toward the pair. She moved with terrible speed, her feet barely touching the ground. The statistics that had hovered above her right shoulder were now gone as she spun and leaped through the air, her sword a glinting line of death that seemed a natural extension of her body.
The unnamed ran with all the speed his burning legs could muster, jostling two prisoners in a vain attempt to run clear of the pack. He sensed the woman behind and shimmied sharply to the right, attempting to dodge the blow he couldn’t see coming as he fumbled with the linen bundle in his hand.
The unnamed stumbled and he felt a blade brush past his head, scoring a razor-thin line across his cheek that flared with pain as he fell. When the arena came back into focus, two prisoners lay dead at the unnamed’s side, their white robes splattered with vivid arcs of crimson blood. Shaking with fear, the unnamed unfolded the bundle of powder, raising his spare hand to wipe a mixture of sweat and blood from his forehead and tipping the white powder into his palm.
A cloud of pungent dust rose from his hands as he kicked out at the oncoming enemy. He inhaled a little of the powder and felt his senses sharpen, his sight focused a little more, even as the taste of copper filled his mouth. Darksteel Lia grinned, swinging her sword arm out in a neat arc that sent a spray of blood onto the sand nearby as she stalked toward the unnamed.
The unnamed realized his error too late. He had intended to throw the goopy powder into Lia’s face, but the sticky combination of shine, sweat, and blood had formed a sticky paste that he wasn’t going to be able to throw. Changing tack quickly, he coiled his feet beneath his body and kicked off from the ground, charging toward the swordswoman rather than attempting to flee from her.
Despite her prodigious abilities, the move surprised Lia. She brought her sword up to slice through the unnamed’s abdomen, but he had moved too fast and was able to grab hold of her sword hand with the goopy mess the white powder had become, binding them both together.
“What’s this now?! Do you see that, folks! One of our little rats has just charged the cat!”
Lia wrenched her sword hand aside, but the unnamed moved with it, stuck in place by the tacky powder. She tried once more to extricate herself from the goop, pulling her sword hand sharply toward her body and cracking her forehead into the unnamed.
Blinding pain bloomed in the unnamed’s head, stars glinting in his vision. He flailed backwards as Lia kicked him in the torso and sent him flying through the air, his hand still connected to the sword as he hit the sand hard and felt the wind knocked out of him.
The sword!
He looked ahead in disbelief, seeing the blade still fixed to his right hand. He wasn’t even holding it by the handle. It was just stuck to his palm with his fingers all bunched up. He stood and ran, trying to get some distance between him and Lia as memories of her hand-to-hand combat abilities came back to him in a rush.
“Oh my, oh my, folks! Well, I can’t believe my eyes here. If any of you bet on this, I’d say you’ve got a fortune in credits coming your way!”