George’s life had become a living hell.

He drifted in and out of a nightmarish sleep in his cell, no longer able to tell what was nightmare and what was waking experience. His whole body was in pain, his mind could only think in fragments, and he was all too aware that recently he had killed someone.

Eventually, Doulos came for him again.

“Get up.”

George awoke to find the fat bearded man standing over him in the middle of his cell. He hadn’t heard him come in.

When George hesitated, Doulos kicked him in the stomach and repeated “I said get up, you grub!”

George staggered up, the wind knocked out of him. He nearly said that he just wanted to go home, but he had become used to this having no effect. Instead he remained silent.

“That’s better,” said Doulos. “Now you come with me.”

Gesturing for him to follow behind, Doulos walked out of the unlocked cell. They headed down a cramped, dark corridor with several other cells on it and up a long flight of steps. Soon they were outside once more, emerging from a stone building fenced with high walls. Beyond a locked gate and these walls, and they were in a city, a city with winding streets and austere, stone structures. It was very hot and humid, with black smoke in the air and sand and dirt underfoot.

Eventually they came to another stone building, much bigger this time, with another high wall around its perimeter. A sentry on duty let them in.

“Where are we?” George dared to ask.

“The Nachash barracks, in Shul, you fool,” said Doulos.

Inside the bare, militarily efficient barracks, they ascended several sets of steps to enter a small room where figure in black armour was sat at a table

“Ah yes, Georges” said Khilliarkos. The long horns of his helmet made him seem like some sort of upright bull, painted jet black. The way he pronounced George’s name was strange, he said it with an extra ‘s’ on the end. It must be similar to another name that they used in this country. “Greetings. I have decided to reconsider your situation. I have to say, your showing in the arena last night was impressive. I did not expect you to emerge as the champion. You appear to have some physical prowess and some potential. Avoiding the rest of the group until they had killed each other, and then tricking that retiarius into thinking you were running away, then turning around to finish him off—that was very cunning.”

George was about to say that he hadn’t meant to do any of those things, that he had merely been afraid and acting out of that, but again he kept quiet. He suspected that, if he said anything, he would only be struck again by Doulos, that it was wiser to keep his mouth shut.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“So,” continued Khilliarkos, “based on your performance in the arena, I am graciously offering you a chance to be recruited into the Shulite army. Do you accept my generous offer?”

George thought for a moment. This was actually quite difficult to do, because he was so exhausted and afraid. But he knew that he wanted to escape from this terrible place. And he was fairly convinced, as much as he could be amid the delirium and tiredness, that he would have a better chance of doing that as a soldier than as a slave.

Despite all this, he still dared to ask, “What if I refuse?”

On Khilliarkos’s mouth, the only part of his body visible where it peeked out from under his helmet visor, a wicked smile broke out. His black lips turned upwards slowly on his pile white chin.

“Then you will fight in the arena until you die. Or I can kill you now, whichever you prefer. It is not so much of an offer really, more of a command.”

“Then I ‘accept’,” said George. Even though he was battered, lost, alone and terrified, he still managed to put a bit of sarcasm into his reply.

“Good,” said Khilliarkos. “I can feel your hatred, your anger, your self-disgust. We can use all of that. Now, you’re going to drop this nonsense about not knowing where you are. Maybe you really did lose your memory in the pit, but it doesn’t matter now. Your past is irrelevant; it is forgotten. I assume you were an escaped slave from here in Nachash or perhaps from M’bitzarah, but as I say, that does not matter anymore. You are a soldier in the Shulite army now. You have been chosen by Echthros. That is all that matters. You live and die to fight for Echthros.”

George couldn’t help from asking. “Echthros?” he said. “Who is that?”

Doulos struck him around the ear automatically, adding to his catalogue of grievances.

“Ignorance!” said Khilliarkos, walking back round behind his desk. “And feigned ignorance, at that! Of course you know Echthros is the ruler of Shul, and the Rightful King of all Mashal, you fool! The point of your existence is to serve him, has always been to serve him, slave or free. But now you will serve him in the military. You will train as a soldier in his army. You will be brutal, merciless, a honed weapon in his hand to kill all who would stand in his way. Now come here. You need to be initiated.”

As George stepped forward slowly with no other option but to obey, the commander reached underneath his table and brought up a glass bottle filled with black liquid.

“Drink this.”

George took the bottle and looked at the liquid. It was the same black colour as Khilliarkos’s armour, the same colour as the lips which peeked out from underneath his helmet visor against his pale white flesh.

“Drink it!” said Doulos.

Not seeing that he had any a choice, George but the bottle to his lips and took a gulp of the liquid.

To his surprise, it was delicious. It rested on his tongue and trickled down his throat in the most marvellous way, tasting sweet, refreshing and exciting. It even seemed to dull the pain in his forehead and the rest of his body.

Then it turned to acid poison in his stomach. George doubled up, still clutching the bottle, and sank to the floor. His whole body started to shake and convulse as it reacted to the liquid, sending lances of fresh agony through his abdomen, legs, arms, head, mind.

“What’s…happening…to me?” he just about managed to blurt out between spasms and contortions.

“You are not fit to serve us in your current state. The intoxicant will toughen you up when it has done its work. It will sharpen your mind, strengthen your body and reinforce your spirit. But it may prove somewhat painful while it works on you. That is to be expected. You have now become a sacrifice to Echthros.

“You will learn not to mind the pain.”