The Grimly Gladiator
The slippery bowman had managed to graze the blue devil about half a dozen times with his shots, causing Null’s brown skin to peek out from newly formed slits in the black suit. Thanks to the gladiator’s quick reflexes, however, the bowman couldn’t seem to land any solid shots. What was more effective than his shooting though, was his wearing down of his opponent. Dodging arrows was ordinarily child’s play for a seasoned fighter, and Null’s manipulation of the great sword felt more akin to a basic long sword with how swiftly the steel would go flying with each slash.
The issue was that catching up to the bowman was proving to be far more difficult than was expected. Null had been panting and sweating beneath the blue helm, and the bowman was becoming keenly aware of the growing efficiency of his strategy.
“Get that coward, Null!”
“Kill him! Cut him in half!”
The crowd was growing increasingly agitated by the bowman’s strategy. They had enjoyed watching Null cleave opponents in half with that obscene great sword, but there was something to be said about the shoot and run strategy that was being employed as far as its perceived entertainment value went.
Null, having a treasure trove of experience worth one hundred gladiators, had recognized the futility of playing this game of tag with a great sword in hand. And while aware that the weight would only continue to be a hindrance, the right moment was required to make the next move. A moment which came as the bowman reached to load his next bolt at about fifty heads away, when the great sword flopped to the ground. Instead, Null clasped the Circuit Breaker and rushed at the bowman with a speed not yet seen by the Blue Devil throughout this entire battle.
“W-woah! WOAH!!”
The bowman flinched in the middle of reloading at the sudden dash and found himself turning rather than completing the action in order to run away. There was no opportunity to turn and make a shot while running, as he would be reducing both his speed and his accuracy in such a situation. Null was probably even faster than he was, even at his best speed, so to lower it on such a risky shot wasn’t an entirely appealing idea. The safest option was to keep running while hoping that the gladiator would tire out before catching up to him, but there was no guarantee that things would play out that way.
What seemed more practical was stopping to land a shot before the distance had been closed, as running with such momentum would make it difficult for anyone to suddenly change directions and dodge a shot., even if it was the infamous Blue Devil. This was why the bowman had taken the moment to finish the reload while running, risking slowing down and getting caught, or worse yet, falling over due to his distracted gaze.
His hands were shaking in terror, and he even managed to drop the first bolt he planned on loading in. However, he did manage to get the job done on the second go. And once the bolt was locked into the crossbow, the bowman swerved on the ball of his feet and aimed at his opponent. He immediately recognized that his theory was on the mark, and that dodging at that speed was impossible. If Null had even bothered to attempt it, it would’ve given the bowman a chance to reload for a second shot. It was a good gamble, he thought.
With pinpoint accuracy and determination, he squeezed the trigger and fired the shot. There was a small moment of relief in him when the sound of the arrow puncturing flesh rewarded his ears, but it hadn’t lasted longer than a single second when he realized that Null’s left arm had blocked the arrow squarely.
In that split second, the bowman felt his heart sink as he attempted to turn away to run once more. However, before he could take more than a single step, the grim reaper had already come upon him. The knife ran through his back like the carving of a pig. The entire rear end of his body had been painted in clean red lines that cut through bone and organs and everything else. The small magic blade’s ability to slice through tough targets was another reason why Circuit Breakers were so valuable, and the grotesque brutality of watching the coward bowman torn to death by Null had caused the crowd to erupt into a frenzied celebration of roars and cheers.
The bowman, still clinging to life, fell flat on his stomach. He was gasping for breath. The sensory overload of the deep gashes assaulting his back with pain had been too much for him. Null, staring down at the fallen man, thought the best thing to do would be to put him out of his misery right that second.
“L-let me… let…” he murmured the words while pointing at Null’s face. Null had recognized what the man had wanted. It was a request one or two foes had made before their passing, and Null had never seen a reason not to. The man was one foot into the grave, and he seemed desperate to receive one small gift before his departure. Thinking that, Null flipped him onto his back and knelt over his abdomen, leaning forward so that the helmet was mere inches away from his face. The bowman, body shivering from the chills of his mortality, lifted his hand slowly over to the bottom of the visor, then peeled it over Null’s face with his last remaining strength.
As the crowd erupted into cheers at the sight of the two sharing such an intimate moment, what the bowman saw caused his eyes to widen.
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“Y-you… you’re…”
Null’s blade had penetrated his heart. Null would not allow him to breathe life to whatever thought had just manifested within his mind. The flame of life within him was immediately extinguished with a cold indifference. Sliding the visor back down, Null stood up, unconcerned that anyone might have gotten a glimpse due to the combination of the downward angle, the helmet’s shadow, and their distance from in the stands, and looked down at the toll that had come from the battle.
Null’s suit had been a mess of rips and stains, but the prize winnings from this event would be enough to cover an entirely new wardrobe. It was a wonder that anyone could bask in the joy of a victory like this, Null thought. Though the fatigue from working that day had made closing it out much more difficult than was necessary, none of the fighters had been even remotely worth considering a challenging opponent. Looking down at the bolt that still plunged through flesh, Null decided to lift the arm to the cheers of the crowd, who saw the Blue Devil as a man of unbeatable prowess and conviction.
A large bell above the VIP area in the stands rang to signal the end, and the emcee came down to the arena to announce Null as the winner through the microphone. The glory had truly meant nothing to the gladiator, as the level of competition at the contractually obligated battle royales that the most famous gladiators in the Colosseum are required to partake in are usually stuffed to the brim with fodder. Still, the bowman had proven to be a nuisance with his strategy, and the pain in the left arm of the devil was proof enough of his persistence.
Null left through one of the eight doors layered against the walls of the arena, heading down to the lower level of the Colosseum. The gladiator’s destination was the Registry, an office building reserved for managing matches at the Colosseum, while also serving as a waiting area thanks to the VIP lounges assigned to high profile warriors and gladiators alike. It was one of many of the Colosseum’s related buildings that were connected to the Hypogeum, the underground network of tunnels that Null had just wandered into.
The excavated walls beneath the surface were crudely carved and held up by wooden beams shaped as crosses that ran down the middle. There were cells dug into the sides of the tunnel complete with iron bars before their entrances, where criminals from around the country who were of a warrior’s persuasion were being held captive. The men Null had executed for the crowd’s entertainment were of similar backgrounds. Whether or not their crimes had merited execution was of no concern to the Blue Devil, who saw the whole thing as a warmup for Peregrine’s Grace, a grand tournament fought every year in the month of Trolenia, in the name of the old Averion queen of Astra who cared so much for The Baening centuries ago.
Null ignored the scum who looked on at the warrior’s blue helmet and spat obscenities from under their breath. Having fought at the Colosseum for five years, it was all par for the course. Even the condescending look the short man in the suit had given the gladiator as he approached had been something that Null had adapted to.
“Oh wow, still alive and kickin’ huh Null?” He stared at the blood dripping from the gladiator’s arm. “Such a pity. Was hopin’ to see your corpse being dragged back here today.”
The general manager of the Colosseum, Ray, scoffed at the appearance of the gladiator from behind his two bodyguards, two bald men wearing designer suits.
“You mobsters love stickin’ your hands in everything, don’t you? You guys have your debt collecting and your Raid tables and your black-market dealings. Do you really need to siphon gold out of my Colosseum too?”
Null thought that the man’s arrogance was as unpleasant as his beady little eyes. If one were to go by pure logistics, the Colosseum belonged to the people, as it was publicly funded by taxpayers. But even if one were to ignore that aspect and go by the spirit of what the glamourous fighting pit represented, then the Colosseum belonged to its strongest and most marketable gladiator.
“Tsk, I hate silent types like you.” He scratched the back of his head. “Oh, and just so you know, Reg’s injuries will be fine in time for Peregrine’s Grace. Not that a shit like you could ever hope to fight on par with that monster.”
The man, who had been about a head shorter than Null, walked past without so much as casting a second look. For a man so fragile, Null couldn’t help but admire his self-assuredness while walking through a lion’s den full of violent convicts. Though, it remained a question of whether he could carry himself without those two large men beside him. The man had made it his purpose to schedule weekly fights for Null to clear out these miscreants. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was after the Blue Devil’s demise, but as long as he only searched for it legitimately on the inside of the arena, then there was technically no foul play worth reporting on.
Besides, Null enjoyed the sport of hunting criminals. While the majority of them were far too weak, the variety of battle styles the gladiator was exposed to inspired an adaptability in tense situations that most warriors never live to even conceive of. Null’s battle instincts were sharper than they’d ever been, and it’s entirely possible that even last year’s champion Reg would have issues fighting Null.
With a heavy exhale, the Blue Devil continued the trek towards the Registry. If there were one saving grace, it’s that the cells that contained the captured monsters were all kept far away from the tunnels used to traverse beneath the city. As the Colosseum faded into the background, so too did the cells as eventually Null approached a flight of white tiled stairs. It had been an arduous twenty-four hours for the Colosseum’s main attraction of the day. But now at least, it was time to rest.
The gladiator climbed the stairs and went through the door, continuing the trek until the VIP room of the Blue Devil was within reach. Null twisted the knob and stepped inside, and was greeted by the visage of Gen, who had been reading the morning paper. He lifted his head to ascertain who it was that had stepped in, and returned his gaze to the words on the page when he realized that it was Null, only eyeing the arrow in the gladiator’s left arm for a moment.
“Mikk and Tiff will be back in a minute.”
“I see,” Null said, stepping over to the sleek, black sofa at the center of the room and placing the great sword at its side. “Do you trust the mage?”
“Trust? Bah!” Gen aggressively straightened the paper out. “Someone who grew up on that side of the wall will never accept us as equals. They’re all snobby fuckin’ losers.”
“Fair enough,” Null said, taking the helmet off after the long day she’d been dragged through at Gen’s behest. The Grimly Gladiator’s soothing, feminine visage dripping in sweat was in stark contrast with the brutality she had just wreaked on the inside of the arena just moments earlier.