The excitement of the crowd rolled all the way down to the preparation chamber set deep inside the coliseum. The floor and walls of a circular room the size of a small house shuddered from the stomps of hundred of thousands of excited people. White pillars that stretched from the polished stone floor all the way to the matching ceiling divided the room into sections where the gladiators could train, receive medical aid, or prepare for the next match. The walls were sculpted with reliefs of past champions with goldenrod resonance-crystals stylishly engraved to break the tedium of all the white.
Maybe the decorated room -filled with all sorts of weapons, armor and servants running around to attend to the warriors- was meant to make the gladiators feel like royalty, but none of it mattered to the King’s champion. He kept his powerful arms held out as they strapped on his lion-faced shoulder guard and a gladiator’s belt with two bladed rings fitted in. They brought him his swords, buckler, and had to concede when he waved away their attempts to spray him with oils that would make him shine in the light for the King’s audience. Another servant stood in front of him, relaying the King’s specific orders that he put on a show worthy of a royal celebration.
“Now, your opponent is going-“The attendant was beginning to say, but the large warrior – Ae’dron by name – began to walk for the door before the human ever got to finish. “Move,” was all the warning he gave, and that was enough to send all of the servants scrambling to get out of his way. The man in charge of briefing the warrior tried to follow after him. “B-but you’re not to enter until you’re announced! You must-” He started, but Ae’dron silenced him with a gesture. “I know the routine,” the warrior rumbled, turning to look at the man with eyes that seemed more fitting on a lion. The attendant blanched and backed away.
Despite the obvious threat in his voice, Ae’dron understood the true source of the human’s fear. If the warrior broke protocol and entered the field prematurely, that attendant who was in charge of telling him the king’s orders would be put to death. If he pressed and tried to hold Ae’dron back until the appropriate time, he could be killed by the gladiator anyway.
Ae’dron put any pity he felt for the man out of his mind as he began to walk up the hallway leading to the arena. With every step closer, the ground shook even harder, and soon his walk became a trot as his heartrate increased. With the thrill of battle, the roar of the audience filling his ears and sending shivers of anticipation across his skin, that trot became a run, and as he heard the announcer begin,
“AND NOW I PRESENT TO YOU…!”
Right as she called his name, Ae’dron kicked the gates in without ever slowing his run, and even the crowd’s ecstatic screams couldn’t compare to the ferocity his roar!
Moments earlier…
Even as the cyclops hit the ground, the gravity of Xoph’s predicament was beginning to weigh on him. There was no escape, and even if he performed admirably the king had no intention of letting him leave the arena alive. The mage had come to visit the arena several times before, but from the spectator seats it all looked like a macabre game. Despite the very real brutality, something about the levity of it all – the drinks and gambling, cheering and laughter – had always made the arena feel like sport. In truth, Xoph realized, it was a death sentence.
“AE’DRON THE TITAN!”
And there it was. The Executioner.
From Xoph’s perspective, the wildkin seemed more beast than man. The warrior stood nearly eight feet tall, with broad shoulders, a brown mane of dreadlocks, and a muscled torso armored only by an ironwood buckler and a lion-sculpted shoulder plate that shined a bronzed gold. His skin seemed more akin to a lion’s, complete with tufts of hair around his shoulders and elbows. Feline features were noticeable all across his form, from his eyes to his claws, but the gladiator’s belt drew the most attention, stitched and braided with various fibers and leathers to make a harness that was both flexible and tough. His brown sandals had bladed weapons strapped to the sides of his legs that Xoph could’ve sworn he saw writhing of their own free will.
Xophorys knew that if it weren’t for the magic dampening radiation in the atmosphere, he would’ve long teleported himself out. He had no desire to be a hero, and even less so when Ae’dron’s roar both ignited the crowd and turned his stomach. With that in mind, even he surprised himself when he turned and quickly approached the other mages, pointing to the orb that was even then hovering over their heads. He noticed with a sardonic smile that he didn’t have to work to get their attention; all eyes were on him anyway. He spoke before he had time to think about what he was saying,
“If you want to live, stay back and let me handle this. The champion of the arena -Ae’dron- is a wildkin, and felinus of clan Leo at that. I’m sure you’ve all seen how adept they are in combat… Now I need you to know and believe that he is at least fifty times deadlier than any wildkin you’ve ever faced. Stay by the orb, and do NOT get involved!”
One person had the audacity to laugh, “Hear that? He speaks as if he knows the beast.”
“Like a brother,” Xoph responded sarcastically, “he’s won me a lot of gold here. Trust me or not, it is your decision, but I hail from Caelumpeak. In the Academy, we’ve learned abou-” Someone spat on the ground. All-Father’s ass, did nobody in Shadarrin have respect for Baldeming? “OK. Wow. Great conversation, already feeling less guilty about your inevitable deaths, but…” He looked at them all, seeing that they were honestly truly scared, despite the bravado of a few. “Try not to perish, please.. And I’ll work on facilitating your survival.”
Xoph had expected to hear some sort of protest. Some sort of prideful retort about someone in the group being a war veteran or something… He was disappointed, yet relieved, to find no complaints and tried his best to give them all a reassuring smile and nod. Many of the other captives were older than he, and most looked at him incredulously, but Xoph’s academy training had taught him confidence in the face of doubt was one of the best way to inspire others. With that handled, he put the civilians, the audience, the court, and everything else out of his mind as he began to focus on the most literal fight of his life. His eye flashed just once and the larger of the two glowing orbs began to orbit around him as the mage walked calmly towards his opponents, hands in his pockets to hide the magical gestures his fingers worked.
“I’d… Really rather not die today,” he muttered, the closest thing the magician would get to a prayer, “it would be, eh, inconve-“
Ae’dron roared, muting him.
Ae’dron knew what he was up against. Even if he hadn’t known beforehand, the floating balls and the stupid foppish outfit would’ve given away long before he felt the tingle of magic in the environment. “Mages,” he said with a clear tone of disgust, accentuating his point by spitting on the ground. As his eyes scanned the environment and his other senses were beginning to inform him of secrets in the air that a human would never know of, the lion wildkin felt a familiar intrusion into his mind.
“Mm, exotic prey for us today.” King Khoma’s voice rang in his thoughts as if they were his own. Ae’dron tried to ignore it, but Khoma pressed on, “Do not make it quick, nor quiet. Make it loud, a spectacle worthy of me! Worthy of my-“
“Shut up!” Ae’dron roared, blocking the following outraged rant out of his mind right as the mage sprung into action. The human had pulled his hands out of his pocket, and seemed to be gathering light into his palms. With an annoying smirk, the mage pointed both hands towards Ae’dron. There was a momentary flash, the sound of bursting air, and the energy fired off like cannons towards the warrior.
A quick pivot had the wildkin twisting out of the way of the projectiles, but the spellcaster didn’t let up. Both of Xoph’s arms pumped back and forth, each sending a constant barrage of volatile blue lights at Ae’dron. The gladiator ducked one and dove over another in the span of a second, rolling past a third as he sprang forward in a charge. Moving like a racing cat, Ae’dron was closing in fast, and brought up his buckler in time to guard his head from another arcing energy blast. The force gave him momentum to spin off, claws scraping gouges in the floor, before he lunged at Xophorys with both swords in hand.
Even though Xoph had warned the others, he was still taken aback by Ae’dron’s speed. He was thankful that he was able to predict the hunter’s instinct, though, as he let a black vial slip from his sleeve as Aedron leapt towards him. He brought his arms up in surprise when the lion closed in, but suddenly vanished in a blink, a silhouette of fire in his place. The gladiator braced himself through the flames as he splashed down into what looked like a puddle of black tar.
And the puddle exploded into flames.
Xoph wasted no time, raising his arms and gesturing as if he was trying to weave a basket. His fingers keyed in the specifics his spell, his voice gave it power, and his orb flashed the same color as his eyes. The wind picked up around Ae’dron, wrapping around his flaming form in a vicious cyclone. The wildkin’s roars were drowned by the screams of the crowd and whipping winds and his sihoulette was barely visible among the dust and the fire but Xoph could see Ae’dron’s form spinning uncontrollably off the ground, trapped with no way out. The mage felt a smidge of guilt, this was exactly why so-called “fighters” were inferior.
And why they were becoming irrelevent.
What use was a sword when the spell could do the same thing and so much more? Even with his magic dampened, Xophorys knew that there was nothing Ae’dron could do that he couldn’t counter. There was no way for the wildkin to even get close if Xoph didn’t allow it. Every Baldemian citizen knew that the only reason Baldeming hadn’t conquered the other regions was moreso a lack of desire than lack of ability. A trio of Academy spellcasters could obliterate an entire city, and if every mage on the mountain combined their power? What could stop them from sinking a continent?
The magician smiled at the thought, reinforced by the awe of the crowd. He spun dramatically to face the king’s court as the cyclone incinerated it’s prisoner. “Good King!” He dipped respectful bow. “Please, you must stop this! I am from CaelllaaaaHH!” Xoph’s words melted into a yell as a rope snared his leg and dragged him into the tornado. The rope -which turned out to be a vine- had come from Ae’dron. An intricate net of braided vines wrapped around his leg quicker than Xoph could react, and the veins of the flora pulsed with a blue light. The spellcaster gasped, suddenly feeling suffocated, as he recognized the anti-magic properties of the weapon!
As Xoph’s magic locked, the cyclone ceased, and Ae’dron landed holding the mage upside-down. A flick of Xoph’s wrist injected a dart into his own arm, but he only had one hand to bring up to block Ae’dron’s sword as it sliced in at his chest. Amazingly, his cloth sleeve turned the weapon without tearing though the impact till hurt his arm. Ae’dron quirked an eyebrow and growled. Xoph, upside-down, smiled slightly. “N-nice coat, right? Thanks.” Ae’dron suddenly looked up, his nose twitching, and he jumped away from an energy bolt from behind.
Xoph’s orbuculum pursued him.
“You’re welcome,” the mage, still captive, quietly answered himself. He was doing his best to use Aedron’s wrist and arms as leverage to kick him in the head and face while his orb chased the two. “Shut up!” Ae’dron yelled as he ducked and weaved a shower of energy blasts. He ended a backflip by slamming the tethered caster into the ground.
And the orb hesitated.
Ae’dron squinted at that, and his distraction cost him as Xoph’s foot smashed into his lower jaw. The wildkin let go of his ankle, but his net still had Xoph tethered by the leg. He pulled the human towards him and rapidly stabbed at him, Xoph couldn’t keep up with his strikes, but his orb protected him with pin-point lightning strikes deflecting every attack that he failed to block. Aedron over-wrapped his grip on the net and yanked Xoph hard, swinging him like a flail at the orb itself and batting it away. The mage yelped from the snap, and winced as he slammed into the ground. He yelled a breathless scream when the over four-hundred pound gladiator’s foot smashed down on his back. His instinct was to teleport, but the anti-magic vines (which were growing out of Ae’dron’s sword!) muted his magic.
Aedron roughly kicked him face-up, and placed a blade at his throat. Looking down at him Ae’dron – and thus Khoma – felt a sense of … familiarity about the human he was about to kill. It was the scent. Xophorys was terrified, clearly, but there was something familiar about him. Everyone had a unique scent-taste, and the felinus had a special gland in the roof of their mouths for detecting it. It told them about a person’s health, including diseases, wounds, and fertility, and at some point in his life he had met Xophorys before…
… His collar buzzed, deleting the thought.
“Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!” The crowd’s apetite for blood was ravenous, the whole arena felt like the jaws of a great beast demanding tribute.
“Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!” Xoph had to move. By the gods he HAD to! He injected himself with vials of strength AND speed, pushing against the lion’s leg. His heart thudded so loud he could feel it in his ears and he was so desperately fighting the memories flashing through his mind. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
“Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!”
Ae’dron, impossibly strong, wouldn’t budge. He looked up to the court for approval to finish the job. Khoma, who was quite pleased, nodded.
“Kill!”
Xoph willed his magic, reaching further and harder than ever. Nothing.
“Kill!”
Ae’dron roared, raised his arm, and aimed his sword down at Xophorys’s face.
“Kill!”
Was the last thing Xoph heard before the blade plunged.