"Begin!"
With that single word, the once relatively calm colosseum, containing the laughing of children, the arguing of friends and the simple moments that people share with each other. It all disappeared. What replaced it was battle, blood lust, pure anger and hatred. The crowd that had been so calm earlier cheered it all on till their voices went hoarse. They called out for blood, they called out for the fighters they bet on to kill their opponents. Even the children were excited at the witness of such bloodshed.
Gladiatorial combat had been banned in the Roman Empire for hundreds of years, the last one taking place nearly 400 years ago. The Byzantine empire was no exception, they considered the sport to be unchristian like the empire before them and when the western and eastern empires split they kept the law in place. Never allowing the cruel sport in the empire ever again.
But now look at them.
Hundreds of men stand in the sand, ready to tear each other apart for the smallest hope of a better life. Some want gold. Some want freedom. Some just want a death they can choose. They fight with everything they have, while thousands cheer for them to suffer. I watched as one man was disemboweled with a hooked blade, and the crowd applauded like they'd seen a play.
Some of them gouged out eyes. Some crushed skulls. Some dragged the bodies across the sand like trophies. And the people—men, women, and children—laughed. Laughed like it was all a game.
I looked across the crowd. Thousands of faces howling for blood, but... I saw others too. A few. Dozens maybe. They were quiet. Still. I saw a few of them begin to tremble. One man fell to his knees. A woman turned and fled. Some just sat, faces pale, as though they were seeing something they had managed to ignore all their lives.
It was like they'd finally woken up. Like they looked down and realised just how far humanity has fallen.
I know that feeling. I felt it long ago.
I sat in the noble box beside the Empress. I was meant to be honoured. To be flattered. This was all for us, they said. This entire nightmare staged in our name. I watched the blood spill and felt nothing but a deep, dry sorrow. I've cried before. I've wept for strangers, for friends, for the world. But not today. Today there were no tears left.
Because I understand what this is.
This is human nature.
For every man who tries to pull the world forward, a thousand will drag it back. That's the truth. That's always been the truth. One man builds, the others tear it down. One man dares to speak honestly, and the rest burn him alive for it. There's no balance in our nature. Just weight. And it always pulls downward.
No creature on this earth is as cruel as man. A wolf kills to feed. A lion kills to defend. But man kills for pride. For laughter. For the sound of bone cracking beneath their feet. No animal locks its own kind in cages. No beast starves its family to keep the rich well-fed. No creature flays its brother to prove it holds power.
Only man does that. And worse. Always worse.
We use the words "God" and "mercy" and "justice" as if they mean anything. But our hands are soaked in blood. We preach forgiveness while punishing the poor. We speak of honour while selling our daughters to the highest bidder. Every kingdom, every throne, every altar... it's all built on backs we've broken.
Eight centuries after Christ died for the sins of humanity, what has become of them?
We lie. We betray. We kill. We cheer as others are ripped apart before our eyes and call it civilisation.
There has never been a more cursed breed of creature than human. And there never will be.
— Journal Extract From ???
___________________________________
"Begin!"
The arena turned into a madhouse as everyone charged at each other. Thorfinn however wasn't worried and didn't rush anywhere, they'd come to him so there wasn't any point in the exerting himself in that manner. And if by magic someone appeared. A bald man with scars notched into his head, a nose that had clearly been broken numerous times and a face only a mother could love. He rushed at Thorfinn barehanded, he likely believed that if he kept his momentum he'd be able to topple someone Thorfinn's size. Unfortunately that dream would never pass as Thorfinn easily grabbed him by the head and slammed it down into the rough sand; the man's face exploded in a burst of blood and viscera.
*thud*
*thud*
*thud*
Three more slams to the ground was all it took for the man to become stil and for Thorfinn to get his first win in the match. All around him people were fighting, some had found weapons while others resorted to bashing each other with their firsts. Thorfinn tried to look out for Lambert, but with how many people were around as well as the large chunks of debris in the arena.
Thorfinn ducked as someone swung a sword over his head from behind him. Another nobody, he could tell from the fact that he wasn't confident enough to even face him head on Thorfinn grabbed his arm with his right and and slammed his left into the man's arm, snapping it at the elbow.
"AHHHHHHGGGGHHHH!!" The man screamed, he dropped the sword, which Thorfinn kicked up to his free hand and then cut his neck from ear to ear. Blood spurt out like a fountain, and in an effort not to be covered in it he booted the man's body away which sent it skidding across the ground.
Now armed with a sword Thorfinn was concerned that this would be too easy. He let out a deep sigh before he walked over towards a large piece of debris, as he walked there he slashed and slaughtered anyone who got in his way; his skill was so beyond there's it wasn't even funny. It was such a stark contrast to where Thorfinn began that he even started to laugh. It made him wistful in a way, looking back at the child he was to the man he was now. He wondered if he'd be doing the same thing five years from now, and if so would he achieve an even greater power.
"Tssst," Thorfinn kissed his teeth in annoyance. "You're all annoying me... go fight someone else," he said to the people trying to surround him. They tried to sneak up on him, but their footsteps were louder than a horses. It amused him, as he imagined this was likely what Sophia and the other Masters heard when they first started teaching him.
"RAAAAHHHH!!!"
One of them ran towards him once they'd been discovered, trying to startle him with a battle cry. Thorfinn wasn't impressed and didn't move from his spot, instead he just threw the sword in his grip and watched as it impaled him through the chest. He then pushed off from his seat missing a slash from a man behind him, he grabbed his sword out of the man just in time to block an attack from another. The clash of their iron blades kicked up sparks. They clashed swords again, Thorfinn twisted his wrist to try and disarm him, but to his surprise the man knew enough to know to draw back. This obviously didn't save him as Thorfinn just lunged forward, slamming his elbow into his jaw. The competitors teeth flew out of his mouth onto the floor; Thorfinn ended it all with a quick pivot and a cut to the man's throat.
This gave the rest of them pause, but Thorfinn wasn't just about to let the rest of them escape. He had given him one chance, and that was all they got. He dashed forward holding his sword horizontally, the man in front of him was terrified and tried to backtrack. Thorfinn cut through his stomach disemboweling him, he then reversed the grip on his sword before blocking a slash to the left. "I see one of you is very brave," Thorfinn said with the grin. He head-butted the man crunching his nose and making blood spurt out. This however wasn't enough, he could see other people watching. While he was excited about the opportunity to fight in this gladiator tournament, he didn't want to waste it fighting these weaklings.
'This should deter them...'
Thorfinn grabbed the man's worst and twisted it making him yell out in pain, he dropped his sword and to everyone's surprise so did Thorfinn. The Viking let go of the man before he hit him with several punches to his body and face in quick succession—drawing a bit on his divine power—the man's bones cracked and eventually caved in. He then grabbed the man by his neck and lifted him up, he used his other arm to hold him horizontally above his head.
*snap*
Thorfinn snapped the man's back over his knee folding him in half in a way that wasn't natural. This caused the crowd to 'Oooo' and wince in empathetic pain, though those were quickly replaced with cheers for more. The other gladiators hesitated when they saw that, and almost unilaterally agreed that attacking that man was a bad idea.
"BEAUTIFUL!!!"
"BEAUTIFUL!!!"
Thorfinn tensed and took a step back as he heard the shouting come from behind him. When he turned he saw the familiar dark skinned man, that was clearly touched in the head. He jumped over a large piece of debris, his foot landing on someone else's face; the man he landed on was forced to the ground where a loud splat could be heard. "What a beautiful showing of absolute savagery!" The man called out as he thrust his fists up into the air.
Thorfinn stayed on guard, the man was mad there was no doubt about that, however the strength and agility he would have needed to execute what he just did was immense. This was no normal man. If push came to shove Thorfinn might need to reveal his abilities, which he didn't want to do, as it would jeopardise the plan.
Thorfinn opened up his senses, a long time ago when he had overdosed on leviathan meat he'd developed the sense to perceive magic. Right now the man in front of him had more than a normal amount flowing off of him. 'Who is this man...' Thorfinn thought to himself.
The man smiled wide, clapping his hands together as if he had just watched a theatre performance. "A wonderful showing, Northman! Truly, truly wonderful!" he said loudly, almost as if he were speaking to a crowd rather than one man. "But please, allow your friend here to handle the rest. You've done your part, so sit back and let me take over!"
Thorfinn didn't move. He watched carefully as the dark-skinned man reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out a large silver coin. The same one that he had used before.
"Let's see whose side fate is on today..." the man said, flipping the coin into the air. It spun rapidly, light catching on its surface as it reached its apex. The crowd actually quieted a little, confused by the spectacle. The coin came down fast and the man caught it, slapping it against his palm.
He lifted his hand. The King's side was up.
The man grinned wide, and Thorfinn watched as the magic inside him surged. It wasn't a flare like when someone drew on magic for a spell—this was different. The entire magic in his body had grown, he didn't understand how that was possible. The only growth he'd only seen come close to that was when he had overdosed on the leviathan meat, but even so it wasn't so quick and he didn't seem to be suffering any side effects.
"Can you hear that?" the man asked, his body beginning to shift back and forth like he was warming up. His arms rolled at the shoulders, his hips twisted, and he started hopping in place with a little bounce in his feet. It almost looked like he was dancing, there wasn't anyone playing any music. What did come close however was the audience who were clapping and stamping their feet; Thorfinn noted that his rhythm did match that of the crowd.
No one responded. People just stared at him like he was insane.
"THAT'S MY MUSIC!!" he shouted suddenly, then took off running with a shout, his coat flaring behind him.
He stopped mid-sprint to slam his foot into the side of a massive boulder, one of the many chunks of stone debris scattered across the arena. The sheer force behind it sent the boulder flying, rolling across the sand toward a man who didn't even have time to react properly. He turned and tried to run, feet slipping in the sand, but it was no use. The rock slammed into him and flattened him with a crunch. The sound echoed across the arena, followed by the cheer of the audience.
Thorfinn didn't move. He kept watching.
The man exploded into motion, his fists flying. He ducked under a wild swing and punched a man in the ribs, then uppercut another in the chin so hard that he flew backward and collided headfirst into a chunk of stone, knocking himself out cold. Another man rushed him with a spear, but as he stepped forward, he tripped on a sword buried halfway in the sand and fell forward. The dark-skinned man didn't hesitate. He grabbed the man's arm and dislocated his shoulder in one twist before slamming his elbow into the back of his skull.
Two more men tried to flank him. One slipped on a patch of blood while the other accidentally got his leg tangled in the dead body of the man crushed by the boulder. The dark skinned fighter spun, swept both of them off their feet, then drove his knee into one of their chests, making them gasp.
"FATE IS KIND TODAY!" he shouted, kicking sand into the eyes of someone who tried to stab him from behind. He turned and delivered a straight punch to the man's temple, dropping him instantly.
A sword thrown from the crowd bounced once, hit the wall, and slid right into his hand as if it had been tossed to him. He didn't even look surprised.
He used it to parry another attack and then stabbed his attacker through the thigh, dragging the blade sideways before kicking the man in the face.
A man with a hammer charged him, but another panicked gladiator stumbled in the way. The hammer crushed the wrong man's skull. The lucky fighter ducked under a second swing and elbowed the wielder in the gut, then flipped him over his shoulder using nothing but raw speed and timing.
Thorfinn kept watching. He could feel it clearly now. The luck was unnatural. Every movement this man made was accompanied by some twist in the world around him. An accident here. A stumble there. Everything lining up perfectly. That kind of magic was terrifying, but how did it work? Thorfinn tried to focus his senses some more; specifically on the coin that was in the man's palm, it was surely a magic artifact of some kind.
No...
He couldn't sense any magic from the coin, which begged the question. Who the fuck was this man?
The crowd was roaring now, not sure whether they were cheering for the Viking or this madman who moved like a dancer and fought like a beast. The dark-skinned man was still grinning, still hopping in place between movements, his energy seemingly endless.
"Anyone else?" he called out, throwing his arms wide.
No one answered, after seeing what they'd just saw no one wanted to.
"MY MUSIC'S STILL PLAYING, SO LET'S GO!!!" the man screamed at the top of his lungs, eyes wide, arms flaring out. His grin hadn't left his face once.
And then he shot forward like a cannonball.
He leapt over a fallen body and drove his knee into someone's chest before his feet even touched the ground. The man he hit coughed blood and crumpled, and before he hit the floor fully, the lunatic was already spinning around, sweeping another with a kick to the jaw.
Someone tried to take advantage of the opening and rushed him from behind.
Bad move.
The man ducked, grabbed the attacker's leg and lifted it mid-sprint, causing the poor bastard to flip upside down. Instead of letting go, he held tight and spun with him, using his weight and momentum to clear space. The upside-down fighter's body crashed into two others trying to close in, the sound of cracking bones followed by a scream. He finally let go and launched the man like a shotput, and he slammed into a chunk of stone with a meaty slap.
"WHO'S NEXT?! HAHAHA!!"
Another man charged him with a dagger, but his foot slipped on the blood-soaked sand. The dark-skinned man didn't miss a beat, he grabbed the guy by the head and smashed it into the ground once. The body twitched and stilled. Then he jumped onto the corpse of another fighter and rode it like a sled as it slid downhill across the dusty terrain. While it moved, he pushed off and launched himself feet-first into a standing fighter's chest, dropkicking him so hard the man's body flew ten feet and tumbled over a broken pillar.
People had stopped trying to take him one-on-one. They came in groups now. Four men ran at him with weapons; two with spears, one with an axe, and one with a chain wrapped around his fists.
"YESSS!!" he shouted, sprinting to meet them.
The first spear thrust missed as he bent backwards, then countered with an uppercut that cracked the man's jaw and sent him staggering. He used the dazed man as cover against the next spear and then shoulder-checked him into the second attacker. He grabbed the falling axe mid-air and used it to deflect the chain, then tossed the axe at someone else, not even bothering to aim; it landed in the guy's thigh, making him fall with a scream.
Every move was a mix between clumsy and perfection, it was as if the world shifted around him to make his every move correct. He dodged without thinking. Countered without looking. Someone tried to flank him but tripped on the dropped chain, slamming headfirst into the ground. Another lunged from the side, but his sword caught on a broken shield in the sand, and before he could recover the Dark Skinned man was already behind him, elbow deep in his ribs with a punch that sounded like a hammer hitting meat.
And all throughout it the crowd continued to stomp their feet and clap.
He picked up a handful of sand, threw it in one man's face, and used the distraction to sweep his legs. As the man fell, he rolled under him, came up behind another, and jumped into the air. He dropkicked the second guy right in the back, pushing him into another who had just raised a sword. The man was impaled by the sword, but he managed to headbutt the man with the sword causing both of them to fall to the ground.
All around the arena now was chaos.
The weak were dead.
The fools and first-timers had been torn apart in the opening minutes.
Now the real fighters were left. Veterans. Killers. Men who had survived dozens of battles, who didn't get rattled just from someone showing off. These weren't brutes swinging wildly. They were watching. Judging. Picking their moments.
The tempo of the match changed.
Even Thorfinn could feel it. The chaos of the opening had burned itself out, and now the survivors were the ones who could actually fight. No more lucky kills. No more clueless idiots running forward like headless chickens.
"That man is really something," Lambert said from next to Thorfinn as he magically appeared next to him.
Thorfinn didn't look at him, he continued looking at the dark skinned man. "That he is..." he said. He then turned to Lambert. "Do you know what kind of magic he is using? He flipped a coin before he started fighting, when he did so his magic grew."
Lamberts eyes widened. "Are you sure?" He asked. Lambert's eyes stayed wide for a moment longer, then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Then he might be a contract magician."
Thorfinn furrowed his brow. "What?"
"Contract magician," Lambert repeated. "It's not common. I'm not surprised you haven't heard of them. Most people haven't. They're rare. Very rare."
Thorfinn didn't say anything.
Lambert continued. "Some people aren't born with regular magic, but instead they're born... marked, in a way. Able to make a pact. Not with spirits, not with demons, but with magic itself. Raw magic."
Thorfinn's gaze returned to the dark-skinned man now pacing with that same boundless energy, dancing between corpses and broken blades like a man performing on a stage. "What kind of pact?"
"That's the trick." Lambert's tone sharpened. "They create the pact themselves, they decide what they gain and what conditions there are, that's what makes them such powerful mages. But magic is no fool, for no matter how powerful an ability might seem there as to be a drawback equally as great, if they break the rules they set on themselves..."
"They die?"
"Worse," Lambert said. "Some lose their minds. Others get swallowed whole. The magic turns against them. Their own power becomes the curse. Think about that coin flip. That might be the trigger for his pact. He flips it, he fights. Maybe he promised something. Maybe the coin has to land a certain way for his power to activate. There's always a condition."
Thorfinn's eyes narrowed, watching the man again, now laughing and shouting at the crowd as he kicked a sword off the ground and caught it mid-spin. "That means his strength is conditional."
"Perhaps..." Lambert said while rubbing his chin.
"You don't think so?" Thorfinn asked.
"His strength could merely be an unintended byproduct of the magic surging inside him; magic can be used to enhance the body, perhaps by increasing the amount of magic in his body with the coin flip it also has the unintended effect of making him stronger," he theorised.
Thorfinn tucked that knowledge away. If the coin was tied to his magic, then there had to be some deeper system behind it. He was already building scenarios in his mind—ways to neutralize it. Break his rhythm. Interfere with the flip. Steal the coin. Or force him to break his vow.
But he didn't get to think further.
A sudden blur moved from the edge of the arena, and Thorfinn saw it a second too late.
Three men lunged for Lambert from behind. All armed. One of them actually managed to swing a heavy axe toward Lambert's spine—
Lambert didn't even flinch. He turned, raised a single hand, and a pulse of raw force blasted outward from his palm. Not wind. Not heat. Just force.
The nearest attacker's ribcage collapsed before the axe hit the ground.
"Don't use your signs," Thorfinn reminded him. Luckily Aard wasn't easily seen by people, he hoped that was the case here.
"Yeah yeah." Lambert ducked low under the second man's thrust and drove an elbow into his stomach, lifting him clean off the ground before grabbing him by the ankle and slamming him into the third like a battering ram. Bones cracked. The two fell in a heap.
"I'll explain more later," Lambert called over his shoulder, already moving again. "Try not to die before then." And then he was gone, moving into the fray, carving a path through everyone.
Thorfinn barely had time to exhale before he felt the shift in the air. A shadow moved quickly in his peripheral vision. He turned just in time to block a quick slash from a short sword. The woman in front of him stepped in close, her second blade already sweeping in from the side. He turned his shoulder and raised his arm. Her blade scraped off his gauntlet.
She flipped backward without warning. Her feet barely touched the ground before she lunged again. This time she spun mid-air and swung both swords from above. Thorfinn stepped back and raised his weapon, parrying the strikes with quick counter slashes.
"You're fast," he said.
She smiled. "You're not bad for a brute."
She rolled to the side, then kicked toward his legs. Thorfinn jumped back. She followed, pressing forward with a flurry of slashes. Thorfinn blocked each one. Her rhythm was fast but not unpredictable. She aimed high, then low, then tried to kick him in the chest. Thorfinn caught her ankle with both hands and twisted.
She flipped mid-air to recover but landed awkwardly. He moved in. She tried to cut him with an upward slash. He stepped aside, grabbed her wrist, and slammed it down against his knee. The sword clattered to the ground. She twisted free and rolled backward.
"Getting rough, aren't we?" she said. "I don't mind that."
She ran forward again, trying to grab her sword. Thorfinn kicked it further away. She spun around him and tried to strike him from behind. He turned and blocked her forearm, then threw her to the side. She landed and rolled, then kicked off the ground and charged again.
This time she didn't go for a weapon. She jumped, landed a foot on his thigh, and pushed upward. She flipped and tried to scissor her legs around his neck. Thorfinn bent his knees, grabbed her leg, and swung her overhead. Her body hit the ground with a solid thud.
She coughed but still smiled. "You've got good hands, Northman."
She got up slowly and brushed herself off. Her eyes stayed locked on his. She walked toward him slowly. She reached down and pulled her tunic open slightly, exposing her chest.
"You really want to fight me?" she asked. "Or would you rather have me?"
Thorfinn kept his sword raised. "That trick won't work."
"Come now," she said. "You're a man, aren't you? Don't you want something softer than iron?"
"I've seen prettier women."
Her expression shifted slightly. She stepped closer. "Then let me show you what else I can do."
Before Thorfinn could answer, something struck her from the side.
A body flew into the frame. The dark-skinned man crashed into her with both legs extended. His boots hit her ribs. Her body flew sideways through the air and hit a rock with a hard smack.
Thorfinn blinked.
The dark-skinned man stood where she had been, grinning. "Not to worry, Northman. I won't allow the foul temptress to steal your heart."
He gave a thumbs up.
Then he turned and walked off without another word, bouncing lightly on his feet as if nothing had happened.
Thorfinn once again found himself baffled, while the woman was nothing he couldn't handle, the fact that the dark skinned man jumped in to protect him was strange. It seemed that the man's intentions were only known to himself. For now at least.
...
Meanwhile, up in the royal box, the nobles sat comfortably under the ornate canopy, shaded from the sun and cushioned by silks and imported cushions. Their laughter and conversation mixed with the roar of the crowd below, but their view was far more detached. For them, this was a game. A sport. Something to bet on and drink to. Most didn't even look at the fighters as people. Niketas leaned forward in his seat with a wide grin, his hands clasped together tightly as he watched the battle unfold. He laughed aloud as a man was thrown across the sand and landed headfirst into a wall. "Did you see that?" he shouted to no one in particular. "Thrown like a rag doll!" He clapped once, thoroughly entertained, eyes gleaming with childlike glee.
Beside him, a few other nobles chuckled along, sipping wine from goblets that were never allowed to stay empty for long. With a snap of their fingers, attendants moved quietly behind them, refilling their drinks without a word. One noble, a wide-shouldered man in a red tunic with gold trim, leaned towards Niketas.
"That dark-skinned one," he said, nodding toward the arena, "I bet thirty gold he makes it into the next round."
Another noble chimed in. "I heard he's touched by the gods. Or insane. Or both."
They all laughed.
"Did you see the one with the dark hair?" Niketas added, not bothering to lower his voice. "Snapped a man's spine over his leg like he was kindling."
That got another round of laughter.
"Brutal. I like that."
"Likely to make it far," another agreed.
"And the tall one with the axe? The man's been swinging it like he's chopping trees. Got five already."
"Six," corrected the one in red, raising his goblet. "Just caved another man's chest in."
Further along the box, Arwyn sat with her hands resting on her lap her back straight and an unreadable expression on her face. She didn't flinch at the blood or the screams. She'd spent years among the Northmen in Kattegat. This was nothing new to her. Thea, however, sat beside her with one hand near her mouth, eyes scanning the bloodied sands with discomfort. She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs, but the tension in her posture didn't ease. Her expression twisted slightly as she looked down at the arena, watching another fighter stab a man repeatedly until the crowd started chanting his name.
Arwyn leaned slightly toward her and placed a hand on hers.
"You don't have to look," Arwyn said quietly, soft enough not to be heard by anyone else.
Thea glanced at her. "I'm fine," she said quickly, then looked back down. "It's just hard to watch."
Arwyn gave her hand a light squeeze. "It's always worse the first time. You learn to detach from it." She looked forward again.
Thea didn't respond but didn't look away again. She simply nodded.
Their attention turned slightly as the nobles around them continued discussing the fighters like racehorses.
"That white-haired brute with the hammer, he's going to be a problem."
"No no, the spearwoman. She's fast. Unnaturally fast."
"I'd bet three hundred solidi she makes top ten."
Another snapped his fingers and a servant appeared immediately with a fresh tray of chilled drinks.
Arwyn kept her gaze on the arena. The flow of blood. The roar of the crowd. The scent of sweat and steel that drifted even up to the box in waves. She narrowed her eyes slightly. While her eyesight wasn't otherworldly, it was still better than any human's. A trait of her lycanthropic heritage.
And she saw him.
Or rather, someone that looked too close to him for it to be a coincidence.
A man, tall, moving differently from the others. Though his hair was black hair instead of white. But the way he moved. The way he shifted his feet. The stance. The guard. The strike angle. Her pupils sharpened slightly. She didn't blink.
Thea caught the change in her posture instantly.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, keeping her voice quiet.
Arwyn nodded once. "It's nothing," she said.
But she didn't look away.
Her focus stayed locked on that man in the field. Because she knew Thorfinn's fighting style like her own breath. She had watched him train, fight, kill. That kind of instinct wasn't something you could just copy.
If it was him, she'd know soon. She just had to watch a little longer.
...
The horn sounded three times from the towers above the arena, deep and loud enough to silence even the most bloodthirsty of the crowd. Dust drifted across the battlefield, the sand now stained red, bodies sprawled in every direction, broken weapons scattered like firewood. What remained of the fighters stood in the center, most of them were bloodied and tired, but a scant few stood causally as if this was a mere warm up.
A tall figure in gold-lined robes stepped forward to the raised dais where the announcer always stood. The man raised his arms theatrically as a servant handed him a scroll.
"WE HAVE OUR VICTORS!" the announcer bellowed, voice magically amplified to boom across the entire colosseum. The crowd roared in approval.
"First—THE NORTHMAN!"
There was an explosion of cheering as Thorfinn gave no response at all, standing near the edge of the gathering, arms crossed. He looked up only for a second before returning to his thoughts.
"Next—Lambert of Francia!"
The Witcher raised a single fist, a smug smile on his face.
"And the whirlwind himself... THE NUBIAN!"
The dark-skinned man threw his arms into the air, leaping onto a broken pillar and shouting to the crowd, "FORTUNE FAVOURS THE BRAVE!"
"AND..." the announcer continued, rattling off more names, his voice filling the silence between bouts of applause.
"...The twin-blade from Rome!"
"...The beast-tamer from Bharat!"
"...The flame-dancer from the East!"
Names continued until the final tally reached twenty.
Thorfinn didn't look impressed.
"That was too easy," he said, finally turning to Lambert who was wiping a bit of blood from his mouth.
Lambert laughed. "Maybe round two will put some hair on your chest."
Thorfinn rolled his eyes. "If something actually forces me to use magic, I might be impressed."
The horn sounded again.
The announcer raised his hands once more. "ROUND TWO APPROACHES!"
The crowd responded with a roar, banging their feet against the stands.
"This next round will be fought in TEAMS OF TWO!" he declared. "Each pair will face a randomly selected ENEMY! Some... of legendary origin!"
The energy in the colosseum shifted. People stood to get a better view. Bets began to shift in whispers and gestures.
"Your teammates will be chosen by FATE," the announcer said. "Step forward now, and form lines!"
Each of them moved to the center where the arena attendants had set up two large bronze urns. One was filled with dozens of small wooden carvings of animals, each one painted either black or white.
"The carving you select will reveal your team and your enemy," the announcer shouted. "Those who draw matching animals in the opposing colour... will fight together. The animal you draw determines what beast you will face."
Thorfinn cursed under his breath. Anyone on his team would no doubt slow him down and get themselves killed. If they couldn't pull their weight, they'd only get in his way. Lambert was already a headache, and he doubted he would be teamed up with him.
Lambert stepped forward first and drew a carving shaped like a horned lizard, black.
A few seconds later, a tall woman with braided hair and a long spear stepped up and drew the same carving, same colour. She nodded to Lambert without a word. He looked her up and down, then grinned.
"Looks like I'm stuck with you. Don't slow me down."
She said nothing.
Thorfinn moved next. He approached the center of the urn and reached inside. His fingers brushed over multiple shapes and finally grabbed something. When he pulled it out, it looked like a small carving of a hunched humanoid figure with wide arms and fur. Black paint.
At the exact same time, another hand drew from the opposite urn.
"AHHHHHHH, WHAT FORTUNE!" the Nubian declared.
He raised his own identical carving. Same beast. Different colour.
The announcer shouted, clearly ecstatic. "AND WE HAVE OUR NEXT PAIRING! FACING ONE OF THE MOST DANGEROUS LEGENDARY CREATURES KNOWN TO MAN!"
A pause. Then the announcer raised his arms high.
"THE KING OF GORILLAS! THE UNSTOPPABLE! THE ONE... THE ONLY... KING KONG!"
The crowd erupted.
Stomping. Screaming. Cheers. Bets flying across the stands.
The Nubian sauntered over to Thorfinn with no sense of fear or worry, tossed an arm around his shoulder like they'd been brothers for years.
"What fortune, my friend!" he said, his voice full of warmth and joy. "To face a legendary creature side by side... surely this is the moment where our brotherhood is forged in battle and blood!"
Thorfinn shrugged the man's arm off his body. "Just stay out of my way and let me kill the animal," he replied as he began to walk off the field.
The Nubian didn't take the hint.
He clapped his hands together once, and trotted after Thorfinn with a spring in his step. "Oho! So serious!" he said, raising his voice over the noise of the crowd. "We've just been paired by fate itself, and you don't even offer your name? That's cold, Northman. Very cold."
Thorfinn said nothing, walking with the same gait toward the barracks.
"I don't mind," the Nubian continued, undeterred. "Fate's already spoken. We're brothers now, whether you like it or not. You break a man's spine in front of me, that's a bond. A violent one, but still a bond!"
He hopped up onto a stone and kept walking beside Thorfinn from the slightly higher perch, arms spread like a performer on a stage. "Back home, if two men fought side by side, they'd feast together by nightfall. You and me? We'll share more than blood. We'll share victory. And if the gods are kind, women too."
Thorfinn's jaw flexed. He didn't look at him.
"You like women, don't you?" the Nubian asked, dropping down beside him again. "You've got that look. Stoic. Brooding. Probably attracted to quiet girls who braid their hair and cover their cunts in perfume and have scented candles sticking out their anus'. Or maybe you like loud ones. Warrior women, they scream during battle, yes? Or during—"
"Shut up," Thorfinn said.
The Nubian laughed. "Ah, there it is! The voice of my new companion. You speak as though I'm going to be a hinderance. Don't worry. I won't disappoint you."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Unless we die. Then I will absolutely disappoint you."
Thorfinn stopped and turned, ready to respond, but the Nubian raised both hands and spoke faster.
"Just think of it, two men chosen by fate, side by side, facing a creature so big they named it King! This is the stuff of legends, my friend! Ballads! We'll be remembered, whether we live or not. But let's aim for living. I have more women to meet."
He grinned again, wide and full of energy, then gave Thorfinn a playful nudge with his elbow. "Do you drink? You must. No man kills like that without enjoying a cup after. You and I, we'll drink once this is done. I'll even let you brood in silence while I do the talking."
Thorfinn shrugged his arm off again and kept walking. "Just stay out of my way."
The Nubian clapped once again. "Deal! But if one of us gets eaten, I promise I will remember you."
He paused only a moment before rushing to catch back up. "Now... real question... do you think it flings dung like the little ones do? Because I'd rather be crushed than covered in that. Even I have my limits."
Thorfinn sighed under his breath and kept walking.
The Nubian grinned wider, keeping pace with the same endless energy. "Ah, you're warming up. I can tell."
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