This will be rough.
“Listen, if any of us is going to win we have to–”
My words are stolen by the crowd, roaring so loudly that I feel it vibrate in my chest. Merdiana’s hand is on my arm, and her eyes are wide as she stares across the arena.
I turn and wish that I hadn’t.
Two warriors stride from the gate. Each of them is larger than Callista in bear form, more massive than Torvik. White armor of overlapping plate blinds in the light of the twin suns. Their helmets are blank, without even holes for eyes. By the way they turn and cock their heads, I’m sure the pair can see us somehow. They’re swollen, monstrous versions of Maeve’s scorpion guard, tails tipped with stingers the size of my blade dripping venom into the sand. Each of them carries a mace the size of a man.
They halt, two abreast, and bring weapons to their chests in a warrior’s salute. The movements come with terrible precision, far quicker than anything that large has any right to.
“Populi Coliseus!” The cry rings out rom Maeve’s temple. A bark, really. Not surprising. The creature shouting shuffles on all fours, resembling a cross breed gone wrong. His tongue lolls between pants, ears flopping when the crowd cheers him. His hunched body never stops moving. He raises the brass speaking trumpet to his flaccid lips. “Salute the brave dead!”
Whoa there. Don’t get ahead of yourself, friend. Kind of brave, but not really planning on being dead.
Maeve slips into her seat and crosses her legs. Her robes part to reveal a silken thigh and the curve of her backside. For a second, I’m in danger of not being able to fight. She folds her hands, and across the arena her hooded eyes meet mine. She looks at me like I’m naked. Or prey. Maybe both. She’s a little frightening, as Artifacts go.
On a silent signal to her barker, he shouts: To the death! The crowd erupts, and death comes on.
The Sildreth don’t hesitate. They writhe forward on short dexterous strides, crossing the arena with a velocity that defies their size. Stingers arc high and maces threaten low; nowhere is safe.
“Together! Stay together, don’t let them –” I don’t have time to finish before Torvik bellows a war cry and rushes forward, his laughter booming like a drum. The Brothers follow, Mathu leading with his shield.
“Fuck. Really?” I look to Theriss, who rolls her eyes.
If we follow, we’ll be a disorganized mess. Leave them and they’re slaughtered. And I have a feeling we’ll need them a little longer.
I curse again, and Kumiko’s gift launches me after them. The others clamor after us.
An arrow of blue energy crackles past me, impacts the leading Sildreth’s chest plate. It staggers him a moment and he trips, rights himself and pushes forward. His ivory plate has a small scorch mark; Lotha’s shot accomplishes nothing.
Theriss slithers at my left flank, skirting the arena, her thick tail powering her, almost as fast as me. Her face mirrors my frustration, with our companions and our foes. We need weapons and cooperation for this to work.
The brothers slow as they reach the Sildreth. Torvik doesn’t. His axe comes down, thunderous, smashing his opponent’s mace into the sand, and he bowls right into the beast, staggering it backward. It’s tail lances forward, stabbing at Torvik’s back, but he reaches up and catches it, arm trembling with the effort of holding it back.
We definitely need to keep him alive.
The other Sildreth comes up behind his companion, mace thundering down at Torvik’s back. I push my stride to the limit, still too far away to help. The mace falls like a boulder, and there’s no way I could deflect it, even with my new blade.
Lighting crackles, wraps the Sildreth, blowing it back a few steps. Its mace misses Torvik by a handspan. Goran puffs behind me, hands splayed, readying another strike. The Sildreth roars at its impact, shakes off the magic and turns on us.
Good. If Torvik can keep the first one busy, the rest of us should be able to handle the other.
Maybe.
“Brothers!” I shout. “To me! Stay back, get his attention! Turn him!”
They don’t hear me, don’t listen. I can’t tell. They rush the second Sildreth, coming at it from the side, Mando’s pike held high. The creature turns to meet them, and I can see what’s about to happen with terrifying inevitability. Meridiana reaches out to stop them, but it’s too late.
The Sildreth’s mace comes around and hits Mathu’s shield so hard it crumples in a V. His swing doesn’t slow; when it hits Mandu, his body simply explodes. A welter of gore and blood paint his brother, who staggers
The crowd is thunderous, in a rapture of death.
Mathu skitters away, sobbing, tripping on his weapon.
Fucking circus.
“Meridiana?”
Without an acknowledgment, her compulsion washes out, blanketing the others. Her pull is stronger than any she’s used on me, dragging us together.
The others look to me now, receptive to orders. Even Mathu stumbles up, tears cutting trails in the blood that cakes his face, eyes on me as the others gather, save one.
Torvik manages his business. He’s got the first monster on its back, tail pinned. He’s fucking headbutting its faceless helmet, hammering the Sildreth again and again.
I love this guy. And I’m terrified of him. But for now, he’s great.
The other Sildreth lumbers forward, coming for us. “Hold it back, keep it distracted with staggered blows!” Goran and Lotha obey. Lightning and magic batter the creature. It stumbles, swatting wildly. The air stinks of burning flesh.
“Crispinus, with me. Try to shatter the armor near its feet!
Meridiana’s influence caresses him, but when he nods, I don’t think it’s her gift that convinces him.
We rush the Sildreth. I call to Theriss, who waves off my words but follows the command to circle behind.
Crispinus shoulders with me. His blade glows blue in the daylight, humming to life. Does every gods damned person have a magical weapon these days?
We circle the blinded Sildreth, my blade lighting with Etain’s gift. I hammer the plate at its ankle, put every ounce of strength into the blow. It groans a moment, then shatters, leaving its lower leg exposed. Its strength is enough to keep my sword from doing any real damage to flesh. That’s alright. This is only the first part of my plan.
Crispinus mimics my move from the other side. His sword comes forward, shatters the armor and bites the black flesh underneath. Gods damn, he’s strong.
We lead the tottering creature side by side, armor a wreckage behind us. Theriss threads the needles, narrowed eyes calculating. She slides between the Sildreth’s legs. Her blades nick out to the sides as she goes under the Sildreth’s legs, hamstringing. She vaults on her tail and pushes beyond the range of a swinging mace.
The Sildreth roars, reptilian and bearlike at once. It topples, spraying sand and flecks of bile-green blood. Trapped on its back, the thing goes on striking, slicing the air.
Mathu charges forward against my late warning, screaming a strangled war cry. He thinks, down in the sand, its vulnerable. I can feel it through the bond as his rage overpowers Meridiana’s gift, tearing him free of her influence.
He stabs his pike, upward, toward the tiny crack where the Sildreth’s helmet meets its breastplate.
He never gets close enough. The mace comes in from the side, and he crumples around it, bones breaking with cracks like falling trees as blood sprays from his mouth. He flies across the arena, dead before he hits the sand.
Dammit. We’re down two with both Sildreth up, and I have no idea how many rounds lay ahead.
But Mathu’s death gives me an idea, at least. “We need it to look up!” I dive into position.
Goran and Lotha circle the monster, firing at arm’s length. It roars, swinging upward. The pair are just beyond reach.
Theriss slithers in, panting. The snakes in her hair weave and hiss in agitation. “What are you doing?”
“Watch and learn.” My wink is met with disg
ust.
Goran unleashes a massive blast, so powerful that the Sildrith’s back arches. As crackling energy dances across the creature, it grinds it’s head in the sand, trying to track its attacker.
Now. I spring up its body. Its mace comes down at the impact of my feet. My jump is quick and true. The weapon passes under me. I stab forward, flaming sword melting an armored seam. My blade pierces deep. Its blood sprays out, spattering my face, and it burns like acid. I crumple, lose my grip and fall across its tail. It whips my chest, and while my new armor saves me from shattered ribs, the stinger darts in and punctures my back.
I writhe in the sand, helpless against the next lash or stab.
The tail pulses once as the Sildreth dies, pumps me with venom that lights my body on fire. The pain is instant, blinding.
Not exactly what I’d planned.
Finna’s gift fights back. My feet drum the sand. I froth, teeth grit hard enough to shatter. The agony doesn’t fade, seems to multiply over and over, and I can’t even scream, can’t breathe. I’d be dead if not for the Artifacts.
Pain recedes in seconds that feel eternal. My vision clears. Meridiana throws down a hand and pulls me up.
“Not...Done...Yet…” I pant.
She glances around us and her lips twist.
I follow her gaze. Torvik has the other Sildreth pinned, mace and tail. It beats at his back with a free arm. I swear I hear ribs crack, but Torvik doesn’t budge. And he’s still laughing.
Without a word we start for him, ready for the next go.
Torvik bashes his head down again, so hard I can’t believe he doesn’t kill himself. The Sildreth roars back. Crispinus slide in, cuts into its neck as he passes. Somehow, he avoids the inevitable acid spray. His blow is shallow, not enough to be fatal. The beast thrashes under Torvik, its death throes flinging him.
Two arrows sizzle through the air, punching the wound left by Crispinus. They find purchase.
The Sildrith’s head erupts inside its helm, blasting clots of flesh onto the sand.
Torvik reels back, painted by the spray. He bellows, grabs sand and scrubs it at his chest. His skin bubbles and cracks. His grin doesn’t waver. Can the man feel pain?
We regroup near the dead Sildreth. Theriss undulates in, eyes narrowed. “Your death wasn’t a surprise. Your survival is.”
She waits for an explanation I don’t give. “I’m just full of surprises,” I pant, still trembling as Freya and Finna’s gifts put me back together.
“Not bad...for a mortal. “She looks me over, and though she still seems dismissive, there’s something else. Appraising, maybe.
I appraise right back, look her over in a challenge. It’s hard to see through her perpetual scowl, but she’s stunningly beautiful, a mix of strength, cunning, and soft exotic features. Her hair and body sway, and there’s something undeniably sensual, even sexual, in the movement. An image intrudes, pressing into my brain like a hot needle: Theriss, wrapping me, her full bottom lip in mine as oiled scales slides across the bare skin of my stomach, my thighs, my cock. I push my tongue into her mouth, and –
Meridiana.
Her eyes are on me, dancing with mischief.
Really? Is this really the time?
She laughs. Absolutely.
Theriss glances between us, and at the bulge in my leathers. “Mortal men.” She rolls her eyes and slips away, tail spraying me with hot sand.
We aren’t here for her. Meridiana pokes me with her tail, nods across the arena. “You’re impressing the one who matters.”
Maeve saunters to the edge of the dais. Somehow, her body ripples more than Theriss as she moves, and her thin silk robe hides none of it. The small points of her nipples strain against the fabric as full breasts bounce obscenely despite her languid stride. Silk flows along her form like water, gathering around long, muscled legs in a thin breeze.
She a goddess, high above us mortals, the most perfect example of female perfection that can exist, sexuality and raw beauty incarnate.
Meridiana’s breath hitches. Apparently, she agrees.
Maeve doesn’t speak. She watches us a moment and snaps her fingers.
The herald shuffles forward, staggering under his misshapen back. His voice echoes. “Victory, for the aspirant and his followers!”
The crowd roars at his words, but under it, I hear Theriss snort. “His followers?”
“The brothers catastrophe are no more! They are all! The ascend to the afterlife!”
More roaring. The barker paces, front legs upraised as he whips the masses into a frenzy. Maeve stands behind him, gaze never leaving our group. Her fingers trail idly down the length of her staff. What is she weighing?
“Our next challenge has never been defeated! One that has soaked this arena with the blood of thousands of souls.”
The crowd is ecstatic, frothing, drunk with bloodlust. Chaos and vice reign in the stands. A creature like an ape with four arms picks up another resembling an insect and rips it in half in on a welter of yellow blood. The spray paints a writhing pile flesh and purple tentacles, at least four women and a man ensnared, naked, as its appendages pump into every place they can be violated. Judging by their expressions, its entirely willing. While I watch, a woman, stumbling drunk back to her seat strays too close to the creature. Thick dark arms twine her, fill her. It drags her moaning across the stones.
I turn away. It’s not the act but the quantity of the acts, the place, the general madness. I can’t fathom this level of debauchery, orgiastic violence and excess. Everywhere I turn, it’s the same; a tangle of bodies, blood, and drunkenness.
Maeve lingers on the dais. I swear she’s watching me watch, a slight twist to her perfect lips. Like she’s enjoying the show, and wants me to enjoy it, too.
For the first time, I feel uneasy.
“Onlookers, lovers of the champions!” The herald pauses for drama, and a blanket of silent anticipation falls.
“The Kyphex!”
The clamor deafens me. As the onlookers cheer, arms in the air, Maeve slams her rod. It flares with bright blue fire for an instant, and then she turns, glides back to her throne on a wave of adulation and a swish of silk.
We turn, looking for the creature, the warrior.
“What did it do?” Goran shouts over the tumult. “What is it!”
Meridiana’s closes her eyes, focusing. “It summoned. Ancient magic.” She turns to me, doesn’t have to say more.
The ground quakes, turning us to the arena’s center. Sand boils into glass. Something punches through the roil. A pillar of black stone like the pyramid rises, piercing the sky. It’s surface shimmers, catching the sun high above us.
Tendrils of power materialize at its head. They have a similar effect as Two’s runes, violations of the natural world.
They form a ball as tall as Torvik, rotating, a tracery of dark fire that solidifies.
Tracing the pattern through the air, I realize it comes from the crowd. Each thread feeding the growing shape is ripped from the chest of a spectator. Their bodies grey and shrivel, lifeless. This isn’t met with fear; it’s a contest. Onlookers shove each other and claw over the fallen, baring their chests, crying out to be sacrificed.
When the dark swirl has grown enough to blot the sun, if gives off the shriek of a thousand souls ripped from a thousand bodies. The Kyphex erupts fully into existence.
It’s an eyeball. Its pupil is the same impenetrable material as the pillar, surrounded by an iris of yellow flame. There’s no lid, no protection of any kind, just arteries of energy that bulge along its surface.
“What is that?”
Meridiana stares transfixed. “I’ve never heard of anything like it.”
Torvik’s heavy hand falls to my shoulder, staggering me. “I know what it is...” He grins, absent any fear. “Dead!”
I can’t help but grin. “Yeah. With you around it probably is.”
Goran moans, clutching his head. “It’s–” He can’t finish, swallows.
Half my companions look ready to bolt. Lotha’s eyes widen, her bow slack, as she backs away step by step. Goran is on his knees, chanting something to himself, too quiet to hear. Crispinus and Theriss look ready. Torvik...he just looks insane.
The Kyphex paints the arena with its gaze, spinning. Power builds inside of it and its pupil bulges.
Movement stops. A beam of midnight fires from it, impacts the sand with a hiss. Its gaze moves on as shadows its thrown coalesce. Darkness gains pigment and solidity. From this a monster emerges, a lizard with teeth like daggers. It turns, taking in the crowd, the arena.
The Kyphex fires another pulse. And another, and another. From each one, something different emerges. A spider the size of a horse pops into existence, gray and glittering, each of its legs concluding in a knife point. Two demons snake from a dissipating shadow, skinned in thick read leather, wicked axes dragging the sand on their relentless approach.
Theriss hisses a low warning. “Unghul. They stalk the deadlands beyond the river, and when they feed…” She shudders. “They’re always hungry.”
Chaos builds as more and more creatures appear. Some mark us as the prey; others attack anything that moves. A mass of shambling undead attack the unghul, who wade through them, axes ripping bloodless bodies to desiccated remains that shower more ghouls clawing from the sand.
I don’t know where to start. Or if we should; maybe we should let them winnow each other down.
The spider scurries between the unghul, springs on eight legs and lands on a wolf to equal Fenrir. Despite its smaller size, the spider’s fangs even the fight. It strikes, pumps the wolf full of venom. A single whine marks its collapse. It lies still while the spider feeds.
A half dozen men charge around the beasts, naked and painted with red clay. They charge us with curved blades raised. Before I can ready my weapon, air around them turns to fire, and they explode, raining gore into the crowd.
When the smoke clears, a goblin, no more than knee high struts forward, cackling. He holds something aloft, fuse sparking. He grins and winds up for a throw.
Temple of Cocidius - Book 4 Page 5
