by Wolfe Locke
The dead satyr’s chains were pooled around it, sitting in a puddle of rapidly clotting blood. There’s an idea. Tetraites broke away from the living satyr and grabbed one of the chains, keeping his spear trained on his enemy. Then, moving slowly and deliberately, he gathered the chain into a loop. The beast glared at him with confusion and fury, unsure of how to respond to this new behavior.
Quick as a flash, Tetraites looped the chain around the satyr’s neck. He backed away from it and pulled as hard as he could. The creature’s eyes bulged. It was choking. Hands clutching at its neck, it pulled back against the chain, but its stupidity only made it suffer more.
The satyr made a desperate final attempt to escape and Tetraites lost his grip on the chain. It flew through his skeletal fingers as the beast whirled to face him, wheezing for breath. He could see chain-shaped bruises forming on the satyr’s neck, the ugly purple color of decaying fruit. Gathering up the chain, he circled the wounded creature, looking for his next opening.
When the satyr ducked its head to attack, he saw it. Once again, he looped the chain around its throat and pulled hard. The creature stared at him, eyes red with panic, as it struggled to break free.
Not this time. Tetraites looped the chain around his arm to give himself more leverage and tugged harder. The beast grabbed at the chain with its massive paws, trying to loosen its enemy’s hold, but it was useless. It had met its match.
The satyr toppled to the ground, struggling to breathe. Tetraites sheathed his sword in his throat and watched the creature’s blood burble out onto the ground. This time, when a Sol hit him in the back, he didn’t mind. He was getting used to it.
Two satyrs left. Tetraites was winning. He turned toward Zekant and lifted his sword in the air, but the Dark Lord didn’t respond.
Two massive hands clamped down around his shoulders and lifted him high in the air. That’s what you get for taunting the Dark Lord. The satyr bellowed in his face. Its breath reeked of putrid meat and old blood.
Tetraites still had his sword and spear, but he couldn’t reach the beast with either weapon. It was holding him at arm’s length, and its arms were massive. Yet again, he tried to reach for the ice magic Zekant had given him, but nothing came. Useless.
He could feel his bones bending, preparing to break, as the goatman tried to rip him apart with its bare hands. Tetraites looked around, trying to think of a way out, but he was trapped.
With a crack, the satyr ripped his left arm off and tossed it aside. Tetraites braced for the wave of debilitating pain—but it didn’t come. He was fine. Benefits of being undead I suppose or maybe the aspect? The satyr seemed surprised as well. It blinked at him vacantly, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Before the satyr could react, Tetraites lashed out with his remaining arm and buried his sword in its eye. It screamed, blood streaming down its face, and threw Tetraites aside. The sword was still stuck in its eye, and it hung there, quivering, as the half-blind satyr cast around for its enemy Blood dripped into its remaining eye and it bellowed with rage and pain.
Something nudged Tetraites’ leg. He looked down. It was his arm, still holding the spear. It had crawled over to him unbidden. He cackled with glee and picked up the spear. Hopefully, he could get his arm reattached later.
The satyr was still off-balance and in pain, and it was easy to get close to it. Tetraites circled the beast, spear at the ready, looking for his opening. A streak of white bone raced across the ground ahead of him. His arm again! It tapped the satyr on the leg and the beast whirled around. Then it tapped the other leg. The satyr started spinning in circles, roaring in confusion.
Tetraites saw his chance. He moved in while the satyr was distracted and buried his spear in its good eye. Gore and blood dripped from both ruined eyes. The creature was blind.
The arm had given him an idea. Tetraites grabbed a handful of Sols from the ground and circled the goatman, pelting it with coins from every direction. The blinded satyr screamed with frustration, whirling around as it tried to find its opponent.
Once the creature was confused, Tetraites sprinted toward it and vaulted onto its back. Wrapping his legs around its neck, he hung on for dear life as it tried to throw him off. He knew he didn’t have much time. His sword was still stuck in the satyr’s eye, and he grabbed the hilt with his remaining arm.
With all his strength, he pulled the sword toward him, shoving the blade deeper into the creature’s skull. It screamed and reached up with its massive hands to rip him off of its back. Tetraites knew he had to finish this fight quickly.
He pulled the hilt toward him again, and the sword reached the satyr’s brain. Tetraites jumped free as the beast collapsed to the ground, and Sols rained down around him. He had killed it—but at a price. He was exhausted, and he still had the largest satyr left to go.
Tetraites looked around the Arena. Corpses littered the ground, some still oozing blood, a strange thought crossed his mind, a thought not belonging to the Dark Lord. Soon I will feast on them.
The last satyr paced before him, snorting. It seemed smarter than the others. He retrieved his sword from the blind satyr’s eye and moved toward the living one warily. He was tired, and the beast was at full strength. He’d have to be very careful with this one.
Tetraites feinted left and right with his sword as he slowly advanced, but the satyr wasn’t fooled. It kept its eyes trained on him, waiting for him to come within range. Suddenly, faster than he would have thought possible, it charged. Tetraites tried to slash at it with his sword, but he was caught by surprise.
It barrelled into him at full speed, knocking him down. His weapon flew from his hand. He looked around frantically, wondering if his spare arm would be able to help him again, but it was still by the satyr he’d just killed.
Tetraites tried to get up, but the satyr kicked him back down. He groped for his sword, but the beast knocked it farther away from him. Then it stepped on him with one razor-sharp hoof, pressing him into the ground with its full weight.
He could feel his body straining, as the creature bore down on him. It was only a matter of time before it crushed him completely. What had Zekant said awaited him? The farthest reaches of the Nether in Oblivion? Maybe I’ll avoid the Well of Souls, the pit altogether.And at least he had gone out fighting.
One rib cracked, then the next. Tetraites felt no pain, just wondered how long it would take him to die. He closed his eyes as the satyr bellowed above him.
Then—an eerie twisting sensation in his belly and the pressure on his chest lifted. The satyr’s crushing foot was gone. Tetraites sat up confused. The beast was writhing on the ground in a whirlwind of clusters of black ice bursting in a nova. Tetraites looked at his own hand. Black sparks danced across his fingers. Ice magic. It was finally working.
He reached his hand out toward the satyr and sent a wave of magic through it, then another. Each gesture sent a shaft of black ice arcing toward the creature, causing it to twist in agony. The power was intoxicating.
It was time for the coup de grace. Tetraites retrieved his sword from the ground and walked over to the satyr. He sent a nova at the goatman one more time—just because he could—and stabbed it in the throat, sending the blade into its head. Sols rained down around him. He had won.
Tetraites roared with triumph and pulled the sword out of the satyr’s head with a pop. It came out covered in blood and brains. He held it aloft with his good arm, surveying the arena full of Sols and the remains of satyrs. Victory!
He turned toward Zekant, intending to salute him with his newly-activated ice magic, but his master’s box was empty. The Dark Lord had already left.
Notification: You have completed the challenge “The Goatmen”.
Details: You have gained the ability Frost Nova. This is a targeted attack that deals area of effect ice damage in the area surrounding the impact site.
Reward: Minor Upgrade – I’ll allow your arm to be reattached. Now, go feast.
Chap
ter 5: The Other Champions
Back in his frozen castle, Zekant smiled, pleased with himself and his new creation. Tetraites the Conqueror. He has done well. Zekant had been pleased with his champion’s ruthlessness in the Arena and the improvements he had seen over his champion’s human self. The eye-gouging had been a particularly nice touch. It was time to find Tetraites, some allies—and some more challenging opponents.
He snapped his mailed fingers, opening the portal that led to the Well of Souls. The flickering green light from the pit played on his face as he stepped through. He knew precisely which souls he wanted to pull from the Well next. All he had to do was wait for them to come to the surface where he could quickly grab them. Not even a Dark Lord like him would dare dredge deep into the Well.
While he waited, Zekant conjured up his massive stone table and the Destiny Deck. The cards floated in the air for a moment. Then, lightning-fast, they laid themselves out in four rows of three cards each.
The Dark Lord pondered the meaning of this, then pulled four souls from the Well in quick succession. As with Tetraites, he bound each of the souls to the table with bonds of ice as they struggled to break free.
Zekant flipped over the first set of cards: The Sun, The Lion, The Hanged Man.
He turned to the first soul and blasted it with crackling black fire, revelling in its pain and fear. The cards had told him what he needed to know. In life, this spirit had been called Livia the Silent, wife of one emperor and mother of another.
She had lusted for power, using poison and hired assassins to destroy her enemies. In the end, she had even killed her own husband to ensure that her beloved son could take the throne. Her greed had backfired. Her son, seeing her ruthlessness with clear eyes, had ordered her to be killed.
When the black fire died down, a snarling manticore lay bound to the table. Its body was that of a lion, but it had the face of a cruel and beautiful woman. A stinger at the end of its tail dripped with deadly poison: reminiscent of Livia’s favorite weapon.
“Your name is now Sharkhurz,” Zekant said, and the beast roared in recognition. “May you fight well or die in the Arena.”
Zekant turned to the second set of cards. The Knight of Wands, The Archer, The Caduceus.
He turned his attention and his magic fire raced towards the second soul. This one had been a famous doctor and healer. His real name had been lost to time, but the people had called him Deathbringer. Wealthy patients often died under his care, often leaving all their assets to him in “gratitude” for his dedicated service. He had died a rich man, celebrated by many—but the lords of the afterlife can see deep into men’s souls and know their hidden sins. He had ended up in a Gehenna pit with the others.
When the fire subsided, the damned soul was now a massive centaur. His hooved legs lashed out at Zekant. One blow from his hooves would kill a man, but the Dark Lord stepped out of the way easily and lashed out with a mailed fist as he grabbed the centaur’s head in his hand and smashed it into the ground. The centaur screamed with rage, his teeth inhumanly sharp but grew cowed as Zekant applied pressure until the centaur stopped thrashing about.
“Deathbringer,” Zekant mused. “It suits you. We’ll keep it.”
He turned over the third set of cards. The Maiden, The Serpent, The Crone.
Zekant chuckled. This one he remembered. She had been Paola, the sadistic queen and matriarch of a desert country. Blood and conquest had been her only goals, and she had warred incessantly against neighboring kingdoms and tribes. The peoples she conquered were all put to the sword—even if they surrendered—and their leaders were tortured in darkest dungeon before being burned at the stake.
Time was the only enemy that could strike her down. In the end, she had been eaten alive from the inside out by worms and maggots, her flesh rotting even while she was still alive. Thus had she been punished—even in life—for her bloodthirstiness.
The Dark Lord struck her with his magic and she screamed. When the fire died down, the soul had become a monstrous gorgon. Her hair was made of living snakes that coiled themselves around her head, and her entire body was covered in scales. Her face was terrifying. She snarled at Zekant, and he laughed.
“A brave effort,” he said. “You will now be Colubra, Queen of Adders.”
Zekant looked at his three champions. All struggled against their bonds, even now. They would fight well. He turned his attention to the last of the souls on the table. This one pleased him even more than the others.
He turned over the last three cards. The Eagle, The Devil, Fortune. Zekant laughed. Very appropriate.
He knew exactly who this soul was. And he knew exactly what form would be appropriate to reflect its duplicitous nature.
Once again, dark fire enveloped the spirit. What was revealed when it cleared was truly horrifying. It was an emaciated corpse, a revenant Its skin pulled tight over its bones, its face the ash-grey color of death. Its lips were chapped and bloody, and its sunken eyes glowed yellow in its face. The revenant smelled like decay and corruption. It coughed twice, a dull hacking noise, and twisted itself sideways. Suddenly, it was no longer a dead man but a dead alligator, skull visible beneath the half-rotted flesh of its face.
“Excellent,” Zekant said as the revenant flickered through monstrous forms, all dead. This was the best one yet. “You will be Yarrl.”
Yarrl groaned in disgust at his new name, but Zekant ignored him. What a surprise this will be for my Tetraites the Conqueror.
“Welcome to the Path of Graves. Your first test will be tomorrow,” he told this new set of slaves. “I—and only I—will be in attendance. Do not embarrass yourselves before me. I have given you a second chance at life. I will not give you a third.”
With a gesture, he cast them all into the subterranean maze beneath the Arena. As they disappeared, Zekant smiled as he watched with his mind's eye what was happening. Let the Games begin.
Chapter 6: The Bloodying
A sudden loud noise above him startled Tetraites as he lay on the bunk in his cell pondering what his new life would throw at him next. Something in the Arena was screaming. Were more Champions undergoing their first tests? Or is it that more Champions are being born?
He had laid about unmoving most of the day, recovering from his ordeal with the goatmen. Even as an undead, he was not invulnerable. His body needed time for the fel magic of Zekant’s realm to heal him, and even then, it wasn’t enough.
His wayward arm had crawled over and reattached itself after the fight, but he had required Crixa’s help to deal with the cracked ribs. To his surprise, the monster was a decent healing mage, and it seemed like his injuries would be fine with a bit more rest. Odd though, am I not a skeleton? Or is this body something more than mere bones?
Crixa had also gathered all the Sols dropped by the goatmen and left them in a neat bag in the corner of the room. They sat there gleaming, a reminder of Tetraites’ unexpected victory. He looked at his small fortune and smiled. Soon you’ll help me to unlock more of the secrets of this place and the power of my master.
Chains rattled as the cogs of the platform moved as the lift in the Training Grounds to the Arena descended. A Champion has either just won or lost. Tetraites fought the urge to look outside. He’d find out what was going on eventually. No point in hurrying things along.
Right on cue, as the noise died down, Crixa opened the door to his cell. “The last of the new Champions has passed the first test! You’ll be meeting them soon enough,” it crowed.
Tetraites looked at the monster blankly, waiting for it to tell him why it had come to his cell to announce this and what it wanted him to do about it. These things, these minions are meant to be below me.
Unfazed by his silence, Crixa continued. “You will train with the rest of them. Your next battle will test your ability to work in tandem against your opponents.”
“Very good,” Tetraites said anxiously to get back into the arena. He was excited to test the limits of his new Ice M
agic.
“Meals will be communal, the master has commanded this to build Spirit De Corps,” Crixa said. “You will eat with the others in the Champions’ Mess tonight after I have healed their wounds.”
Tetraites sat up, irritated, and not interested. “No.”
“The Dark Lord commands it.” The monster pressed, an edge of fear creeping into its voice, not wanting to displease its master.
“I’m one of the undead,” Tetraites said, sensibly. “I do not eat, except for carrion on the field of battle. Why would I have any need of the Champions’ Mess?”
Crixa grimaced. It clearly had not expected any opposition to Zekant’s command. “It will give you the opportunity to converse with the others. Learn their strengths and weaknesses. See who they are and what they can do. It is a chance to prove yourself the worthiest successor of our master’s power.”
Tetraites groaned, knowing the monster wasn’t going to be dissuaded. I can do that in the Training Arena.
“Your ability to work with the others will be essential to your success as Champion,” Crixa said. “I will summon you at the proper time.”
The door slammed, and Tetraites sighed. He had no desire to get to know the other Champions, and he didn’t see the point in sitting at a dining table with nothing while everyone around him ate. But Zekant’s wish was his command, and Tetraites knew better than to resist.
When the time came, Crixa returned to take him to the Mess. The other gladiators were already gathered around a table when he arrived. A manticore and a centaur both shovelled piles of flesh and entrails into their mouths, and a hideous gorgon was picking at what looked like a plate of dead insects.
