by Corin Cain
I stare up at the seat of honor in the Bugra colosseum. The head slaver who took me sits there, laughing as he looks down at his Aurelian prizes. Three human women are attached to his wrist by short metal leashes.
If they worked together, they could kill him and take their freedom – or at least die trying. But they won’t. Humanity is meant to serve. If they didn’t have our protection, the species would be lost.
Pathetic. I’ve never seen a human worth the blood I’ve spilled on the field for them, and I never will. Only honor is worth the bloodshed.
My hand twitches as I stare at the portcullis on the opposite side of the gladiator arena.
I ache to get it over with. To live, or die on this day.
“These Aurelians pretended to be Scorp hunters. They stole from our museum, then celebrated with a night of debauchery and wine. We caught them in a Toad pleasure house, debasing themselves with Toad whores!” The slaver’s voice is booming. Spittle flies as he speaks, and his slaves pull back. The crowd laughs and jeers.
A made-up crime to justify our execution. The Aurelian Empire will have no recourse – not without hard evidence. Our deaths will not be avenged.
“Today, we are judge, jury, and executioner! Let us judge their innocence now. If they truly are Scorp hunters, as they claim, they should have no trouble killing a live Scorp!” The Toad slaver is a master of theatrics. He yells in his brutish language, that I have a rudimentary knowledge of, and the crowd jeers and screams – eager to see Aurelian blood spilled in front of them
“A Scorp?” Baldur’s telepathy has an edge of fear to it. We’ve gone against Scorps before – but in full armor, and with Orb-blades.
I’ve gone into a Scorp nest and cleaned it out with my blood-triad. Shooting at them from ships does nothing. You might kill some, but unless you take out the Queen, they just keep coming back.
But there’s only one thing more terrifying that the claustrophobia of fighting in the confines of a Scorp nest: Having to battle one without a blade.
“It won’t be a Scorp. There’s no chance these Toads could have captured one alive,” I say with certainty, eyeing the portcullis.
Karan laughs. He’s the only one of us who scorns the social tenants of stoicism, wearing his emotions on his sleeve. “Before today, you’d have said it’s impossible for a Toad to capture an Aurelian alive.”
The portcullis creaks open and I take a step back.
The Scorp steps into the ring to the screams of the crowd. The creature is an old warrior, his carapace pitted and scarred from battles with Aurelians, and fights with his own species. He stands on his two muscled legs, just like a human or an Aurelian, but that’s where all similarity ends.
Scorps never stop growing.
This one stands ten-feet-tall, his huge pincer claws clacking and snipping in the air. Red eyes burn with a deep, primal anger – staring at us with pure violence.
Violence is all a Scorp knows. To wreak havoc, to bring still living corpses to their Queens to lay eggs inside, and to infest the universe leaving blood in their wake.
I tense, every muscle at attention. Baldur and Karan step back. I feel the wave of fear emanating from them, low and hard to control.
I don’t care how brave you are – facing a Scorp, naked, is a death sentence.
The Scorp throws its head back, mandibles opening to show its fangs. I’ve seen Earth animals in our Aurelian zoos, and I’ve always been entranced by the similarities between the birthplace of humanity’s nature and the physiology of the Scorps.
Crocodilian scales form a scaly carapace that protects the Scorp.
Blood red eyes stare at us, full of malevolence.
The long stringer tail tests the air, flicking forward – hungry to pierce our skin.
One graze of that stinger and you’re dead.
One brutal swipe of its claws, and you’d be ripped in half.
The beast roars its defiance. The scream fills the arena with deafening sound and the primordial shriek chills me to the base of my spinal cord.
Toads filling the arena back away, nervously judging the height of the walls in comparison to the powerful legs of the Scorp. The beast ignores them. Red, predatory eyes are focused on me and my triad, ignoring all else.
Without my Orb-Blade to cut through its scales, I have no way to kill this creature. I’ve trained for combat against Scorps from my childhood, but always with a blade in my hand.
“What do we do?” Karan vocalizes my own concerns, his fear surging. I can feel his emotions. We’re bonded by the blood of battle – just like all Aurelian warrior triads – and we can feel each other’s emotions no matter how well we try to hide them.
Fear is infectious. The Scorp steps forward, testing the air. I know how fast they can move. The moment it decides to charge, everything will explode into blood and fire.
“Fight back your fear. We can do this. We’ve killed hundreds of Scorps,” I say, keeping the tremor from my voice and providing a strong example for Karan and Baldur. We’ve prepared for death all our lives, but seeing the violence about to end our existence is bone-chilling.
“Without weapons? Baldur asks, trying to find his courage.
I stare at the Scorp, judging its carapace for any weakness. The creature is all edges and blades. It’s an old beast, the green of its scales greying. Scorps only live a few hundred years – but every day of that life they spend growing larger and more violent.
“It is a weapon. We’ll use it against itself,” I say.
I telepath an image. One of us using the metallic carapace against the Scorp – using a scale or one of its own claws to rip its throat out.
The plan is a longshot, but it’s better than just waiting for death. My own fear is pushed back. I find my battle-calm the moment the Scorp charges.
The old beast is faster than any Scorp I’ve encountered in my hundred years of war. It rushes at us on its two huge, clawed feet – bounding towards us with the seemingly-unstoppable velocity of a meteor. The three of us stand stock-still, gathered in a clump that should be easy picking for the Scorp – allowing it to cut all of us down in a single, brutal charge.
The creature can’t resist the easy target we appear to present it with. It aims right for the center of our triad.
The Scorps leaps in the air towards us, a ball of pain and agony about to unleash itself upon us. At the last moment, though, we dive to the sides.
I’m not fast enough.
Agony shoots through me as the beast swipes its claw, ripping open the flesh of my naked thigh. Blood spurts from the wound.
But I have no time for pain. I force the agony back.
The Scorp missed us by inches, tumbling to the sandy ground in its wild charge. Baldur and Karan’s auras echo my pain, and I scan them for signs of mortal damage.
Baldur has a wicked rend across his chest. Blood gushes from the cut, and his pain mirrors mine. His eyes are wide with exertion and agony, and crimson blood flows from his wound. I look for the green tinge that would mean the stinger touched him, but I thankfully find no such sign of the venom coursing through Baldur’s veins.
Karan is unharmed, his aura growing in confidence. His dodge was nimble and expert.
The crowd yells and screams, thirsty for our blood. The cacophony assaults my calm and overcomes me.
I know the screams of battle.
I was made for blood and violence.
The sun gleams against a lost scale that broke from the Scorps carapace as it tumbled past us. While the Scorp picks itself up from the ground, I hobble forward, leaving a trail of blood. My legs slows me, but I manage to grab the foot-long, grayish-green scale. I stumble, feeling woozy from blood loss, and throw the scale to Karan.
3
Karan
I catch the scale in my hands, judging its heft. The edge is jagged. I grit my teeth, knowing I’ll have only one chance to plunge it into a chink in the Scorps armor before I die.
If I strike true, Baldur and
Raegan may survive. Yet, even if I deal the monster a mortal blow, I’ll still end up underneath its heavy, bladed body – crushed and maimed.
Baldur grimaces at me. His wounds are devastating. I search the rend in his chest for a hint of green mixed with his red blood. Even a drop of the venom would mean death. The only Aurelian living today that’s overcome the venom of a Scorp is General Asmod – a man whose very name is synonymous with legend and violence.
“Just claws. I’m okay,” comes Baldur’s thought, pained and barely holding onto his honor.
The Scorp turns to face us. It’s enraged that it didn’t kill us in the first charge. I skirt to the edge of the arena, drawing the monster away from the two wounded members of my triad.
I expect the Scorp to charge – but he doesn’t.
Instead the Scorp slowly walks towards me. With each step, its legs flex. Huge, clawed feet grip the ground. The old, reptilian monsters stares me down with blood red eyes.
A surge of fear shoots through me as I comprehend the cold cunning behind the Scorps’ gaze. I’m used to blood-frenzy in their eyes.
This one has lived long because it has a brutish intelligence inside its animal mind.
I steel myself. I need the Scorp to charge and lose itself in the moment. I need it to lose all sense of self-preservation in its surge of unbridled aggression.
“Come at me, you brute!” I yell the challenge, beating my chest with my left hand while my right firmly grasps the foot-long scale I’m going to drive into its body.
The Scorp stops ten feet away from me and circles me slowly, clicking its huge claws together. Sweat drips from my brow. I keep my eyes on the claws – trying not to think of what those razor-sharp claws would do to me if I was caught between their jagged blades.
Raegan pulls himself in the sand towards us, desperately trying to rejoin the fight as his life blood flows from the gash in his thigh. Baldur drips blood, but he has the battle-frenzy in his eyes and his aura is one of rage and adrenaline. There’s nothing left of fear or pain.
The Scorp feints, distracting me with its claws as its barbed tail flicks forward.
One jab of that barb is a death-sentence – but even poisoned, I’d have a few last minutes of life to kill the Scorp. I dive forward, knowing I’m already as good as dead, and the stinger grazes my shoulder as I bulrush the beast.
Two huge claws snap behind me, just missing me as I pick my spot and drive the scale between a chink in the beast’s armor. I use all my might to thrust the scale into it, then pull back, a long arc of red blood spurting out from its arteries.
Scorps may have the scales of a crocodile, the mandibles of a mantis, and the claws and stinger of a scorpion…
…but they still bleed red.
The Scorp screams out in agony. Its red eyes stare into mine. I’ve never been so close to a Scorp before.
As our gazes lock, I see the fear in the Scorp’s inhuman eyes. For the first time in my life, I see a Scorp as more than just a mindless killing machine. This beast was fighting for its life just as desperately as I was.
The monster pushes me back with its claws, and I collapse to my knees, exhausted.
I try to pull myself up as the beast rears above me, blocking the sun with its huge body. For a moment I’m sure I’m dead – about to be sliced and crushed by the Scorp’s lethal claws…
But, instead, the monster stands there, swaying from side to side. Red blood splatters rains down on the sand beneath it, splattering my naked body.
Finally, with a hideous death-rattle, the Scorp falls back, crumpling in the sand.
Dead.
But so am I –and I accept my death.
With a grimace, I look to my shoulder to see where the barbed stinger injected me with the Scorp’s lethal venom.
And then my eyes widen with hope.
By some stroke of pure luck, the stinger didn’t break my skin. I’ve narrowly avoided death.
That gives me the strength to clamber from my knees. I stumble across the sand to Raegan’s side. He’s passed out from blood loss, his aura weakening quickly in my mind. I grab his leg above the wound and squeeze as hard as I can, slowing the flow of blood. My muscles tense as I put every last bit of effort that I can muster into saving his life. Baldur is bleeding from his chest, but he aids me too, wrapping his hands over mind and pushing in.
The Scorp twitches as it bleeds out in the arena. The slaver who captured us stands in front of the hushed crowd.
“The Aurelians killed the Scorp barehanded! Incredible! But return tomorrow and you’ll see them battle against an even greater enemy! Tickets are on sale on the way out.”
The side door to the arena opens and Toads rush forward. I ache to rip them apart – until I see the medic markings on their shirts. They motion for us to move aside, and the lead medic pulls out a tool that looks like a welding torch.
A dark blue flame emanates from the tip. The Toad grunts, jerking its head to tell us to take our hands from Raegan’s leg. I nod to Baldur and we release him at the same time.
A fountain of blood spurts out – until the medic increases the intensity of the dark, blue flame and uses it to sear Raegan’s wound shut.
My blood-brother’s eyes widen, and he screams in pain at the heat of the scalding torch. Raegan’s agony is overwhelming, flooding my consciousness through our bond. It feels like my own leg is a pool of lava and agony.
For a moment, Raegan reaches out to rip the medic’s throat out – and Baldur and I have only a split-second to save the Toad’s life by pinning our brother to the ground.
Raegan mercifully passes out from the pain, his mind fading from my consciousness. The wound is a raw, rough scar – but at least the blood has stopped. The medics turn to Baldur, eyeing his bleeding chest.
“You’re not going near me with that thing!” Baldur yells, backing away from the torch.
The Toad shakes its head, jowls wobbling. “Have to. Master says heal you. If you die, we die.” The Toad uses the lower dialect of the poorer class. I understand that this one has no power. He can only serve; as powerless to the men who enslaved us as we are.
“Baldur, it’s going to fucking hurt,” I warn my blood-brother, “but if you don’t… It could get infected.”
Baldur breathes in and out raggedly. His eyes are wide as he stares at the blue flame. He swallows hard, then nods.
“Do it, then,” he hisses grimly.
I grab Baldur’s arms, holding the massive man still as the Toad aims his tool at Baldur’s broad chest. Flames sear my blood-brother’s body. Baldur screams in pain, struggling in my arms – but I hold him tight. There is no shame in agony. The shadow of his pain hits me through the shared bond of our consciousness, and I myself am barely able to hold him back as his biceps flex, and he tries to charge the Toad in front of him.
Baldur struggles in my arms until the Toad finally switches off the searing torch.
Finally, it’s over.
Baldur collapses to the ground. The medic looks down at him nervously. “Have to go. Next fight starting.” He hops away before Baldur can recover enough to hurt him.
“Get up,” I say to Baldur.
He nods, and I help him to his feet. My blood-brother shudders. I know he’s fighting to control his mind after the excruciating pain, and I share my strength with him though our telepathic bond.
This seems to help, and together, we take Raegan’s arms and pull him to his feet – stumbling towards the portcullis entrance. Two fat Toads guards, bearing long, electrified poles, wave their weapons at us as we pass – threatening to shock us if we try anything. I look at their huge, bulging arms and distended, muscled bellies, and I ache to take them on in a fair fight.
We drag Raegan slowly through the gate, into the compound that will be our home for the night. My eyes widen as I notice the wooden side door. I turn my eyes and telepath my thoughts to Baldur.
“That door could be broken down. When Raegan recovers, we can break the doors down on
the way to tomorrow’s fight.”
Baldur nods wearily as we’re herded into our cell. Our prison is large, with hay piled in the corner. I imagine at some point it was used to house some exotic beast that was forced to fight and die in the pits. Now, it houses three Aurelians.
I lay Raegan down, nudging hay with my feet to form a makeshift nest for him on the stone floor. Once he’s secure I straighten up. I shake my head and laugh, my voice echoing and booming through the cells.
“Not so noble are we now, caked in sweat and blood in a fucking jail cell,” I laugh, shaking my head at the squalor. There’s no response, though – not that I expected one. The other gladiators cower in their cells at my raucous voice, eager to be as far from the crazed Aurelian as they can.
I look up at Baldur and shake my head. We were so close to freedom. The three of us had finished our hundred-year campaign. We’d paid our blood price.
Back home on Colossus, each of us had a vast estate waiting – our reward for our years of service. It would be empty, just waiting for us to fill it with art and pleasure. Dozens of prime, human females would be waiting – hoping to be selected by us for our harems. The next stage of our lives had been so close. We’d served our empire, and it was time for our rewards.
Instead, I massage my aching muscles and sit on a cold floor; knowing that back home, the other 18,253 warriors in the campaign we’d all fought are lounging by pools, having their bodies massaged by human women.
My cock surges as I imagine having a submissive, willing human woman all to myself – breaking her to my will and transforming her into my perfect servant. The violence of the arena only inflames my desire for the peace of a submissive woman.
All Aurelians are born male. As a result, the feminine form of human women are our greatest drugs.
Toads have to enslave and leash humans – but Aurelians? We have human females crawling on their knees, holding the leash up and begging us to take dominance of them.
I shudder at the thought, and my cock surges up as I imagine the greatest pleasure known to the universe: Of having a human woman begging for you to seed her.
