Feeling them on top of him, with nearly two meters between himself and the wall, Jarred leapt, catching a foothold on the wall and continuing to bound up it towards his target. He climbed three strides before reaching the long sword that was still holding the dead Fyoran in place, pushing off while pulling the blade free of the wall. Twisting around, while continuing his still upward movement, he found himself coming face to face with the closest of the two approaching Cresche. Thrusting the sword up, he drove it’s long blade into the creature’s throat, cutting it open as his momentum brought him around it’s head. Once his feet connected with the beast’s armored neck plating, he crouched low and powered off of the solid surface, his high arcing trajectory sending him directly into the path of the final Cresche. Bringing the axe he was still holding up over his head, he waited for the creature to extend itself towards him, which it did, and as its mandibles parted to reveal an even more grotesque gaping mouth, he brought the weapon down hard, his strike sinking deeply into the center of the creature’s face. Releasing his grip on the axe, he dropped down to the arena floor, stepping aside as the arachnid first wobbled oddly for a moment before finally collapsing in a dust billowing heap.
Jarred stared at the unmoving creature for a long moment before letting his gaze move out across the rest of the arena floor. Confirming that, apart from himself, nothing else was still moving, he relaxed his guard, taking in a few deep and welcome breaths of air in an attempt to slow his, adrenaline induced, rapid heart beat. As the loud thumping in his chest began to quiet, be finally began to realize that the stands had also grown strangely silent around him. Looking up into the ascending tiers of watching spectators, he supposed he understood why they had become so quiet. The event obviously hadn’t turned out the way any of them would have expected. Many would have had credits riding on the outcome. Once the initial surprise wore off, he was sure their confusion would turn to anger, in light of their losses, and it would no doubt be directed squarely at him. Their rage would, however, be dwarfed in comparison to that of his special guest audience.
Allowing his gaze to drift up to the private viewing tower, he could almost feel the hostility radiating from the small audience chamber high above him. He wasn’t supposed to have survived this long. His blood should be covering the sand of this arena floor. The fact that it wasn’t would be sitting less than well with the watching Rai Chi warriors that were thirsting for it. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t say he was sorry to be disappointing them.
Unable to see his warrior audience in any detail from their high vantage point, he simply imagined the looks of outrage that would be adorning their faces, the visualization bringing a defiant smirk to his own. It almost made this whole ordeal worth the trouble, though he guessed that these
games
were still far from over.
* * *
Traug literally felt sick to his stomach as he watched the last of the Cresche fall at the edge of the bounty hunter’s blade. A feat he would have considered completely unfathomable, had he not just witnessed it with his own eyes. Though his interest in the strange, and seemingly gifted, human continued to grow, the feeling was heavily trumped by the more pressing urge to flee. An urge he wisely resisted, while using every ounce of his will to remain composed in the enraged presence of his warrior guest.
He hadn’t expected the human to fall instantly, based on his previous observations of him, in fact, he had been counting on the contrary. Shu’ma wouldn’t have been pleased with a quick death. He wanted to watch the human bleed and suffer before dying. Unfortunately, the bounty hunter had done none of those things thus far. He had survived both the infected hoard and the Cresche, which had been ordered released into the arena when it appeared the gladiators, and perhaps even the high arena walls themselves, would not be able to contain the highly contagious diseased.
If things continued as they were, that being, the human continuing to remain relatively unscathed in the Blood Dome, Shu’ma’s already flaring temper would erupt. Traug didn’t know what the exact result of that would be, but was fairly certain it would not bode well for his chances of profiting from the situation, nor doing so with his personal health intact. He would need to up the ante. Activating the personal comm unit on the side of his chair, which gave him a direct link to the arena’s control center, he waited the short few seconds for the facility’s administrator to respond.
“How may I be of assistance, Traug?”
The administrator, though polite and accommodating, didn’t sound overly enthused to be waiting on Traug and his guests.
That was understandable. Traug was currently in that very predicament himself and couldn’t say that he fully enjoyed it either. However, he also wasn’t one to let something as trivial as discomfort stand between himself and his goals, which were always unchanging. Profit. From all things that rendered it and by any means necessary. Though unpleasant, a bad situation, manipulated with precision, could still yield beneficial results. That, of course, was Traug’s sole reason for being here, and though the current situation was poor, he still believed he could come out on the positive end.
“It seems your
event
isn’t proceeding completely as planned,” he replied, his voice low enough not to carry to the ears of his warrior guests.
“Yes,”
the administrator returned, sounding understandably irritated.
“Your last minute edition to the match card has yielded some . . . unanticipated results. You really must tell me where you found him.”
“Another time, perhaps.” Traug wasn’t the only one trying to make the best of the situation, it seemed, which was something he could respect, but his own agenda took precedence. “Though the games have most certainly been exciting, they have not yielded the intended results my guests were hoping for, with regards to our last minute edition. I am hoping you can remedy that, without much further delay. My guests’ patience are not without limits.”
“I have something which should see your guests’ appetites well satisfied, and those of the crowd as well.”
“Very good, administrator. See it done.” Traug disengaged the comm, and returned his gaze to the high view of the arena, feeling Shu’ma’s eyes burning into him as he did so. He turned to face the warrior and smiled broadly.
“Are you enjoying the games, Master Warrior?” The glare Traug received gave him his answer. “The human is fairing better than expected, but it does make for a good show.”
“Shu’ma is hardly impressed,” the warrior’s translator echoed, a moment after he had finished speaking the words in his own dialect. “His patience with this spectacle have also nearly run dry.”
“Though a quick death may quench one’s thirst for the kill,” Traug interjected, respectfully, “it’s prolonging can serve to heighten the overall experience, making the end result all the more satisfying. I assure you, the human will fall. These games have only just begun.”
Perfectly timed, the arena commentator’s booming voice came over the amplification system.
“An extraordinary turn of events this day in the Blood Dome! Another indication that, on the arena floor, anything is possible! This human has beaten the odds, surviving the raving infected hoard and the ferocious cresche! Can he survive his next challenge? This arena’s greatest warrior and the blood sport’s reigning champion! Rise to your feet and behold him in his savage glory! The Blood Dome gives you . . . Baruq!”
“Ah, Baruq,” Traug commented. “A great warrior in the arena. The human will surely be crushed by his might.”
Shu’ma’s expression did nothing to hide his utter lack of enthusiasm. Traug didn’t feel any better himself. He looked down into the arena, hopeful that his prediction would come to pass. His reputation and physical well being were riding on it. He had never been a fan of the blood sports, or any other sport for that matter. They seemed absurdly trivial and completely unproductive. Quite frankly . . . they bored him. How ironic was it then, that he now found himself unable to consider anything else.
This . . .
game
. . . had suddenly become as important to him as it was to the multitude of spectators with large sums of credits riding on it’s outcome, though the stakes for him were not simply monetary in nature. His wager had become his life.
Chapter 35
As Baruq's name sounded out over the amplification system, the crowd again roared to life, a symphony of excited voices all cheering for their hero . . . and Jarred’s subsequent demise. It wasn’t the most inspiring sentiment, but then, he didn’t really require any. That was, none beyond buying the others the time they needed to make their escape. That was his motivation.
If Ethan and Tarik had managed to find and free Elora and escape the waste facility; which he had to believe, or else all of this was for nothing; then they would have done so by now. In which case, he had accomplished what he had set out to do. He had given them the time they needed. Now all that was left was to save his own skin. That was going to be a bit more complicated.
The arena door rose open once more, to the joyous applause of the spectators, the being that stalked out of the large passage standing nearly as tall as the opening itself. Jarred realized quickly that his initial assessment of the gladiator’s physical dimensions was inaccurate, as it passed completely through the opening to where it could stand up fully, raising its true height another half meter. Taking in the ridiculously large being, in somewhat disbelief, he let out an aggravated sigh and spared a glance up at the viewing spire high above him.
“What, you couldn’t find anything bigger?” he commented, dryly, in the general direction of his warrior observers.
Baruq’s animal roar brought Jarred’s full attention back to the gladiator, though the vocal challenge was not directed at him, but at the surrounding audience. Another performer, playing to his adoring masses? From the looks of the behemoth, it seemed more likely he simply wasn’t equipped to differentiate between fan and foe. Jarred doubted that any of the cheering spectators would survive an up close and personal meeting with the reigning champion.
Standing nearly five meters, it was understandable why the giant Gorlak had risen to the top of the blood sport. His sheer mass was an impressive thing to behold, as was the oversized hammer-like club he held at his side, the head of which was covered in deadly looking spikes. Jarred would have been even more impressed had be been viewing it all from the relative safety of the stands, along with the other spectators. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
Baruq began to move forward in a slow march, stopping at one of the fallen Cresche, which stirred and flailed at his approach. Eyeing the feeble creature for a moment, the gladiator snarled and brought his club up high, bringing it down again in a mighty swing that crushed the arachnid’s head.
Jarred was actually stunned to see the blow shatter the almost indestructible Cresche exoskeletal plating. An obvious indication of Baruq’s incredible strength. Even a glancing strike would break most of, if not every bone in Jarred’s body. This wasn’t a fight he could win. Not toe to toe anyhow. Taking a step back, he gripped the handle of his battle axe and pulled it free of the Cresche he had killed with it only moment’s earlier, a child’s toy next to the gladiator’s massive club.
Baruq let out another ferocious roar for the crowd, shaking the stands. A proclamation of his great might. One which Jarred could not deny. Cheers flooded from the surrounding tiers of stands, accompanied by a rhythmic thumping, a call for battle from the audience in the form of stomping hands and feet, that Jarred could feel reverberating through him. He couldn’t answer their call and charge the behemoth. That tactic would lead him to a quick death. Nor could he just run away from the gladiator, hoping for him to grow tired and fall unconscious. But what
could
he do? The constant thumping and cheering of the crowd was almost deafening, allowing little else to enter Jarred’s mind. He had to think of something.
Finally, Baruq’s gaze fell on Jarred and he raised his giant club in the air, letting loose another roaring challenge, calling the small being before him forward to his certain death.
Without any further thought or consideration, Jarred took his axe in a double handed grip, reached back over his head with it and, with all of his strength, launched it end over end towards his large target. It was an impossibly far throw and he was almost surprised when the weapon hit home, the axe blade burying itself deeply into the center of Baruq’s forehead.
The crowd’s enthusiastic chants stopped abruptly, for the second time this day, as the giant gladiator stood motionless for a long moment, before finally falling back to crash onto the arena floor. The silence continued for some time after the booming echo of Baruq’s mass hitting the ground had faded. Jarred would have expected as much. The match had ended rather quickly and in a fashion none of the spectators would have anticipated. Actually, the match hadn’t even begun yet, which was exactly what he had been hoping for. The result was double edged, serving the purpose of allowing him to avoid a beating, he almost definitely wouldn’t have survived, with the added benefit of further infuriating his
special
spectators. He wasn’t exactly sure as to how doing so would aid him in escaping this mess, but he felt strongly that it was the right path to take.