Leviathan (Fist of Light Series) (6 page)

I was still smirking when the door opened to admit a self-important, paunchy fellow. “What're you smiling at, whelp? You'll be bleeding out on the sands of the arena before the night is through. That’s nothing to be smirking about.” He grinned, probably busy envisioning the scene.

I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “That may be, but if I'm going, I'll be bringing you down with me.”

For a second, it looked like the guy was going to take a whack at me, but he reeled himself back before following through. “You've got spunk. I like that, kid. But you aren’t going to make it past midnight. Even if you make it through the first two rounds, our top contender will bleed you dry.”

“
There are multiple rounds,”
I projected to Jeeves and started to feel uncertain that our plan was going to work.

“
My hearing is equal to, if not better than your own. We must press on.”

“Finally you’ve seen how hopeless your chances of survival are. Maybe you don't have as much fire as I thought.” My captor prodded me down the corridor; I didn’t give him the satisfaction of resisting.

Miniscule details became my top priority, although there wasn't much to see. My guess had paid off. Quite literally, this underground operation was below street level. A series of what I assumed were holding cells extended down the hall but branched off abruptly as the ground sloped upward. I hoped to find an escape route in one of those directions. Finding which one led to the surface wouldn’t be easy, though, especially since my captor hadn’t put any time aside for a tour. Fluorescent lights beat back the darkness at regular intervals, but much was still in deep shadow. Water dripped constantly from the ceiling; obviously someone hadn't put much effort into waterproofing. My guard whistled tunelessly as we ambled along, desensitized to the daily happenings of this hellhole. Whoever this guy was, he didn’t have the right to be considered human. He flaunted his happiness at the deaths of others.

Anger seared through my abdomen and invaded my heart, but I kept it under strict orders to bide its time for the right moment. We progressed through a series of doors and chambers. I quickly discovered that without a guide, losing my way would be entirely possible, probably unavoidable. Before long, we arrived in a well-equipped armory. Knowing that it would do me no good to take advantage of the weapons arrayed before me, I held back. This whole waiting thing wasn't programmed into my genetics and I found myself fighting them at every turn.

Thankfully, my captor’s cacophonous whistling stopped as we entered the room. “You have the choice of the weapons before you. Take only
one
. And no funny business,
comprende
?” He indicated that he was carrying.

He had already been written off as irrelevant, as my eyes were busy scanning the weapons arrayed before me. Every choice under the sun was at my fingertips, but most all were worn, rusted, pitted, more likely to shatter and cause my death than to provide protection.

“Well? What'll it be? We haven't got all day.” He looked down, tapping at his watch.

“
Might I suggest the knuckle dusters? They have projections upon them, highly effective in providing distraction by causing painful, although superficial wounds. The rest look ready to fall apart and get you killed.”

After walking up to the wall, I plucked the knuckle dusters off a peg and tried them on. The projections gleamed dully, dried blood reducing their sheen. The knowledge that the implements in my hands had been used to do harm to another bothered me much less than it should have. Punching experimentally, I found myself satisfied with the simple weapons. I made my readiness known to my captor, who sat me down and inspected me from head to toe.

My jailer began a practiced speech, one that had obviously been uttered countless times to captives in the same position as me. “When you step out on the sands, you will fight and put forth every ounce of your essence into the effort. The only chance of survival in these games of blood lies with this singular intensity. It’s been a long time since an Empowered has taken to the sands and much is riding on your performance. The Dominus would be displeased if you spoil the night for his clients.”

I played ball, trying to gain every advantage possible. “What exactly is this place?”

The man's features clouded, an almost animalistic pleasure appearing. “This place… it’s a lost civilization running in counterpoint with the accepted customs of
modern civilization
.” He spat out the last two words disgustedly. “It contains the guilty pleasures of humanity, the urge to witness glory in death. The Dominus precedes the weak governments of the modern world. He hails from a time long buried in the past but forever remembered for its splendor. It is said that he was granted immortality by the Roman gods as the pantheon slowly receded from the minds of men and monotheistic religion took root. He was charged to maintain the power that was wrongfully stolen. A widely practiced form of sacrifice was through the gladiatorial games, the bloody struggle of man against beast, against himself. Our Dominus provides entertainment, a platform of betting to those who would spend the coin and deals in items of value to the magical community, both physical and otherwise.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I played for time.

“
What are we dealing with here, Jeeves? A blood-crazed follower of some ancient gods?”

“
The Roman pantheon was widely worshipped, adapted from the Greeks through a mere changing of names. The same gods remained. Their power has been greatly reduced. Their influence in this world is slight. They fled into their dimensional Realm long ago, and yet their collective might is something to be reckoned with. They still possess the power to cross over to this world, though they remain largely removed from humanity as a rule. Sacrifice accounts for their power, diminished though it may be, and their preference has always been the spilling of blood in the arena.”

I decided to ignore the fact that Jeeves had just informed me of the existence of an entire slew of gods, ones that could walk among us. No, there were more important things to be thinking about, mainly the reference to
blood sacrifice.
Shaking my head and pinching an arm, I confirmed this was no training exercise in the Dreamscape, not that I had expected escape to be so easy. From what had been explained to me, it was obvious that there was a fight to be had and I would either die in a shower of blood and gore to the approving screams of a crowd or be forced to kill.

My captor ran a grimy hand across stubble as he pondered whether he should divulge information not specifically addressed in the Introduction to Roman Sacrifice. “The Dominus runs the black market of the magical community.” His eyes lit with manic emotion. “He trades in magical implements and commodities, coupled with the forced enslavement of subhuman entities, to those with the appropriate monetary backing.”

“
Think he's telling the truth?”
I directed the question at Jeeves, who had taken up residence in front of the weapons rack.

Jeeves flickered alarmingly before regaining his composure.
“He has no reason to lie and it appears he receives amusement from toying with the minds of his captives, fleeting though it may be.”

The roar of the crowd reached me from through two colossal double doors. “The time of your baptism into the bloody arms of the arena nears.” He cracked a smile at the crafty words.

I didn't trust myself to contain my rage in response to the existence of a supernatural slave trade where preternatural beings were sold to the highest bidder, so it was left to fester. “And what makes sure the players involved in this game do what you want?”

No warning was provided before pain swelled and consumed my every thought, flooded my soul. Waves of agony ran down my body, an intensely pounding energy that threatened to tear my mind apart. Losing control of basic bodily functions, I was no longer able to remain upright as my muscles spasmed uncontrollably. The worst part was discovered as the agonizing seconds drew out infinitely— that sober thought was still possible and there was no escape into unconsciousness. The pain vanished as fast as it came, leaving my shaking body to reassert its usual operating procedures and to sort out the psychological damage. Jeeves flickered into being before my eyes, squatting in my field of vision, tacitly advising against brash action.

I spat blood onto the concrete flooring from where my unresponsive body had crumpled to the ground. “I see.” My hoarse voice came across with not-so-veiled anger.

It didn't faze my guard. “You're no different than any of the others that came before.” He flourished a gap-toothed grin. “When's all said and done, your last drop of blood will be spilled on the sands and your wasted body will be burned upon a pyre before the screams for your death fade. The gods will be pleased with your sacrifice.”

“I was looking for something with more of a flair for the dramatic.” I sported a ghastly grin as my captor dragged me roughly to my feet.

Pushed and prodded, I was driven towards a strident roar that seeped through the doors before me, which had to be my destination. “Even with your fancy magics, you'd be hard pressed to survive what’s coming. The Dominus has deemed that all the stops be taken out. In the unlikely possibility that you
do
survive, you're to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. The frenzy with which gold will be spent for your worthless hide will bring even more sacrifices to the master’s door. Face the music,
boy.
This is a Lose-Lose scenario and there's nothing you can do.” He smiled, a satisfied, evil thing, before thrusting me forward.

I
brought my hands up before I hit the ground, mostly muting my fall. Dust swirled before my face, a chaotic blend of sand that obscured my vision and clogged up my nose and eyes. Wiping mechanically at my face, I spat out a mixture of blood and sand. Then I heard it. The raucous cheering of a crowd encompassed me entirely. They were driven to frenzy by the promise of blood. My audience was comprised of half-humans, subhumans, and a measly portion of human spectators. Their voices blended together into a dangerous concoction that would turn ugly if not given what they’d come for.

“
This isn't good,”
I informed Jeeves.

“
It’s not as bad as you think,”
he replied.
“All is going according to plan. From this point, we must analyze and react to whatever is thrown at us. This won’t be our last stand.”
Despite his words, his confident pose had jumped ship.

The arena was simply designed, but its protections were so complex that they escaped my comprehension entirely. Sigils had been inscribed on every available surface, taking up gleaming residence on the sandstone walls. The only thing I was sure of was that their purpose was to prevent me from escaping or doing anything untoward to the hollering spectators who were became wrapped in shadow as the lights dimmed. Flexing my power, it became obvious that my collar was inactive. No longer was I separated from the pulsing core of my being, the nexus of power that drove my abilities. With my short rest, there was a chance of standing against the challenges before me.

A figure on an opulent throne caught my attention, looking at home amid the chaos. He raised his hands commandingly, demanding silence. “My friends, tonight the gods have blessed my arena. Tonight I present a captive Empowered, a powerful entity capable of commanding the elements, as you all well know. Look closely, for this is an event that will be carved in the halls of memory. These walls will reverberate with the screams of the dying and countless sacrifices will grace the halls of my patrons.”

As the cries of the crowd crashed powerfully on my ears, my initial assessment was that the Dominus was extremely full of himself. That was probably an unavoidable byproduct when you were ancient history. Clawing my way out of any dangerous thoughts that would only distract me from my purpose, I allowed the clamoring of the crowd to wash harmlessly over me. Reflexively, I stuffed my emotions into a metaphysical wastebasket.

“Let the games begin!” A hand shot out, beginning the event.

The doors on the opposite side of the arena opened and the ground trembled in time with colossal steps as my enemies took to the sands. Massive bodies entered my field of vision, and I grimaced as blue appendages flexed threateningly.

“Ogres,” Jeeves commented offhandedly from beside me. “It appears that the restricting aspects of the torc have been removed for the encounter, as expected.”

“Lovely.” I fashioned the statement to respond to both assertions. “They're sure big, bad, and ugly, though they don't look very smart carrying those gigantic clubs.”

The ogres before me varied in stature but averaged twelve feet at least. Once a certain height was reached, you're just damn
tall.
They had muscles on top of muscles on top of muscles. Their skin was a uniform blue color, something I'd never seen before. This brought the realization that there was an incalculable array of knowledge to learn about the supernatural demesne and I'd barely scratched the surface. The great beasts lumbered towards me in an almost synchronized attack. I got the feeling the maneuver had to be practiced repeatedly before it could be successfully executed.