Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) (6 page)

This corridor runs for about seventy-five feet before opening into another room about the same size as the mess hall. Ten stained stone slabs line each wall, with chains and shackles bolted into in them. On the one farthest from the door we entered though, a recumbent figure is visible. Secured by the shackles, its hips and groin are wrapped with bandages.

As the Throd'nahk leads me closer, I see Cletus' blonde hair and former pretty boy face. His nose is smashed flat, and he has missing teeth in his upper jaw.

“Without healing magic, he will never be a while man again. Even with strong healing magic, he might never be a whole man. Our healer is low class, and the Mistress will not spend money on a weak Champion like Cletus. Even if he was the Blood Rose Stable's Champion, and the current Gor'achen Champion, he's useless.”

The Throd'nahk stares coldly at me.

“So, what does that mean for me?”

I feel the chill of the Throd'nahk's cold smile. Even though not much of anything causes me to really feel fear anymore, this Throd'nahk has enough Power and presence to make me uneasy.

“You will become the new Champion of the Blood Rose Stable.”

The Throd'nahk pauses for a few moments, but I do not say anything. The driving force behind this has to be Elan'fer'sha. Blood Rose Stable has to be her gladiatorial stable. Fighting and killing have been part of life for years now. If becoming their Champion will keep me alive until I can escape, I will become their Champion.

“You're rather passive for someone who reeks of bloodshed.”

I shrug. “For now, I'm nothing but a collared slave.”

The Throd'nahk's grin is nasty. “Now and forever. Even if it's not actively blocking your Power, that collar will keep you a slave forever. If you attacked one of the Masters or Mistresses, it would turn you into a useless sack of flesh. You'd be pissing, shitting, and puking all over yourself, until one of the Masters shut it down. If no one shut it down, you would die.”

I do not respond to the Throd'nahk and stare at him with a bored expression on my face. He is not one of the Masters. There is nothing to stop me from killing him, if I have the opportunity.

From the way that the Throd'nahk looks back at me, I have the impression that he knows exactly what I am thinking.

“Come!”

As I follow the Throd'nahk, leads me out into the arena.

The light crystal in the cavern roof is emitting the same yellowish light as last time. It feels similar to sunlight, even to the point of having some warmth, but there is something not right. I do not feel like I am under the sun of the Earth, but that different feel does not mean anything, since so many of the zones in the Battleground of the Damned have suns that feel different from Earth. If I were told that the crystal was designed to mimic the light of a sun I have not yet seen, I would take those words as truth.

The gladiators are paired up, performing sword drills at somewhere around half speed. This is not sparring, but instead, they are training what is often called muscle memory. Almost all of the attacks in their drills are ones that will cause wounds but probably not kill. The constant repetitions are designed to make it so they can use the attacks and defenses instinctually, while hurt and distracted by the roaring crowds lusting after more of their blood.

The new slaves, except for the one with the broken shoulder, are in a circle. They are doing squats, while tossing boulders that probably weigh in the neighborhood of two hundred pounds to the man next to them. As much as training their physical strength, the exercise is training their timing and judgment. If they make a single mistake, it could easily result in broken bones.

“Choose your weapons!” The Throd'nahk takes a spear from the racks filled with practice weapons. It is a huge weapon, almost a foot longer than he is tall.

Following the Throd'nahk's command, I find the practice swords I used against Cletus. Swords are not the best choice against the spear, but dual weapons are what I am most comfortable with. In the hands of experts with both weapons, with all Power based abilities ignored, the spear has the advantage over the sword. Using dual weapons slightly offsets the advantage but does not eliminate it.

Without any preamble or warning, the Throd'nahk attacks. The tyrannical domination of his first few attacks would do any master I have ever seen proud. Every attack challenges the weak points in my defense left by the preceding attack; he changes the angle and height enough to keep me off-balance, slowly driving me back. I am unable to do anything but defend desperately, as I retreat. This man is a true expert with the spear.

As the Throd'nahk shifts position, a slight change in the timing of his attacks gives me a chance to start circling him. As skilled as he is, when I am already moving perpendicularly to his lines of attack, the Throd'nahk cannot force me into a retreat like he did with his opening attack. Without being driven back by the force of his attacks, I am maintaining a better defense, but still have no opportunity to initiate any attacks of my own. Every time I try to break open his defense, he can suppress my attack before I am in range.

The Throd'nahk is not using Power, but his skill with a spear exceeds my skill with the sword by enough of a margin that I am helpless before him. Without using Shadow Fist, I will not stand a chance against him, but I do not want to reveal too much about Shadow Fist.

“If you don't us the martial style you used against Cletus, I'm going to put you on the slab next to him.” There is no threat or hostility in the Throd'nahk's voice. It is so flat that it is more threatening than enraged screaming would ever be.

Now, I understand what this little session is about. After seeing me use Shadow Fist's movement capabilities to get the best of Cletus with his Power released, the Throd'nahk wants to see for himself what I am capable of.

I feel my face go flat and expressionless. For some reason, the Throd'nahk's little test is pissing me the fuck off a lot more than it should. I must be under too much stress, with everything that has happened in the last few days.

As the Throd'nahk lunges with his spear, I advance into his attack and move underneath his weapon. My joints practically scream under the burden of force my action puts on them. Even as I stab toward his balls, the Throd'nahk twists the haft of his spear to deflect the blade. My left hand sword coming from low to high in an oblique stab gives him no chance to retaliate, as he is forced to block again.

My attacks keep coming, and the Throd'nahk keeps backing away while defending. His eyes are fully open. The squinting glare that seemed to be the natural set of his face is gone. His basic skill is probably two or three notches above my own, but my ferocious Shadow Fist based attacks, delivered from angles and positions I should not be able to reach is keeping him on the defensive.

“Look over there!”

“Greatest God!”

“That scarred fucker is pushing the Throd'nahk around!”

“I don't believe this!”

Something flickers in the Throd'nahk's visage. It might be pride, but there is anger there, as well.

Fuck me! Blue light flares in my vision, and I dive past the Throd'nahk's knees.

Boom!

I hit the ground rolling, and as soon as my feet touch the ground again, launch myself at an angle to my left.

Boom!

After another roll, I rise to my feet spinning to face the Throd'nahk. Ropes of blue lighting are coiling around his spear, and his face is filled with a mix of anger and something else.

His face turning into a mask of pure rage, the Throd'nahk turns toward the gladiators. “Who ordered you to halt your practice?! Resume your training or you will doing be strength drills with the new meat all night!”

Wiping the expressions of shock and amazement off their faces, the gladiators hastily return to their training. Their overzealously energetic practice is almost comical to watch.

When the Throd'nahk turns back to me, the rage is gone from his face. Once again, the squint-eyed, glaring mask is back in place.

“What is that martial style that you use?”

I stare at the Throd'nahk for a moment. Is there any harm in telling him? Just the name will mean nothing to almost everyone everywhere.

“Shadow Fist.”

The Throd'nahk appears to think for several long moments. “I have never heard of a style like it.”

I shrug. “I'm the only living practitioner as far as I know.”

“The way you move seems half-crippled. That style is dependent on Power. If your Power is released, how much more effective will it become.”

Sudden pain flares through me, but I keep it off my face. The pain came from my soul, as one of my soul threads was severed. It was connected to one of the dimensional storage rings. Even though I have heard of techniques to sever soul threads, I have never encountered them directly. The quickest and most efficient way to sever a soul thread is to kill the bearer of the thread.

“It's hard to say. I only use the movement techniques from Shadow Fist, when I am forced to, but they have never failed me.” No, that is not true, but this Throd'nahk has no need to know that. I could not even use Shadow Fist, when Jinmu called on Yggr to Judge me. I may as well not have even known Shadow Fist for all that it helped me against the Judgment.

The Throd'nahk stares at me for several moments. His manner gives the impression that he is weighing something in his mind.

Looking to one of the DokkAlfar guards, the Throd'nahk points to me. “Guard, release his Power.”

The guard just stares at the Throd'nahk for a moment, before reaching into his belt pouch. Taking out one of those black metal rods, he points it at me, and I feel the collar's retaliation turn off. Even though I was not consciously aware of the energy field, its lack is now obvious.

At first, I circulate just a trickle of ki, making sure there is no backlash. As I flood ki through my body, I feel like I am coming to life.

Putting ki into my practice swords, I find that they are capable of handling a surprising amount of ki. As I wrap them with kinetic force, I attack the Throd'nahk, but I do not catch him off guard. From his reaction, it seems as if he was waiting for my assault. His spear blocks both of my thrusts, and ropes of blue lightning snake across his entire body. His retaliation is even faster than my own strikes.

Our first exchange makes it clear that that Throd'nahk is faster than I am. Whether reaction speed or movement speed, he is ahead of me by a good margin.

I move under one of the Throd'nahk's thrusts. As I circle behind his back, I feel the fabric of reality around me almost warping. Spinning around wide-eyed, the Throd'nahk blocks my thrusts and slashes, with a series of rapid strikes from his spear's shaft. Springing back, he puts close to twenty feet between us. His stare seems to burn a hole in me, while he appears to be trying to understand how I performed that move.

“Do that to me again!”

I attack again, waiting for an opening. After a few minutes, it comes, when the Throd'nahk tries to club me in the head with a lateral sweep from his spear's shaft. Stepping behind him, I lunge forward, as the Throd'nahk leaps away from me.

“Again!”

As soon as I am within range of the Throd'nahk's spear, I move forward. Using attacks from Shadow Fist, that have the same near warping effect on space, I launch a thrust at his leg and another at his neck, before my movement is complete. The strain of so many Shadow Fist techniques at once on my body is painful enough to make me want to scream. Only a body strong enough to channel the Od is strong enough to truly use Shadow Fist.

The Throd'nahk still manages to knock both my blades aside, and I barely duck under his elbow aimed at my face. Stepping behind the Throd'nahk, I strike at both his kidneys with the hilts of my swords, but he is already turning to intercept me. His speed is inhuman, and he stops both attacks, slightly numbing my forearms in the process.

For the next few minutes, we exchange rapid attacks, until I stumble. Another of my soul threads has been severed, and the sudden pain sweeping through my body disrupted my balance.

The Throd'nahk uses the opportunity to push his assault, and I am driven fully on the defensive again. However, my continued use of Shadow Fist prevents him from pinning me down, and I have the chance to regain my equilibrium.

Even with ki fueling my techniques, Shadow Fist is still taking its toll on my body, and the severing of my soul threads took a toll on my soul. With intervals of a little more than twenty minutes between the severing of threads, except for the endless quiver, all of my bindings to my storage devices are gone.

Even though the Throd'nahk is not driving his attack home, I am still in bad shape. Combined with the fatigue and damage from using Shadow Fist, the severing of my soul threads has taken its toll on me. I am filled with both physical and non-physical pain. My soul feels like it has been abraded with a rasp, and my body feels like I tried to body surf the rapids of a wild river.

The Throd'nahk has been carefully observing me. Despite my self-control and tolerance for pain, I must be showing some of the damage.

“Enough for now. We will continue after the midday meal.”

I stare at the Throd'nahk. “So, are you going to give me a loincloth like the rest of the gladiators, or is walking around with around with my dick hanging out all the time some kind of ritual hazing?”