The Arena

[Mariana Xiechai]

She ran a sandpaper tongue over her bleeding lips and gums, turning her head to spit. Her footpads slide over the loose dirt, and she felt the corner of her mouth twitch up into a grim smile. Feral. That was how she felt. Doubtless that was how she looked, her fur matted where tarnished leathers didn't cover it. The rest of her covered in scars that now seemed ancient, alongside wounds just starting to heal. Initially, they'd had to drug her to fight. Initially, it had been a struggle just to force her into the Arena. She'd thrown her sword down and taken the beatings. Again. And again. And again.

One could only get thwacked upside the head so many times before it did something to cognitive memory. First it had been how she'd even found herself in this purgatory. Where was she again? Next was where she'd come from before. She hadn't been born here, surely? Her name was last. That one was disorienting. The opponent had managed to fracture her wrist before she snapped back into reality.

By that time she wasn't permitted a weapon any longer. She was meat, and nothing else, meant to be bruised and bloodied solely so that the crowd could look on and cheer. The ynnwn was not a particularly impressive fellow in anything other than gods-given size; his movements were thuggish and reduced to whatever he could manage to latch onto with slow-moving fists. Her protest was forgotten along with her history. In its place was nothing but instinct, purely animal. She lunged at him, claws sliding out of their beds, jaw opening to show fangs. She scrambled upwards, found his jugular, and bit down until she tasted metal and heard his strangled breathing.

When she stood again, she was reborn. Pain and trefoil had washed away recollection in a haze of agony and drugging. She raised a fist towards the astonished crowd, shrieking her defiance, shrieking because her confusion left no room for fear and only space for rage. Their cheers energized her. They filled her with the need and desire to win.

And win she did. Match after match. She climbed through the ranks that stubbornness had managed to let her fall. Phoenix, they called her, Phoenix from the ashes. They had no idea how appropriate that name rang true. For that matter, neither did she.

Now she fought the better stock. Now she stood in front of a nolthrir, eyes cold, motions deadly-quick. Both were bleeding. Both were struck. His shoulder held a puncture that wept constantly. He was breathing hard, but so was she. The match was close. The audience was watching with bated breath and a collective sigh with every landed hit.

It was time that won it. She had endurance on her side. She was used to pain. Why, she couldn't quite remember, but it got her what she wanted so it didn't matter. When he finally stumbled, she advanced, plunging the sword through his chest like a knife through softest butter. The crowd went wild. She was exhilarated.

He slumped, and Dakkru's clutching fingers curled around him and whisked him away.

It was only at this point that she still felt it. That moral tug, that inherent wrongness. The wait a minute, this isn't right here, something is wrong. It reached through the foggy violence and tapped at her conscience insistently. She would freeze, jaw slightly parted, in an inexplicable stupor. Why did you kill him? That's not right. Who are you? Who are you?

That was when they triggered the collar. It was infused with so much enchantment she couldn't begin to guess what it all entailed. First it sapped her energy. It drove her to her knees, a weak husk, a limp mess of limbs and weakly protesting growls. They would advance and drag her back into her cell, toss her inside to recuperate on a straw mattress and a bowl of thick porridge.

The akkaio blinked her eyes. The world was a blur for a while. She took measured breaths, waiting for the paralytic tingling to leave her limbs. Then she sat up slowly, and looked around her, her eyes searching in the dimness to see her unlikely compatriots whose freedom was also given up inside the rusty iron cages.

[Take it from here! You can be:
A fellow fighter of any particular race or attitude recalling similar events
A guard skulking in the corners or taunting somebody
An onlooker from the crowd who came down to poke fun
Anything that comes to mind!
Time: Current. Location: Deep in the sewers. Other ambiguity will later be explained.
Further details to be revealed. I plan to bring this arc in game at some point. For now, jump on in!]

[Volki]

Bzzt! Bzzt! Get out da way! Get out da way, nakey-beasts! I'mma fly, yo! Watch out! I'll take out your eye, yo! Wit ma bizzy wings! Zip zing!

[Chessire]

The old Dlayo stirred in his cell as he heard steps on the stone stairs. Two men, leather boots, descending slowly. Bad sign.

He had been strong on his first days. His wings and his training gave him the upper hand over most of the other young gladiators, he was lighter so he could jump, he was faster so he could dodge and his claws were like small daggers obeying his every whim. He was able to run, climb on the stone wall and rain down on his enemies, few had seen that move before. He was winning.

But since Dakkru had been so reluctant on claiming him time did. Wounds piling one over the other, first a small tear on his wings that only grew since he'd never find the proper care, then a dislocated right from the big fight with the kran champion, bloody match! His arm kept coming out over and over after that. The latest wound was a blade through his left foot, a roguish ylian tried to keep him from moving but got too close. The wardens never healed them properly.

He did mind at first, a lot. But life has a way of sending you around just to the right situations and places, teaching you exactly what you need to know to live another day. That's what alive people tell us, at least.

Accumulated fighting experience, that's what was keeping him now. He could no longer glide or dart around, no matter. In the end your physical advantages are irrelevant. They are just compensations for your young and foolish state, you are stupid so you have to make up for it with muscle. In the end all you are left with is experience.


The steps approached. He could tell by the sound, one of them was carrying something.
"You're up next, scales." He unocked his bars and released the chain, just as the other man was throwing a ball of dirt, blood and fur in the next cell.
Of all the beasts here it was the most ferocious. And he always pondered this one might finally be his undoing. He stopped for a moment and looked, no glowing eyes in the dark this time. He wasn't going to be heard but as every other time he softly said the same words, like a lucky charm. "Goodnight Phoenix. Its my turn again."

[novacadian]

The Ylian stood quietly at the rear of the spectators' balcony; back flat and straight against the stone wall; the hood of her cape shielding her face from recognition. A detail that the darkness of this pitch night made irrelevant. She waited eyes fixed in the direction of the arena pit; the stone wall on her back ensuring it's direction in the utter darkness. Like a lone fire on a darkened plain, the glow of a phosphorescent fungus broke through the blackness. That was her signal. The Ylian took in a short breath and carefully moved forward; feeling her way down the gallery's stairway to the balcony's railing; tossing herself over and landing lightly on the sand of the pit below. He heard the sound of her landing and stowed the phosphorescent light away; approaching the sound. The Ylian heard his approach.

He hissed, "Is that you?"

"It is", the Ylian replied.

"Have you brought what was promised?", he asked.

"I have.", the Ylian replied.

"Then give it", he said.

The Ylian reach to her belt and removed a small pouch handing it to him saying, "The circles as promised."

He grunted and put the pouch in safe keeping saying gruffly, "Follow me."

He lead them into the gladiators' holding area. Widely spaced torches lit the way. At this hour all was quiet. Some snoring could be heard from the darkened cells they passed. He finally halted before one such cell saying, "This is it. Be quick about your business."

He opened the cell door, allowing the Ylian access. She found what she was looking for in the far corner. A huddled mass. Taking out a lantern, she lit it, revealing the naked blood stained, shivering, Stonebreaker. As the Ylian applied balms she had had prepared the Stonebreaker's eyes slowly focused. The Ylian's heart sagged seeing the broken spirit in the Stonebreaker's gaze. She cast a crystal healing. As his eyes focused more, he looked towards her saying in a whisper, "By Talad's grace! It is you!"

"Tis I dear friend", the Ylian replied, "We have little time. Take these balms to help heal your wounds and this nourishments I have brought you. Try to build your strength for when next I come. It will be to take you from this place of horror. May Talad give you strength until my return."

The Ylian then stood and strode to the door and exited. The guard re-locked the cell and lead her back to the darkness beyond the torch light. The darkness enveloped her as she disappeared into the blackness of the night.

[Mariana Xiechai]

[I'll make the first update this evening. If anyone wants to hop on in, now is the time!]

[Phantomboy86]

People tended to not care much for personal space in places like this, jamming in as close as they could around the pit to get their bloodthirst sated. But even if his long, ratty cloak was as tattered as the rest of them, the fact that he was wider at the shoulder then some men and most all dwarves were tall, made 'the rest of them' give a good deal of lenience to the usual lack of seating etiquette.

Under the threadbare clothing the bald ylian frowned down at the violence in the pit, not enjoying the nostalgia it brought. When he'd first walked into this place on directions from a less-than-anonymous note, they'd thought he had come to volunteer and eagerly began crowding and corralling him towards what any previous employee of such an establishment recognized as the cell block. A teeth chattering growl and near-audible flex of muscles sent them scattering like the insects of 'sentient' beings they were. He'd taken his seat directly across the pit from the sender of the note, someone who did not share even his halfhearted attempt at anonymity.

Across the pit and seated in such a way as to look both carelessly at ease and ramrod straight was a lemur of all races. The only cleanliness about him now was the intricately designed black and grey armor he adorned.  The chest plate almost looked to have a spiderweb fanning upwards to his neck. People were less generous about space with this one, but most were smart enough to avoid the side with the obvious weapon sheathed. "How little they know" he thought; "To my back or opposite side, they would have no more time to avoid me."

He wasn't here for them though, nor was he even really here for the two fighting to the bitter death in the pit below. All he had to say on them was a quiet "Amateurs" under his breath. No, he was here to quietly smirk up at the hulk across from him from time to time, both of them having bet on a different man in each match so far. It was an age old sort of duel between veterans of a sport. A mere facade over the true desire, relished in one and abhorred but still present in the other, to give in to the most primal of sports and leap into the blood soaked dirt below and perform the greatest play of all for the crowd to settle their own debts.

One of the two in the pit fell, fading out into the Lady's embrace while the other limply sunk to his knees to be carted away. All but two in the crowd roared, the armored man giving a small smirk at the behemoth again as their betting record hit dead even yet again.

[Mariana Xiechai]

She curled into herself. There in the cell, it didn't really matter that she was in a fetal position. They all knew what she could do, so why bother? Her eyes scanned the markings on the wall, and absently she picked at that collar, the one they all had. The one they all bore. The same questions that bothered her every night haunted her. Why did the dead ones never come back? Their corpses didn't remain. They were not truly dead. Yet they never returned after a match. Something must happen.

Was it freedom? Her mouth went dry at the thought. Even if she had no idea what was out there for her, it had to be something. Something more than all of this. Her fingers twitched, and grazed along the tally's she'd marked. Months at least. Maybe more. She hadn't marked for a while. But her body was still young and strong. That must mean there was something before all of this.

“Goodnight Phoenix. It's my turn again.”

The fenki sat up and stared as the klyros was drawn away. She frowned, creeping closer to watch him go. For whatever reason the voice triggered something. Or perhaps it wasn't even that. Just the silhouette of his wings in the faint light of the doorway as they drew him to the arena. She knew him. No...no, she knew someone like him...?

The thought cut off as the runes on her collar shifted, and gave a faint blue glow. Her pupils dilated, and she crawled back into the corner of the room, curling into herself once more. Her ears twitched as she listened to muted sounds of thanks in another cell. She caught the whispered word “Talad,” but she'd never been religious. It didn't mean anything to her.

Never been religious. Again there was that hint of something more. Identity. Her nose wrinkled slightly, and a scowl curled her muzzle upwards. She could not think to grasp at the things hovering somewhere in the back of her mind.

“Looks like you get two tonight,” a guard said. She sat up, hackles rising, but he only laughed. “Wouldn't do that. Unless you want to get drained again.”

Absently the man smacked a fly on his neck, smearing its guts on the seat of his pants. He reached in and grabbed her by the scruff, hauling her, a howling, hissing mess, a few feet, before releasing her again. He shoved and she walked, following after the klyros, and standing in the glare of the Arena.

There he was. He was old, but with that came experience. She readied herself. She drew her sword and held it out, wanting to drive forward and...

His image shifted. Shorter. Slighter. He was wearing a robe. Red Way? Maybe. There was a familiar glint in his eye. His name, his name, she knew him, yes. What was his name? What was it?

A clamor drew her from her thoughts. The command bellowed across the arena, propelled by the force of magic.

“FIGHT!”

[Chessire]

The klyros walked out of the arched oppening into the sand pit as the iron bars fell behind him. His opponent did not matter, let's be done with this. He looked around, he was alone for a few seconds. Then the door oppened again. A fenki? Its her.

The realisation struck him like a punch in the gut. Why was it her? She had just fought someone, she was still tired and roughed up. Are they trying to get her killed? No. No, that can't be right, he knew better than that. She isn't any newbie they would try to get slaughtered for the amusement of the crowd, she is the phoenix. The one who always comes up. This must be a test, this is a test. They expect her to come up once she's nearly dead, they want to see the beast come alive once more and feast in blood. He needs to end it before that happens.

He started walking in a circular path looking for an oppening, she was going to do the same. She's quick but she's wounded, there will be an oppening. It must be a quick kill, noone is going to be happy with that but its the only way for him to win, he is the sacrifice here, not her. They're giving him a chance so he offers a better fight, the bastards. Something was wrong.

She was not moving. She was just staring as he walked, balancing the gladius in his hand raising his wings as if ready to glide down a cliff. That's not normal for her, she's not even in a fighting position. But it is an oppening.

He could not afford to loose that chance. She was there pondering, it happens even to the best apparently. He darted ahead striking solid with the sword to her head. He got her, that hit was fatal. Did he? It felt like a hit.

She wasn't dead but she was back to her senses for sure. Her ear was out of shape, it looked serious but could not make clear with all the blood flowing.She was still standing so it wasn't good enough.He moved to strike again, the second hit meet resistance by her own weapon but it was weak, she was still out of balance. He lunged ahead for a stab, this time it was flesh for sure. Its too good but this is it, lets get a few more of these, end it now. He rushed in with his sword carving.

Of course. It was too good. He lied there on the sand looking up to some source of light spurting blood from is mouth. His left wing hurted horribly. He was such an idiot. No, it was her, she was too quick. Despite his good timing, her being out of balance, none of his hits did the job. Gods be damned, its not over yet.

He stood on his feet again, looks like the crowd will get their bloody fight.

[Hey, I won't be able to post for the next two weeks so feel free to kill me or put me on the bench or something. Thanks for the awesome story, I'll read everything when I get back!]

[Phantomboy86]

The armored lemur had started off the most recent match smiling, his bet placed on the more experienced and fresh fighter. At first his behemoth betting partner had guessed opposite simply to be contrary, an immature way to go about it but he was only human. But even watching the fenki stare off into space, he could see something in her eyes, feel something in his bones. Or more accurately, in the enormous sigil branded and stitched into his back. Power, this one had power. Perhaps fogged by the abhorrent conditions of the Pit, but it was certainly there.  And while the lemur's smile faded, his only grew. Part of him was sickened of course, smiling at the death of what was likely an innocent klyros, but he'd never particularly gotten along with that race.

He got up, making sure the lemur saw he was in no way headed to make a confrontation. Instead, he descended through the filthy stands and down to an iron barred door, flanked by a duo of halberd holding guards. In such narrow corridors, the formidable weapon would be an excellent defense, unable to easily dodge the spiked tip to the sides, yet with high enough ceilings to allow them to chop with the vicious axehead.

"Let me pass. I need to see one of the fighters." the behemoth requested.

Immediately the halberds crossed, surely voices, muffled by face-disguising helmets each guard wore rebuked him.

"Hah! Nobody sees the fighters unless they're joinin 'em! You look like you'd make one Realmuva match big guy, wanna make some tria?"

While the largest of the trio might normally be fooled by... most anything else... the Pit was his parent and tutor, and he'd learned well.

"I will not be wearing any collars. Let me pass."

Force would be the only thing these two were likely to understand, and so he reached out one massive hand quicker than either thug could've imagined, and with just the slightest scent of something charred and unpleasant highlighting the air the weapons were wrenched together until the usually sturdy wooden handles snapped, dropping the axeheads to the floor. The thugs stepped back instinctively, too shocked to bang the rocks in their heads together for sparks.

Undeterred, the ylian shouldered past (accidentally knocking one of the two to the floor.) and pushed open the door, the heavy iron bar posing little trouble to lift. He had a fenki to find.

[Mariana Xiechai]

She vacillated between wanting to rip out the klyros' throat, and feeling abject horror at every bloody line she carved in his flesh. The thrill that usually came with a hit was dampened by the fact that another face kept flashing in tandem with that of the weathered, old Dlayo. Each blow wounded him physically, and pricked a memory painfully in her own mind.

When she finally thrust her saber through his heart, saw the slack-jawed surprise on his face, and felt him slip from the end of her blade, something snapped. The sword fell from limp fingers. Her breathing became labored with horror. The face that stared back at her had mixed so solidly with memory that it was unmistakable. A friend. A dear friend. Yes, and she'd just killed them. As the blood trickled from his mouth and the Dlayo fell forward to the ground, vanishing into the realm, she threw back her head and let out a guttural snarl that was purely animal in its conveyance of rage and pain.

The collar burst to life. It swiped away the memory, but it was deep-seated and precious. It could take the image, but not the emotion left behind. The akkaio shook furiously as they drug her back to her cell, still snarling, feral and half-mad. After they'd locked the doors she attacked the bars furiously, to no avail.

Only the sound of the approaching ylian stalled her. As she saw him shove his way past the guard, she threw herself away from the door, wide-eyed and hunched like a beast on the prowl. He reeked of a particular kind of magic. One that she felt close to as though it were lodged in her very blood. And he was powerful, powerful enough to crush her throat if he could reach that far.

She pressed herself flat against the wall and stared as her collar thrummed softly, almost in time to the muttered prayers of the StoneBreaker that she could still hear beseeching Talad.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Too old. Too weak to fight any longer. There was no effort to heal the old Dlayo. No matter his history with the fighting ring, whether he had joined by choice or by force, it mattered not to them. Besides, for dramatic effect, the audience always got stirred to a roaring frenzy when the dark, reaching fingers of Dakkru claimed a victim at the end of the night.

But there was one small victory for him. Perhaps nothing but a token in exchange. The collar cracked and broke apart, leaving him completely free of its effects. Whether they had been great or small, that mattered little. There was freedom for him if he could make it through the coldness of the realm, if he could drag himself back to the shimmering gate and see what lay beyond. In the distance, a cakaras screeched in challenge, perhaps a dare for one last fight against the imminent end that time brings to all.

He could remember one thing, though. One odd thing about the way the fenki had looked, right before she made her mark and carved into his ribs. One very odd, puzzling thing, from a creature that was meant to be too rabid for such demonstrations.

The fenki had been weeping.

[Zalya]

The small creature hugged the ground as it moved. She was a tiny thing, even for those of her kind. A mere infant among her 'people'. She was no longer than the blade of a dagger, and skinnier than its hilt. Her shell was an unremarkable red color, save for a few orange speckles. She was following her normal routine scavenging for scraps left behind by some of the larger denizens of the sewers. She had been thus far unsuccessful. Most of the other, larger clackers had taken the remnants worth eating. She was left to find her way outside of her normal forging grounds.

As all six of her clawed legs scuttled down the sewers, she picked up an unfamiliar scent. Instead of being frightened the creature's curiosity was peaked. Perhaps it was the simple lack of food that led her to follow the strange halls to an even stranger place. The room was dark and dank, like any other place in her world. Strange metal boxes with tall iron bars filled the room. Some of these contraptions filled with towering giants, chained up, or laying down. Each of them with strange leather bands around there necks. All of it was incredibly odd for the creature, who wanted nothing more than to eat. But a strange curiosity bugged the bug. She decided to press further on into this incredible new world.

She was exploring some of the smaller crevices of the cages when the ground began to shake beneath her. Looking around with her insectoid eyes she saw a dark shape moving towards her. The massive thing appeared to be some sort of shelled giant to her. Of course any other creature could have recognized the figure as an armored lemur. For a moment she was frozen with fear. Without much thought she scuttled away into a nearby cell. Hiding in the straw mattress of akkio fenki of all things.

[Chessire]

Kryghx Drakeyl. His name echoed called by the strict voice once again. He had lived that before, he was now being dragged before the klyros council, he was faced with all the things he was guilty for. He was being cut from the brotherhod once more. No longer a brother, no longer a klyros. His mind separated from the rest, a being with no identity. And then, fire. Fire was a new thing, it hadn't happened before. He winced and oppened his eyes just in time to avoid the flaming tail of the curious creature that had been flapping over his head. As he stood up it got scared and flew away lighting the darkness of Dakkru's kingdom.

He remained there looking at the fiery trail fade away as his last memories in the living world came back to him. Was the Phoenix crying? Things happened so fast but the picture was so clear on his mind, solid, troubling his thoughts. These damned collars, he knew what they could do. But even without that, who kills with tears in the eyes?
-You clumsy fool, you drove it away!
He looked around to see where the voice came from. Two dark figures with long white hair stepped out of the dark.
-Couldn't you have stayed still for a second longer? I was ready to catch that thing.
The young diaboli, almost a kid, was holding a hunting net on his right and a spear on his left hand.
- Look, brother, he's a dead one! He must have just come down here, said the other one, that looked just about a cycle or two older.
-No way, laughed the young brother, they never spawn in these parts... could it be he lives here?
Kryhx rubbed his face trying to shake off the dizziness from his mind.
-I... I lost. I mean, I got killed. Do you know the way out of here?
It was the old brother's turn to laugh.
-See, I told you he was a dead one! His stupidity is written all over his face.
-We shouldn't be meeting him here.  Dead should not appear near our hunting grounds.
-Should we show him out?
-I don't know.

They agreed on showing him the way away from there. It would have been easier to just kill him over and make him re-materialize somewhere else in the Realm, but it looked like he had appeared in a location they didn't want him to and they were not willing to risk that happening again. Kryghx wanted to ask them whether they really could control where people appear after they die but he felt they were absolutely not willing to share the least about themselves with him. He was just grateful to have some company in that dreadful place. The diaboli kept muttering to each other and shooting him weird glances all along the way until one of them decided to approach him in a seemingly relaxed manner and talk with him.
-Soo... you some kind of wizard or somethin?
Kryghx made a sad smile.
-Do I look like one? I just have this cursed...
He brought his hand on his neck realizing he no longer had the enchanted collar.
-Yeah, look, we're helping you now but you never saw us, understand? Its not like they would believe you of course but I need your word. We want our peace. You were not supposed to be back there.
Kryghx had not had anyone to share any stories with for years.
-I wouldn't like to cause you trouble. I'm grateful you're helping me.

After this the two diaboli seemed to relax a bit and the three kept walking in silence. They both looked awfully young but if the stories were true they should have lived for hundreds of years already. Death Realm, a horrible place but what a gift it offers. The strangest thing was the fact these boys seemed perfectly adapted to this disturbing environment.

A couple of hours passed, though it could have been mere minutes, Kryghx was feeling his thoughts being blurred in a way he had never experienced before. When he asked the diaboli how long they'd been walking he received no response. His lids felt heavy as he kept walking, on an on. Looking around he could see alien creatures climbing on the steep rocks or flying through the dense darkness as he was passing though narrow passageways and climbing slippery stairs. A voice woke him from his slumber.
-We're here.
He saw a void opening carved on the surface of the rock, big enough to count as a gate.
-Goodbye stranger. We'll never meet again but enjoy the rest of your life.
Before he could turn around to look at them once more a gentle push sent him into the dark.


                                                    <<<<<<<<           *          *          *          >>>>>>>


He felt warm sand on his feet and blowing air on his wings. He was in the living world again, and he was also free. He had been saved from the most horrible of places. Things were going so well for him and he never even asked for it.

Kryghx had been banished from all klyros cities and all contact with his kin. He had passed the dlayo training from a young age and did well as a gladiator. But then, he killed someone that was really important, and he apparently brought upon them the true death, no less. Whatever the true intentions behind something like that were, or if the punishment was just or not did not matter now. His link with his brethen was permanently cut, for the klyros he was no longer kin. He did not want to believe it at first but he was forced to admit in the end, of all the things he once was only one remained. Gladiator. The dim arena in the sewers was not a hell, it was just the right place. Now he could try to find a new home of course, he had spent enough time punishing himself after all. It was just he had a second reason this time.

He stepped though the wooden door, the familiar sound of his footsteps on the stone floor was almost pleasing to the ear. He approached the booth and removed his hood.
-Call a warden. Tell him Kryghx has returned and wants a rematch. Oh, and hurry it up with the collar.

[Phantomboy86]

Our behemoth frowned at the scrabbling fenki, holding up one ponderously huge fist knuckles out. He scratched his beard with his other hand in thought, the slow cogs in his brain grinding until he found the obvious conclusion of her being terrified out of her mind. Really such an obvious reaction wasn't limited to tortured fenki at all. Holding back as much as he could, he rapped on the bars. They still groaned a little.

[Mariana Xiechai]

He was going to bust through the bars. Bust through them. As if they were brittle, baked clay instead of solid iron. If he could do that, how easily could he snap bones? Namely hers? The fenki approached cautiously. After all, what point was there in cowering when there was no effective place to hide? It was either get closer and take the risk by showing bravado, or just proving you were a cornered animal ready to get beat to death.

“What?” She snapped. Her voice was surprisingly strong. Her fear had vanished. What could he do, reach through and snap her neck? So? What did she have to fear in death? She faced it day by day. Straightening her back and squaring her shoulders, she shifted to her toes so she didn't have to tip her head back quite so much to meet his eye. Boldly (or perhaps stupidly) she planted her face between two bars of her cage and growled, “What do you want?”

The guards were useless. They were still tumbling around in either direction of the hall like upended clackers. She doubted when they'd righted themselves that they'd help her anyway. She was on her own this time. Like every time. A grin, a sneer, stretched her lips. This was where she operated best, she realized. She could function without help. Oh yes, she knew how to take care of herself, wasn't that right? She'd done it before, many times, back when...back when...

The sneer vanished. The collar pulsed. She stumbled away from the bars, her ears pinned against her head and she shrieked as she put her paws alongside her head. It hurt, like nails driving into her skull, a pain that centered at the base of her brain. Bravado was very much gone as she curled up like an infant and shrieked until it ceased, leaving her panting, her fur tear-streaked.

Humiliated, she reiterated in a hoarse, broken voice, “What do you want?”

~~~~

The guard recognized the old Dlayo, but only vaguely. The faces of the gladiators were an irrelevant blur to him, or at the most, a cheap source of brief entertainment.

“You like punishment,” he rumbled, laughing. “You want to fight her again? Crazy old klyros.”

He made a vague gesture with his hand, and then reached into a bag at his side. He held the collar in his hand, and just for a moment, it looked to writhe with a life of its own. Like some kind of snake. But a second glance rendered it inert, and surely as a trick of the light.

“You want another shot at her, you're going to have to wait. How about I set you up right across from her, yeah? You two can have a little chat. You can goad her on. Maybe you'll do better next time.”

His voice was full of scorn, and the guard reached out to slap the collar back around the klyros' throat before scratching a hand through his grizzled, greasy brown beard. “There. Much better. Now nobody will mistake you for a free man.”

Laughing again, he turned and opened the old iron door with a creak, letting the sound echo through the sewers like an omen, and gestured exaggeratedly towards the darkness within. “Your quarters await, your majesty.”

[Phantomboy86]

This was much worse than he'd thought, and his thoughts were not very impressive to begin with. The physical and psychological tortures of this place had broken the fenki, almost definitely in a way that would never heal completely.

"Fenki. Do you wish freedom?" he asked, taking what small step back he could from the bars in order to seem less threatening.

"Is suspicious, yes. But leap of faith is needed."