Hiya folks, read this first and then proceed to the contest down at the bottom. Read first, contest second.
+ + + Only the eager martyr covets battle + + +
The sands were already completely stained red from blood spilt and bodies maimed. It had only been two hours since the gates had opened and already the crowd was filled with a frenzy, roaring for more. More bloodshed. More mayhem. More death. The dregs charged with removing the human debris from the arena were urged by the wardens to hurry up, the crowd growing more and more impatient for the next act to start. Not even the massive pict screens lining the top of the arena could keep the crowd at ease any more, the constant loop of recapped previous fights and messages of the generous sponsors had worn out their welcome.
Their blood was up alright, they wanted a real fight, none of the mass combat that they had witnessed just now. Those were just desperate dregs with cheap and broken kit pitted against real pit fighters, a desperate attempt at glory and riches for the dregs, a warming up for the real fighters, who immediately afterwards fought each other for the enjoyment of the crowds. Over a hundred dregs had died followed by almost two dozen gladiators, who hacked and parried at one another with their roaring chain weapons. Seasoned war veterans would have turned away in disgust at the slaughter wrought in the arena during those two hours. So many dead, just for petty entertainment of the masses.
And yet! The crowd wanted more. The overcrowded stands were roaring and clapping and thumping for more. More blood! More carnage! More death! The owners of the arena, seated in the top stand overlooking the crowds and the arena were most pleased with the crowds and their spending on the seats, the bookies and the food, so in a morbid way they wanted to thank the people. They nodded to the show master, it was time to let them know that they are getting the best thing yet.
The show master activated his vox caster and in a moment his voice boomed through the arena, easily cutting through the din of the people.
'Ladies and gentlemen! Lads and lasses! Nobs and dregs! Did you think that this was the end? Did you think that this was all there was for tonight?'
The crowd roared in disagreement, the show master revelling in their reaction for a moment.
'The masters have decreed that you deserve one more round of glorious bloodshed! One more round of fighting for your entertainment!'
The arena shook on its foundations as the crowd roared in agreement.
'And you have been such a lovely audience that they have decided to bring out the one, the only..'
'SCARLET ANGEL!'
The noise of the crowd rose to a new level as the spiked iron gates that lined the walls of the arena ground open. This was what they had come to see, this was what they had waited for. The fight of fights.
From one side four tall and muscular gladiators appeared, each stripped down to the waist, wearing assorted pieces of heavy metal armour strapped to their shoulders, legs and lower arms. All but one wore heavy sallet helmets, adorned with horns and scales from the xenos beasts they had to slay to prove their worth, while the last gladiator wore a simple executioners hood, marking him as a veteran of many fights. They all carried chugging and revving chain weapons, ritually chained to their arms so they could keep on fighting until the end. They raised their arms and weapons to the crowds, letting out shouts and roars. The crowd voiced their approval, for the were worthy opponents of their champion.
A silence fell over the crowd as their favoured champion stepped through the gate opposite of the gladiators. The pict screens stopped broadcasting for a moment before the picters and remotes found their mark, showing the Scarlet Angel in all her glory. Her title was most befitting of her, as a handsome woman with long unkempt blonde hair stepped into the arena, clad in a tight, form-fitting leather bustier and knee-high boots while a red loincloth provided some modesty to her nether regions. She held a gilded chainsword lightly in her right hand, the weapon still inert and silent. Calmly the Angel walked to the centre of the arena, her opponents keeping a respectful distance as they raised their weapons to their faces in salute. It was their honour to fight her and if the Emperor willed it, best her tonight. Sticking her weapon into the red sand she knelt down, the massive pict screens lined along the walls of the arena showed this with great clarity. She folded her hands over her breast, forming the sign of the Aquila. Silently she mouthed a prayer to the Emperor.
Spiritus dominatus,
Domine, libra nos,
From the lightning and the tempest,
Our Emperor deliver us.
With a final slight nod of the head she got to her feet, pulled her weapon free and activated it, revving it on the highest cycle to clear the action of the grit and dried gore. The crowd roared, eager to see the bloodletting begin in the earnest.
'Forgive me,' the Angel said quietly as she favoured her opponents with a blank look. She raised her weapon in both hands and charged forward, straight into the fray. It was a tactic that took the audience by surprise. Where they expected a long drawn out duel between four dangerous prey and a patient predator instead they were witness to a quick and bloody fight.
The first to die was the gladiator with the executioners mask, whose head was parted from his shoulders with frightening ease as the Angel's chainsword chewed through the neck at full speed. The head fell aside and blood spurting from the severed neck, spraying the headless body and the Angel in arterial blood. The Angel had drawn first blood and the crowd roared in approval, eager to see their champion paint herself redder and redder with each kill. Illegal bets were made and adjusted, people frantically hoping that more heads would roll before it was all over.
Her second opponent was just careless and showed no real skill at all, swinging his massive chainaxe wildly in front of him as he tried to hit her. It was a wild swing, leaving the gladiator's chest open and exposed. A collective "Ooh" went through the crowd as the Angel punished the gladiator by hacking down into the shoulder of the man, drawing a short shriek of pain from his as she sliced into him, carving out his heart and organs. She let go of her chainsword and let the corpse fall backwards, calmly and deftly she planted one boot on his chest and pulled her weapon free, again throwing the weapon into full speed to clear the chain of blood and gore.
With two opponents left the rules changed. Both men exchanged a nod as they moved in closer to one another. While the rules of engagement stated that only fair fights were allowed, they were told that under special circumstances some lenience might be shown, especially against a skilled foe such as the Angel. The crowd did not care as they gave their approval. They hoped that the two of them would provide a better fight than their brethren. The Angel paid no heed to their change of tactics, instead she whirled her weapon into a wide figure of eight, her expression unchanged. Both gladiators broke at the same time, each going for a side, so that at least one of them would get lucky. The man closest to her was the first to suffer as she turned her chainsword in her grip and ducked beneath his swing, slamming her weapon into his helmet with a clang. In an instant she forgot about him as she turned on her other opponent, dodging and weaving through his blows until he made a desperate lunge that left his back exposed. She rewarded him by hacking into his back, going all the way through until the two parts fell onto the sand. The remaining gladiator, recovered from the blow to his head, thought to see an opening and went for it. Again she was too fast, ducking under the swing and with a deft pirouette turned to hack her chainsword into the exposed leg. With a scream the final gladiator went down, tearing his helmet off with a curse to better study the wound on his leg. The mangled meat, the bleeding, the horribly wrong angle. He was done for, if not for life then as a professional gladiator. He looked up at her, gritting his teeth and fighting the pain as best he could. He would meet his demise with dignity and pride. He craned his head to the left, baring his neck for a clean cut. She stayed her hand, instead she loomed over him, the blank look still lingering on her face.
'Do it. Honour demands that this is done.'
'There is no honour to be had in this, give up.'
'DO IT!'
The gladiator roared in anger as he raised his own weapon for a final strike. The feeble blow was easily turned aside and the Angel turned the move into a decapitating blow, spraying herself in blood for a final time that evening. Without a second glance the Angel turned and briskly walked back to the iron gate from which she came, the crowd ecstatic with the fight they had just witnessed. Red rose petals rained from the highest levels onto the crowds and the arena, though the Angel paid no heed to any of that as she walked on. The show master once again shouted through his vox caster, thanking the Scarlet Angel for a wonderful performance and reminding the visitors to buy from assorted sponsors upon leaving the arena, for it was they who made such a wonderful night possible.
+ + +
High above the blood and rose petal stained arena and roaring crowds were the private balconies, most were owned by the local rich, though some were rented out to people who could afford the high fees. In one of them three silent figures, one male and two female, had watched in silence how the "Scarlet Angel" had killed the four gladiators. The man lowered his guard-issue binoculars, giving a rare grin despite his aversion for the barbarity of blood sport.
'Interesting.'
The lithe woman to his right shook her head at the remark, giving him a hard nudge with her elbow.
'That's all you have to say? She butchered four men, all of them taller and certainly more muscular than her and that's all you've got to say for yourself? "Interesting" would be an understatement.'
'I know, but the real issue is of course, is she the real deal or not?'
The man turned to the second woman, waiting for a reply.
'Maybe,' she replied at long last. 'I will need to check up close to be sure. Samples might be needed.'
'Well, let's go and have a meet and greet with the champion then shall we?'
+ + +
C-c-c-c-c-contest time!
Help us with a title and win 2000 gold.
Why? Because we suck at making up titles and we're not sure where this story will be going. A mind addled by booze is best left lying down and kept in a rambling state where awesome stuff like the things above can come out.
What can you expect of this story?
- treason
- heresy
- romance
- action
- a mindblowing plot
- lush vistas and choking locales
So help us with a sweet title for this story and we'll help you to 2k gold. Win/win for all!
Oh and feedback is most welcome as always. mrgreen
