Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) (15 page)

With the arena in front of us, Elan'fer'sha leads us to a gated arch in the shorter side of the oval. Through the arch, a tunnel leads down to the bowels of the arena. There are more arches visible as we approach the tunnel, but they all have stairs leading up, so they must be for the audience to reach their seats.

The gates are closed and locked behind our parade, as we descend to the prep area beneath the arena. The tunnel quickly opens into a large room with cells and tunnels leading off of it.

Dismounting, Elan'fer'sha gives the reins of her hippogryph to one of the DokkAlfar guards and saunters over to me. Just watching her walk is enough to cause my dick to start getting hard, but I use my body control skills and curb the flow of my blood.

Wearing riding boots instead of stiletto heeled boots, Elan'fer'sha stares directly into my eyes from only inches away.

“Kill them all. You will be first in line for the duel of champions. Kill them all, and then you will join Tyrend and Graham for the general melee. The three of you will again kill them all.”

“You're one bloodthirsty bitch.”

Elan'fer'sha smiles, a cruel, murderous, lascivious smile. “You are my Champion. Pave the road to my desires with blood.”

As Elan'fer'sha turns and saunters toward one of the tunnels exiting the room, all of the gladiators watch her in rapt fascination. Even the homosexual gladiators cannot take their eyes off of her, as their dicks start to get hard again. If there were any women or females of other races in the room, they would be so wet that they would be dripping.

“Fucking amazing.” Graham's whisper is so soft, he is probably talking to himself.

“I've never envied and hated anyone as much I envy and hate you right now.” Tyrend's words are only half-joking, as he rests his hand on my shoulder. “I like my women with huge tits and good childbearing hips, but right now, I would die happy, if I could die while fucking her.”

Elan'fer'sha told me that Wytches warp and twist the natural order, and her ability to inspire lust in anyone is completely outside the natural order. The amount of lust she can draw out of anything with a pulse is scary. Fuck, she would give a corpse a hardon.

Thrall follows Elan'fer'sha, with a slight smirk on his lips. It seems as though her ability to induce unnatural amounts of lust does not affect him in the least. That bastard has to be the calmest, most controlled mother fucker I have ever seen. Even when he was beating me around his ritual room, I do not think he was feeling any real emotion.

The Throd'nahk reflexively wipes his mouth. “Get your minds out of your dicks and remember where you are! Keep drooling after the Mistress, and you'll be staring at your dicks and balls on the sand of the arena!”

At the Throd'nahk's words, the other gladiators seem to return to some semblance of normalcy, but the energy they acquired from the parade is gone. Some of them seem to be a bit introspective, which is absolutely abnormal for most of them. The way pussy can fuck up a man's mind is fucking amazing.

“Mungo, the games start in about three hundredths. Get your . . . men . . . ready.”

The sheer disdain on the Throd'nahk's face does not faze any of the homosexuals, and they drag Broken-shoulder into one of the empty cells.

“Time to warm us up, cum bucket.” Mungo's laughter is the signal for the rest of them to start laughing with him.

I squat down, with my back to the wall, and close my eyes. I do not particularly feel like getting involved with any prebattle bullshit. Time passes slowly, while I hear the chatter of the other gladiators, without actually listening.

“Mungo! Your group is up!”

The Throd'nahk's yell refocuses my attention. Looking around, I see most of the gladiators huddled together in small groups. Tyrend and Graham are sitting near me talking quietly.

Seeing me looking around, Tyrend stands up. His face has a sardonic expression. “You should see the prematch games at least once. It's like nothing you've ever imagined.”

I follow Tyrend and Graham up the tunnel to the arena. An metal lattice grate with a gate in it blocks the entry to the arena. The Throd'nahk is standing there staring out onto the black sands.

Looking at the lattice, I cannot identify the metal. I think it is an iron based alloy, but it has a strange reddish tinge that has nothing to do with oxidation.

“Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain.”

I use the spell to see patterns on my left.

“What was that?” Tyrend glances at me, and his jaw drops open.

“That was stupid.” The Throd'nahk's voice is calm, as he looks around.

“Go fuck yourself, Mahkah.”

The Throd'nahk's hate-filled glare bores into me, but I just smile nastily at him.

“How?” Tyrend's shock is audible in his voice.

“It is Smith's doing. Forget what you have seen. It is for your own good.”

I look the Throd'nahk straight in the eyes. “What exactly is the relationship between the Smith and Elan'fer'sha?”

The Throd'nahk glares at the DokkAlfar guards in the tunnel. “Go watch the Gladiators in the ready room! Graham go with them.”

The guards indignantly walk down the tunnel, and Graham sullenly follows them. For gutter trash and a slave, they all have overly high opinions of themselves.

Even though he wears a collar, the Throd'nahk's position in the Blood Rose Stable seems to be higher than the guards. Just what is the value of a man in the Second Circle of Coalescence to Elan'fer'sha?

The Throd'nahk actually sighs heavily. “Smith's presence is known to the leaders of all the the High Clans, but they pretend that he is not here. He is the one that chooses each new owner of the Blood Rose Stable, and no one dares to interfere. Maybe, only the Jotun Lords themselves could sway him.

“Smith altered Brands collar. If you know what is best for your survival, do not ever speak of it. Neither I nor the Mistress is who you should fear if you speak. The High Clans would destroy you in an instant, if you mentioned the existence of an altered collar that did not suppress Power.

“Watch the entertainment.”

Now that the spell is cast, only someone who can read patterns would be able to tell that I am using it. There is no longer any danger of others learning about the collar being a fake.

I almost smile, as I look at the metal in the bars. It is an iron alloy, but what it is alloyed with is Elemental. It has the same overbearing type of pattern as the broken Elemental sword.

Turning my attention to the arena, a sea of black sand covers the ground. Sheltered behind thirty foot high obsidian walls, forty levels of seating rise to the tops of the outer walls. Encircling the entire arena above the seating, a walkway is lined with more armed and armored legionnaires.

At the far end, the bench seating is replaced by lavish box seating, presumably for the Clans. On either side in the middle are two more sections of box seating. The box in the center on each side is by far the most lavish. Not all of the central boxes are occupied by DokkAlfar. To my right, I see Thrall standing in the center box, with Elan'fer'sha seated in a chair next to an almost throne-like chair. In the throne-like chair, there is another DokkAlfar female, with a naked female that looks to be a Half-Alfar standing next to her.

On the opposite side is a similar setup, with two DokkAlfar males seated in similar positions.

“On the left side, is that the other stable owner?”

The Throd'nahk looks. “
Hakspar'eldek'char. He's the owner of the Diamond Empress Stable. That one and the Mistress hate each other.”

With the exception of the box seating, the stands are filled to capacity. People, human or otherwise, are betting, arguing, fighting and fucking. In the boxes, much the same is going on, with the addition of some gratuitous torture.

Seeing this brings back some more fragmentary flashes of Talon's memories. It gives me the impression that he was in this arena hundreds times, maybe even thousands. I can no longer remember how long he was a gladiatorial slave, if I ever knew in the first place, but I am certain that it was longer than I have been alive.

A massive spell pattern stretches over the entire arena, and there are dozens of translucent images hanging above the walls. The images are showing scenes of the action on the arena sands, from at least ten different angles. The DokkAlfar's setup may be better than the current video coverage in Earth's sports stadiums.

Graham looks down on this as a barbarian culture. Probably, most Earthlings would as well, but seeing this makes me want to laugh in their faces.

In the middle of the arena, Mungo and his butt buddies are facing off against another group of gladiators, but they all seem more interested in disabling rather than killing each other. They are battering away at on another, but not really making any life-threatening assaults.

A single DokkAlfar in rich robes, surrounded by spell auras, walks around the edges of their battle. He ordered the start of the battle, but I am not sure what else he does. I have a few vague memories of DokkAlfar like him from Talon's remaining memories, but no clear memory of them doing anything other than starting the battles.

After over five minutes, Mungo's group finally wins, with four of them still standing. The DokkAlfar in the robes throws some ropes to Mungo, which the Blood Rose gladiators use to tie up the other gladiators.

With their opponents stripped and hogtied, Mungo and his faggot buddies start strutting around and mocking them. It almost looks like something out of old time professional wrestling. The spectators are going wild in the stands, screaming and yelling incoherently.

As Mungo turns in a circle, with his hands in the air, the crowd slowly quiets down.

“DO YOU WANT TO SEE IT?!”

The crowd roars out what sounds like a dozen different responses.

“I CAN'T HEAR YOU! DO YOU WANT TO SEE IT?!”

“YES!” The response is ragged, but understandable.

“DO YOU WANT US TO FUCK THEM?!”

“YES!”

As Mungo and the other gladiators take off their codpieces and strap them on their heads, the roars from the crowd go even more wild. The cheering does not stop, until they have ass-raped all the losers multiple times.

After Mungo's group and the losers are cleared out of the arena, two teams, all humans, are brought in from gates under the side boxes. Each team has four men and four women, and they are all unarmed. While the women are completely naked, the men are wearing codpieces like Mungo's group.

Once this battle ends, the winning men rape the losing women, and the winning women use the phallic codpieces to ass-rape the losing men. Compared with the homosexual rape, this group is driving the crowd into an even wilder frenzy.

Between Earth's fucked up culture and what I saw during the my years in the Lands of Despair, I have seen a lot of fucked up shit. This is more fucked up than most of what I have seen, but I am not surprised to see people fighting for the chance rape other people.

Another two groups are sent out, all women this time. Once the winners have the losers tied up, the winner are given some of the phallic codpieces, and again, they rape the losers.

“So, that's the prematch entertainment.” My voice is flat.

“The rape matches are just the finale. It started hours ago, with feeding criminals to beasts or having them tortured to death by gladiators. You don't seem to have enjoyed it much.”

“I've never been too interested in watching other people fuck.”

“You'll be sent out in about a hundredth.” The Throd'nahk's voice is emotionless.

Until the call comes, the Throd'nahk waits with his back to the bars, as he looks us over. Behind me are nine gladiators, who are neither exceptional nor terrible. They are nothing but filler. Elan'fer'sha does not expect me to lose, and I do not expect to lose either.

“Brand, do not let the Mistress down. You are one of the most dangerous Gladiators in all of Gor'achen. Kill all of them!”

When I walk toward the gate, the Throd'nahk points at me. “Free his Power!”

One of the DokkAlfar guards takes out one of the black rods and points it at my collar. The glow disappears from the sigils, but that has no effect, since this collar has never sealed my power.

The Throd'nahk opens the gate, and I step out onto the black sand. I feel tens of thousands of eyes focus on me. I do not like being the center of attention. Too many years of chickenshit little ass fuckers staring and mocking me have made me dislike the feeling of being watched.

The crowd seems a little surprised seeing me walk out naked. There are a lot of conversations and arguments taking place, as they point in my direction. Probably, they are not used to seeing new meat come up first in the battle of champions part of an arena match.

As I slowly walk to the center of the arena, a rash of new betting seems to be taking place. My guess would be that they are betting against me, but I could be wrong. They may be taking a chance on a long shot.

The enemy champions are all dressed in Power infused armor and wielding Power infused weapons that are of a standardized design. Unlike Elan'fer'sha, this Hakspar'Eldek'char seems to spend gold on equipping his gladiators. All of them seem to be mana users, but then there are not many ki users in the Battleground of the Damned.