Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) (23 page)

“...and! Brand!”

Surprised, I look at the Throd'nahk. He is standing in the door of the holding cell, where I have been focused on my past. There is a look of something resembling concern on his face.

“It's time.”

How could I left myself become so caught up in the my reveries that I lost track of the world around me?

Standing up, I shoulder the Blood Iron axe and walk out of the cell.

Silence spreads through the main area of the ready room. The other gladiators stop talking, and all or them stare at me. I can feel the tension in the air and see the fear and uneasiness in their eyes. If I fall, the rest of them are as good as dead, and they know it.

“Free the Champion's collar.”

In response to the Throd'nahk's words, one of the DokkAlfar guards uses his control rod, and the phony sigils in my collar dim.

Without a word, I continue through the ready room and up the tunnel to the arena. As I step out onto the black sands, the roars or the spectators are almost overwhelming. Whether for or against me, they are screaming their lungs out. More than a few brawls break out between the Blood Rose and the Fiend supporters. Similar to my last time here, there are scenes of torture, fucking, and rape scattered through the stands.

My chest feels tight, and my breathing is a bit off from its normal rhythm. I think I am actually nervous. Despite my displays of confidence or arrogance, I am not sure I can win this time. A normal ogre would be no big deal, but this a magic using ogre that should be smarter than most humans. Even as a Half-Dvergar these ogre lords were never easy fights, and I am no longer a Half-Dvergar.

As I start advancing to the center of the arena, the Ogre emerges from the tunnel on the opposite side of the arena. It has to duck to pass through the gate that is almost eight feet high. At this distance, I cannot make out the details of his features, but I can still tell that it must have better than four times my mass. That thing is a real monster.

When we are about fifty yards apart, and the Facilitator gestures for us to stop. the Ogre stops, and resting the butt of it axe on the ground, rests his crossed arms on the top of the blade like it is a railing or chair back. The head of that axe is more than twice the size of my own and has a pale greenish-blue glow.

The Ogre's face is not handsome, but he is honestly better looking than I am. Even with the fangs sticking up from his lower jaw, the strong hard lines of his face project a powerful air of nobility. In his cold grey eyes, a mixture of iron resolution, hate, chagrin, and contempt are mixed together. This is a lord among monsters that has been trapped and imprisoned by what he considers to be lesser creatures.

With his entire body wrapped in chainmail, with armor plates strapped on top, the only part of the Ogre's skin that is visible is his face. Having a pebbly texture like sharkskin, his skin is a greenish-blue color, similar to the glow from his axe, and his hair is midnight black. The two horns rising from his forehead, curved and striated like a ram's horns, are milky white.

“Damn my eyes, you are one ugly fucking human.” The quiet bass voice has even deeper tone than a Dvergar's and is clearly audible over the cacophony from the stands.

“Fuck me sideways, either the dumb animal can speak, or I've gone insane.”

Irritation mixes in with the other emotions on the Ogre's face. “Small dogs should not start yapping in front of their masters. Your death will be slow and painful, human.”

“Then, why did you open your mouth?”

The Ogre tilts his head back and opens its mouth wide, as huge guffaws of laughter ring out over the noise of the spectators. The laughter brings down a curious silence on the crows, as their attention fully focuses on the spectacle taking place in the center of the arena.

“It is too bad for you that we are meeting here. If we were elsewhere, I would makes you a slave, instead of kill you, and let you be my jester.”

Letting the head of my axe rest on the black sand, I reach up and remove the collar on my neck. Closing it, with a soft click, I start to spin it around my finger.

“Who is a slave? I see a collar locked on your faggot-ass neck, but I've only been wearing mine as camouflage, so the DokkAlfar would generally ignore me. I'm the disciple of The Smith. I can leave anytime I want.”

Finally! The Ogre's face twists in rage, and he growls angrily. His own hand grabs the collar that is still firmly locked on his neck.

“You should feel honored. You're enough of a badass that I'm going to use you as the next stepping stone to increase my Power.”

I do need to look to verify that Aluras'bektsh'tar has risen to her feet in a cold rage. The force of her outrage is beating against my mind.

I have no clue how to project my thoughts, but if I make them clear enough, I am sure Aluras'bektsh'tar will be able to read them.
Sorry, cunt. I have no reason to worry about any implications this might have for you. You went back on our deal, and payback is a fucking bitch, just like you. Elan'fer'sha is under Thrall's protection, so she should be safe, but this a slap to your face isn't it?

*Your pathetic little shields will not save you, when I come for you, human!*
Canth's hatred is like a sword thrusting against my mind. I could understand him being angry, but there is no anger, only raw unmitigated hatred. Other than being Thrall's disciple, I have no idea why he has such a personal hatred for me. What kind of history does he have with Thrall?

From dead silent, the crowd abruptly burst into pandemonium. Arguments, fights, and celebrations spread through the stands.

Looking around the arena, I feel strangely at peace. The nervousness is gone. I have an urge to laugh, but I do not. My gaze settles on Elan'fer'sha, and we stare at one another. Using my ki, I sharpen my vision, so I can clearly see those eyes.

Surprisingly, there is no anger visible in those honey-amber eyes. There is regret and a soul-deep emptiness that I have seen more than just a few times. She smiles faintly, sadly, and says some words I cannot hear, but I do not need to hear them to know what she says.

Kill them all!

I turn back to the Ogre. “Today, you die.”

The Ogre sneers at me. “You don't have the strength to kill me.”

Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain.

My left eye glows with silvery radiance for a moment, as the pattern sight spell alters my vision.

My heart is steel. Steel is the blood and bone of the Smith. While the flame of my soul burns, the steel of my sword will never break and never dull.

A silver aura surrounds my axe.

The hammer falls, shaping the steel. The steel remembers the force. The steel releases the force.

A second dark grey aura mixes with the silver one.

“You really are The Smith's disciple.” The Facilitator glances from the Ogre to me, and starts backing away.

“Begin!”

A heavier blue-green aura surrounds the Ogre's own axe, and he charges toward me. I cross thirty yards in three flickering steps, and the Ogre's eyes widen in surprise. His axe streaks towards my shoulder from high overhead, at an oblique angle. As I slip to the side, frost enshrouded particles of black sand explode outward from the axe's impact.

With a low strike, my own axe streaks towards the Ogre's knee, like a pendulum. A curtain of frozen sand flies at me, as the Ogre's axe sweeps up to intercept my own.

BOOM!

The thunder of the colliding weapons echoes in the arena, and battered by the concussive force, both of us stagger backward. My hands are numbed from the impact, and I can barely feel my axe's haft within my grip. The Ogre holds up one hand clenching and releasing a fist a few times, as he stares at me.

Despite the odd angle, I had nearly my full strength behind my blow, but the Ogre's counter was thrown in a way that would never have allowed it to use all its strength. Neither of us was using our Power to enhance our strength. Even though we would appear to be more or less evenly matched to the crowds, the Ogre has the implicit advantage in strength. With ki I might equal it, but that depends on whether or not he can use his own Power to enhance his own strength further.

In terms of speed and reaction times, we are probably so close that the difference is immaterial. My only real advantage is absolute movement speed. There should be nothing that the Ogre can do to compensate for my ability to move in the Shadow of the Od.

Moving to the Ogre's right side, I launch a short chop toward his waist. Ki floods through my body, enhancing my strength and speed. the Ogre hammers his own into mine, stopping the chop cold. Expecting the force of the impact, we both hold our ground and begin launching short fast attacks at one another.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

The deafening thunder of axe head against axe head and axe haft fills the air around us. Seconds stretch into long minutes, with neither of us giving ground. Neither of us moves more than a step or two in any direction, just enough to launch our attacks and defend. the Ogre's advantage in strength allows him stop my attacks cold, while I am forced to deflect his attacks. Even using the maximum amount of ki I can force through my body, the Ogre still must be more than twice my strength.

This is how I want to fight. Instead of sneak attacks on someones back, I want to face off against enemies strong enough to make use everything I have. My mouth stretches into a death's-head grin, just like it did in my most intense battles during the Great Fuck Over.

Maybe it should not be surprising, but I know the Ogre's fighting style. I used parts of the martial style he is using, when I hybridized Shadow Fist. Four Ogres on a Mountain Top is not a common style, and I only encountered one of its practitioners by chance. The style is designed for great weapon user, and I always tended toward dual-wielding, so most of it was useless to me. But I was still fascinated by the style.

The Ogre suddenly steps backward, and caught off-guard, I am half a beat behind. He raises his axe into a high posting position that I never understood, and I have a chill run down my spine. With the butt of his axe held in two hands just over his shoulder, the axe stands straight upright over his head, like a flag or sashimono, and a cloud of greenish-blue energy swirls around it.

The Ogre's axe drops, and a wave of cold grey water rushes toward me.. It takes the shape of a wave, as it crashes down on me. Releasing the haft of my axe with my left hand, I drop into a deep horse stance and launch a palm strike toward the wave.

BOOM!

In a roughly circular shape, my ki smashes into the center of the wave. As the center of the wave turns into a mist, the rest of the wave passes around me, drenching the black sands of the arena.

“Ki! You're a shit eating Binary!?” Surprise and anger fill the Ogre's roar.

“Ain't it a bitch, dick breath?”

I move next to the Ogre, and my axe streaks toward his left shoulder, in a powerful overhand blow. Twisting and sliding to his right, he barely gets the haft of his axe in position to intercept mine, and the force of the impact staggers him backward.

Not giving him time to recover, I move to the Ogre's left side, striking at his hip with a lateral swing. While still off balance, he manages to hammer his axe into the flat of my own, burying both our axe heads in the sand.

“Aaargh!” The Ogre roars in pain, as the my toe drills into his thigh.

Dropping to one knee, the Ogre hammers the haft of his axe into the ground.

Boom!

Blue-green light flares from the axe head, and shards of ice explode outward from the Ogre in all directions. Even though I pulse my ki outward, it is too little, too late. I avoid being shredded alive, but the razor-like edges of the ice splinters leave me with dozens, maybe hundreds, of cuts, all over my body. A cloud of blood mist surrounds me.

The Ogre staggers as it rises to its feet again. The armor plate on its right thigh is completely deformed, with a two inch deep dent in the center. If he had not been wearing cuisses, my kick would have probably shattered its femur. I feel like I have been flayed alive, and probably, I look about that way.

Not daring to give the Ogre time to recover, I slip around to its back and hammer a strike at it from behind. The Ogre's axe is spinning in a circle over his head, but there is no way he will be able to hit me or intercept my strike.

BOOM!

My axe jars to a halt, as it hits a dome of ice that appears out of thin air. Is the Ogre using a martial style, or is he a fucking aberrant caster?

The Ogre rips the cuisse from his thigh and hurls it to the sand. Except for where my axe has left a spiderweb of cracks on its surface, the ice dome is transparent, and the Ogre glares at me through it.

“Your way of moving annoys me, human. Everything about you annoys me. Before I let you die, you will beg and whimper for your pain to end.”

I tap on the dome with my index finger. “You won't kill shit, hiding behind this ice like a faggot.”

CRACK! BOOM!

The dome of ice explodes outward. I move backward two steps, putting over thirty yards between us. From my palm strike, a hand-shaped wall of ki hammers, pulverizing the ice fragments flying toward me.