"To the lambs on the chopping board we excitedly declare, let the seventh round begin!" The sounds were deafening, not any less so the rattling of the portcullis.
Two blinks later, and the dented steel keeping the participants from each other was no more. The first punch in my face came in the form of a nauseating cacophony of shrieks.
I ducked away, evading the claw of a frenzied beastman, all too high on drugs. Then I ducked away immediately again, for a sword went past my back, easily cutting that furry hulk in two.
The second came in the form of a stench so horrendous I wasn't even surprised espying some recently turned undead in the rank and file of my competition.
But that sword was now upon me. It's wielder of the kind radiating killing intent because of a stolen pea or two. Nonsensical, she was.
Could have chosen among all the other sorry creatures I was surrounded by, found myself part of even. Lucky they were. In some twisted way. And so was I.
I cleanly ripped her head off. The undead... yes. Participants that hadn't survived the night in that hole caked in shit, piss and all kinds of remains of unlucky predecessors.
Not to forget about those who had settled in there permanently already, naturally totally unhappy about our intrusion. An emotion I resonated with deeply.
Two more humans ganged up on me, then another one and after some brief exchanges a fourth latecomer annoyingly always targeting the youth in my arms.
For whatever dastard reason, that little creature happily growing more fur on her naked ears and tail with each passing day was giddily watching.
And when all that pointy or crushy stuff came close, she was madly giggling away, her tiny arms fanning the air, fingers outstretched. Dangerous that was indeed. I failed to understand her.
There was no idea I was blessed with that could explain why she kept calm now but threw a tantrum every single time she was about to be fed... or changed... or was simply awake.
I ripped some arms off, tore through unprotected backs and clashed with a bunch of various weapons. Then a high-pressure beam of water burst some more heads.
The target was actually me, yet with such measly skills I had to be drugged, cobbled, beaten half to death and soaked in perpetual clay for the effort to hit me. Others soon took the deceased's place.
My claws remained strong and durable without the need for mana reinforcing them, so it wasn't that electrifying overall.
I slashed, defended, countered and slashed some more. All in all, the level of competition here didn't ask much of me. But it was by no means easy either.
Reason being... The third punch in my face came in the form of realisation. I could no longer deny that this farce hadn't been conceived by wicked minds as just a fight to begin with.
All the promises and clamour on the streets... were rubbish. This coliseum was all about providing bloody entertainment for cheap, providing an avenue to let off some steam without the slightest possibility of attracting harm upon oneself.
For those sitting there. As for us? It was a battle royale. In less glorifying words, it was a meatgrinder. And so meat I ground. Plenty. While evading the damn mages.
Two in number, clad better than the rest with obvious signs of recent proper rest to espy all over their haughty selves. Not quite aristocrats, I'd wager. But not far off either.
One wielded a misconceived type of necromancy, the other laughable control over water. It was evident that the longer the former survived, the greater the risk.
Yet they focused on me. Everyone, without exception. It was as if I'd banged their mother right in front of them. I found some budding sort of cooperation.
Well, since a while now I'd seen signs somebody quite detested me showing up here. The little skin I let showed from time to time might be the issue.
Scales weren't everybody's object of affection. I wasn't about to complain nobody proposed straight away. But this? This... rubbed me the wrong way.
My problems didn't seem to decrease one bit. But at least my enemies did. Until only three participants were left standing, me included.
The mages didn't seem the slightest bit happy. I could harp on and on about the very real chance of their death, but man did I hate wasting words on the deaf.
I won my ticket to the... preliminaries. For Spice's cooperation. Nobody except the former winner was apparently exonerated from this gruesome circus.
I cared not, though. Cheers! I and I cheered with another glorious I for three whole seconds. The youth happily contributed to my merry mood too. Really strange, that one. Definitely.
Anyway... 64 matches overall plus grunt culling. 6 one-on-one fights left to go. Also, some more prison days to overcome.
Horray! Flicking away most fresh blood stuck to me, my mood calmed down. Damn, my only hope other than seeing Spice's darn arse sizzle in fire was getting so far as to access my personal dimension.
I sought comfort! Uncaring for all the hooting I was subject to, as well as ignoring the motherfucker of an anchorman providing proof once more that this stupid game was rigged, I walked back.
Down the narrow passageway, past some stunned guards, some turns left, some right and there I was. I simply refused to let them walk me back. This glorious immortal loftily objects!
Many layers of tempered steel took my freedom away yet again. Thinking continuously about my heavenly abode and how far I'd fallen, I also spent most of the time keeping a watchful eye on my surroundings.
I didn't forget to feed the youth with less than... stellar... success. The food tucked away in the overcoat's ridiculously big pockets wouldn't last her the coming days.
Fear for the consequences put me on edge, while the distant roars announced the beginning of another battle royale.
And so I felt the urge to meditate. On the stony grounds of this fly-swarmed dumpster, I planted my once-proud backside. Atop the grounds of my cosy abode, long live! My. Lovely. Cell.