Kane swings a big axe upwards through the but makes a wild miss, a punch, teeth chattering, connects to his jaw in response. He feels teeth dance to pain's rhythm.
The opponent's desperate lunge comes, a clumsy arc for a swing from his left, whiffs harmlessly past Kane, leaving himself exposed to the silver haired viper. Kane surges forward, but with a mocking pirouette, the man evades the assault, his blade a venomous cobra tracing a line across Kane's back.
The crowd roars, intoxicated by the sight of spilled blood, "Come on boy o boy," the towering figure taunts, black flecks marring his teeth, "Malcolm will take care of you" he says.
"You can't even take care of yourself. I mean, you have lovely teeth" Kane spits back, vexing the bigger man who lunges with a stabbing assault. Kane becomes a whirlwind of motion, dodging, darting and launching himself over a wooden pillar in a fluid, explosive arc towards Malcolm.
Heavy axe in hand yet he swings, a vision of its metal splitting Malcolm's head is what he desires in real time but his opponent slips through like an eel, retaliating with a spartan kick to Kane's head.
The crowd cheer, drunk on ale and the ambience of The Pits.
The crowds' cheer and the sounds of a temple bell shakes his mind, threatening to send him to the unconscious world but his blue eyes catches the swing of Malcolm's blade.
Reacting instinctively, he evades the blow, yet the axe-tip gashes his hand, "Hold still, let me carve yer up" Malcolm leers, a grotesque smile twisting his features. Kane fixes eyes on the massive axe, its heft a jarring contrast to a blade, which he prefers. The unforgiving rules of The Pits, however, dictate one's weaponry, leaving him no choice.
"Fuck it", he mutters.
"Come you big ugly shit", Kane suddenly roars, the epithet igniting a frenzy in the crowd. Malcolm lunges, but Kane, with a balletic grace, spins and hurls the axe. Malcolm evades the deadly throw, yet in chaos, he loses sight of the white-haired boy, a lapse in vigilance that will prove disastrous.
Before he realises where Kane is, he feels a weight behind his ankles and he finds himself on the ground. Kane, with a swift, disarming move, unleashes a brutal barrage of blows upon his opponent's face, blood and teeth escape Malcolm's horrid lips.
And with one final blow, Malcolm's eyes roll to the back of his head and his body gives up the fight.
"Kane! Kane!! Kane!!!", for the first time he hears his name in the chant of the crowd. He raises his bloodied fist to accept their praise and his victory, "Kane wins this battle. For the next battle…" the announcer of the matches speaks as Kane leaves the arena.
Kane navigates the labyrinthine wooden framework, his destination the cramped cubicle where his fellow gladiators await their master's order. Raven and Celine, another Sith, guard the entrance. Kane's pace is slow, his pale skin marred by scarlet blotches, while arm holds ribs.
Blood trickles down his nose. Another gladiator, Malik, comes out as he prepares for his own battle. He and Kane share a nod before, he walks past him while Kane steps into the cubicle.
"Where's the master?" Kane asks his fellow slaves as he sits down on a bench, "He had business and he is gone. We are now under the supervision of The Sith," one of them answers him. He looks up and finds Raven's dark eyes on him, "Fuck," he grunts and leans against the mud walls of the cubicle.
The night is quick and Barabas' stock of gladiators featured in The Pits takes a huge slump with only Kane and two others left alive, unfortunately, Malik is not one of them. They only hear that his match ended with a blade in his throat.
The journey back is quiet, though thoughts of escape comes to mind but they know that a single Sith can take them out and they are unlucky to have two with them. Yet, one finds the foolish will or the courage to lunge out of their moving cart.
Strong legs boost his launch into the air as he attempts to flee. Kane and the others observe, hope springs new leaves within them only to be squashed by The Sith.
In a blink of an eye, a ball of red beam reaches him on his run. He falls, he screams and he burns, right before their eyes; "Let us go", Raven orders the cart rider with no hint of emotion in her voice.
The night wind howls like a lonely wolf, caressing their exposed bodies and wounds yet to heal. A night of ale would do the trick, if Lord Barabas was around to offer it. The gladiators are herded back to their squalid confinement, a grim respite for Kane. His mind, weary from the day's brutal spectacle, now seeks the oblivion of slumber.
He takes a bath and quickly returns to his bedside, he lies down and buries himself in thought.
After last night, he has to come up with something. So far he knows that there are only about ten Siths and fifty armed guards around Grimstone. His journeys from Grimstone to The Pits as showed him the route leading that way only leads to doom. He doesn't know anywhere else except, Slave Harbour which is also not a good idea.
His feet has never gone east of Grimstone to the other parts of Pyrrhus, but even if he and Emilia escapes, there is no guarantee that the rest of Pyrrhus is friendly after all the country is home to a volcano, volcans and blood hornets. He needs someone that knows the land or another alternative, as fate will have it, he has one.
Since he came he has had the uncanny ability to disappear when he needs to but what if he can control it?
That would change everything, he could leave this place with Emilia, disappear to a land far from this horrid place. What if this is his gift from the goddess? He remembers that he was a shut-in in his past life, he can't let the same feelings and lack of will hold him back. He refuses to succumb to the same paralysing inertia. "I must control it" he resolves.
Sasha suddenly walks into his dormitory, her dark eyes watches his bare body, giving imagery to a hidden fantasy. Her brown waves of hair cascades over her shoulders while her fingertip traces a path along her lower lip. An air of stillness hangs over them, Kane oblivious to her presence until a featherlight touch on his back shatter the silence.
She tries to trace his battle scars but is quickly caught after the first touch. He grips her hand tightly and for a moment he carries the gaze of a wild beast.
"Sasha," he mutters and lets her go.
"Shush", she quiets him down as she traces the shape of his chest with a fingertip. She bends and kisses him, lips so soft he almost forgets his worries until they come in form of a champion, "Leave woman", Braga's voice, a thunder upon the earth, forces the woman to raise her head, "Men have words to break," he says, "He cannot. The mistress summons him", Sasha replies, her beating a new tune.
Kane silently feels a swerve of relief come over him, he is not ready to face Braga.
Braga scoffs, unbelieving her words, "She calls and yet you are about to ride his cock" "I was simply waking a sleeping man" Sasha says and stands up from Kane's bedside, "Kane, come. My lady awaits," she says with eyes stiff on Braga's own. He steps forward and stops them, hot breath, he breathes.
A monster in their eyes, he glides aside.
The champion scoffs again, "You can't run dog. We will have words" his last words to Kane for the day before departing.
Kane is more than pleased to have averted both situations as none was of merit to him. He follows just behind Sasha as she leads him to Lady Frieda's chamber. Her chambers is much different from Lord Barabas' as hers is adorned in colours purple and black, she sits on a red sofa a few inches to the left of the bed, legs stretched on the soft mattress and a pipe in her hand while she puffs out smoke.
Her blonde hair is loosen and stretched on her shoulders while her dark brown eyes observe the fine specimen of a slave, "Leave us Sasha," she says in a calm and confident tone.
A stool stands beside the bed with a tray of wine and ale, cups sit idly in the tray as the woman gives more attention to her smoke. Kane takes a glance at Sasha as she leaves, mind struggles to comprehend the situation, "Um, mistress. You have never…" "Shush, I didn't ask you to speak," she says.
The room smells of sandalwood and lemon. And magic orbs and lanterns illuminates the room, giving a certain glow to the mistress' long legs.
She rises and walks toward him, a see-through gown barely covering herself, she goes around to inspect his body. She begins to touch the scars of steel on his skin and stops at the slave brand on his chest, tracing its pattern lightly before blowing smoke into his face. She squeezes his nipple hard and smiles, watching his face to see his reaction but he stands still like a statue, unmoving.
She smiles from ear to ear.
"Here," she hands him the pipe and force her hand down his loincloth, "Wow, not bad" she says, impressed with what she feels. She smells her hand with crazed features, "Manly, for a youth" she says. Kane is perplexed beyond his mental parameters, but he would not dare anger the mistress. With a word or a scream, guards and The Sith will have him in pieces and he will never see Emilia again or leave this place. His belly churns as his soul curses the goddess, his flesh comes to life at the touch of Frieda's hands.
"Take it," she says as the pipe still rests in his hand, "My lady, I have never…" "Suck in, close your mouth and breath out" she says, Kane tries as she instructs before collecting her pipe. Lungs choked in smoke, it claws violently at his throat and he coughs heavily.
Frieda laughs and points to the tray, "Have some ale, it will quench your thirst". With no hesitation he rushes at the jug of hail, drinking straight from it like a man starved years of lipids. He chugs and chugs until he drops the jug down, "You drink with no class, like an animal," she scoffs.
"Forgive me my lady", he says but not long after the words leave his mouth he finds the world begin to take a strange shape and his strength decline, "Come," she calls him forward, but he finds his feet heavy, yet he moves. Dragging his feet across dancing floors that threaten to swallow him, "For one who aims for the arena, you are quite light headed, aren't you?", her words come with certain appeal.
Kane walks and finally reaches her bed, hands stretched to support himself while she observes him with strange delight. A meal to be had.
The pipe clatters onto the stool as she moves, a sinuous serpent gliding towards Kane, embracing him. Her embrace is a silken snare, breasts holding against his back, arms a cage of warmth around his chest.
"Barabas surely has an eye for good things", she purrs, inhaling his scent with predatory intensity. Kane turns around and meets her eyes, he sees a lust crazed animal in them. With a practiced grace, she sheds her garments, a serpent shedding its skin. She pushes him onto the bed, "Now close your eyes slave and let your mistress devour you," her eyes hold his dizzy gaze while her tongue lick his abs. A stroll to a devious feast.