The next blow would be crushing, barrelling across the scorching ground where bare feet skidded across the earth in plumes of scarlet dust. Clutching at his side where a knee had driven him backwards, the next being a swipe at his face, deadly but caught before it could do any damage.
"You're as tough as I've imagined, Sir Baragon" the man panted, wincing at the pain resonating from his bridled hand, clutched between stone grey fur. The beast itself was canine, wolf-like in nature though inexplicably man in ways he found terrifying. It walked on two with arms thrice the size of his own, tossing him across the barren earth like a doll, "Flattery won't make this easier" he knew that.
Argon had lived a modest life, he had. Born in the high alps of Frondor, the snow thick and the air thin, where night perpetuated the endless expanse of white for weeks through their frigid winters. A punch at the beast's stomach would send it reeling back, forcing an opening to slam a fist to its face whilst its head was held low. They said the cold and starvation were what made them, steeled them into the hardened warriors they so desperately prided themselves as; where at the end of their days, when their world was writ in scarlet, when age, when sickness, when the cold blades of death severed them from their mortal flesh they'd be met with their first reward of many down the path to ascension.
For children of the War god, Aldron, there was no reward more fitting than to face one of his greatest generals, a beast made apostle; Baragon, The Dread. "Argh!!" He gasped, slammed against the ground with such force that the wind was drawn from his lungs, crumbling the hard stone surrounding him. Its hands, half his body already, pinned him against the ground with a force that was crushing. He heaved, how long had it been, a few seconds, minutes perhaps? He hoped it'd been, heaving at the beast's furred hands as it glowered. To die with honour, he remembered, to face the cold eyes of death at the forefront of bravery was..a myth…
The reality of it was far duller, he himself had never been granted such a grand end. Sickness had marred his body, starvation had leapt on it like scrounging wolves and death had reaped what was left. They prided themselves as warriors but the last wars had ended centuries before them, their enemies were unseen and conceptual of which they were powerless to overcome, of which they couldn't stare them in the eyes like he could what was or could've been certain death. Those eyes, he thought, the deepest shade of amber he'd ever seen, the most terrifying gaze he'd ever graced upon; either beast or man. He'd lost to that, lost to strength, to will, not the incorporeal and magnificent. All those years he'd honed his body, all that strength..it felt..fulfilling to have it tested and bested in battle. He panted, scoffing between a laugh after a moments silence beneath its grasp, "I…I yield" he chuckled, grinning within a wince, "This was…more than I could have ever asked for"
A rumbling growl resonated from his maw with a heavy huff as he lifted his hand from the mortal's chest, he seemed elated, he noted. They always were, tossing and turning in the dirt with their fists serving as words and their blood as answers. They lived for battle after all, the children of his exalted master were one such race of those that prided themselves on strength and their accolades above all others. The bloody War Hounds of the North, a wild bunch for all of Aldron's children he'd come to know across the millennia. If not, then perhaps the most fanatic.
"I must say with such strength, Sir Baragon, it is with no doubt now that you'd indeed faced an army of Lady Nights death gull's all on your own!" The man commented, what was his name again? He didn't bother knowing, there'd be a thousand more after him and there'd been hundreds of thousands before him; the lives and names of mortal men were inconsequential in the grand scheme of things anyway, too short lived to amount to much but he grunted in acknowledgment. Children of his exalted master and warriors no doubt, he could offer the simple respect of a hand to prop himself from the ground.
"I—"he started, cheers from the ruined grandstands pausing his line of thought as he groaned, "Wooo!! Go Barry!! Go!!" they shouted, waving at them from high above, "Do it again, the suns haven't set!!"
"Exalteds, be my witness…" he grumbled beneath his breath, much to none of the man's awareness as he waved back, "She said she loved these, I was unaware it was with such fervour!" He laughed, oblivious to the exhausted grimace scowling from behind him, "A nuisance actually..."
When was the last time the arena's far stands had ever stood in packed crowds with seats, stone and rigid against the seven suns, where thin cloths and the farther regions extended up to walls that caved inwards to provide shade for those seated far below? He couldn't remember, in fact, he couldn't quite remember what battle had reduced it to such a sorry state only that it was after then that she'd started visiting more often than usual. The sigh from him was audible, glancing at her where the few seats left standing from all the rubble suspended her from the ground with great effort.
"I must ask though, is it…safe for Lady Ravinia to be up there?" The man asked, still waving as the preceding party hadn't stopped and to that, what did he have to say? "No, not at all…"
There was a crack and a resounding yelp as rock and debris crumbled and crashed to the ground with a rumbling bang followed by the ground shuddering from beneath them where crimson dust bellowed from the moment of impact, rushing forth with a gust of harsh winds. Yes, apart from being so exquisitely sociable, the damn snake was so abhorrently clumsy. She hadn't thought so far ahead as to the integrity of age old stone, withered by the millennia or to her compatibility with the average, everyday constructs. After all, half serpent and half human, there were little if not no places suitable for a two ton body of serpentine muscle from the waist down.
She groaned, the fall hadn't been painful but embarrassing indeed. Stairs, chairs and now this. The rock, dyed a subtle shade of crimson, tumbled off of her as she rose from the only remaining remnant of what had been left of the coliseum; now another piece of ruined history. Would she have to remunerate this? She wondered, lifting her head to the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Lady Ravinia!!" She heard, watching as a man just half her own height, shirtless and half caked in the scarlet dirt of these barren isles sprinted towards her in worry, "Are you alright?! The fall!!"
He sputtered, aiming to prop her up from the ground as she dusted off any lingering rock work although the attempt was more than futile. She pulled her arm free off him after a moment's more pointless heaving by her aid, "No worries—"
"She's fine," a voice rumbled, catching her attention over the crimson isles where the fuzzy fur-ball of a man approached them, a hand covering his face where a scowl was mostly evident, "Only thing supporting that empty head of hers is the strength not to have to use it" he groaned. She was half entombed in the rock and shattered craftsmanship of sculptors long dead now, a wide, wary grin plastered across her face as he huffed. When the crowds had dwindled and battles had become more inclined to ceremony than celebration, the vibrancy of it had dimmed considerably.
Battle, he found, perhaps pounded into him out of habit, boredom or a mixture of many things so seamlessly swelled together that the origin of it was lost but it was entertainment. He found joy in the strong, in the excitement of the adrenaline coursing through one's veins against those who really put up a challenge. When shouts and cheers had littered these grounds in droves and flags, when warriors, old, young, distant and varied in all manners graced this crimson soil. It'd been the heights of his long lived life, the last remnants of which were now entombing an emerald slit-eyed serpent woman seated on the ground.
A tense silence ensued between them, suffocating if it could be placed in words. Did godlings fight much? Argon thought, staring between the two whose gazes never left the other. It'd only be a few minutes later where Baragon's ears drooped with a sullen expression, "I used to sit there, you know?"
He watched what had been a terrifying animal, sulk as Ravinia's hands raised in frantic innocence; "A-ah, there's always sculptors raring to do something around here. I'll bring one!"
"You've said that for centuries now…"
"A snack?"
"Am I some pet of yours?"
They seemed to go back and forth for a while, bickering like children in what was the oddest impression he could've ever imagined for the world beyond—no—for the two most prominent figures spoken of so fervently in myths and legend. Where the strong laid down their lives to rest in the hopes of those endless pastures of steel, to be reunited with their kin, to be rewarded of their lives. It was first the journey guided by death's reaping serpent to the coliseum guarded by War god's hound. Lord Baragon the dread and Lady Ravinia the serpent of death.
He chuckled at the thought, one would've never known they were so amicable. Such to announce that they felt so…human.
…
"It's been a pleasure, Argon, ignoring coming all the way here but a pleasure nonetheless" she smiled, emerald eyes the shimmering hues of auroran lights gazing at him in tender fondness. This was death, truly, not in the metaphorical or ambiguous but its truest and most physical form and here it was, wishing him safe travels. That feeling couldn't be placed into words, it wasn't the shock nor subversion of otherwise grimmer expectations but the profound realisation of how unsightly so many fears of the end had ever been.
Though as a child of war, the end was a natural occurrence they'd come to accept, embrace and even idolized; the grand fantasy of a warrior's death. But even they weren't immune to the fears they had of the end, the sheer finality of it and one's helplessness at its inevitable arrival. From fear, to anger to sadness, death invoked much from many, the resentment or unavoidable acceptance that all things came to an end. What he had never thought of was that at its centre, what it truly was, was the endless compassion of a life well lived, a gift that was given and used. The end wasn't a punishment but an expression that one's purpose had been fulfilled.
"And I to you, Lady Ravinia," he knelt, bowing his head before glancing to the other beside her. Before it had already towered over him like an insurmountable mountain in the high peaks of the North but now it was simply dwarfing, standing before him now with his arms crossed, that Beast of Dread. "And to you, Lord Baragon, it was an honour"
The only motion of a gesture from him or at least a sign of acknowledgement was a heavy huff, though Lady Ravinia had offered words it was the silent cold stature of an exalted general that gave none that was an expression of the fact that he didn't need any, that his strength and his prowess was assurance enough towards the safety of his journey. He grinned, a blade was sheathed on his back against the the furred collar edges of his coat as slowly, he rose from the ground and slammed a fist against his chest, clad in dull armour that rang before lifting his helmet from the ground.
He had to leave, staring into the endless scarlet grounds ahead, this would be his last trek to rest. A shaky breath escaped his lips before donning the helmet with a tentative step forward, "Your granddaughter is doing well, she's growing just like you" Ravinia uttered, a subtle glance passed her way as he turned. Shaky was his voice when he answered, stricken with the difficulty of restrained tears, "Thank you…"
He moved, trekking into those crimson isles where his figure gradually faded into the horizons, leaving with him, soon enough; the subtle air of conversation as silence returned to the ruined coliseum and themselves. She sighed, "You used to be quite good at this"
"Good?"
"Sending the dead on—ahem, 'Aldron be with you just as I, will you'"she mimicked, puffing out her chest before groaning, "Like that~"
"That was years ago," he snorted, "You forget them quite easily"
"And yet we've been tasked with protecting them, those were our orders"
Orders they themselves struggled to remember now, "countless years ago and we've followed them since, are you not the least bit bored of that?"
She shrugged, "We do what we're told, as we were made"
"I was made for a drink then"
He grumbled, turning whilst taking to a walk as she shifted along the ground beside him with furrowed brows; "Do you ever not waltz to every location you find yourself so desperately required? I find that quite odd"
"If this is about legs again…"
"How does it feel, you've walked a long time, are stairs more enjoyable?"
"Ravi…"
"Ooo, have you danced before?!"
"Haaa"