Hi everyone, this is the first story I have ever written, I hope you enjoy the first part.
Lucifer
The calm before the storm; that's how Lucifer would have described the deafening silence that preceded the wooden gates opening before him. In mere seconds the arena would erupt in an echoing roar as gladiators entered the spectators' view, desperate for bloodshed and death. Yet there he stood, immersed in a seemingly everlasting silence.
Years under the Emperor's rule had brought forth traditions of slavery and war, two things that landed Lucifer in the position in the first place. It seemed a lifetime ago since he last saw his sister and mother and wondered if he would ever be blessed enough to see them again. Alas, now was not the time for sentimental thoughts, his life was once again on the line.
With Lucifer and the other gladiators huddled together in the center of the rustic arena the show was set to commence. Each gladiator donned their own unique armor and weaponry that had kept their life and taken so many others. The sand crept over their sandals as they planted their feet, hoping to hold ground against what was to come.
The beating of war drums started, indicating the evening entertainment was about to begin.
"MAY I PRESENT TO YOU, THE FEARLESS, THE INSATIABLE, THE RUTHLESS ATHENIAN HORDE!" The arena master bellowed over the roaring crowd.
No matter how often Lucifer had been in that situation it never failed to cause an adrenaline rush, likely beneficial to him as it heightened his senses and improved his reaction time. Often, he would see men cower in fear, lose control of their bladders, or freeze on the spot, apparently helpless to the final swing of an incoming sword. That would not be his fate, of that, he was sure.
The heavy metal chains attached to the wooden doors opposite the gladiators clinked as they lifted from the ground and straightened, pulling open the door that would bring forth whatever enemies had been arranged for the entertainment.
Stepping out from within the arena infrastructure, a group of large, muscular men appeared. Each bigger than the last they towered over the gladiators, menacingly dragging their weapons through the sand behind them.
"Nundellans, surely they aren't serious?" Lucifer muttered, his concentrated eyes on the group of men he would have to kill that day.
Nundella was a remote island off the west coast of Athenia, famed mostly for its Blacksmithing. The Island itself wasn't large, but it was huge in stature. The mountain ranges on the island were infamous for being hard to navigate for all those not raised within them. There wasn't a single city on Nundella, there simply wasn't the space. Instead, the people of the island had settled for mountain towns, linked together with bridges from one mountain peak to the next. Due to the island's geology the nation had never been invaded; it simply wasn't worth the monumental effort it would take to have an army attempt to breach the mountains. Instead, the leaders of visiting nations simply used them for their blacksmithing, placing orders for armor and weaponry. It was unofficially a "violence free" zone. That didn't however stop the native warriors from leaving the island to find adventure. Nundellan warriors prided themselves in obscure weaponry, more of a show of their blacksmithing talents than the belief their weapons were structurally superior. This was something Lucifer intended to work to his advantage, there was no time for niceties as far as he was concerned. The quicker the kill, the less chance of death.
"Hold your positions!" Lucifer commanded the gladiators around him. "Tonight, we shall dine in victory, send their souls to the abyss!" He roared, earning a synchronized growl from those around him.
The Nundellan warriors advanced, stalking the gladiators while circling their flails overhead, each time omitting an ominous whooshing noise as the spiked ball completed a full rotation.
Lucifer was fully aware the flail was not the most efficient weapon, especially to such an experienced warrior like himself. All he needed to do was make sure the Nundellan warriors' focus was primarily on the men around him, allowing him to time his attack and discard them before they reached the point of being overwhelmed. Even if Lucifer did think their weapons were a hindrance, he wasn't sure how he would fare against multiple attackers. Dodging a single flail was one thing, but to avoid two or three was an entirely different matter. This was not a battle he could win on his own.
"Brothers, sisters! Now is the time to grasp your fate. Now is the time to stand up and be counted. Fight with me, and live. Or cower and die!" He roared.
The Nundellan warriors inched closer, stealing more ground with every step. Their flails still circling, inviting death to any unfortunate soul to find themself within its range.
While large in stature, the Nundellans wanted nothing more than personal glory, which suited Lucifer perfectly. Teamwork would win this fight, and perhaps also his freedom.
"TURTLE!" Lucifer bellowed, demanding an instant reaction.
Within seconds his fellow gladiators had circled him and lifted their shields forming a moving barrier. The gladiators soon found their defensive position had worked when the deep thuds of incoming flail attacks bounced against their shields.
"BREAK RANKS TOP SIDE!" Another command from Lucifer, who had noticed one of the Nundellans close enough to strike.
The leading gladiators of the shield barrier stepped out to open a section of the shield wall as they parried the enemies swinging flail. In an instant Lucifer leapt out, thrusting his spear into the throat of his enemy. The large warriors' arms dropped, and he sank to his knees, his neck destroyed by the razor-sharp edge of the spear.
And so, before me they drop like flies, this feeling, so serendipitous,
Lucifer thought as he glanced through the hole left in the dead warrior's mangled neck.
"Lucifer, two of them to the right!" One of his closest allies, Isabella, yelled from over his right shoulder.
"Shield wall close, right rotation!" He roared in response.
The unit rotated as one to counter the oncoming attack, inciting a smile from Lucifer; nothing tasted as sweet as a slaughter under perilous odds.
Warlord Julius Azazel
The sun set over Dominica as Julius Azazel poured himself a glass of Dominican wine, produced only a few miles outside the city. It was the finest wine in the entire Western kingdoms, and perhaps even beyond that. The enormous country was a considerable distance from anywhere else, its closest country being that of Athenia, at least 8 weeks sailing, 6 with the wind at your back. The two countries had lived peacefully respectful of one another for over a thousand years. The great king's war had been so destructive and costly it had brought about an everlasting peace. That was until the recent emperor of the central kingdoms had risen to power, his ambition of ruling over the known world was no secret.
The palm trees against the orange sun-lit backdrop framed Dominica perfectly. Her people were passionate, fiery, smart, and proud. It was said throughout the land that a single Dominican warrior was worth that of fifty Western men, and a single Dominican woman was worth more than her weight in gold. There was much in Dominica to be admired and Julius knew he could not let the traditions and history of his proud nation disappear into ashes at the hands of the lunatic across the ocean. A man with so little honor he acquired power by simply walking into the previous emperor's city with an army at his back, and taking the palace by force, later emerging before the people holding the previous emperor's head. Ever since then the central kingdoms had built their army and expanded. The reign of chaos led to full control over all four of the central kingdoms; Athenia, Nundella, Armatra and Malbore.
Athenia had always been the larger of the central kingdoms, with hundreds of shipping docks on its coasts. It boasted the best trading potential due to its population and used its significantly larger army under the new emperor to forcefully take the remaining three kingdoms.
Nundella had not been so much invaded as held ransom for its armor and weaponry, leaving the country at the beckoning of the mad emperor.
Armatra was more famed for its crops and farming, sporting an army with less than 50 thousand men. It put up no resistance to the invading Athenian empire.
Malbore had struggled with Athenia's land invasions being an island boasting an impressive naval force but a less than impressive army. With such close distance between the two countries the Athenian empire had little trouble invading.
As each of the central countries fell, the empire of Augustus Redmaine grew larger. With his endless ambition it was only a matter of time before he expanded outwards.
To the north was unexplored territory, sailors who left to explore returned having sailed for months to no avail or never returned at all. To the east a desert wasteland, a vast, open sand ocean with the occasional floating villages dotted around, named as they never stayed in one place for long. Not much was known about the lands east; Athenia used the eastern desert land to send those banished from civilization. They would either starve, become a slave to the indigenous people, or live an unfortunate life surviving as best they could.
To the far west was Dominica, a country larger on its own than the four central kingdoms combined. Steeped in history the continent had been the primary source of reason throughout the known world for the best part of a thousand years. The Virdansc bloodline went back as far as records began, their family had sat proudly on the capitol throne throughout all Dominican history.
Warlord Julius Azazel had worked his way up the Dominican army, starting in the city of Hital, where he began his career in the Virdansc private army, later moving on to become a task force commander of the royal guard. Years of fighting back the southern invasions had earned him promotions while success on the battlefield had won him the public attention he needed to push on to higher things. The Dominicans worshipped Julius as a war hero. Aside from the Queen there was nobody more prestigious on the whole continent.
His father was the retired advisor to the Royal Crown, prior to that holding the same title Julius had recently acquired. It had taken Julius a long time to earn the status of Warlord, even if others whispered it was due to his father. Armed combat was all he had known, he would happily face any of his doubters in combat, but they would not face him, that he knew for sure. While not the most intimidating man you might come across, subtle markings on Julius' face gave him away, a canvas upon which his past had been painted.
"The reports today, Warlord Azazel," A young man announced from the chamber doorway.
"Thank you Fioro, I only wish they had arrived sooner," Julius replied absently, scanning the letter.
"Just as I thought, he is in Athenia. And they have him fighting in petty arenas. Time for your little fun to end, Lucifer." Julius mumbled at the letter.
"Fioro, have a team of 4 capable men arranged to retrieve our Prince. I think it is about time he returns."
