Slave Unbound

Chapter 33

Leita Versus Hulvoc

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Disclaimer: This story is not meant as 'erotica', but dark adventure-fantasy. It may contain material that sensitive readers might find uncomfortable. Please be advised.

As she exited out of the Ansgorii gate, Leita fought to keep control of her breath. She made herself tune out of the roaring sound of the crowds above and focus on the feel of the sand around her bare feet. She scrunched her toes with each step, pushing the grains between her toes like a meditation. Deep breath in. Hold for a moment. Slow breath out.

Though her feet were bare, the rest of her body was clad in light armor, for all the good it was likely to do her. Her shield was the armor she would most need to trust, along with her own reflexes and courage. She wasn't sure if Crusher had been making fun of her or setting her up to fail with his suggestions on how to fight this creature, but she had no better advice to follow. The trick would simply be staying prepared for each and every hit, never taking them full force.

A part of her still mulled over trying to just focus on evasion, regardless of what he'd suggested. There was no question that it was far from slow, but she thought she might still be faster. The question was whether she was truly fast enough. Trying to avoid a hit meant that should one land, she wouldn't be prepared to mitigate the blow. However, accepting the blows might quickly wear her down until she couldn't move anymore.

It caught her attention that the crowds were going quiet and she looked upwards to see that the attention had gone to the box where the representatives of the Prime Council of Karakas sat, presiding over the arena from on high. Someone was listing something off, though the words sounded muddled from down where she was. They were pronouncing the sentence of the condemned, an unnecessary, but official, step of the usual routine for an execution.

As far as she knew, nothing special was expected of her during this recitation, so she took the opportunity to turn and face the symbol of Caruenos set into the arena wall and show her respect. However, she did more than just give the sign of the Bringer of Battles a salute this time. As she raised her sword, she lowered her head and prayed.

"Give me the strength today, mighty Lord of Conflict. Guide my sword and my shield that I may honor you and bring defeat to my enemy." She whispered to the air. "I pledge this fight to your name and the blood I spill; I spill for you." She paused a moment, considering, before adding. "Let me be an avenger of those fallen and an angel of war."

She wasn't certain if the words she used were appropriate for the God or not. In truth, she'd never prayed to any deity before. It had never seemed to serve a purpose, her lot in life seemingly fixed. Now, however, the words came to her as though she'd always known to speak them. They felt right, even if they weren't.

She lowered her blade just as she heard the audience surge back into cacophonous life at the sound of the Ceribos gate starting to rumble upwards. Turning to face the opening, she saw a host of guards wrestling the chained oruhk out onto the sands. Ahead of them, an attendant ran forward to plant a large-bladed sword, more meat-cleaver than weapon, into the sandy floor of the arena for the creature to use.

Leita considered the oddity of this whole ordeal, giving a condemned murderer, here to be executed, their own weapon and armor that they may kill again to extend their life another week. Ironically, every kill they made in the arena, granted them a little longer to live, but only further added to their list of offenses for which they were being executed. It seemed like some sort of self-serving cycle, making every loss become further fuel towards the eventual death of the condemned and making it feel more gratifying when they finally fell.

It seemed almost absurd, but had served the empire of Karakas for generations and had also been adopted by many of the surrounding countries as a method of handling high crimes. Furthermore, playing the role of executioner was considered to be the original purpose of a gladiator and was considered the highest honor for one. If she managed to walk off the sands today, still alive, her place in the arena would be fully cemented.

Any thoughts of glory, however, scattered like dry leaves in pitched wind as the guards released the chains securing the oruhk and fled back into the safety of the gate, which was already being swiftly closed to avoid the beastman from rushing back into it. However, such a thought seemed to not be foremost in its mind, as it dashed forwards to retrieve the enormous sword it had been supplied with.

Seeing it now, up close, Leita could see just how intimidatingly large its near eight feet of height really was. Each of the oruhk's arms were nearly as thick around as her waist and the width of its waist was broader than her entire body. A hulking monster of pure muscle and aggression, it roared like an animal as it ripped the sword from the ground and came charging towards her.

It crossed the distance between them so fast that Leita barely had time to react, the enormous cleaver sweeping at her in a deadly arc. She only barely managed to leap away from the oncoming foe, its weapon clipping across her shield with enough force to jar her whole body and send a spray of sparks from where the metals met. It caused her to land in an awkward heap, unhurt, but unable to recover her orientation in time to avoid the oruhk pivoting on the spot and bringing the massive blade down onto her shield and driving her into the sandy floor of the arena.

The impact took all the air out of her chest and sent her head spinning. Her worst fear had already come to pass and it had taken less than a matter of seconds. She was only half aware of something grabbing her shield with a grip like iron and tearing it from her arm. An instant later, that same powerful hand took hold of her by the neck and lifted her off the ground and throw her over a dozen feet like a rag doll.

She landed hard, bouncing twice before coming to rest, dazed and disoriented, far from either her sword or her shield. Her helmet had also wrenched loose on the initial impact, rolling away in a different direction. She could hear the oruhk bellowing in triumph, hooting wildly in mockery of its weak and tiny opponent. Above the roar of the beastman she could hear the tumult of the crowds, screaming out their love of blood, violence, and death.

It was beside her before she could fully gather herself again, kicking her hard in her chest as it arrived. The impact of it sent her sliding several more feet away from her weapon and keeping her from getting anything resembling a breath back into her lungs. Her brain swam from the lack of breath in her and the overwhelming pain of the creature's inconceivable strength. The edges of her vision crawled with blackness as she fought to stay conscious.

Again, it bellowed in victory over her, the sound coming as from the other end of a tunnel. She couldn't focus or think, could barely even remember where she was. Only vaguely, she could sense that it was now standing over her. What little was left of her wits braced for the expected downswing of the cleaver to neatly cut her in half and end whatever farce this fight had been.

However, the next second passed without the deadly blow and she managed to gather her mind back enough to realize that it was crudely fishing its enormous manhood, almost as long as her forearm, out from beneath the leather base it wore. It was stroking the member into horrid life, preparing to have its enjoyment with her stunned body before it broke her neck or simply tore her apart.

It was all the error in judgement she needed.

Forcing her body to move, balance be damned, she put her bare feet beneath her, toes taking hold of the sand, and pushed herself upwards. With what little coordination she had left, she managed to draw the dagger she always kept as part of her equipment and stab out with it. The blow was clumsy and weak, but found the mark she meant to hit. The sharp edge of the knife cut a long, messy, line into the oruhk's erect cock.

The absolute howl of pain it screeched at the minor, but deeply effective, wound rejuvenated Leita. She was bruised, but not yet bowed. Even more, it was the first to bleed. She staggered away from the oruhk as it howled and recoiled in agony, though she nearly collapsed back to the earth again in the attempt. The beast,

his

name was Hulvoc, she reminded herself, recovered quickly from the injury, furious now at this impudent little should-be victim, but she had been afforded precious moments to get her bearings back.

When he charged at her again, snorting like an enraged bull and bringing his sword into a powerful downward chop, she braced her body and threw herself forward. Meeting the charge, she managed to get behind the arc of its swing and put her left shoulder into the oruhk's injured crotch. The impact of the far heavier beastman did more to her than she really did to him, but their combined momentum helped her drive her dagger deep into his left thigh.

Both of them collapsed into the sand, Leita getting effectively trampled in the exchange, but she was able to find her feet before Hulvoc could. As she began awkwardly lurching towards the shield that had been torn away from her, she felt sure that she had cracked ribs and her wrist had been hyper-extended by the force of planting the knife. She couldn't get a full breath; her attempts being painfully truncated by the feeling of her damaged ribcage trying to expand.

She flexed her right hand, feeling the wrist already starting to swell and tighten. Her sword was still laying elsewhere and her dagger was still imbedded in Hulvoc's meaty thigh, but she knew she would need to retrieve one of the other. She felt confident that she would still be able to use her weapon hand, but each attack would hurt as it jolted the injured wrist.

None-the-less, she refused to let herself slow, fighting her lack of balance and struggling to keep from passing out. She managed to reach the shield and bring it around to bear just as Hulvoc caught up to her, cleaver slashing savagely at her. Somehow, despite the disorientation, the pain, and the ragged near edge of panic she was holding at bay, she braced her body, angling the shield into place and, miraculously, lifted her feet up at the exact moment the weapon connected.

She flew ten feet, at least, through the air before she thrust her feet downwards, planting herself to the sand and stopping. In the next instant, she was the one charging the oruhk, slamming the shield into him with all her strength. Though it only barely shifted the hulking breastman, but sent her ricocheting away like a reflected pebble, it gave Hulvoc a moment of pause.

When she recovered to face him, she could see something in the oruhk's face that she wagered no one had ever seen there before: uncertainty. In that moment, Hulvoc seemed to realize that his best and strongest weapon, the utter terror he evoked in his enemies, held no power over her. In his eyes was the recognition that this tiny girl was neither afraid nor weak.

Limping mildly, due to his leg and stinging manhood, Hulvoc adopted a defensive posture. The real fight had now begun. As he raised his massive blade in preparation, Leita could see him planting his feet, saw the settling of his torso, the change in the rhythm of his breathing. She could read his intent clearly and she readied herself, planning her course.

When he made his next charge, this one slower for his injuries, but far more calculated, she was already a beat ahead of him. Again, she moved into his path, not out of it, pushing all the pain exploding through her body out of her mind. She thrust her shield up as they met halfway, Hulvoc's sword chopping into it with explosive power. The hit was powerful enough that it would have either split the metal or, at the very least, knocked it from her grasp, had she still be holding onto it.

Instead, she had merely thrown the shield up, both to attract his aim to it and to obscure her actual intended action. As the oruhk sent her shield sailing away, she broke into a slide, grabbing a hold of the dagger handle sticking from his thigh with her uninjured left hand. Just as their combined momentum had put the blade there, it helped her rip it back out, a spray of blood fanning out of the leg as it tore open the flesh of his thigh.

Caught off guard by the lack of resistance behind the shield and the sudden searing pain in his leg, Hulvoc stumbled, turning awkwardly in place a moment before crashing to the sand. Before he was even fully prone, Leita was already on top of him, stabbing wildly with the dagger. She made no effort to aim or consider where to land the knife, doubted her off-hand would be very accurate anyway, just tried to do as much damage as she could.

Hulvoc was cut over a dozen times before he managed to swat her off of him, knocking her a half dozen feet away. However, she landed mostly on her feet and was back to him before he could even fully get to a knee. Again, she stabbed and slashed wildly, though the oruhk was able to interpose an arm to block against the attacks this time.

However, that left the arm in near tatters by the time he regained his feet and retreated away from her. The combined wounds, which included the partial loss of one of his fingers, left that arm nearly useless. Yet, he still managed to grit through his own pain to grip his weapon back in both hands again, ready to make another attack.

The swing was fast, but much slower than before. While it still had considerable force behind it, that too was now far less than before. Leita evaded the swing with ease, wading back in close right behind the attach and once again wielding the knife like a maniac, switching the weapon to her right hand. Her own pain was so distant now, drowned away in a sea of adrenalin and fury, that she was barely aware of it anymore. She knew her body was protesting, further tearing apart as she pushed past her limits.

However, she refused to care or allow any thought other than making this oruhk the one who was afraid. In that regard, she was succeeding. Hulvoc was scrambling to put distance between them, struggling to mount a defense against the brutal onslaught of the comparatively tiny girl. She had now hurt him more than he had hurt her, though his tolerance for pain and damage was significantly greater than hers.

He was beginning to get his equilibrium back, recovering from her unexpected burst of aggression, and she could sense that he would turn the tide back to his favor at any moment. While her fierce barrage of attacks had done their damage and weakened him, the fervor of them has also quickly sapped her own stamina. She was already panting for air due to her inability to take a full breath, where he was becoming fueled by his pain and rage.

When he summoned the strength make a wide and mighty sweep of his sword, she barely had the energy left to evade it. All she could do was collapse to the ground to get out of its path, the crash of it causing all her pain and exhaustion to come flooding back to her, nearly taking her into a moment of unconsciousness. In that brief blink of awareness, Hulvoc was able to redirect his sword and bring the enormous cleaver straight down.

Where she found the strength to roll aside, narrowly avoiding the strike, she would never know. Nor the remaining energy to crawl swiftly away from him. However, with fortunes appearing to be shifting, Hulvoc roared with battle lust and bounded easily to catch up to her. Again, he brought the giant cleaver-blade down to split her in half, but was instantly given the surprise of Leita rolling onto her back and swinging out with her own sword to bat away the oncoming weapon.

Had its arm not been so ruined, weaking it, she doubted she'd have been able to shift the blade's course. As it was, it only moved enough to one side to keep from cleaving into her torso. The edge sheered away a thin slice of her left shoulder, her armor more damaged by it than she, but the pain of it burned like a wild fire. However, she let that new pain focus her own rage, her own determination.

In the next breath, she was launching back to her feet again and bringing the sword back around to swing at his badly ravaged arm. Through the foggy haze of all her injuries and exhaustion that had washed over her when she'd dropped to avoid the slash, she'd seen the glint of metal from her broadsword near at hand. All she'd needed to do was to reach it.

Her swing cut deep, the butchered flesh of the limb giving way to split wide open. A gush of blood poured from the wound, Hulvoc bellowing out in pain and rage. It reeled backwards, clutching at the torn wound, trying to stem the fountain of red. Leita cried out her own roar with the same ferocity as her beastman opponent. She pressed her attack, swung again at him, but he met her attack with his own swing, the two blades colliding together.

Even with all the damage she'd inflicted to his arm, she'd not expected to dislodge the weapon from his grasp. However, the massive blade that went flying away. For a brief moment, a rush of utter triumph went through Leita's body, believeing the end of the nightmare might finally be at hand. However, in her near primal state of pure instincts and relentless push to keep going, the keen mind that had so many times before given her salvation, forgot that an oruhk needed no weapons to still be deadly.

She realized a moment too late that he'd taken a page from her own book, using the sword only as a decoy to draw her focus, letting go at the last instant. As her body finished the motion of batting the heavy sword away, Hulvoc's good arm flashed out and caught her by the shoulder. His other hand, though hindered by its gruesome injuries, was still fast enough and strong enough to slam into the back of her torso as hard as any battlehammer.

The punch took the last of the air from her and made the world spin away. A sharp stabbing in her chest suggested that one of her cracked ribs had fully broken. Effortlessly, he chucked her into the earth with tremendous force. A moment after the impact of the sand hit her, his right foot connected with her face. A black abyss enveloped the whole world, shutting out sight and silencing all sound and thought.

***************

High overhead, among the various private boxes for House owners, reactions to the action below was as varied as the occupants themselves. Donovan Solivier watched with intense interest, studying every turn and watching the blonde gladiator carefully, waiting for her to show him what he expected to see. Cornelius Venge laughed at every blow she took and flared with excitement when it appeared the bitch might finally die. And in the box for House Whitebanner, Verdant Crahka could not stay seated, heart in his throat and terrified that this might be Leita's last moments.

The House Recorder for House Firebridge, Engavil, sat impassive as a stone to what was transpiring below. He coldly recorded notes of the fight for his Mistress's later review, detached from any emotional connection to the unconscious gladiator below. Such things clouded one's ability to clearly document, so he avoided ever letting himself see slaves as people, especially gladiators. He saw them merely as holdings to be counted, their death as simply a deduction from a ledger.

And he was already expecting to update that ledger in a few moments, just as soon as he finished inscribing the manner in which her opponent dismembered her. He honestly hoped the brute didn't decide to waste time playing with her in some perverse manner. Such displays were always distasteful, even if he didn't see the gladiator as a person anymore.