Chapter Six: The Pit
TERA
The crowd of the Pit was a monster, a single voice made of the tens of thousands. The stomping of feet accompanied the roar, and the pitch of its merciless call rose as the announcements were made. The infamous Death Kiss; now with a pretty face to put to the ugly name, and the Avenging Angel; a daughter of Iona with skills only heard of in legend. Together, we made a tandem the monster hadn't seen before, a duo of beauties in the realm of beasts. The monster loved us, as any deific horror does, because we were virgin blood.
I sharpened my knives in the dugout, trying to keep my bladder from spilling my fear all over the bench. Astrid sharpened her blade with methodical calmness, seemingly unaffected by the fix we were in. I wasn't sure what to make of the valkyrie; it had been two days since I'd met the woman, and she hadn't said a single word to me. Angela told me that Astrid had been friendlier before I met her, but ever since Willowbud had punished the winged-warrior for conspiring to rid her of Corruption, Astrid had become a wall of impassivity; doubly-determined to retain her honor as my divine niece tried to strip it from her. It was a game the two were playing, but only one of them thought it was any fun.
"Why do they call you 'Death Kiss?'" Astrid asked. I looked up, surprised to hear her voice directed at me.
"I would fuck my targets before I killed them," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "It seemed like the lady-like thing to do."
"Oh," Astrid said quietly, redirecting her attention to sharpening her already-sharp blade, and reestablishing the uncomfortable silence that stood between us. From outside, I could hear the announcer calling the names of our opponents, the men and women we would have to kill to sate the bloodlust of the monster. The crowd cheered each name, and each name was known to me. These weren't bottom-of-the-rung washouts, but titled fighters; Willowbud wouldn't settle for us facing nobodies in our debut.
"When was the first time you killed a man?" I asked, nervously disturbing the silence that Astrid was content to let be.
"When I was twelve," Astrid said tersely, not looking up.
"That young?" I asked. Astrid simply nodded, and the silence returned. I sighed. Some people were introverts, and some people were just assholes.
"Do you enjoy killing?" Astrid asked. It was a strange question, but anything was better than waiting with nothing but my nervous heartbeats to keep me company.
"There's a morbid satisfaction in it," I replied, nodding. "Do you?"
"I'm not supposed to," Astrid said examining her blade, "the Iona Code says to kill without passion, and to seek no joy in it."
"But do you?" I asked, leaning forward and trying to catch Astrid's gaze. Astrid didn't meet my eyes, but stared at her reflection in the polished flat of her blade. Her golden hair draped in a score of braids across her shoulders, her deep-set eyes stared coldly from her brow, and her lush lips were pursed in thought.
"No," she finally said, looking at the ceiling of our dugout, the planks shaking with vibrations of the crowd, "not yet."
I recalled Astrid's punishment, and couldn't help but feel a touch of arousal leak through my present fear. She was a magnificent creature, and seeing her pristine body chained to the floor as she took every patron in the bar was a sight I wouldn't soon forget. Witnessing the duality of her lust; her shame and ecstasy, her disgust and revelry, her euphoria and guilt, was like watching a painting brushed by a master artisan. And after the proverbial paint had dried (and Justina had licked it off her), a slightly darker Astrid was revealed; a little more callous, a little more depraved, a little less dignified, and a little less honored. A little more corrupted.
"Mistress is trying to break me," Astrid said, her voice eerily calm.
"I know," I replied, unsure of how to respond to that.
"I can withstand the temptations of the flesh," Astrid said, "but I've always lusted for glory, and somehow, Mistress knows it. It's why she makes me debase myself in front of everyone; because I love it when they watch me."
"Corruption knows the temptation that will take you," I said. "It's why I can't stop myself from fucking the woman who enslaved my own daughter, and you can't stop yourself from seeking the crowd's approval."
"Their adoration, their love," Astrid said, looking ruefully up at the shaking boards, "my name on their lips. It is a cardinal violation for a winged-warrior to seek her own fame. Egregious enough for banishment."
"Remember that your god is making you do it," I said, trying to keep Astrid level. "Your oaths are superseded by the rule of a higher power; no one can blame you for breaking them."
"That's true," Astrid smiled sadly, "but I shouldn't want to break them this badly."
ASTRID
"...Night Eyes presents: Death Kiss, and the Avenging Angel!"
The announcer called us from our dugout, and the crowd roared our entrance. I stepped from the dark confines below the stands, and onto the sand of the arena. The senses of the world surged to clarity as I moved into daylight, and the sixty-thousand faces of the monster were laid bare to me. They were faceless faces, people without form or features, blurs of shape and color mixing in a mosaic of chaotic movement. I felt the adrenaline kicking into my chest and the excitement brimming to my chin. So many people; watching me, adoring me, loving me. Their call grew louder as I moved across the sands, their pitch grew higher as I neared the center of the arena. The great swell of noise rose around me and within me, electrifying my nerves, widening my eyes, stretching a manic grin across my face. My fingers unwound and curled into fists, my breath was steady and molten in my chest, and my heart was calm, but thrumming dangerously. Across from me, stood the ten soon-to-be corpses of my challengers. Tera seemed intimidated by them, but all I saw were flaws. Too slow, too weak, too short, too fat. If these were titled fighters, then titles were sold cheaply in the Pit. Their titles would soon be forgotten.
No; they will live forever,
I smiled to myself,
as footnotes in my history.
Seeking fame and glory already?
my conscience scolded.
A whore for lust and a whore for murder. A whore for the nameless, faceless masses.
I tried to push the noble lecturer from my mind. It would do me no good to have a crisis of honor in the middle of a battle.
It's not a battle; it's a sport!
my conscience yelled.
Death for the sake of entertainment, murder for the sake of pleasure! If you find joy in this, then you are surely lost.
I buried my conscience where her sanctimonious rambles could barely be heard, and let the temptation take root atop her. The roar of the crowd, the smell of the sand, the thickness of humid air ripe with the imminence of bloodshed. Tera stood next to me, her naked body gleaming in the noon sun, her violet eyes narrowed at the heavily-armed troop across from us. The noise quieted, and the world waited in bated breath for the starting horn. One moment of tense silence passed, and then another. Crows cawed their warning in the distance, vultures circled their anticipation above.
The horn blasted, the monster roared, and I charged. I ripped out my sword, unfurled my wings and flapped, surging across the arena like an arrow through the air, my feet trailing against the sand below me, kicking a tail of dust in my wake. The orc in front of me barely had time to gape before I tore his head in two, leaving his gawking jaw resting on his neck. The woman beside him squawked, her bone-laden armor rattling as violently as her teeth. I wheeled onto her, and split her from collar to pelvis, spraying crimson over my leather armor.
Take no joy in it,
my conscience whispered from somewhere.
The shock of my rapid advance had lost its effect, and five opponents circled me, weapons raised warily, teeth bared ferociously. I could see the fear in their eyes, the truth behind their masks of savagery. I smiled at them.
Take no joy in it.
They came at me all at once, weapons sweeping through the air, blades singing their duet with the wind. Dust rose, metal clattered, and five backs bowed as their strikes found the air beneath me. They looked up, their faces no longer baring their ferocious facades; only their terror. I grinned down at them.
Take no joy in it.
I dove into the fray, my blade sweeping out in a single circular motion. It cut through flesh and bone, sinew and muscles, all as easily as a knife through butter. Two heads rolled, three arms flopped, and a torso slid from its owner's hips. Four new corpses littered the sand, and four more sacrifices were made to the monster. It roared its heinous approval, and I felt the exhilaration teeming beneath my skin. My grin was more of a grimace than anything, and my widened eyes were bulging with the fervor of death. The one I'd missed backed away, dropping her weapons and raising her hands, horror written across her face. The great monster hissed its disapproval, and cajoled me to paint the sand red.
Take no joy in it.
But I did. Oh, Great Creators, but I did. I wanted to hear the crowd cheer me as my blade cut into this coward, I wanted to feel that electrifying swell rage against my skull.
Take no joy in it.
I raised my sword, grinning manically as she fell to her knees before me, begging for mercy. She was a she-orc, a little younger than myself, her muscle and brawn reduced to fear and piss. She begged, and I laughed. She pleaded, and I readied my strike. She cried, and I... I let her go. I lowered my blade, and she scampered away without a look back. My heart thundered in my throat, and the sickening realization of what I'd almost done settled in my stomach. The pit of guilt was accompanied by a small measure of pride; I hadn't given in. I'd resisted the temptation. The monster cried its anger, and I felt it wash over me, sweeping away my pride as easily as a torrent flushes driftwood. I had defied the crowd, and now they would hate me forever. All for my stupid honor, all for my—
"Astrid!" Tera screamed, "Help!"
Tera had dispatched two humans with ease, but was now wrestling with an ogre, the behemoth three-times the size of her. It roared as it swung its massive hammer, planting divots in the sand where it fell. Tera dodged and ducked nimbly, her knives stuck in the beast's breastplate, her hands flailing to touch skin-on-skin. The ogre caught the succubus with a swinging knee, sending her tan form skidding across the sand, and rolling at least ten times before she stopped. He charged after her, hammer raised above him, boots thundering beneath him. He stopped over the wounded woman, readied his hammer behind him, arched his back, let out a great bellow, and then lurched forward with a scream. His massive arms fell to the sand behind him, and his body flung with the sudden loss of weight. My blade caught him before he could crush my fighting partner, and he slid harmlessly down its length until his sputtering stomach met my cold cross-guard.
The final horn sounded, and the crowd roared, basking me in the monster's favor once again, forgiving me for my mercy. I raised my face to their cheers, feeling the terrible sound swelling within me, feeling it emboldening me, empowering me. The ogre speared on my sword coughed blood, still alive. He looked up at me, eyes wide in horror and panic, writhing in a singular-minded fervor of desperate survival. He may have lived, or he may not have. It didn't matter. The monster wanted death, and I would not defy it again. I pulled my blade from his belly, and swung it backhanded over his shoulders, sending his shocked expression into the air and rolling behind his body. The pitch of the monster's call rose to a crescendo, and my grin stretched to painful levels.
