Solo Faint, Fleeting, Forever

[Victus]

34th Day of Fall, 514AV Tall Johnny's Casino and Cage Fights Night There was no fear as he waited in the tunnel. Not anymore. His skin hummed in the fetid air. The muted roar beyond the ancient stone was further dulled by the pounding in his ears. His hands fidgeted around the resin strapped wound tight around his hands. He wanted to unwrap them, rewrap his hands, clean his weapon, anything to keep in motion, keep busy. He hated the waiting. He waited every day, countless bells and days, training until his bones ached, staring at the ceiling above his bare cot and... not much else. He'd seen the fiends, wasted and hollow-eyed, ragged in the crowd and the alleys, ever-pursuing their next drink, or smoke, or snort. They disgusted him... but in these moments, he felt a perverse kinship. He had to get out. His wrists had not been weighed by shackles for years, but now... he looked down... no, they were not there. Just his imagination, such as it was. He breathed. In and out. Like he'd been taught. Nose... in... mouth... out... But still, there was no fear. Whatever lay beyond the gates, surrounded by the braying crowd, hurled into the cage with him... it didn't matter. He would be in there, and the world would shrink to nothing but that place, and the man standing opposite him. No shackles, no chains, no walls or looming punishment... no fears or labyrinths of his own mind, full of uncertainties. He could tell by the spaces between the blurted bursts of white noise that his master's introduction was coming to a close. The answering bellows rose higher and higher with each outburst; Tall Johnny knew how to stoke a crowd. Metal slid across wood in front of him. Victus tensed and his toes wiggled in anticipation, one of the few habits of his childhood he'd yet to completely lose. Clad only in leather pants and his sheathed gladius, he had no audience yet for the patchwork of scars and ash tattoos across his body. The granite slab of a chin and gaze more like a perturbed gorilla than a human male. It lifted for a moment, as the crack between the door before him started to widen. Light flooded inside it and the darkness of the tunnel was dispelled. Victus closed his eyes and felt it bathe him. Felt the shackles of his mind and the years melt away and he stood there, the roar of drunks and degenerates from across the world washing over him. Along with his master's final words. "-of my humble Casino and Arena... Vic-tuuuuuuuus...!" A horde of jeering, cheering, beery bastards yelled as he strode of of the tunnel towards the cage, built of rusted iron and towering spikes. One of the slaves opened the door on his side and he heard it lock behind him once he ducked down and was inside. He didn't see the action, of course. He never took his eyes off the matter at hand: namely, the slab of muscle with chainmail over his arms, hands filled with a great ax nearly as long as him. He could have had Akalak blood in him, judging by size alone... but his eyes shone with something more chemical or herbal than the spiritual joy the multicolored warrior race felt for combat. Victus cared not. The eyes of the crowd were upon him, and with them, his master's. His gladius slid from its scabbard with a swift, leathery rasp and he raised it, buffeted anew by the roaring crowd's approval. He lowered it, slowly, carefully, until the blade was between his eyes, bisecting his view of the hulking mass of gladiator set against him. Words tumbled briefly from silent lips. Thrown into the great void above and below and all around, seeking the favor of one almost as far from him in reality as in the aether. Victus had prayed to her for years. He was the only one he knew of, and even if she was not... what she was spoke for all of his kind. Tall Johnny loomed down at them from his perch, grinning in both pride and smug approval. He set all this in motion, of course. The cage, the players, the crowd, the waves of bloodlust and adulation... all of it dancing to his tune, moving to the dance his hands wove in the air- -like when they shot up and the crowd stilled for a moment. "To the death!" The brute new to the Cage threw up his beefy arms and roared his acceptance, great axe twirling around his head. Victus blinked and lowered his gladius into a ready position: arm cocked back, blade poised as if for a horizontal thrust, his other hand ready to parry or strike. Knees bent. Heart beating through his ribs. His toes wiggled one last time... and he smiled. In the cage, he was free.

[Victus]

Johnny loved watching his boy in the cage. It was like watching one's own purse grow larger, just by the wishing. The challenger - Bagrius, or Borgias, or something; honestly, who cared? - didn't waste any time closing the gap between the two of them... but he didn't just rush in, either. After over twenty years running the casino, Johnny had learned to read fights like few others. The stances, the flexing of muscles, hesitation or lack of it... it all spoke of something, just like a gambler's tells. This one didn't go leaping over with his ax swinging, no finesse or balance. He circled in to Victus' unarmed side, his left, then swung low, holding his weapon at the end in a flat, leg-severing arc- -and Victus slid back with practiced ease, not even bothering to block. His gladius was fine and strong and keen, but there was no point trying to block such a shattering blow, nor a heavier weapon. At best, you rattled your arm and dulled your blade; at worst, you broke one or both. Watch. Learn. He's doing the same. Two minds, two trains of thought, very different locations. One perched above the bloodshed, surrounded by his slaves and cronies, the other down below, on boards blackened and rusted with dried blood, allowed to keep his life only if he ended one. Johnny had trained the boy well... or, at least, hired others to do it well. The crowd moaned with ecstasy as Axman lunged forward, thrusting out the head of his ax like the tip of a spear, and now Victus jerked to his side- -gladius flashing up, knocking the ax away from its path and from him- -backhanding a slash towards Axman's broad, bare chest a tick later- Sparks blossomed and flared for an instant to further jubilation as Axman twisted and took the blow on one mailed arm, blocking the smaller man. Now he backhanded, arm thick with muscle and ganger tattoos all the more powerful with its second metal skin swinging towards- -nothing but air, as Victus retreated, feet smooth and sure. Johnny nodded his silent approval: his footwork was getting better. The casino owner, gambler, fight fixer, general entrepreneur and sometime slaver was far from the martial type, but even he knew that going head to head with a lumbering brute as Axman was foolish, unless you were of like build. But you can't run forever, boy. "Your man's spry, Johnny," some fat merchant cried to his side, over the jeering crowd and the booze flooding his system, aided by one of Johnny's whores, "But methinks I see a man duel an elephant!" Johnny gave... whoever, a polite, businesslike smile. "I wouldn't have some ignoramus from the gutter represent me in the cage, sir. You'd be surprised what Victus can do when cornered." The merchant cocked an eyebrow. "Ignoramus", probably. Johnny always enjoyed learning new words and seeing the look of surprise from his "betters" that he knew them. He never questioned the idea that maybe he learned to impress, not just to satisfy his own amusement. "You speak of him like a prized hound." The crowd moaned like a live thing, that curious, eerie way dozens, maybe hundreds of souls and eyes and vocal chords can harmonize at one (seemingly only for music and sports). Dismay, surprise, snapping Johnny's head back down to- -Victus ducking below a blow that could have taken his head off, gladius tucked tight to his side- Johnny knew what the practical play would be now. A quick thrust to the guts, end Axman quick. He held his breath, hoping his years had not been wasted- -and was rewarded by the sight of Victus jerking back up and uppercutting with the hilt of his gladius instead, waiting until the ax had passed over him before striking- -knocking Axman back with an enraged bellow-yelp, but Rhysol's hair knackers, that was some tough skin. The big man shook his head and spat blood to the side, then approached Victus again, keen on vengeance as the crowd clapped and tossed coins... Johnny exhaled, satisfaction radiating from his shrewd, tight features. Entertainment. That was the point of all this. The blood and the death and the struggle, all that "epic confrontation" bollocks... that was all smoke and mirrors, as he'd heard long ago. The crowd wanted to roar, to feel that swell of mortality brush their cheeks with the spray of blood... and you couldn't rush that. "A hound that learns well, and has survived longer than either of us within that prison." He said with a wry smile at the merchant. "Perhaps you'd... like to make a wager?"

[Victus]

The flow. The beat. The rhythm. It was as familiar and natural to him as his own pulse. As they circled each other like snarling dogs, Victus kept his narrowed eyes steady... taking in the whole package. Axman had some skill, and more importantly, a mind behind his muscle. He was feeling Victus out, which was the smart play. Only gods and dead men fight those they know nothing about. The words of a past trainer. Victus never had the spark to form such sayings, though he remembered them well. And more than that, put them into practice. He slide across the floor, gladius cocked back and slashing horizontally at the shaved bear's side, aiming to cleave open his side- -only for the man to jump back, floor nigh-shaking as he landed, ax already whirling around his head and coming back for a counter- There was not room to think in the thick of a brawl. Steel and iron moved too fast, all one could do was react. And that's where the training came in: it replaced the animal instincts that could save you, but against a skilled opponent? They killed you. Victus dropped like a stone to one knee, ax sailing over his head again, gladius on his opposite side, arm crossed over his chest, ready for a backhand at- -the leg that was suddenly hurtling towards him, Axman using the momentum of his weapon's swing to twist around and launch a spinning kick his way- -and the gladiator threw himself back without thought, landing hard on his arse and rolling until he was back on one foot... Deaf to all but the crowd's laughter. Blind to all but the victorious smirk of that unshaven, leering monster, tossing his weapon from hand to hand. Don't let him make you angry. He wants that. Let him have this. Soon, you will take everything. The crowd... oh, how fickle they were. Cheers and applause turned to raised fingers and cackles, curses thrown at Johnny's Dog. Victus' fierce, wolfish gaze swept them and some actually flinched from it... but still it was there. Mocking him and what he'd done. Everything he'd done, and thus, was. The man named Victus bore his teeth and snapped them together, the only anger he would allow to show. Axman roared with laughter and in that mirthful mistake- -Victus attacked again, coming low, knees bent, coming straight at him now, gladius thrusting for his stomach- -and the ax hammered down and to the side to parry it away- As expected. Victus' legs exploded under him, straightening in an instant, rocketing him up and forward before Axman's parry had even finished- -left knee coming up hard, thigh muscles screeching at the sudden strain- And the crowd switched sides again, as his knee connected with Axman's chest, right below the sternum. All the air from his lungs vanished in a whoosh that blew over Victus like a minor gale, stumbling back, hacking wildly at Victus' head as he tumbled, gasping, eyes wide- -the blow easily avoided, Victus slid to the side it had come from, keeping far from the swinging ax as he swung low- Blood stained the boards for the first time. No-one really counted Axman's contemptuous hawk of spittle-soaked crimson. That had not been truly earned by Victus; it was more a sign of Axman's strength, not Victus' skill. Not so the gash that he laid into the big man's thigh, shallow but stretched across that tree-trunk leg like a strike from a painter's brush. Only this brush drew a brief spray from it, a cry of pain and suddenly Axman was hobbling, not stumbling, one hand clasping his wound of of instinct... But keeping his distance. Allowing anger and indignation to anesthetize his pain... until he turned his eyes back to his dark-eyed man that tossed his gladius to his left hand... and slashed the air with it as easily as he did his right. A tiny smile. Just a fractional tugging of his lips, as if this were all a private joke that Axman was not privy to. But they eyes goaded him on, and after a moment, the big man obliged.

[Victus]

"Ahhh, see, my lovely?! Now 'ee shows some piss and petching vim!" The merchant raised his glass and spilled most of his wine in a sloppy, shaky salute. Johnny took the moment to lock eyes with the whore that had been draping herself across the fool for most of the night. In a blink, those limpid, adoring orbs became blue marbles. Cold and ever-acquisitive. One of his better girls, he had to admit. Even a slave, taken from the streets, could be molded into something of worth, if given time and application. Victus was proof of that. And as his "lovely" was making sure the old fart drank and petched coin into Johnny's purse, Victus was ensuring blood would do the same. The show was drawing into a new chapter, one that Johnny knew well, as did the crowd. Axman had been wounded. A gash, hardly mortal, but enough to cause sting with each step and drive the big man to a vicious assault. He swung wide and Victus slid back- -and again, as the ax swung, whirled, diagonal, horizontal, vertical- -and with that last one he sidestepped adroitly and let the gleaming head smash down onto the boards, buried inches in- -but yanked out a tick later by the roaring Axman, thirsty for revenge and recompense for his injury- -though not before Victus' free hand hand lashed out with a stinging cross to- -that face already bruised and tender from a gladius hilt smashing into it, and Axman's leg swung out- -crashing into Victus' shin. Johnny winced as his gladiator grunted. The boy was hardly a Knight or a Myrian, but gods and petching demons, he knew better than that. A kick from Axman would be like getting nailed by an errant donkey, and now it was the slave's turned to waddle and hobble, backing away from the big man as he wrenched his ax free- -and roared back towards him, swinging one-handed, little control- -and Victus parried the ax away from him, easier to do with only one of Axman's hands holding it- -though the other caused him problems. It swung out in a brutal haymaker, fast on the heels of the ax, and Victus felt things rattle and shake and explode in his mouth and skull that were not pleasant. The crowd was muted for a broken instant, then his ears tried to work again, murmurs and slued pandemonium hardly a help. Though that was perfect clarity compared to what his vision became. Capering stars and swirling black tides that ebbed then crashed and repeated as his body whirled away, finally collapsing into the edge of the cage, nothing in his eyes but some great approaching shadow- Move! Do not let it end like this! He dropped to his side and rolled, not even knowing where he was going. Johnny winced again as the ax bit and ripped into the iron link where Victus' neck had just been, the crowd beyond it jerking back and then laughing at each others' cowardice (while conveniently forgetting their own). Then the merchant was on his feet and already celebrating, both of them watching the circling fighters. Axman trailing blood from his leg but with murder in his eyes. Victus shaking his skull, dreadlocks flapping from the back of it, gladius in a shaky hand. The ax came at him again, aiming to cut him in half across the middle and he jumped away- -swaying away just barely from the striking leg that followed it- -but not the handle of the ax that smacked him across the wrist and robbed him of his gladius. That one he did not avoid. Hands suddenly empty, Victus felt an eel of... something, wriggle into his guts and take up root. Whisper to him. Too strong. Too fast. Too much weapon for your little sword. You'll die here. After all these years, you will fail your master. The crowd thought the same. Already dozens were making the "thumbs down" gesture, eagerly wishing bloody death for their abandoned champion. Victus had no eye for them: only a quick glance at Johnny's dark expression, face set so hard the lines on his face were stark, like drawn ink, some beery, red-faced buffoon to his side. Disappointed. He looked so disappointed. That was all Victus needed. That and the knowledge that before he had ever even held a gladius, he'd killed with nothing but the weapons attached to his wrists. Axman grinned. Victus grinned back, and then began again.

[Victus]

Afterwards, Victus would reflect on how lucky he'd got. He fought better with his hands than with his gladius, at least for the moment... and what did a crowd love more than seeing the barehanded underdog take down the ax-wielding giant? Well, given it was Sunberth, said underdog being disemboweled and strangled with the steaming flesh-snakes therein would make them clap just as loudly, but nevermind. And it was a show. Even Johnny as impressed. Now his dog didn't have to sacrifice one hand to a weapon (and wasn't that a strange way to think of it?), he could see Victus cut loose, just as he'd first been told. Axman roared his defiance and whirled the ax over his head- -Victus already moving, slamming a right jab into the big man's face- -then a left- -then the giant woke up to blood pouring from his nose and kicked out- -Victus sliding to his side, but one hand snapping down to catch a leg like a bull's- -and bring his shin up between his legs. But not too hard. Stumbling, cursing, soaking in the laughter and mockery of the faithless crowd... that was where he wanted Axman. He didn't want to rupture his sack or smash his pelvis. That wasn't... entertaining, enough. Victus cracked the knuckles on his right hands. A little twinge. Hmm. He'd have to see to that. Then Axman wiped his nose and gripped his ax and saw- -the little slave cunt sodding wink at him- "BASTARD!" Ah, there we are. No gladiator, this one. The unknown quality of Axman vanished in Victus' mind when the big man bellowed, splattering blood and spittle as he charged, ax swinging madly in both hands. Full of sound and fury... but no real skill. Just another Sunberth brawler, one of thousands, who'd clawed his way to manhood on the back of rage and luck and impressive physique. That carried a body far. But not far enough in the cage. Victus swayed to his left and the ax whirled past him- -giving him an opening to plant a vicious body blow into Axman's side, pulping a kidney- -crowd nearly drowning out the pained cry as the man tried to kick out at him- -only for Victus to sidestep, shin that should have slammed into his balls instead riding up, slave catching it under his right arm- -torso twisting hard and to the left as his arm drew back and inverted, swinging towards Axmans face- -elbow first. Something cracked, high and sharp, in his ears and trembling deliciously through Victus' arm. Axman staggered to his side, flailing instead of swinging, like a child warding off a beast, cheekbone broken and pulsing angrily inside his face. Red rage like a cloud shone in his eyes as he swung again- -and Victus took the moment. Stepped into the swing this time, not away from it, getting closer- -both hands catching the ax handle below the head, muscles straining as they stopped the blow before it could get started- -spinning on the heel of his good leg, letting go with his right hand as Axman stood there- -slamming a spinning elbow strike into the man's head a second time as he came back around, snapping his head to the side, sending a hundred tiny shards of bone exploding into skull. The merchant's face fell next to Johnny, and the lord of the casino felt a warm satisfaction creep into his soul. He sipped his drink, immediately topped off by a slave a moment later, and settled into his seat. One did not need to be a seer to know the outcome. Now it was just a matter of... panache. Axman could barely focus now. The right side of his face was a pulpy mass from the two shattering elbow strikes, one eye closed, the other wild and desperate. Shaky hands still held his ax, higher now, like a ward against a demon, his opponent circling... circling... toying with him... then stooping down- -reclaiming his gladius, Victus launching himself with a backhanded slash that knocked the ax out of his path- -Axman kicking out at him instinctively- Victus twisted out of the way, sideways to his opponent now, desperate kick jerking up in front of him- -bringing his gladius down hard on the middle of it. The crowd was on its feet now, all of them, beer and mead and wine and stinking moonshine frothing and spilling everywhere as whore and drunk and gambler and trader and mercenary all screamed as one voice. But none drowned out Axman as he fell back minus half a leg. The remainder of it thudded down onto the floorboards, yellow fat and sinewy muscle hanging out from the top in tatters, blood pumping out of it. Axman stared at the stump in sheer horror, pants coming out with tears of pain and rage, down on one knee, the shock of his crippling numbing the agony for the moment. Not the blood loss, though. Victus knew that wouldn't take long... The two men regarded each other. Axman white-faced and growing paler, face a ruined mask, sweat rolling from his mailed arms and down his heaving chest. Victus breathing heavy as well but in control, face as a set and scowling as it had been when he entered, save for the ugly purple blotch across one side. He locked eyes with Axman. He watched. Waited as if time was unimportant. Finally, he saw those embers flare. That last gust of pride and spirit drag Axman into one final attempt, ax following in a great, shining arc aiming to split him in two with one hand. It was a bold gesture. Brave, even. A man unwilling to simply bleed out or be gutted like some animal at slaughter. To the last, he would fight... bt bravery does not equal success. Grasped in two hands, the great ax was a meal for any man to handle. But one-handed... it was too unwieldy. Victus stepped forward and his left arm shot out, grabbing the ax handle easily and stopping the swing- -right arm already cocked at his side, leveled at Axman's chest, then thrusting- Resistance. Not from flesh or muscle, easily pierced by the keen blade. But bone scraped; ribs gnawing at the blade as it pierced Axman's chest, just under his breastbone, finding throbbing organs inside. The gladius was designed for that. It could slash and hack beautifully, but that triangular blade was made to slide between bone, part flesh and skewer a man like a pig over a fire. The crowd hushed, as if all were struck dumb by that blow, all of them impaled. Axman's eyes popped open in shock. An old tale, to the slave's eye. That stunned, final realization that, yes, he could die. It was not some vague thing. It was happening. The man's eyes travelled down the length of the blade piercing him... and found Victus' own at the end of them. His lips moved, tongue trying to form words. A plea? A curse? A prayer? Who could say? The gladiator gave him nothing in return, except one sharp jerk- -ripping the gladius free with the same sharp, clean motion he'd thrust with. The spurts and arcs from Axman's legs were nothing compared to the torrent that issued forth now. From the gaping wound to the side and from his lips, spilling from vein to lung to mouth to the floor that had seen so much of it. Victus stood without a word and watched the candle blow out in Axman's eyes... then he toppled forward, and moved no more.

[Victus]

"You did well, boy." He always said the same thing, or variations of it. The tone was always identical, though. Never excessive; not enough to swell a man's ego or make him suspect insincerity. Tall Johnny didn't want his people getting ahead of themselves, even when they made him such... notable coin. Victus snorted softly as the slave girl applied the balm to his face again. The bruise had its claws into him now, making half his head throb angrily like a parasite. He gripped his knees as he sat on the bed, swallowing the pain and letting the girl work, such as it was. The slave quarters were nearly empty. The night was not yet over in the Casino. It never ended, really. Syna rose and fell, but the doors didn't shut. Every bell gave the man and the place new chances for profit, and Johnny didn't like to shirk from making one of those. "Master." Johnny smiled. Ever the stoic, was his Victus. The single word, rumbled in bass tones, was acknowledgement and thanks both. He patted the fat purse at his side, easily doubled thanks to the drunk merchant's wager, then his hand rose... and rested on his gladiator's shoulder. "Rest for tonight. I would not have my prize too worn for his next battle. Ravia will... attend you, if you wish." Black eyes flitted up to his own, then left again without comment. Victus rarely spoke; his actions were a better vocabulary. He'd known a woman's warmth on occasion, but almost all had been... perfunctory. Merely the release of whatever tension and energy he still had from the cage. As intimate as a man alone with his hand. Ravia would do her duty, bandage his face, and then leave him with a cup of wine. "Well... I can't stay here all night, boy. Still have a business to run." Johnny straightened up and let real pride - or a fine facsimile thereof - creep into his smile. "Methinks we need more challenges for you. The crowd approved and they will speak of that fight for longer... but a man such as you? Fresh horizons." Ah... that awoke something. A hunger that the master had learned to stoke in his slave, enliven whenever he needed to. Rod and lash and shackles were only some methods of motivation for those in bondage. He had long since learned that Victus needed more. Fortunately, he provided plenty of it... but that was not all of it. He nodded slowly and put the crown on his act. "Victus?" When the slave looked up, he would see warmth in those rodent eyes, a glow of affection that spoke of more than just an owner's appreciation of his property. "I'm proud of you." With those words, the harsh, merciless visage of the gladiator softened. His eyebrows relaxed and his throat moved, just a little. The shadow of a smile creased his lips and years beyond his own, born of pain and slavery, fell off his face. Johnny smiled, but it was not out of pride for Victus. His own thoughts chuckled and smirked and shook their heads. Warriors. So easy to manipulate. "Master..." Johnny left him on his cot, shadows shaking around him from the few sparse candles. He waited until the footsteps from Ravia had faded away - the girl had cocked a curious eyebrow at him for other "attention", but needed no words to see the gladiator was not interested - then he lay on the cot. His face burned. His elbows twinged and sparked whenever he moved them. His shin groaned under his skin and come Syna, the ache would be that of an old man, not a young one. He turned to the shrine at the wall. A simple, faceless clay figure before an offering bowl, thin tendril of smoke issuing from it, some sacred herb still with some life in it. Even raising his arm took an effort, but he did so, stretching it out to caress the figure... lips moving in silent thanks, and offering. They were not his. None of it was. His clothes, the shrine, his bed, even the gladius had been claimed... all of it was the property of another, given to a slave so he would be of use. But the victory... that was his. That could not be taken, and he added it to the mental list he had built up over the years. Victus finished his prayer to the Goddess of Victory, then closed his eyes to dream of the cage, and those fleeting moments that would grow faint and then engorge in the sleeping aether.

[Amora Jade]

Congratulations, you've been awarded!

 

Victus

Skills

• Observation +4
• Weapon: Gladius +3
• Endurance +3
• Unarmed Combat +3

Lores

• Keeping Oneself Busy While Waiting
• I Hate Waiting
• In the Cage I'm Free
• I Fight Better Without a Weapon
• One Cannot Successfully Wield a Large Ax with One Hand
• Tall Johnny Approves of Me
• I Own my Victory

Injuries

• Cuts and Bruises: Will heal completely in 7-10 days.

I really enjoyed this read! The only thing I had a problem with was how you separated many of your sentences, it was a bit disorienting for me to read. Making the sentences flow a little better might be a good idea.

If you have any questions or concerns, please don't hesitate to send me a private message! Also, please remember to edit your post requesting the grade as "Graded."

With love,
Miss Jade