“Exactly.”
Vaxxa gave her friend a funny look. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, Maureen. You would make a formidable enemy.”
“Don’t mess with me or mine and you’ll be fine,” she replied with a little grin. It felt good, the first bit of levity she’d felt the entire week. “C’mon, we’d better get the box set up.”
“Yes, the Tormiks will be coming shortly.”
“I know,” Maureen replied, a feeling of dread washing over her. “And then the fights begin.”
The Tormiks arrived at their ringside box to find it perfectly laid out for them. Everything was just the way they liked it, and Vaxxa had even managed to procure a few of the mistress’s favorite sweets from a little vendor in the city before the event. It made for a smooth transition from the outside world to the arena.
Maureen and Vaxxa stood quietly in their positions on either side of the Tormiks, ready to serve but otherwise silent and out of the way. And it was there they would remain until the end of the night.
The fighters in the arena were currently pummeling one another with fists, feet, and any other body part that might make the other submit. No weapons were provided as these were very inexperienced neophytes earning their stripes. They would face injury, of course, and possibly severe ones at that, but there was to be no life taken. Not yet.
Maureen had learned that not only was this a championship event, but it was a multiple one. Every dozen or so tournaments would see a handful of champions and crowd favorites all competing on the same night. It was a means to energize the fans and keep things fresh seeing as regular tournaments were somewhat commonplace.
But these? Costly to attend but worth every credit, bringing out the elites and the wealthy to enjoy the spectacle.
And tonight’s main event was a doozy, even though everyone knew it would be a slaughter. Bodok, the prisoner who had so greatly upset the crowd the prior week, was to meet his comeuppance as the grand finale. And his opponent was no ordinary fighter.
Maxxis was a champion who had been undefeated a very, very long time. He was also something of a violent sociopath who reveled in combat. He could have bought his freedom many times over, earning more than enough from each championship bout, but he chose to remain in the lifestyle, training and fighting, knowing one day he might fall but not wishing it any other way.
The man was a killing machine, and Bodok had shown his pacifist colors. It would be a bloodbath.
The Tormiks ate and laughed as the night’s contests progressed from merely violent to brutal and horrifying. Some of the champions—most of them, actually—seemed to revel in the bloodshed, and once they’d injured their opponents sufficiently, they moved in not for the kill but for gruesome humiliation before the coup de grâce.
It was clear these elite men and women were better trained, better rested, and better fed than their challengers, which was what made the rare occasion one of them fell to an up-and-comer such an exciting event. It was also what drove the betting frenzy, as everyone hoped to be the lucky one who scored on those hundred to one odds and walked away wealthy.
One by one the champions faced their challengers, and one by one they fell. That’s not to say the matches weren’t close at times, and more than one of the victorious warriors would require massive amounts of medical attention to survive the night.
But this wasn’t ancient Rome, and the doctors had far more tools at their disposal than leeches, thread, and prayers to the gods. New limbs could be grown, organs repaired, broken bones set and healed in no time. The only consideration was whether or not they had fought well enough to deserve the treatments.
The elites running the program were not only calculating in their scheduling, but viciously efficient in removing fighters who were viewed as tainted and no longer a draw.
Maxxis, however, was none of those things. The golden boy of the arena and long-time crowd favorite, his bouts never failed to satisfy, even the ones he ended faster than the bosses would have preferred. His skills were unmatched even among the champions, and he rarely suffered so much as a scratch during his bouts.
When he jogged spryly out of the tunnel onto the arena’s floor, the crowd erupted in a raucous cheer, chanting his name, their rising energy fed by their own increasing excitement and anticipation. “Maxxis! Maxxis! Maxxis!”
The announcer raised his arms wide and activated his amplification system. “Friends, I give you a man who needs no introduction. Your champion of champions, Maxxis!”
Maxxis waved all around and took a little bow, then pulled off the loose tunic he wore and began swinging his strong arms, flexing his Adonis-like physique as he moved through a series of warm-ups.
His pale-green skin was lightly oiled to make it hard to grasp him, and was covered in the rune designs of his race. He also had a few additional designs he had inked on his body over his years fighting, adding to his strength and giving him an even greater edge.
Interestingly, he had a few scars. Nothing that interfered with his runes or hindered him in any way—those had been healed long ago—but rather scars he chose to keep, souvenirs of his battles. And he had survived many.
Maxxis wasn’t the towering beast one might have expected from his reputation and winning record. A large man, no doubt, and thick with powerful muscle, he was only a little less than a head taller than Bodok. A fact made clear when the cobalt-blue-skinned prisoner walked slowly out into the arena.
The boos rained down on him immediately, the crowd already having chosen the winner before the fight even began. This was more of a punishment for the prior week than a real fight, and they were all perfectly fine with that.
Bodok rolled his shoulders and swung his arms as he walked to his side of the combatants’ area, though he had already warmed up thoroughly over the prior hour. He had also been lightly oiled, as his arms made clear, but he chose to keep his tight-fitting shirt on, despite the warnings he had been given that it would only be used against him.
Technically, he could wear or not wear whatever he wanted, but as an opponent could grab the material and use it for an advantage, everyone fought without one, male or female. And some of the fighters had even made a habit of fighting in the nude, much to the delight of the spectators.
The guard leading Bodok to the tunnel reminded him of all of that, but Bodok just quietly said he would prefer to keep it.
“Your funeral,” the guard told him, then opened the door to the arena floor and sent him out to meet his fate.
