The cheers of the crowd boomed across the grandstanding, and even Euthymius found himself standing, clapping his hands wildly at the speech. A speech so powerful the raw emotions burned through the layer of the spell, into the cage he laid limp, hopeless.Holding his palm out, stirred to action by the spark, Euthymius started envisioning the bars, bent them gradually sidewards as his cry mingled with his Outer Self’s cheer.

  “Are you excited kid?” Volaginius asked, turning to him whilst flashing a wicked grin matching his ghastly visage. On him heavy layers of soft fabric with a voluminous shawl-wrap around his head of a white, soft linen and golden trims drinking away the heat of light. A contrasting dark short coat with its standing collar swallowed by the headdress, sprawling over his thighs and cloaking the potions and the short blade.

  Euthymius himself wore a robe fitting for a far southern magus, softly flowing layers sewn from black and golden threads. Its shoulders appeared a bit broad, pleated whilst their edges flared strong, beneath in their shadow a slim shoulder hugged his arms, tightened further by broad and golden rings inscribed and bejeweled like the ones on his fingers. Though he had little understanding towards how, but he felt his own arkhaine points growing in volume and power, draping an intangible cloth upon each, dampening the scent which the Rage of Acheryoth tracks. From the shoulders and the broad neckline, a voluminous cloak rested beneath his nape, forming black dunes within the gilded frame. A pale golden mask rested upon his lap, bearing the visage of a man gifted with symmetrical, refined features.

  “A little. Haven’t seen a bloodletting yet.” He answered truthfully as he watched the two teams lining up before each other. Though his gaze sprung away occasionally, staring at the top box from where the group armored in gray gladiatorial panoplies entered the snowy arena. There he spotted Calaviril sitting close to the thick marble bulwark of a warm, Illius lit golden. Then onto the others mingling amongst the crowd. Hundreds of the New Dawn awaited the signal, awaited the chaos to come.

  “Still not fond of it, your parents?” Volaginius asked, though there was a melodious understanding in his eyes for the reason. Hearing those words, Euthymius ceased his efforts for a moment, fearing for their safety when chaos shall spread beyond the Colosseum.

  “Maybe with time. When they understand, he did not perish for a vain cause.” He answered as the battle begin, the khimmerian orkh trampled across the field and lifted his equally gargantuan blade, swung it down at the lanky opponent who stood frozen from fear before dodging and delaying the inevitable.

  “I wouldn’t do that.” He said reflexively, watching as the blade wreathed in a dusk spell collapsed the aegis protecting the Dawn Team after several powerful strikes.

  “Nah, it shall work.” Volaginius said with half a smirk. “Seems the Dawn Team comprises green ears. Even I could break such a spell with a few strikes and a cantrip level spell.” The orkh said with prideful countenance.

  Euthymius remained silent. Dread shivered his being as he watched the gargantuan orkh make swift work of the Dawn Team. Even though they were far away from the pit, he felt nauseous from witnessing such grizzly fates unfolding before his eyes.

  “Right. Hope we both see the end of it though.” His eyes focused on the Talos Legionaries standing still at the entrances. Euthymius could barely contain his excitement as he watched the khimmerian orkh cleave the corpulent northerner in two with one strike, a feat evoking envy within him. And disgust as he listened to the crowd cheer the swift beheading of the sorceress.

  Shrieks echoed across the Colosseum as the people flocked towards the entrances. A few stopped and Euthymius stared in horror, sensing the same spell veil their minds and lunge at the flowing golden legionaries and auxiliaries.

  Like wild beasts, their leapt onto the legionaries who tumbled. A few bashed their heads into the corners, their blood, brains and cranium splattering and painting the white seats and the floor. Those momentarily fortunate met their doom when the citizens bit into their throats and tore out chunks, their deathly gargles stirring and revolting him.

  “Stare not boy, it is the hour of action.” Volaginius shouted at him, breaking Euthymius stare as he watched the scene unfold.

  The orkh parried the strike of a young legionary, then in a surreptitious maneuver pushed him to the floor betwixt the seats before thrusting his blade into her throat where no plate offered protection. A smile befitting the renown of his kin spread across his visage as beckoned the remaining two legionaries not occupied with cutting those they sworn to protect.

  Euthymius lifted his right feet, then forcefully slammed it down into the stone floor. Ripples awakened forth before Volaginius and he charged behind cackling from the thrill of bloodletting. As the wave reached the two legionaries who looked mildly stupefied, they reacted late stepping backwards. One, a middle-aged truscian fell onto the seat, and with a wild swipe, his head detached from his body. The other, a somewhat younger looking aevhe fell onto the even ground and his handsome visage split open from his sharp, angled chin up to his broad, high bridged nose where it blends into his broad forehead as the blade cut through flesh, muscle and bone like butter.

  Volaginius turned and pointed his tip, yelling to Euthymius who swiftly turned around and reflexively swept his arms whilst attuned to the will of the earth. From the seats, marble spears like the approaching legionaries sprouted and shot out towards them. Their cadavers spun down the lower ranges, one a golden scaled merkiin’s nearly fell into the arena filled with a lake of blood. Euthymius yelled in his own head, once more trying to bend the incorporeal bars. He felt his soul trembling wildly with each expulsion of a life.

  Undulated with exhilaration and horrorHis efforts grew weak, and even feared not death to claim him, hoping a stray arrow would end his misery.

  “Time to show off the fruits of her lessons Euthymius!” Hearing the steps carrying the weight of galvanized steel, Euthymius turned where Volaginius pointed with his short blade. There the Talos Legionaries tore one of their comrades in two, another slid off with a hole punctured by the hardened fist. And their cold, emotionless faces turned towards them. He could feel the incomprehensible whispers not of metal as he expected, but of languid whispers calling for aid as he did himself. Though he sensed and even achieved attunement with the strange tinted metal, only a meager dentation on their abdomen or chest Euthymius achieved. Still enough as it seemed to weaken the material enough for Volaginius blade to cut through with a bit of effort, and destroy the crystal, bringing silence to his ethereal ears.

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  Two he cut off, before another plunged its long spear into his sides and Volaginius growled like a wounded boar. Yet it was not full of desperation, but of thrill and joy to die fighting once more for what he believed in. To die for the right Path his father told innumerable tales off, filling his heart with hope that one day, his children will walk in a world kinder to them. His grip around the handle tightened as he smothered the last of his growl, his black blood tinted with pale yellow and green flowing down from his thin, parched lips. His tongue wiped them off whilst he grinned, grasping the spear piercing him as he pulled himself closer towards the Talos Legionary. “For the New Dawn.” He yelled, pulling out a vial of dark liquid and downing it.

  From beneath his skin, dark flames raged before they incinerated him, then latched onto and devoured the mindless opponent who melted into a puddle, their whispers faded away. With fear, he tried to compel his body to look down onto his own, yet no matter how hard Euthymius tried,

  Rocky membrane started enveloping his abdomen, and the urge to scream and cry took him over, but even these faculties were shackled. and bile nearly broke forth as he tasted blood for the first time in his 24 years. “Cease it, or we shall die.” He yelled to himself, but his body and the will of the Vhouromancer yielded not to his wishes, to his rejected pleadings.

  Euthymius headed towards the lane between the seats, littered with the corpses of the legionaries and the citizens. With each step, his flesh beneath the stone encrusted skin, blood started dribbling in increasing volume, until it flown down his tattered and matted sleeves, flowing with the gentle intensity of rivulets both from within and outside. Both with sharp edges, clawed his skin and flesh, even bone, yet no tear flown from his hazelnut eyes. No matter how strong the urge was, he remained a prisoner of the Vhouromancer.

  “Euthy? Are you alright?” To his further horror, from the soft arch of the entrance, Calaviril stepped forth her scales hidden by a spell, whilst her pretty face tarnished by the blood of the mind-controlled citizens. Though he feared not for Calaviril, instead regretted she would think of him as a traitor, a villain for the rest of her life.as he hoped for the release

  “Do not hesitate!Do it!He screamedwhilst almost overtaken by the arkhaine agony sweeping across his whole being. He could feel small, microscopic pebbles streaming in his veins, tearing the flesh within with each meager spell he hurled at Calaviril, aiming it at her chest and head.

  She could see the madness, the pleading in his eyes, but refused killing the boy he grew fond off, considered as her first friend. Instead, she raked her brain too occupied with the surroundings, fearing another of the New Dawn’s members, another of the mind slaved on the fighting around them. “I am unsure if it is truly, you or a spell. But I hope so for the latter and that you shall forgive me for this.”

  Just as Calaviril decided upon a spell, Mamerkhed leapt at her from behind, putting his whole weight upon the adolescent draevhe. For a moment, his heart skipped a beat, a little and momentary control he regained as Euthymius watched and heard Calaviril groan. He tried yelling both their names, but as before, no sound left his own lips. Euthymius wanted to pinch his own nose as the pungent odor of charred flesh and hair assailed his nostrils. For a moment, felt anger towards Calaviril, but could not fault her, in the heat of battle.

  Euthymius staggered all about, bleeding profusely, his strength waned with each passing moment. Noticing this, Calaviril leapt quickly and placed her warm palm against his bloodied chest, and like a pleasant breeze, the pain faded.Now he stared with distress from the cage, sensing the gathering mana in his arms and her soft black hair as his hands wrenched her head back, but he flew as she pushed him away with preternatural strength.

  His palm touched the floor betwixt the rising seats, felt as his mana coursed into the prima materia of the marble. Earthen shackles enveloped Calaviril’s whole feet and ankles, keeping her in place, whilst shards of stone formed before Euthymius as he arose upright still seated, until they resembled a sharpened bud of a flower, the crisp point aimed at her heart. It flew across the little distance betwixt them, and Euthymius prayed silently to the One and the Eight for the spell to fail.

  Again, Euthymius gained back a bit of control, as he exhaled with relief both within and through his lips. “That’s a relief.” Calaviril murmured noticing the faint breaking of the spell, whilst cutting down two more of the mind slaved citizens lunging at her from behind. She clenched her hands, the veins beneath the lustrous, smooth amber skin lit up and shone through in the brilliance of Dawn as she broke free her feet and ankles. Quickly she leapt over and thrusted her fist into his right cheek, breaking through the stone arising from the floor. The rubble scraped both their cheeks, and as her fist landed in his right cheek, Euthymius hurled twice into the lowered segment of the grandstand.

  She remained still, vigilant of her surroundings where the battle gradually lessened, her eyes remained fixated on Eutyhmius’s limp body that breathed hoarse. She leapt over, down into the forming puddle of his blood, her eyes and tone worried at the sight. She tried calling out to him, but he remained unconscious, her hands rested on his subtly swelling bosom, enveloped in a bubble of gold and gray. Slowly the wounds closed and the anathema growths ceased.

  “What are you doing here?” Then she quivered at the booming voice of his brother approaching.

  She raked her brain for a good answer, but could just say the truth which she fled their flying fortress. “Wanted to see the games.” Drussaev sighed audibly, but reprimanded her not for the time being.

  “Leave that one. He is a traitor like the rest.” She refused, and continued her efforts to fix up the young boy whose pale face gained back its warm, lively shades.

  “I am not sure…” But before she could, a cold wind gagged them all at once, their attention once more turned towards the pitch where Terrianis appeared before the pale figure of Mirayroth, accepting his invitation to a duel.