Cruciamen

The Great Republic of Nuceria was dead.

The Nucerian Empire took its place, and its birth was celebrated with a hundred days of games and feasting. Acraesius, now Emperor, seized the properties of the senators he and his legionnaires slew. Their lands, their coffers, their slaves were either claimed to reward his allies or to garner coin for the games. Their families were taken hostage, for the Emperor saw the use in keeping them alive rather than having them killed. Sparing them made him a merciful ruler in the eyes of the people, and to kill them would only cause unwanted complications.

Just by swearing fealty alone, House Ashtura became even more richer and powerful than before. Meslim saw his lands swell, his slaves double in number, and his household name elevated before the envious eyes of his countrymen. However, nothing compared to the wicked glee he felt in seeing the look on his rival's face when he fled the capital with his tail between his legs. The new era brought only fortune, and the young prince gorged himself on the rewards.

His days were spent on lavish parties and private blood sport, while the evenings he spent with his favorite sadistic minx Secilia. Together, they filled the nights with the chorus of pleasured moans and tortured cries of condemned slaves.

All of it, he owed to Lord Fowl, who first whispered the schemes into his ear. But when Meslim endeavored to find him, Sevran Fowl was nowhere to be found. It was almost as if he never existed, and vanished from the earth as soon as the great ambitions of his peers were realized.

As for Acraesius, he had many plans besides taking the throne and crowning himself Emperor. Although a ruthlessly ambitious man, he was not without benevolence. His desire for restoring Nuceria to its former glory was chief among them, and he began working tirelessly throughout the months that followed to achieve it.

He eased the strangling grip of taxation throughout the land, giving breath back to the suffering poor folk that they too might live in luxury as the rich, and opened up new land for settlers to work and live on. He made lords of his most valiant of legionnaires, and ladies of their wives and daughters. He gave permission for the most daring of architects to construct better highways, improve rural transportation and fix the broken roads of even the most remote boondocks of the empire.

All of these things were of a man's burdened conscience, and his fervent desire to justify the wrongs he'd done in life. Such was the curse of men of ambition.

As for Angronius, the gladiator didn't care who sat on the Reksium Throne nor did he wish to know who commands Nuceria entire. He only cared that he would be given his chance to perform before the crowd, to win their favor and plant thoughts towards his freedom in their minds. Unless the matter forestalled his plans, he would never waste a thought on it. The gorehungry and bloodthirsty mob would need quite a showing to be impressed, having seen almost every manner of blood sport in the long years of its long-lived republic.

Angronius, and all the gladiators of House Thal'kyr, had prepared long for the games and were ready to give the people their most coveted spectacle.

They wouldn't perform in any arena other than the Colosseum Primus, to yet again commemorate Acraesius' triumph- one that he achieved over the Old Republic. As it was with the Triumph, the entire coliseum was packed with innumerable thousands.

There were more Hyrkans present than Reksians in the arena, for the coastlanders showed great favor for Angronius following his victory over their champion. They remembered him for his mercy, and his defiance against the posh fools of the capital. When they heard that he was to perform at the Colosseum Primus, they arrived in teeming hordes, demanding entry and offering whatever amount of coin to gain the packed stands and see the Lord of the Red Sands perform before their eyes.

Lord of the Red Sands, a title given by the people of Hyrkan to honor him, was placed on his shoulders and spoken of with awe and respect in the shores of Nuceria. It was much deserved, considering what he went through because of his defiance against his Desh'ean master.

The great drums beat, the trumpets bellowed, and the noise of the crowd drowned out everything else as they greeted the day with barely contained excitement. Emperor Marsus Acraesius entered the pulvinus, seating himself comfortably amidst his slaves on a beautifully decorated marble throne. He prepared a long speech for the day and would take up considerable time to finish, giving Polgara one last opportunity to see her lover in the waiting cells and wish him luck.

She found Angronius busying himself with helping Rissio tighten the straps on his armor, alongside a hundred other nameless gladiators who've recently graduated from novicii to ascendente. Her father couldn't be bothered with giving them a proper rite of passage, so it fell upon Oenomaus to see them taste first of blood in the arena, which was a test unlike any other.

"Angronius, do you have a moment?" She called for him. The other slaves bowed to their mistress and parted, leaving her alone with the gladiator.

"For you, I have all the time in the world." He replied, finding comfort in her presence before the coming battle.

She took a moment to admire him. The body that she'd grown to know intimately bore the trappings of a god of war, and seethed with power. Polgara couldn't help herself when she reached out to touch him. Hard sinewy muscle resisted the softness of her hands, but eased when they recognized whose gentle touch it belonged to. Whenever he breathed, he looked like a volcano ready to erupt. All the wrath stored up from months of preparation, ready to spill out like the boiling blood of the earth to wash away his enemies in a burning tide of molten rock.

"Be careful out there." She said to the gladiator, reaching up to caress his cheek. "I long to have you at my side as a freeman, but I would not have you act recklessly. Do you hear me?"

"It pleases me to know you have such deep concern for my life." Angronius leaned his head into her palm and kissed it. "I will do as you ask."

"I love you, Angronius."

"And I love you, Eanna."

Polgara blushed when she heard him speak her second name. It felt nice, and for a moment her fears faded in the face of true happiness. It was a moment she cherished, and was right to do so. Neither of them knew, or could ever know, that it would be the last time she would see him that way. A god among men, a paragon of virtue and honor, demeaned by a cruel twist of fate that saw him to slavery.

"Eanna. Eanna." Angronius breathed her name as a priest would invoke his goddess. His hand closed over her tiny fingers, "What does that name mean?"

"That name means 'desert flower', Child of the Mountain." Polgara replied, withdrawing her hand. "I must leave now, but know that I will be watching from the pulvinus."

Desert flower. His desert flower. The thought filled his heart with pride, and Angronius faced the day with vigor in his arms and violent surge in primal bloodlust. The cyber-warriors of House Ashtura awaited Gorefather and Gorechild, and he would have them meet each other in the arena very soon...

Once Polgara left his side, she ascended to the royal box, where a special seat had been prepared for her by the Emperor. She could only chafe at his command, but could do little else other than obey Acraesius. He wanted her to be close to him, while the games played out before them.

Her parents were seated close to her, which offered a small comfort to the young noblewoman. Her father was of a somber mood and hadn't spoken to anyone but his wife since the bloody day when Acraesius murdered the senators of the Curia Lumeria. Dark thoughts circled his mind like vultures, daring him to avenge the deaths of his friends in court. This combined with a strong nationalistic desire to commit tyrannicide, even at the cost of his and his family's life, for the sake of the republic.

He sneaked a glare at the pompous man, adorned in regal purple and white cloth atop his golden armor, clad in righteousness where only wickedness had taken root. Even the golden wreath crown that sat on his head was a terrible joke, set to mock the followers of the old ways.

Alas, he couldn't do it. Too much hanged in the balance, and he just couldn't find it in his heart to risk his wife and daughter for the sake of a poorly conceived plan.

Acraesius leaned closer on his throne in Polgara's direction and gazed at her longingly. The woman sat rigidly on her chair, but looked beautiful nonetheless. He knew she had much cause to be uncomfortable around him, but he just had to try and win her back. "You are quiet today, Eanna. Is something the matter?"

Polgara lowered her eyes and tried not to provoke him. She knew the dangers of angering a newly crowned Emperor, and with so much riding on the events of that day, she had to tread carefully for she stood on thin ice.

"I...I am just overwhelmed, my lord." She answered, "So much has changed in such a small span of time..."

Fool that he was, Acraesius thought it was his lofty station that intimidated her so, although not quite the manner in which she saw him. He thought, as Emperor, she was in awe of him- as all women of the empire should. He wasn't even paying attention to the gladiators fighting before them, for he was focused solely on the one prize he could not conquer. "You shouldn't feel so distant from me, Eanna. I am still the man you fell in love with."

Polgara, astounded by the ludicrous reply, slowly turned her gaze towards the Emperor.

Thinking he was gaining ground, Acraesius continued in his pointless prattle. "Do you see this, this golden wreath I wear as a crown? Do you hear the accolades of these people who worship at my feet? The thunder of the marching legionnaires, the beating new heart of Nuceria? All are vanity when compared to you. Everything I've done, I've given for the people. But for you, my heart has ever only yearned for your affection."

Honeyed words, lies and flatteries. Empty sayings of an ostentatious minstrel, endlessly harping at the maiden he could never have. And what he could not have, he would readily kill to claim. This was Marsus Acraesius, the real Marsus Acraesius.

And it disgusted Polgara.

"Please, Eanna, say something." His hand touched hers.

Polgara's arm recoiled as though bitten by a snake, her beautiful golden-brown eyes flared with hateful fire as she glared at the Emperor. Her voice, which spoke kindly to him in times past, now spoke in a tone as cold as ice. "Save your words of passion for the trollops of Reksia, Marsus Acraesius. All of Nuceria may worship you, but this woman of Desh'ea does not."

"Eanna, please." He pleaded, "Don't-"

"Do not call me by that name!" She snapped, "You are no god, you are but a man. A man gifted with the face of Augustus, but cursed with the black heart of Orcus. Find someone else to play the happy wife, for you will never have me."

All who were present in the royal box heard her open rejection, but pretended that they didn't. Although some, like her father and mother, beheld her fiery display of courage with pride. Marcellus, in particular, felt his love for his daughter bloom once again.

Acraesius' skin paled in shock at what felt like a slap across his horrified face. Shame was easily replaced with ire, and he felt a smoldering hatred of his own come to life within his rotten soul. He suffered through the games in silence, nearly drinking two great jars of wine to smother the embers of his anger. As the day wore on, he couldn't help but notice how quickly Polgara moved on from their bracing confrontation.

She was happy, whereas he was miserable.

Curious, he took careful note of the source of her mirth and found them in the gladiator who slew scores of Meslim's men on the sands of the Colosseum Primus. Angronius of House Thal'kyr, Lord of the Red Sands and favorite gladiator of troublesome Hyrkan. In an instant, jealousy ran hot and deep through his veins.

The gladiator was winning, and all the gladiators of House Thal'kyr with him.

Old Oenomaus, an ancient but well recognized veteran of the arena, fought alongside his youngers by spearheading every charge. It didn't matter what House Ashtura threw their way, be it man, beast or cyber-abomination. Whatever they faced, they cleaved and tore their bloody way forward until they reaped a total tally of ninety-eight kills.

In truth, wherever Angronius was involved, it was no battle but a massacre.

Aided by the precision of Rissio and the speed of Lucretia, the Lord of the Red Sands reached the final bout that would decide his placing in the hundred-day-games to honor the Princeps. Many of the newly ascended gladiators fell to the fighters of their rival house, with some barely surviving to make it to the arena medicus. In the end, only four of them remained on the sands.

Angronius, Oenomaus, Rissio and Lucretia. The fact that they remained standing after such a long and bloody battle was a victory to the crowd, and they cheered for House Thal'kyr.

But House Ashtura had one final offering to give to the people for the day. Two lumbering giants, horrifically twisted by Meslim's machinations, were brought to the sands in star-metal chains. These brutal and stupid beasts of men, more ogre than human, were modified heavily to increase their capacity for enduring wounds that would kill even an ascendente and amplify their strengths a hundredfold.

They were also outfitted with the feared Butcher's Nails.

Seeing them strain against the chains that barely held them back, Rissio gave voice to his concern. "Not these things again."

Lucretia twirled her trident to get rid of most of the blood, "Steady, brother. We've faced things like these before, we can do this."

"Agreed." Angronius said, turning to look at his mentor. "Doctore, we shall draw them to us that we might leave room for the others to take them from behind."

"Yes, there's no better position than the flank." Oenomaus winked at him, his oft serious demeanor breaking for a bit out of the modicum of respect he had for his troublesome pupil. "I've taught you all I know. Let's see if you can live up to your name."

Together, the gladiators faced the ogryns in battle. Their weapons hacked, slashed and pierced stubborn flesh as the brutes retaliated with wild abandon. Unfortunately, for as much as they willed it to be otherwise, these beasts proved more dangerous than anything they've faced before.

Lucretia, seeing what she thought to be an opening, leaped behind one of the ogryns and thrusted her trident home with what she also thought would be a killing blow. The Butcher's Nails dulled the ogryn's sensation, but gave it an unnaturally swift reaction to her attack.

The thing swung about, missing once when the gladiatrix ducked low, but hit her square with the second when she tried to recover her weapon. The ogryn punched her so hard in the stomach that its fist burst through her and came out her back!

"Sister!" Rissio cried out, rushing to her aid and impaling the monster in turn with his spear. He drove his weapon deep into the creature's mouth and brutally wrenched the shaft sideways to tear its head right off.

The gladiatrix slowly pulled herself free from the ogryn's arm, then fell to the ground desperately trying to keep her spilled entrails inside the gaping hole in her body. The crowd beheld such violence with wicked glee and cheered louder for the fallen woman as she fought for her life. Rissio abandoned the battle to see to her injuries, forsaking glory so that he would see his battle-sister live to see another day.

Only one ogryn was left to deal with, and Angronius made it a point to tear off the creature's limbs first before delivering the killing blow. It wasn't because he enjoyed making the thing suffer, but because he didn't wish to end up like Lucretia.

Oenomaus, who stood almost equal to the monster's stature, dropped his weapons and grabbed the thing from behind. He held him in such a way to trap the ogryn's arms, robbing it of its means of defending itself and allowing Angronius to dispatch it to the underworld unhindered.

Gorefather rose up high in the air, then descended upon the roaring visage of the monster, silencing it with a roar of its own and the ugly noise of biting teeth against flesh. When the ogryn stopped struggling, Oenomaus let the limp corpse drop to the sands, thereby signifying their victory.

Once more, the entire coliseum erupted in cheers. Every noble present in the pulvinus, including Meslim, applauded the brutal display with genuine appreciation. It should have been the end, but the crowd demanded more. They hadn't their fill of blood yet, and started to bray for more violence.

"More blood!" They chanted, "More blood! More blood! More blood!"

Polgara couldn't believe her ears, and she sat up to gaze out into the stands to see if the people were actually asking after witnessing so much. There were no offerings left from either house, none to contend against the victorious gladiators of House Thal'kyr.

No offerings, save for what has already been offered.

Acraesius rose up and called for silence, "You wish for more, people of Nuceria? Then so be it! Offerings, prepare yourselves, for you are to fight each other!"

Angronius and Oenomaus, who just moments before were reveling in their triumph, felt their hearts sink at the Emperor's words.

"Begin!"

The gladiators exchanged glances helplessly, turning their gaze to the mountains of corpses that piled all around them. There was no one else to fight, they have left none. Rissio had taken Lucretia into the medical section of the Colosseum Primus, and even if he was present they wouldn't dare think to fight him either.

Angronius stared at the grumbling chainaxes in his hands. All his planning, all his hopes, they were all for naught now. He never dared to consider that the crowd would stoop so low as to demand this of their champion, then realized his foolishness for ever considering playing the brutal and cruel game of fighting in the arena for his freedom.

He was ready to kill the faceless gladiators of rival houses, but he was woefully unprepared to face someone he knew. The very man who gave him his name, raised him to become a powerful warrior and set him first on the path towards better things. No, he couldn't do it.

So he chose damnation.

Picking up Lucretia's fallen trident, Angronius hurled the weapon at the pulvinus before Oenomaus could stop him. His careful aim was to strike close to where Acraesius' sat, but not to kill him. The trident impaled itself on the Emperor's throne, just inches away from his head.

The crowd uttered a shared gasp of surprise, and all became silent as they beheld the gladiator who once again defied a nation.

"Are you not entertained?!" He rebuked them, "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!"

He was met with even more silence.

Utterly disgusted, Angronius pointed Gorechild at the mountains of corpses around him, his tribute to the insatiable mob who called for his father's death. "IS THIS NOT WHY YOU'RE HERE?!"

The crowd murmured, then turned against him. Displeased, they hurled rotten fruits along with condemning screams and insults. Oenomaus, touched by Angronius' display of loyalty, approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He knew the pain that awaited him for his defiance on his behalf.

"Angronius. Whatever comes now, know that I am proud to have been your teacher."

The gates of the arena opened, and out marched the legionnaires of Emperor Marsus Acraesius, who quickly ordered Angronius to be placed in shackles and brought to the bowels of the Colosseum Primus.

The Emperor knew he would resist, and knew that the gladiator would've gathered strength following his first failed attempt to escape the 1st Legion. The contingent he sent into the sands brought with them a group of Haruspesa acolytes, sorcerers who could do wonders where the devices of mortal hands failed. Sorcery had always been uncharted territory to Angronius, a weakness that he'd never had the chance to prepare against.

Brilliant strategist that he was, Acraesius ordered the sorcerers to subdue the resistant gladiator before he destroyed the sanctity of the whole event by spilling Nucerian blood.

With Gorefather and Gorechild buzzing angrily, the gladiator prepared for battle and turned against the legionnaires. Before Angronius could even take a step, the sorcerers only had to whisper the incantations and he fell flat on his face in the dirt.

An hour passed since he felt himself get dragged out of the arena and into the damp catacomb undercity of the Colosseum Primus. The place was dark, even with the faint greenish glow of holo-lamps. Angronius struggled to hoist himself up, but felt weakened as though something was sapping the strength from his limbs.

"Save your energy." A familiar and equally loathed voice spoke up, "It would do no good to spend it now."

The Emperor stood before the shackled gladiator and regarded him closely as he shone a light on his face. There was a mean smirk on his handsome features, and a hint of disgust as well. "Yes, you'll need it all for what comes next."

Several sorcerous glyphs were inscribed in on the floors and walls around them, which Angronius could only guess were the source of his impairment. Several other men, dressed in medical garbs, stood close by with some of Acraesius' trusted elite bodyguard.

"I don't know what she sees in you." The Emperor said, "Truly, it is a mystery. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Desh'ean women have a tendency to lie with animals, so it's no wonder she fell for a mongrel like you."

"Did you really come down here to tell me that?" Angronius asked, "So you can dress your wounded pride over her rejection of you? Behold the Great Emperor Marsus Acraesius, laid low by a woman's scorn."

Acraesius chuckled, finding it amusing that the slave had a sense of humor. "She thinks you're a god, Angronius of House Thal'kyr. But by the time these gentlemen are done with you, she will see you for what you truly are- a rabid beast capable only of wanton destruction."

Angronius turned his head towards one of the doctors, who set down a small metal box that seethed with the white smoke of dry ice. Opening it, the doctor retrieved a set of metal coils with ugly barbed ends that looked all too familiar to him. Dread creeped up on him, and fear gripped its icy hand on his heart.

The gladiator grit his teeth together and glared at his enemy with all the fires of hell.

"Don't even bother sedating him." The cruel Acraesius said upon seeing the doctors prepare him for surgery. He turned on his heel to leave, "Let him feel it all."

The first step to implanting the coils was to shave the subject's head. With an attendant drone, they roughly deprived Angronius of his hair to provide a clean operating area for the implants. The next step, and the final one, was to insert the coils one by one in key areas all across his head. The biting barbs were at first pre-drilled with a mega-cranial drill used extensively on mutated monsters in the arena, then hammered into place.

Angronius, at first, resisted the blinding pain of the first coil but couldn't hold his agonized screams with the second.

His right eye started to twitch violently, then became half-shut as his vision blurred. Even through the dim light of the green glow of the cell, his clouded perception started to turn from dark crimson to stark red.

He could see it coming, the massive gate whose doors were as tall as the heavens. The glaring red light that poured through the crack, growing wide like a yawning maw the closer he got to it. The dull throb of distant drums hammered into his head like the pounding of high-pressure bloodflow clogging up the arteries of his brain.

Louder and louder the drums sounded, until all Angronius could hear was the taunting laughter of the dark god of his dreams.