Meeting

An X-Men Evolution Oneshot by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-men.

Chapter 1 (and only)

Caesar Augustus, Emperor of Rome and all her vast and far-flung dominions, shaded his eyes with the back of his hand as the bright, hot Italian sun flashed in his vision. The large box in which he stood was suspended over fifty feet above the sand-strewn battlefield below, covered with canvas and equipped with several servants to attend to the Emperor's every need.

Caesar's chest swelled with pride as he strode forth to take his seat upon a large wooden, hand-carved chair, and he reveled in the adulation of the multitudes who had filled the magnificent Coliseum to overflowing. The massive arena was not the partial ruin that one sees today; over a thousand years ago, the Coliseum was in its prime, a marvel of engineering that could seat thousands of people. Beneath its floors were a labyrinth of passages, doors and mechanisms that could be used to fill it with sand, earth, or even water for naval battles with full-sized triremes. Stables were built for the purebred horses used in chariot races, and pens and cages had been constructed to house the various exotic beasts that were used for gladiatorial combat and the execution of convicted felons. In Caesar's day, the Coliseum was the pride of Rome and all her people.

The Emperor was here at the behest of one of his inner circle, a high-ranking officer in the Roman legions who was an aficionado of gladiatorial matches. Seven days past, the man had seen one of the newest combatants in action, a youth no more than a teenager who had been taken captive during the native uprising in Gaul and had been shipped to Rome as a slave once the rebellion had been quashed. Caesar had been taken somewhat aback at the stories that his subordinate had regaled him with during one of the many dinners he had hosted in the palace. The officer had made a variety of absurd claims about the fighter's prowess: that the mysterious new gladiator had faced a three starving lions at once and slain them all with ease, or that he could face a dozen Saxon berserkers and emerge unscathed. The man's stories had become so outlandish with each retelling that Caesar's curiosity had finally been piqued; he had, in a moment of whimsy, decided to take a day off from matters of state and see just what all the fuss was about.

The loss of a day's productivity didn't worry Caesar much. After all he had achieved during his reign as Emperor, he felt entitled to a little leisure time now and then. The large observation box that he now occupied had been constructed specifically at his request, for it would not do for the Emperor to sit just anywhere. Though Caesar loved his people, he still felt that he had an image to maintain. If he wanted to mingle with the masses, perhaps he'd strike up a conversation with one of the commoners on his way out.

Caesar waved his hand slowly as the crowds roared at the top of their lungs upon seeing him. They went absolutely wild upon seeing him, and their cheers and chants made the air shake as they howled their admiration for their regent.

"Caesar! Caesar!" Ten thousand throats took up the chant as the crowd pumped their fists into the air. "Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire!"

The Emperor acknowledged them with a smile and a nod, and as he hiked up his white toga to take a seat, the two guards who had been posted at either side of his throne moved away to admit the overseer of the gladiator pits. The man who turned captives into killers was named Arretius, and he was a fat, greasy, bloated fellow, sporting a scarred leather tunic and a chest that was bare save for a pair of crossed leather straps. A bull-whip, worn from extensive use, was curled at his side, and Arretius tried vainly to smooth his oily, unkempt hair into place as he bowed low.

"You honor us with your presence, my liege," he said simperingly. "I promise you a show the likes of which you have never seen."

"I hope so," Caesar said mildly. "One of my councilors has done nothing but talk about one of your newest combatants. Scarcely more than a boy, isn't he?"

"Oh. That one," Arretius shuddered. "An unnatural thing is he, my lord. Some of my men think he is an evil spirit."

"Why is that?" Caesar couldn't help but ask.

"You'll see," Arretius replied. "It will be apparent soon enough. I would not want to spoil your surprise, Majesty."

"Fair enough," Caesar shrugged, leaning back luxuriously. "Would you tell one of your underlings to fetch me a goblet of wine? Good wine, mind, not that sour rotgut the commoners drink. This heat gives me a terrible thirst."

"I shall see to it straightaway, Your Majesty," Arretius bowed.

"Excellent." Caesar dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and then turned to the vast audience before him to repeat the gesture. Immediate silence ensued.

The Emperor raised his voice to a shout. "Let the games…begin!" he cried. "Send out the first champion!"

A large pair of double doors on the opposite side of the Coliseum opened slowly to the tune of screeching hinges, and their massive size dwarfed the small boy who stepped slowly out onto the bloodstained sand. Caesar almost did a double take; though the gladiator's face was hidden by the helmet he wore, he seemed to be no more than twelve or thirteen. The armor that he wore had been seemingly tailored to fit his smaller build; he wore a tunic of thick, interwoven leather strips and steel gauntlets on his arms, while a single, cup-shaped piece of metal protected the skin of his right shoulder. On one arm he carried a wooden shield with a rounded metal center, and in the other he carried a chipped and battle-scarred shortsword of the type known as the gladius. Caesar recognized it instantly, it was the same sword carried by the Roman legions who served him.

The boy walked with sure, steady steps, his shoulders squared and his inclined forward. His body language was that of an apex predator, and Caesar had to admit that despite his youth, the child had an air of lethality about him that swirled in his wake like a great, heavy cloak and made the skin on one's arms stand erect. The fighter's face was also almost completely covered, save for the narrow eye-slits that afforded him visibility. Even from over fifty feet above, Caesar could see the intensity in those eyes, and noted with unease that they were a startling shade of bright yellow.

The Emperor leaned forward in his chair and gasped. He could hardly believe what he was seeing! Unless his mind was suffering from the heat, there was a spaded, devil-pointed tail lashing and writhing around the boy's ankles like a slithering serpent! And his bare feet had only two toes, and were a shade of deep blue!

Perhaps the child has been cursed by Jupiter for some long-ago offense, Caesar thought, stunned. The gods can be cruel to mortals who incur their disfavor.

It seemed to be the only explanation that made any margin of sense.

There was a great and terrible roar from the onlookers as half a dozen gladiators, each twice as big as the boy and sporting arms and legs that rippled with muscle, strode out into the bright afternoon sun and formed around their smaller foe in a menacing semicircle. Their weapons were already drawn, a motley assortment of barbed tridents, short swords, leaf-bladed spears and crude wooden clubs. They fanned out in every direction until the lad was completely surrounded, and although any normal man might have fainted from fear when confronted by such fearsome opponents, the boy didn't take even one step backward.

Then the moment of tense anticipation was broken when all six combatants charged at once.

Caesar would later have to replay the scene in his mind to convince himself that it actually happened. The child moved so fast that he seemed to be nothing more than a blur, dodging a spear thrust and sidestepping so that the weapon's owner ended up skewering his comrade instead. The stricken gladiator collapsed with a moan and a fountain of blood, after which the boy deflected a scything sweep from a swordsman's blade. The man's momentum carried him past, and the youth slashed him across the back without even glancing over his shoulder. The man shrieked as the steel bit into his flesh, with an upward-cleaving sweep, the lad cleaved his third victim in almost completely in half from head to groin. He stepped through the jagged tear as the two halves of the body landed on either side of him, bathing his armor in so much blood that it looked as though he were covered in crimson. An arrow whizzed through the air, but the boy deflected it easily, and the shaft made a dull thudding sound as it embedded itself in his shield. The archer discarded his bow and quiver and tried to entangle his opponent in a weighted net that he hurled around his head and sent sailing through the air, but the child easily cut it to shreds and advanced upon him, his eyes glittering with menace. The bowman screamed, but his cry was cut off as a single blow from the smaller gladiator's sword severed the head from his shoulders. His mouth was still moving when it rolled onto the ground, and his headless corpse shuddered and then collapsed in a growing pool of gore. The child stepped in it carelessly, the blood rising up to his ankles, and with his dripping blade in hand, he looked like a demon from Hell. Those who had survived the initial confrontation gave a roar and charged at him en masse, but to Caesars' shock, the strange boy made no attempt to move out of their way at all. Instead, he merely stopped and waited, biding his time until they got within reach of his sword, and once his foes had gotten too close, the glittering steel was like a flash of lightning in his hand. With dizzying speed, he severed a man's arm and used the blade that was still clutched in the twitch fingers to open the belly of a second. The other gladiator fell to his knees as his innards oozed out from between his fingers, but his killer ended his suffering with a slash to the throat.

But while he was thus occupied, the last man standing picked up a spear and charged at the boy's exposed back, and for a moment it seemed as though the match was over until the child's unnatural tail lashed out and wrapped itself around his attacker's leg. A quick tug was all it took to pull the gladiator's legs out from under him, and the child placed his foot on the throat of his defeated enemy as his sword hovered over the winded fighter's chest.

The crowds had grown hysterical by then, shouting themselves hoarse, and Caesar had to resist the urge to plug his ears with his fingers. He started slightly when the boy looked up at him with those flat, dead-looking eyes. He said something that was drowned out by the noise around him, but Caesar knew what the victorious gladiator was asking.

Should I spare him or not?

Caesar, as the most important man in attendance that day, got to make the decision, although he knew perfectly well what everyone else expected that decision to be. With that in mind, the Emperor held his hand out in front of him, and after taking a minute to build suspense, pointed his thumb at the floor.

The swift sword descended, and the defeated combatant gave a last scream as the metal impaled him through the chest.

The mysterious warrior sheathed his weapon and strode back through the doors from whence he came as though nothing had happened at all.

Caesar's fingers were shaking slightly as he lifted his goblet to his lips. It appears that the stories I heard weren't stories at all , he mused. That one will be a force to reckoned with one day.

But, he added, stroking his chin. His luck is bound to run out sooner or later. That is the way of things with gladiators. Each match might be their last.

The child is already a living weapon. Perhaps…

The Emperor smiled as an idea came to him, and a snap of his fingers was all it took to summon Arretius back into his presence.

"These gladiators," Caesar said. "Where do they go when the fights are over?"

"To the lower levels, Majesty. We house and feed them there."

"Can the warrior I saw today be found there as well?"

"Yes, sire."

"Take me there," Caesar ordered curtly. "I wish to speak with this strange one."

"Majesty…if I may," Arretius gulped. "The lower pits are no place for an Emperor. Those swine are not worthy of being graced with your presence."

"That one is," the regent pointed to where the boy had vanished into the Coliseum's bowels. "Take me to him. Now."

"A-as you wish, sire," Arretius bowed.

Caesar had to descend several flights of winding stairs until Arretius led him to a small, hidden door, and when the overseer opened it, a wave of smothering heat laden with the smell of sweat, death and animal dung made him clutch a napkin to his mouth. The stench grew overpowering as Arretius led him deeper and deeper into the lower levels, and he privately wondered how the man could endure such a horrid stink day after day.

"He's in here," Arretius stopped in front of what was supposed to be a barracks, but was in reality little more than a ramshackle collection of straw pallets and flea-ridden blankets.

"You're certain of that?"

"Aye. Comes here after every match, sure as the sunrise."

Caesar waited until he was sure that no one was within earshot, and without bothering to knock, he swung the door open and stepped into the dark gloom of the gladiators' sleeping quarters. The only light to be found in there was a small, flickering candle that was nothing but a silver of coagulated wax.

"Where is the one who fought today?" Caesar asked, seemingly to thin air. "Where is the warrior who showed such prowess?"

"I am here."

Caesar only just barely refrained from leaping backward as the boy seemed to materialize in the corner of his eye. "What is your name?" the Emperor asked after a moment.

The child hesitated. "Kurzan," he said finally. "Kurzan Vortigern."

Caesar nodded. "I saw you out there only moments ago. I was very impressed."

Kurzan wasn't fooled. "Why are you here?" he asked, more out of childish petulance than blatant disrespect. Caesar reminded himself that despite his prowess in battle, the child was still very young.

"I can see that you're not one who is easily duped," the Emperor nodded. "That's a good sign, and a quality that I admire. In truth, Kurzan, I am here because there are a few things I want from you."

Kurzan edged away. "Like what?"

Caesar didn't hesitate. "I want your sword, pledged in loyalty to the Empire…and to me."

"I…don't understand," Kurzan admitted.

The Emperor crouched on one knee to face him at eye level. "I want you to come and serve me, to be the instrument of my will and the instrument of justice. I want you to be the extension of my will, to guard me and mine with your life. You have great potential, but you could be so much more than you are now...and if you give me your loyalty, I will give you that one thing which you desire more than life itself: your freedom. What say you?"

Kurzan unsheathed his blade, and for a moment Caesar thought he was about to be killed, but then the bizarre-looking youth knelt and placed the weapon at the Emperor's feet.

His tone was quiet, hushed, and utterly, utterly servile. "I am yours to command…Master."

Caesar placed his palm on the crown of Kurzan's head. "Then it is done. Henceforth, all who defy me will know and fear you as the sword of the Empire, the warrior without peer…the Emperor's Hand."

Kurzan kept his words hushed and respectful, as if both humbled and in awe of the man who had, in mere moments, delivered him from certain death. "What is your will, my lord?" he asked.

Caesar cast a distasteful gaze at Arretius. "Your first test begins now. Kill him."

Kurzan moved so fast that he became a blue-colored blur, and the sword in his hand made a noise like an angry hornet as it flashed in a scything arc. In a single swipe, Arretius's brutish head fellfrom his shoulders and rolled onto the floor, and blood spurted from his severed neck as his corpse thudded heavily to one side.

Caesar's lips twitched in approval. "Do you know why he had to die?" he asked, nodding at Arretius's body.

"Because you ordered it, Master." Kurzan's reply came without hesitation as he sheathed his blade.

"An excellent answer," Caesar beckoned him. "Now come, my Hand. We have work to do."

He turned and began to walk away without looking back, but he didn't need to look to know that Kurzan was already following him.

And the Emperor knew that he had chosen his servant well…