A dreary wind blew over the nighttime desert, infiltrating the compact sands with a hit-and-run strategy and causing a screaming sound to whip through the night. Despite the late hour, the suns still blazed in the horizon, mostly shrouded over by the cloud of mist hanging over the distant mountains. Animals darted in and out of the sand, seizing this crepuscular balance in time between the rest of the day when it was blazing hot, and the deep of the night when it was freezing cold.
A sand bat lurched out from its hiding place underground, a bounty of lizards in its maw. It flapped its wings in what could probably be described as "joyous", but could also be called "frantic" - a large, insectoid beast jumped out after it, grasping onto its tail with powerful claws and jabbing its barbed tail into the sand bat's thick crust. There was a scream, and the sand bat desperately wheeled and snapped, trying to loosen the Vorox' grip, but the scorpion-like creature held firm. Finally, it hit the sand, kicking up a cloud of dust and cringing one more time before giving in to death. The Vorox straightened itself and let out a foray of clicks and hoots that was probably a victory cry. Then it grasped the corpse and dragged it under the sand to feast.
The desert went silent, once again.
This was routine for a normal day in the harsh desert world of Bara Magna. Not much happened here out of the norm, other than that rare occasion when a Vorox fell prey to a stronger beast.
However, there was slightly more to tell at a vague pattern of six high points in the desert, where civilization was evident. Here, the intelligent, but hardly better off, species of Bara Magna dealt with the daily struggle to survive.
Food, water and resources were scarce here in the desert, leaving these villagers, Agori, hanging from a thread. War would be easily the end of all things, so disputes between the villages were settled with one-on-one gladiator matches. A warrior species created to fight, Glatorian, were recruited into each of the six villages, and their Arena System kept the world dragging along on the bumpy path of existence, hardly.
But there was one event that broke routine, a renowned, annual challenge in the largest city in all Bara Magna: Atero. Once a year, Glatorian from all over the world would gather together to battle it out for the right to be called champion. In the center of the Big Thornax is the grand Arena Magna, where Agori and Glatorian come to compete, to talk, to share news and new combat tactics. This is a special event for all of them, a break from the daunting monotony of basic everyday life. All of them are eager to see what new surprise fate will bring them now. But they would have never expected the surprise to be this shocking.
Let's start this again: Once a year, Glatorian from all over the world would gather together in Arena Magna to battle it out for the right to be called champion.
But this year, some who come won't ever leave again.
The Fall of Atero
The sound of metal against metal rang through the massive arena, and crowds of bodies hustled across the sandy field. Armor glinted in the searing sunlight as hordes of Glatorian sparred, a practice match before the real tournament began. The bleachers were empty, sparing them the pressure of thousands of Agori eyes, all putting their faith in their preferred combatants.
A loud clang! sang freely through the air of a particularly secluded corner, and Tarix strained under the weight of his opponents axe. He withdrew his weapon from the clash and leapt back, staring at Strakk with a firm glare. However, it was obvious that his thoughts were somewhere else. "I shouldn't be here," he suddenly said.
"Ha!" Strakk said. "Then I'll beat you quick tomorrow, and you can go home."
Tarix stepped out of a shaft of beaming sun, his shining gold breastplate suddenly going out like a doused torch. "You know what I mean," he said, stepping farther back into the shade. "A trade caravan to my village, Tajun, was wiped out by Bone Hunters. I should be with my people."
Strakk lunged forward, swinging his axe. "One good blow, and I'll knock you back there!"
Tarix sighed, snapping into a crouch and catching the strike on the crook of his crossed blades. "I'm serious!" He yanked, flinging the axe out of the Ice Glatorian's grip.
"Hey-!" Strakk yelled.
"Now, who is going to beat who quick?" Tarix said, but there was no arrogance in his tone.
Strakk backed off, holding his hands up to indicate that the match had come to a draw. "What does it matter?" he declared. "As soon as the Skrall show up, they'll stomp on all of us... just like they did last year. No one can beat them in the arena."
Tarix leaned down to pick up Strakk's axe. "Maybe not," he said. "I haven't seen one here yet. A better question is, where's Gresh? I haven't seen him since we got here."
He stood up and handed over the weapon one-handedly, despite its impressive weight. "Here. It helps if you hang on to this."
"I'll remember... in fact, I'll remember a lot of things."
The air was built up into a single, fragile point and then unlocked, whooshing out fluidly as the streamlined form danced through it. The soaring figure did a swift turn in mid-air before his feet met the ground, and not an instant later there was a snap of motion as his shield flung out to block an imaginary enemy's strike. His form was perfect, his balance evenly distributed. He-
From across the field, Tarduk sighed. "Do you always practice your battle moves alone?"
It wasn't too much of a setback to be interrupted by an edgy Agori's complaints. After all, Gresh had to learn to be able to focus, distractions or not. "I'm not alone," he said laconically, "you're here."
He dropped back to dodge a swinging blade and, seizing the chance, lunged forward, smacking his invisible foe with his shield. "I'm not a veteran like Tarix and Strakk," he explained between steady breaths. "They have one set of moves they let other Glatorian see in practice, and another they use in the arena."
He crouched down and sprung into the air, landing with a whip of his arm that left his Thornax launcher ready for use. "I need to keep mine secret. Anyway, why let them know what's coming?"
"Because what's coming could mean the death of them all."
Gresh didn't lose his battle position in the case of this being a foe, but swung his head urgently to the source of the voice. "Who's there?"
"Am I forgotten already then? Perhaps I lost track of how long I have been an exile..."
He was older, stronger, and far more ruthless than Gresh. Clad in fiery armor the indicated he must have at one point in time been affiliated with Vulcanus, and wielding a pair of lethal claws, Malum could strike fear into anyone with his reputation and appearance. But it wasn't him that Gresh was particularly anxious about. It was the ones behind him.
The Vorox. Once a prideful race of Glatorian warriors, since the Shattering had happened so long ago, the Vorox had digressed into primitive desert beasts. They were more carapace than armor, with sharp claws, an insectoid form and a venomous barbed tail.
Gresh held his breath. "Malum!" he gasped. "Tarduk, get back inside the city."
"But-" Tarduk protested.
"I said, inside- now!"
Malum smiled. "What are you so afraid of, Gresh? My friends? They won't hurt anyone... unless I ask them to. And I am not here to cause harm, but to help you."
"I've heard about your kind of 'help'," Gresh replied.
"There is a storm coming, Glatorian," Malum continued. "Not a windstorm or a sandstorm, something you can hide from until it's passed." He leaned forward, besetting his firm glare directly into Gresh's eyes. Even the Jungle Glatorian flinched. "This storm will swallow you whole... you and all your friends, your villages, your people."
"And you are going to help us weather this... storm? Or are you just here to talk?"
"Ah, they said I wasn't good enough to fight with the likes of you... they said I was a killer, remember? But I will tell you this..." he turned and started walking away, but he glanced back at Gresh. "This storm has a name. You and yours will be screaming it before too long, if you don't flee now. Run, Gresh- run fast and hard and hope they don't find you."
Gresh watched him go, then turned his eyes to the torch, still burning in the sandy field. Since the sunlight was so vague now, it had been the only light source he'd used for practice.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Malum. I'm a Glatorian." He swept his blade through the torch, extinguishing the burning rod and setting his shield aglow with fire. Then, it went away, and the only light left was from his determined red eyes. "And Glatorian don't run."
The sun swept over Arena Magna like a Tesara bird unfolding its wings to welcome the morning. The uproar of Agori talking among themselves filled the entire city, as hundreds of multicolored villagers poured out onto the stands. The noise was nearly deafening, and the feeling of their eyes staring down at the gathered Glatorian pressuring like nothing else. The competition had already begun, and Glatorian were battling out in one-on-one matches, through a system that basically sent out a pair of the warriors who would fight each other, and the ultimate winner would be able to move on to the next round to fight a different opponent.
Right now it was Tarix and Strakk.
With a well-positioned flick of his axe, Strakk sliced the sword out of Tarix' hand, making it fly through the air. "Told you I'd remember!"
"I don't need two swords to beat you, Strakk." Tarix said.
"Right, you still have one. Then let's try for none," Strakk replied, leaning over to his side and triggering his Thornax launcher. The spiny fruit shot through the air, directly at the Water Glatorian. Tarix did a nimble back flip, letting it soar between his spread legs and under his back. He landed kneeling. "Please. I was dodging Thornax when you were still swatting at snowflakes."
Up above, Raanu, Berix and Metus watched from the stands, but if one were to call it zealously one would be lying. Raanu stared down at the fight for a moment, then sighed. "Strakk doesn't stand a chance. I once saw Tarix beat Malum with that move."
"If the Skrall don't show up, Tarix might even win the tournament," Berix said, a glint of pride in his voice. Of course, having your village's Glatorian win the Grand Tournament would be an honor to all of his or her respective tribe. "I wonder where they are?"
"Not like them to miss a chance to humiliate everyone else," Metus pitched in. The others both nodded, and then went back to dully staring down at the fight. Finally, Raanu chimed up and said, "Did you hear what Gresh was saying this morning? Can't believe Malum had the nerve to show up here!"
"I heard." Berix said with a nonchalant shrug. "Malum is just crazy... I mean, isn't he?"
"Sure, but... what if that "storm" he talked about is why the Skrall aren't here? What if something... got them?"
"Maybe..." Berix said. He was quiet for a moment, then he looked over to Raanu. "Maybe we should go out and check. You know, just look around. Maybe the Skrall are on their way, just a little late."
The three of them nodded, and Metus stood up. He made his way through the stands, Berix and Raanu tagging along. "Good idea, Berix," the Fire Agori said. "I'm sure there's some simple explanation for their absence... not that I miss them at all."
Raanu got to the exit quickly. Now that the games had begun, there was barely any traffic, since everyone had come early to snatch the best seats. The only thing the three had to worry about was getting dry, sticky food on their boots. The threshold opened up to a big hill of nothing but sandy dunes, with the occasional hubbub of vehicles, Sand Stalkers, and buildings in the distance to signify that they were still in a city. Civilization had to be scarce and wisely distributed in Atero, since natural disasters like sandstorms and windstorms hit it frequently. Usually they weren't big enough to cause any real damage. So when the three saw the incoming sandstorm building up, they weren't that worried.
Metus was the first to point it out, "Look out there – what a sandstorm! If that hits the arena now..."
It was large, that was for sure. Grains clouded through the air like a shadow, moving swiftly, and in jagged motions. It could certainly do some potential damage.
There was a moment of silence as the three examined the storm, and then it hit them. "Oh, my..." Berix said. "That's not a sandstorm..."
Sure enough, this was indeed a storm, but not one as simplistic as made of kicked up sand particulate. Each of the "grains" had a form, a stature, and a destination – Arena Magna.
"It's the Skrall- an army of them!" Berix couldn't even believe the words as he said them, but staring at the camouflaged battalion, he knew it was true. For some reason, the Skrall had massed up an army to go to Arena Magna, and it wasn't to be crowned Champion either. Their objective was bitterly obvious, and one word spoke it all: Destroy.
Metus and Berix stood there, dumbfounded as they stared at their approaching doom. It was to be expected, of course – faced with a horde of Skrall on the march, most people would freeze in panic. But Raanu was a leader, and he knew what he had to do.
The Village Elder ran back into the arena, screaming at the top of his lungs. "The Skrall! The Skrall are attacking! Get everyone to safety!"
This earned him glares from the surrounding audience, shouts to be quiet or leave, and even cups and other things thrown at him. This isn't enough, he thought to himself. He ran down the aisle to where the announcer stood at the very bottom, on a podium overlooking the arena. Grabbing the loudspeaker, he ordered him to shut up before he could say anything, and yelled, "There is a reason that the Skrall have not shown up yet. They have been massing an army to raid Atero, and they have been so far successive. If we do not act quickly, they will overtake us and nobody here will leave alive."
Now that he had the loudspeaker, and every single side of stands on the arena could hear him, the audience got the message. However, they reacted wrong, and people began to panic. If they had enough time before the Skrall struck, though, hopefully Raanu and the other Village Elders would be able to organize them.
Down below, Tarix dropped his sword and grabbed the shaft of Strakk's axe before it could hit him. "Did you hear what he said?" He gave him the axe back and picked up his sword, and then turned to face the gathered Glatorian on the lowest of the stands. "Gresh! Strakk! Everyone! We have to hold them off so the Agori can escape!"
The Glatorian began to jump over the railings into the arena with a grim determination, despite the fact that they knew some of them were going to die today. A small amount of them were more intensely aware of this and fled, however.
"Is he crazy?" Strakk said to Gresh as the two Glatorian rushed towards the main exit. "They're Skrall! None of us has been able to beat one, let alone hundreds!"
"Then we'll die trying, I guess," Gresh said.
Strakk almost laughed at the stupidity of that. "Sorry for asking," he said. "I forgot- you're crazy too."
Before the defending Glatorian could make it to the threshold, Skrall were already pouring in to the arena, swords and shields drawn and ready for battle – almost mocking the Glatorian and Agori, really, because everybody knew that extensive combat measures didn't have to be carried out for them to win.
Tarix immediately jumped into battle, swords swinging in every which direction. He was a good fighter, but the Skrall were better, and with every scratch he put in their armor, seven deep gouges were made in his. The air seemed to dance and twist with the Skralls' movements, and pieces of Tarix – from his necklace to his bracer to his shoulder plate – were removed so quickly, it literally felt like he was trying to fight a hurricane. Once, he would get lucky and manage to force a Skrall warrior back, or down him in a blow, but every one Skrall that he stopped, another half a dozen would take their place.
It was futile to attempt to win against the Skrall, he knew, but if he and the others could just delay them, then maybe life in Bara Magna would be able to go on, away from the clutches of the power-hungry Skrall.
Across the Arena, guiding panicked men and women through hidden passages, Raanu had the same idea in mind, albeit without the sorrow at the inevitable loss of some of their warriors. There was no time to grieve at a time like this.
"Go!" he shouted, "Hide in the canyons!"
When the last of the Water Agori had fled, he craned the doorway shut. Then he turned around, determined to get to the other stands where the five other villages were left. He was shocked but not surprised when he turned to see a Skrall zooming at him, and his last plea was that more Agori would step up and help guide their people to safety.
But it turned out that Raanu wasn't going to die just yet. Blue sparks rang as Gresh stepped in, catching the Skrall's blade on his shield. "Good thing I got this repaired before I left Vulcanus, huh?"
He swung out with his shield, only to have it blocked, ironically.
"Why?" Gresh said as their weapons parted, and he stepped back. "Why are you doing this?"
"We are the most powerful," the Skrall answered, his voice deep and full of certainty. "Why should we fight in the arena for what we want, when we can simply step on you all like insects?"
"Because we "insects" have a sting," Gresh said, turning and firing his Thornax Launcher. The Skrall effortlessly raised his shield and deflected it. "Give up, Glatorian. You can't win."
Gresh opened his mouth to answer, but then his eyes glazed over the singular Skrall. Across the arena, Glatorian were being virtually shredded to pieces, and Skrall were pouring in like the wave created when a sand bat decides to come up from the surface. Tarix was in ruins, and it looked like his sheer willpower was all that kept his body from closing in on itself.
"Strakk!" the Water Glatorian shouted. "Look out!"
Strakk turned around in the midst of his fight to see a long, dark crack running across the head of one of the arena towers. The tip successfully split and dropped over, falling towards the ground. Strakk and Tarix managed to escape in the nick of time, and the structure shattered, conveniently taking out more Skrall.
"That does it!" Strakk snapped. "Stay if you want to, but Atero is finished."
"Go," said Tarix, sadly. "I'll get Raanu and the others out. We'll meet in the canyon. It's... over."
The two turned around to see that Raanu and Metus had already done a fine job of evacuating the Agori, but had gotten themselves in quite the pickle in the process. A group of Skrall surrounded them, closing in for the kill. Tarix let out a battle cry and charged forward, shooting a Thornax at the head of one of the attackers. The Skrall did a smooth duck and dodged it, and then threw his sword with pinpoint accuracy towards him. Tarix swiped it away and jumped into the air, kicking out at the Skrall. The strike was sidestepped, but Tarix was ready, and he sliced out to the side, managing to finally down the warrior.
His victory was not to last, and a shield hit him in the head, sending him sprawling on the ground.
"Tarix!"
The Water Glatorian rolled away from the Skrall's strike and looked up to see Strakk some distance away. The Ice Glatorian had something in his hand, and a mischievous look on his face.
"Tarduk," he said.
Tarixfrowned, puzzled and frustrated. Why on earth would Strakk be talking about some random Agori right now, and what Tarduk have to do with anything?
Then realization dawned on his features and his lips curled to form a single word: "Oh."
He got to his feet and ran, ignoring the Skrall. He tackled Metus and Raanu to the ground and shielded them with his body, hoping he was far enough to avoid getting hurt.
Strakk fiddled the bottle of liquid in his hand for a few moments, and then whistled at the Skrall. The group of black-armored warriors turned around to spot him, and he hurled the bottle straight at them. Right in the middle of its flight, he aimed his Thornax launcher and fired.
The fruit shot through the air and hit the bottle of tar. There was a boom! and a cloud of fire roared through the air, sending the Skrall flying up and away.
Tarix got up unscathed, and picked the Agori up. "Let's go," he said, and the four of them fled the arena. They ran, leaving clouds of dust and destruction behind. They ran, hoping beyond hope that they could just survive. They ran, knowing that much more than Atero's Arena Magna had been destroyed today.
And worse was sure to come.
"How many did we lose?" Tarix asked wearily. The Water Glatorian was truly a mess – half of his armoring was torn straight off, and stains and scars covered his face, helmet and body. He dragged himself across the cave, before settling down on a large rock, right in the path of a shaft of light from outside. It felt good to see his g olden armor, or at least what was left of it, light up again.
"At least half a dozen Glatorian, maybe more..." Gresh supplied, looking up from his bent, battered shield. "Agori are still scattered in the desert, trying to make their way back home, so who knows."
Raanu shook his head, frowning deeply. "The Skrall attacked without cause," he whispered. "Killed without reason."
"They had a reason," Strakk said, his voice sharp like a blade. "Because they could. And Atero is probably just the start."
Tarix sighed. "An army of them... against a handful of villages that can't stop squabbling long enough to agree on which owns an oasis or a pile or rusted equipment."
Gresh carefully examined the Water Glatorian. Tarix was one of the oldest, most experienced Glatorian he knew without bordering on senile and insane. He always had a plan, took time to analyze things, and carried hope even in the darkest hours. But now, it seemed like that torch of light had been doused. "Tarix..." he said. "Do you think we can stop them?"
Tarix looked at him, and Gresh was relieved to see a spark of that stubborn hope twinkle in the Glatorian's eye. "No, Gresh, I don't think we can... I only know we have to. But we sure could use some help- the kind of help that carries a sword."