Okay so, I know I started this months ago and then just sort of...disappeared, but here's the next chapter and I honestly love it so much.
A huge thanks to StarryFire14 for adopting the role of my Beta and for giving me the inspiration to keep on writing these things! Her enthusiasm is infectious. If you haven't read her works already, idk what to tell you other than you need to get on it. Seriously, you won't regret it.
On a similar note to that, Starry and I have decided that our writing clicks together way too well to let that go to waste, so we've decided to write a freaking badass colab. "Honest to Mavis, 'Best' 'Friends' " can be found on her Archive account and my account. (Both under the same usernames) You'll love it, I swear. So read it and review, we want to hear your feed back!
Now on to Chapter 2 of the story! Please leave your reviews, I want to read them. They bring me joy lol
"It matters not how long it takes,' the words had seemed to ricochet restlessly off of the blood spattered stone walls of his confining cell, 'You will give in or you will descend into madness trying to resist; and then I will have you anyway."
Those words, spit at him years ago through the same unforgiving metal bars he stared past now, taunted him whenever he found himself immersed in darkness.
In this place, there was almost always darkness, so he almost always had time to drown in the repetitive threat of the then Prince's words.
Prince Karadin had always had an unhealthy obsession with him in some form or another, as it adapted over time.
Initially, he had been a living trophy; a symbolic victory to hold over the customs of a culture commonly viewed as perverse in the country of Pergrande. This was in the beginning, when he had only been a boy of a few years old, not long after his mother had given her life in vain to save him and unwittingly submit him to the fate that was his life today.
He didn't know much of that day, and being so young at the time, nor could he speak fondly of his mother's memory; he had but two and he could not see one without seeing the other. One of her singing to him as she cradled him close, lulling him into peaceful sleep; the other of her flesh burning off of her bones as the explosion embraced them both.
The explosion.
Of all the things he couldn't remember, he wished that could be one of them. The searing hot pain that had surrounded him before his magic had come to life within him and his newly activated wings had encased him, had been an anguish that no person should have lived through. Only the dead should know that kind of pain. There were times, even still, that he would find himself panicked at the phantom feeling of being at the epicenter of an explosion and even though he knew it to only be in his head, in that moment it just didn't help. Not when he was blinded by the memory of his previously unmarked flesh beginning to blister and peel.
The darkness of his cell was often welcomed by him in moments like those, where his mind would revert to the past, because in the darkness it was easier to remind himself that he was just reliving the old trauma and that he wasn't actually with his mother again, burning alive in the hot white light.
The darkness, his cell, this arena.
He hadn't always lived here, but it was by far preferred to the grotesque palace the royal family had kept him shrouded in, not letting it be known they were hiding the child of a world renowned and respected ambassador.
Yes, he knew who he was, or at least who he would have likely been, if life had gone a different way.
He knew his father was a revered ambassador and that he was alive and happy. He knew he was born Boscan, that he had an older brother he couldn't remember. He knew that after the news of the death of both his mother and himself had found its way to his father, that he had eventually moved on with his life and adopted six other children. He knew that they were all powerful wizards and living a life of adventure he would love to get the chance to experience.
He knew all of this because of the guards.
Sky Reach was filled to the brim with the lowest scum Earthland had to offer, but the worst among them were the guards who kept the prisoners like himself.
Karadin, now King of Pergrande after murdering his own father in cold blood, owned this Pit of Hell and therefore the guards in it, too. There was no one to control them, apart from the king himself, and he didn't give a shit in the slightest. So the guards were notorious for doing horrible, despicable things without reprimand or consequence. They would rape the newer captured gladiators into broken submission and would pay high tolls to the owners of the top fighters, to do just the same. They beat anyone who got out of line to the brink of death, if not completely and sometimes they would kill just for sport. The female slaves they captured would almost always be slaughtered immediately, and if by chance they were kept instead of gutted and survived serial rapings, starvation, and the torture of living in their worst imagined hell, they were sold for breeding with the top gladiators to produce strong offspring to sell to the highest bidder.
But, by far, their favorite thing to do was to rig the fights. Knowing the outcome of a fight you bet large sums of money on meant guaranteed profit and in Pergrande, men lived only for sex, power, and gold.
They would bribe the gladiators with certain services to get them to play out the fights the way they wanted. Some of the most common services the guards would provide as motivators for doing what they said were bringing them extra food or food that had not yet begun to rot, bringing them a freshly captured woman to sate their needs after a fight, beer, bedding, and a highly appealing offer to most in this situation, a quick death.
The guards had tried all of these things with him. Sometimes offers were individual, sometimes they were combined, but he'd always refused them, not wanting to let them win in any way where he was concerned.
That is, until one of Karadin's personal guards, who knew who he truly was, discovered a bribe that worked on the intimidating man.
Information on who he was and the ongoings of his family.
All it took was once, a cover image of a magazine that portrayed his father and eldest brother, and they all knew they had him hooked. Now, the guards would bring him magazines, articles, pictures, and news clippings pertaining to his surprisingly famous family in order to earn his favor and compliance, and then he would win his next fight the way they wanted him to. Down to nearly every detail. Then they would collect the money they'd won from rigging the fight and he'd go back to his cell in short-lived peace; craving to be free of this place and to fly through the huge expanse the sky seemed to be and to, one day, meet his family.
Truthfully though, he never saw that becoming a reality.
He was shackled at all times and the magic he knew he possessed was constantly suppressed with multiple magic canceling cuffs. Another cuff was added to him every time his magic grew too dense to be contained. He wore a total of five now; one around each ankle and wrist and one around his neck that Karadin had told his guards to place there purely out of the satisfaction of the ownership it represented. Despite their efforts otherwise, the limiters never lasted long. His magic was always growing in strength and even though he didn't have access to its full abilities in this place, he could always feel it there within him, growing with each passing day. On occasion, when he found himself in dire need, two enormous, black feathered wings would sprout from marked designs on his shoulder blades. After that happened, people who were unlucky enough to actually see his intimidating wings, usually ended up dead; sometimes it was intentional on his part, other times, it was out of his control.
He had never felt the full extent of his capabilities because those at Sky Reach feared what he might do without restriction. And with good reason. As it was, he was well known to swiftly end the life of any man or woman who dared to enter his cell and touch him forcibly, or at all, really.
He'd killed countless guards, other gladiators, noble women, and some female captives that had gotten too brazen with him when they were thrown in his cell with the objective of baring his child to save their own lives.
The few other slaves he had spoken to on rare occasions, that were from countries far from here, had made that seem a ridiculous idea and perhaps where they were from, it was. However, not in Pergrande. The only reason a woman wasn't beaten in this fucked place was if they were pregnant, because even though the men in Pergrande generally despised the female form with great ferocity, it didn't negate the fact that men cannot bear children. So really, conceiving a child was the only option for women in this country to keep their lives and he couldn't fault them for it. But that didn't mean he was going to let them touch him.
Never again.
As Zen began to grow older and he began to grow taller, broader, and into a man, Karadin's interest in him had changed and the change was drastic.
He had never been treated with the best regards, after all, just because he lived in the palace for many years did not change that he was a slave to them; a personal slave to the newly crowned King of Pergrande, in fact.
Somewhere around the time that he would have reached the age of fifteen, Karadin's eyes began to follow him, full of hunger. For months, he desperately tried not to pull away in revulsion when The King would trail his hands over his much too young body. The last thing he had wanted to do at the time was risk offending the high tempered and merciless man, such an occurrence could result in a severe punishment.
But then came the night where everything changed and Zen no longer cared to avoid the risk.
Karadin had ordered the young man be brought to his bedchamber. When he resisted, he was drugged and taken to The King regardless of his now silent protests. He was stripped naked, cleaned, and tied face down in the mattress. With Zen drugged and helpless, Karadin had entered his chambers and ordered everyone out. He mounted the bed, believing he would sate his perverse desires he had for the maturing young man, but it wasn't until much later that Karadin learned that the magic his favorite toy annoyingly possessed, cured the body of any impurities. The sedatives had burned through his system in rapid fashion, far faster than anyone could have predicted, and just as Karadin was about to rob him of any innocence a slave child might still possess, Zen's compliance ended. The drugs had completely dispersed from his body and all he was left with was confusion and the surprised restriction of being tied in place. He panicked and began thrashing about aggressively, trying to break free. In his desperation, and for the first time since the explosion, his wings sprouted free from his back in a glorious manner. One wing managed to strike Karadin's bare chest and with great force, sent him barreling across the room to roughly collide with a wall.
Guards stormed the room, hearing the much too loud disturbance and found their King nearly unconscious against a wall while the young slave was using massive black wings to free himself from his restraints. They quickly removed their lord from the room and detained the boy with great struggle, losing several lives in the process. They threw magic cancelling cuffs around his wrists, causing the wings to vanish and they quickly sedated him once more. As he was pulled out of the room from his wrists by two guards and two more flanked on either side, they passed their awakening King in the hallway. As Karadin looked upon the Boscan Ambassador's son, his eyes ignited with a burning need for victory after his humiliation.
'Throw him in the pits!' Karadin had yelled venomously, 'He will learn his place beneath me!'
After that, Zen had spent an entire week in the dark confines of a forgotten cell at Sky's Reach before Karadin came to claim his victory. He was fed rarely and too little portions. At least twice a day during that week, guards would enter the cell to beat him into unconsciousness and then leave his bloodied body crumpled on the dirt floor. He was never cleaned and was given water only three times.
Despite his regular beatings, he was touched in no other way. Karadin wanted him broken, but he was to be the only one to have him.
When Karadin appeared outside of the cell bars a week later, he was dressed in the finest of clothes, holding his head pompously high. Zen had just stared at him with intense hatred, and with his unclothed body covered in nothing but dried black blood and grime from the pits, he looked insane and feral.
Karadin, angered further, saw in the boy's eyes that he would not submit.
Irate with his failure, he sealed Zen's fate for the next fifteen years in a single phrase.
'Throw him in The Hall.' he spoke coldly as he walked to the exit, 'If he survives the night, tomorrow he fights.'
Zen quickly learned what 'The Hall' was after that. Guards dragged his weakened body to a massive room with no windows and a single door. Here was where Sky's Reach allowed their gladiators to "socialize". The guards never went in until it was time to move the prisoners back to their cells, it was too dangerous.
Just before they threw Zen into the room, to the lack of mercy found in there, one of the guards slammed him against the door and raped him until he was satisfied. If The King didn't give a shit anymore about having the kid first, he was going to take advantage of that and do it himself; he wouldn't give the slaves on the other side of this door the privilege of fucking him first. When the guard, that Zen would later learn was named 'Bram', was finished with him, he tossed him in the room with the gladiators to spend the night.
That entire night, with little reprieve, Zen was raped by the twisted men in The Hall; some of them truly vile, others simply broken beyond repair by this place. His body too weak and starved to fight back, paired with the much too strong magic cancelling cuffs still secured around his wrists, left him defenseless. He screamed in pain until his throat bled from the strain and tears ran from his eyes until his body no longer had enough water to spare; he convulsed silently after that, until the pain sent him into unconsciousness.
When the next morning had come, he was indeed alive, but had never wished for death so completely. The guards didn't care, they just threw him into the arena with a much too heavy sword for his malnourished and aching body and waited for him to die.
Once again, he did not die.
He'd had no battle experience, but he had somehow known what to do, what moves to make, and he managed to run the large sword through his opponent's chest before he passed out in exhaustion.
King Karadin watched him from his private box in the stands and found himself impressed at the young slave's perseverance. His desire to have him in his bed grew to new, dangerous, heights. He wanted him now, more than ever, but decided that he could be patient and wait until the boy's spirit completely broke and he would be willing to submit to his King, no matter how long it would take.
Years passed and Zen grew bigger, he grew stronger and smarter everyday. His skill in battle had become unmatched and feared by any opponent sent his way and he was the undefeated, Championed Gladiator of Sky's Reach.
Now, none of the other gladiators dared to lay a hand on him while he was forced to sit in The Hall, for fear of their lives. Unless, of course, death was their goal...and for some, it was.
He was a crowd favorite, not that he gave a shit, and they had named him 'The Dark Eagle' in homage to his black wings and skilled annihilations.
Karadin, despite being willing to outwait Zen's sheer will, grew impatient with each passing day and slowly began to descend into madness himself. With each fight that The Dark Eagle won, the next would be harder. He'd started fighting off one man at a time, then two, then 5, and then a dozen. It wasn't enough for Karadin, none of them lived and his slave grew stronger and more self assured with each victory. So he began paying scientists to create abominations to fight the winged man. Parts human, parts beast - just like The Dark Eagle. He called them 'Berserkers". They were rabid creatures, unyielding, fearless, and without pain, but even they fell to the sword of The Champion.
All of his futile efforts to break Zen's iron will only made him stronger. Karadin grew frenzied in his search for a solution and he knew someday soon he would find it, but for now, he would continue to attempt to break the man physically and reap the profits his slave's victories brought to his vast fortune. If his pet bird happened to die in the process, then so be it.
Now, as Zen crouched on his heels in his cage, he heard the beginnings of the crowd's excited chanting, calling from the stands for him to fight. They never told him in advance when he was going to fight, Karadin has specifically requested it be that way in the hopes that one day they would catch him off guard, but that wasn't ever going to happen - he was always on high alert.
He also noticed the increasing presence of guards at the entrance of his cell.
"Hey, Freak," The head guard, Bram, taunted him from outside the bars, "We've got some business with you. Put your back against the wall and don't fucking move. You should know the damn drill by now."
He definitely knew the drill.
Every guard that was prepared to enter The Dark Eagle's cell removed their swords from their belts and leaned them against a nearby wall. The Champion was a formidable fighter without a weapon, but give him the opportunity to take your sword from your hand and you'd find yourself embraced by the cold arms of death. All weapons were banned in this particular cell, they'd lost too many men to their own steel in another man's hand.
He stood up to his full, intimidating, height and squared his massively broad shoulders. Getting into a fighting stance, he ignored the orders to put his back against the far wall and instead slightly bounced back and forth in place, warming up his muscles for a fight.
The guards saw his noncompliance, but they had known it would happen this way. They opened his cell door anyway and all at once, a dozen guards stormed into his cell, trying to corral him into a corner.
One guard managed to get close enough, but Zen slammed his fist against his face. He went down hard, instantly unconscious.
Another guard attempted to catch him from behind, but must have forgotten who he was fighting, because not two seconds later he lay on the ground holding his snapped arm.
Four dead men and many broken body parts later and they had just barely managed to push him up against a wall and secure another limiter onto his wrist.
He instantly felt the drain and when the guards released their grip on him, he staggered and nearly fell over.
One of the guards, pissed about his dead friends, knocked Zen to the ground with a punch across the face and kicked him in the side once he was down.
Then they left, a single scathing comment falling behind them as they dragged the lifeless bodies of their fallen comrades from The Dark Eagle's cage. Zen slowly got up as the door to the arena side of his cage began to rise, indicating his next match. It was time to fight.
They'd forced him to become this formidable monster and, one day, The Dark Eagle would kill them all just to prove he could; then, after leaving a massacre and his slave life behind him, Zen Pradesh would find his way home. Of that he was certain.
But, for now, he just had to survive the day.