*Author's note*

Posting might slow down a bit from here. I am starting school soon, so I may not be able to write as quickly as I have been. I'm sorry!

ALSO

Be advised: This chapter contains content that may be distressing for some. Read at your own discretion with the tags/rating of this story in mind. If you do not want to read such content, a summary of important plot details is available at the end of the chapter.

Two orcs hit the ground at the exact same time with a sickening thud, landing in a pool of blood, brain matter, and gore. Both had been simultaneously impaled by a single one of Ar-Tashk's massive ballista bolts the moment the fight began. One was struck through the soft tissues of his esophagus, cutting off any wails he might have exuded, instead, only gurgling in a dying cry as he choked on his own blood. The other was just slightly shorter than the first victim and was struck full bore into his forehead, splitting his face in half and caving shards of bone inside out.

Qol'dra the slow, the captain of the guard at the fortress, would have been the first to meet his death, if only he had moved a fraction of a second faster; Ar-Tashk had a keen eye to predict movements, but he didn't expect the blasted orc to take his sweet time actually proceeding with his motion. As the olog's first two victims fell in a bloody pile, Captain Qol'dra strode across their twitching corpses in a weirdly smooth gait. It almost looked like he was gliding, keeping to the outskirts of the arena as his underlings took the front line of the fight.

The olog started to reload his ballista, only to have a pair of Qol'dra's underlings, an orc and an uruk, charge across the field. They launched themselves at full speed towards the olog in an eager attempt to restrain his hulking arms so he couldn't use his weapon, but their endeavor was amusingly futile. They simply didn't have the weight or strength to inhibit the olog, even trying to slice their weapons across his muscles left little more than a scratch. His natural armor sent their blades glancing off with minimal effort, throwing his attackers off balance and putting them at his non-existent mercy. Though the pair tried to recover, they swung around, cutting at the olog's arms, to no avail.

It wouldn't have mattered much if they had managed to restrain or disarm him, as Ar-Tashk was a natural born fighter in unarmed combat; he was just as skilled with his hands as he was when wielding his weapon of choice, as the pair quickly discovered. The olog's retaliation was tenfold, fueled by the superiority he held over the orc and uruk. He grabbed the uruk by the leg and swung him like a mace at the other assailants. The orc taking swipes with his blade was struck first.

Ar-Tashk felt the femur of his improvised bludgeon torq upon collision, only to give way under the momentum and impact as skull met skull. A loud CRACK! snapped in the air, causing many of the audience to suck in a breath, before roaring with excitement. The momentum of the swing sent the orc in Ar-Tashk's grip cannoning across the fight pit, his velocity making him spin mid-air like a ragdoll until body struck a wall — the wall of an occupied caragor cage.

The power behind the unfortunate orc's impact was enough to warp the cage door just enough for the caragor inside to try pushing its broad, clawed paw through the gap. Though it was just slightly too tight a fit for it to escape, the beast scrambled and scratched under the door, until it's hooked claws locked into the flesh of the half dead orc. It started pulling him into the den, his skin being sheared from his flesh by the force of being pulled through the bars, only for the orc to be devoured. The uruk who had taken the brunt of the olog's blunt force weaponization of his teammate had been launched entirely clear of the walls of the ring, raining blood upon the raucous audience before the body disappeared somewhere behind the crowd.

The remaining two members of the Captain's cohort each were calculating their odds in their mind, and it was looking extremely bleak. A creeping suspicion was beginning to grow in each of their minds. Either their boss had severely overestimated himself and completely misread the reputation of the olog he was fighting, or this was a set up. The Reaper's reputation preceded him like a legend; it was hard to believe that Qol'dra, who knew Ar-Tashk from their stations at the keep, would have submitted a challenge to the Reaper, unless the legend was false. They couldn't fathom that their, relatively new, boss had grown so bold after a couple pit fits, as to think he could actually take on the likes of their current opponent unless he had been duped. In reality, the captain had been put up to the challenge.

Just the night before, Qol'dra was busy suturing a wound on his arm shut, when he heard the door to his quarters creak open. The orc carefully moved to grab a dagger he had on his side table, when a cloaked figure entered the room, and the wild, partially crazed glow of a pair of owl-like eyes peered out from the blackness of the hood.

"Sire!" Qol'dra set down his blade and knelt before Vezhir, who cast the hood from his head. "What're you doing here so late? Do you have need of me?"

"Get up," came Vezhir's cold voice. "You're a captain, Qol'dra, I expect you to behave like it. Not some boot-licking little worm." As the orc stood upright to attention, Vezhir looked him up and down appraisingly, "I hear you are making waves at the fight pit, Captain. Not neglecting your duties are you?"

"NO… Ahem, Not at all, sire," Qol'dra tried to meet the overlord's eyes, but couldn't quite bring himself to. "Some shrakh put my name into the roster, and I just intended on finding out who did it. Now… I just keep getting challenged by whelps looking to cut their teeth."

Vezhir moved past Qol'dra and welcomed himself to sit in the orc's chair, while the orc himself was left to stand. The overlord's gaze passed over a new set of armor that Qol'dra had collected after his latest victory, "I suppose taking loot is all just part of the game, the investigation, isn't it, Captain?"

"Sire?"

Vezhir scowled, "It was ME, you laggard fool. I had the pitmaster accept your name for the fight pit. Who else could have made him validate a challenge in someone else's name?"

Qol'dra's face contorted in a mixture of indignant surprise and venom, "What! Why?"

Vezhir grabbed Qol'dra by the collar, stood up, and swung around to throw him into the chair before seizing the dagger from the side table to pin it at the orc's throat, "Don't speak like that to me, Captain. Everything you are is because of me."

Qol'dra swallowed nervously, "Yes… sire. Of course… does that mean… you authorized a fight in my name… to get rid of me?"

The overlord withdrew the dagger, and rolled his eyes, "Don't be so grim, Captain. I expect much more from you than that."

"Then why…?" At a severe glare, Qol'dra quickly added, "sire?"

"I've seen the roster, all the fights you've won since I entered your name. I needed to know you were the right one for the job. I can't let just anyone stand by my side. I need strong, loyal orcs, who can hold their own in a fight," Vezhir noted Qol'dra's face as he was trying to decipher what the overlord was saying.

After a long pause, the captain eagerly looked at Vezhir, "You mean, you're looking for another bodyguard?"

"No, I only need one. But a fat, soft olog doesn't exactly suit that role, wouldn't you say? Not the way a clever, nimble orc would," the overlord turned to leave.

Qol'dra's eyes lit up. An overlord's bodyguards were on par with the rank of warchiefs. "And if I get that fat, soft olog out of the way?"

Just before Vezhir closed the door behind himself, he paused, "I'd need a new bodyguard, wouldn't I? One who has proven himself in the fight pit."

It was an irresistible offer, especially when the overlord was giving Qol'dra his blessing to rid the world of that pretentious, thick-headed olog, the Reaper. Whatever he had done to catch the overlord's eye, he knew without a shadow of a doubt, he would win.

As Qol'dra maneuvered around the arena dodging a hail of bolts by feinting his movements, he tried to search the audience to find the overlord among the crowd. Surely, Qol'dra's patron would be in attendance to witness his up-and-coming star overcome the dying flames of the once fear-inducing, failure of an attack dog. As expected and promised by the overlord, Ar-Tashk had arrived at the arena empty handed and with none of his usual followers at his back, meaning that his rank was on the line for the winner. The perfect plan was falling right into place, now if only Qol'dra's own followers, who he had recruited as fight pit fodder over the last couple days, could stop dropping like flies! As soon as he thought it, another orc follower who had gotten too close to the olog was snatched up in his massive hands.

Ar-Tashk took hold of the orc by both head and leg, and pulled his hands apart, using his own back as leverage. There was a vicious cracking, followed by a pop as the orc's head and spine broke away and separated from his body. Black blood cascaded over top of Ar-Tashk, not unlike a cloak woven of his opponent's viscera. Qol'dra looked desperately at his remaining follower, who glanced back with wide, anxious eyes.

His captain had obviously bit off more than he could chew. The follower glanced back and forth between the Reaper and the captain, before turning towards the captain to sling an axe across the arena at the captain, while roaring, "I can't believe I was stupid enough to follow you! What kind of idiot thinks they can fight the right hand of Vezhir?!"

Qol'dra, in a brief moment of manic desperation, whirled out of the way just in the nick of time to avoid having his head cleaved in half, and he snarled inwardly. He was visibly shaken by the turn, disrupting his calm, collected, and calculated fighting techniques. This isn't how this fight was meant to go, my own follower turning against me!

He was about to return the attack, spite boiling in his blood, when Ar-Tashk came charging at the follower, and slammed him into the ground without the slightest hint of mercy. The follower screamed, "STOP! STOP! I CONCEDE! I'D RATHER FIGHT WITH YOU!"

Ar-Tashk didn't care; weak orcs turned traitors weren't worthy of being spared. The olog's massive heel came smashing down on the orc's chest, crushing ribs and organs into a pulp. Finally, only Qol'dra the Slow, the captain of the guard, remained.

The olog's sights fixed on the orc captain, even as the black blood on his face was starting to get into his eyes. As Ar-Tashk moved to wipe the blood away as it started to obscure his vision, Qol'dra rushed to make his move. Rather than attacking the olog, the orc was desperate to escape. He clawed at the walls of the fight pit, trying to climb out before the olog knew what was happening.

The horde of onlookers booed and jeered, flinging insults and small weapons at the coward. As soon as his hand reached the top edge of the arena walls, those lining that section of the wall kicked and stomped until the orc's grip released, sending the captain plummeting back into the pit. His body never hit the ground.

With his eyes cleared, Ar-Tashk had taken aim with his ballista, and the moment the orc began to fall, he fired. The calculated aim sent the iron bolt through the orc's entire body, from the top of his spine and out through one of the orc's thighs and into the side wall of the pit where it hung Qol'dra's dead body like a bloody flag.

victorious roar rippled across the crowd of onlookers, led by Ar-Tashk whose bellow shook the very ground. No second thought was given for the fools who thought they could defeat the Reaper. Ar-Tashk headed himself from the pit, to track down the pitmaster, who was wheezing and spitting up lungfuls of ichor. The olog sneered at the pitmaster, who in turn looked up at the olog with wide unfocused eyes. The fight was finished, Ar-Tashk growled, before leaving the arena as the pitmaster's life faded away.

*Summary To Skip Violent Sequence*

Ar-Tashk and Qol'dra face off in the fight pit.

During the fight, Qol'dra's memory of the previous night reveals that Vezhir authorized the pitmaster to put Qol'dra into the roster, without Qol'dra agreeing to it. Vezhir implies that he wants Qol'dra to fight Ar-Tashk to take his place at Vezhir's side, encouraging Qol'dra to issue a challenge to the olog.

Ar-Tashk violently kills all of Qol'dra's followers before killing Qol'dra himself.

*Translations*

Shrakh - Shit/dung