Chapter I
"Oi, witch, did ya hear me? Get a fucking move on," a rough voice called from the open doorway to her cabin. Without reacting to the insult she calmly smoothed her long blonde hair over the shaved right side of her head and stood, sliding her laspistol into its usual resting place amidst one of the many folds of her simple grey robe. She secured her iron-link chain of office, slung over one shoulder and round her waist, in its place as she took one last look at herself in the mirror, remarking on how heavy the dark grey metal links had once seemed when her master had first 'bestowed' it upon her many years ago.
She strode to the door where the ugly leer of a henchman eyed her attractive form, but despite being half a foot taller than her he quickly jumped out of her way when she barged through the doorway. "I heard you the first time, Dross, and next time you even think of calling me that word," she spoke, quietly but insistently as she always did, turning to stop in her tracks and level her finger at the idiot, "you'll never fucking wake up from your next nightmare."
The look on Dross' face was repayment enough for the insult, and she turned and continued down the hall, closely followed by the shocked Dross and his two lackeys who were laughing at their boss' humiliation. She'd have smiled at the arrogant simpleton's embarrassment, but for the last thirteen years Dalia hadn't had much to smile about at all.
It wasn't just a grim sight, dozens of men and a few women all crammed into a cell too small for half that number, but an assault on the other senses too. Blood, sweat, urine and other things more ghastly filled her nose, wheezing, coughing, arguing, fevered muttering filled her ears. Some stood, huddled in groups, others sat alone on benches, and a few even lay prone on the hard floor. 'Probably dead,' Dalia mused as she and her three followers approached a table around which sat three joking, smiling guards sharing a bottle of cheap amasec, 'not that anyone seems to care.'
One of the guards, chair back on two hind legs and his two feet resting casually on the wooden tabletop, regarded her coolly. He was an unremarkably average man in all respects other than his scarred face. Dead-eyed, he had the ability to make you feel like he couldn't care less whether his next breath was his last, even as a strange smirk perched incongruously on his lips taunted you, as if he knew something you didn't. He was the most infuriating man Dalia had ever been forced to interact with, and her master and the rest of the crew on this ship were certainly no paragons of virtue.
"Here at last," he said in a soft, arrogant voice, "you're keeping the crew from their first bloodletting in two years you know." That smirk and the amused, chiding tone of his voice set her blood boiling, but she calmed herself as much as possible before responding.
"If I wasn't here, Adrastos, this would take four times as long with just these fools," she snarled, gesturing at her followers and the other crew sat at the table, "so let's expedite this whole thing so I can go back to not seeing your ugly face a second more."
The captain's right hand chuckled, a sound as humourless as the lifeless brown eyes couched in his sockets, and stood up, quickly followed by the others who were watching the exchange with their usual scorn and disinterest. The sleeveless flak vest he wore that displayed his slim arms and shoulders fooled the arrogant and dim-witted into believing him weak, but a keen eye would notice the lack of any weapon holstered or sheathed about his person, and rightly tread with care around such a man that commanded murderous killers and scum with nothing but his intelligent, powerful mind. Close-cropped grey hair revealed his age yet he moved with an assured swagger at all times. Dalia constantly reminded herself of just how dangerous it would be to forget who this unassuming devil really was – one slip, and she would be lucky just to be allowed to join those wretches crowding the filthy floor of the prison cell.
Adrastos activated his comm-bead. "Alright, the seeress is here, unlock cellblock 3. Let's get this show on the road!"
Daw smiled wide, a beaming flash of perfect, bright white teeth. He couldn't remember seeing the amphitheatre so full of bodies in a long time, and the buzz of activity raised the hair on his arms and thrilled his every nerve. He stood, hands on hips, in the centre of the podium close to the stained metal floor of the arena, radiant with his oiled black hair and shining white storm coat pinned with a dozen different Imperial navy medals, heavy leather breeches and a thick leather belt hung with a dozen different tools and weapons. A spotlight illuminated his podium, a beacon of brilliance among the darkened dregs of his crew seated around the stage, clamouring to get the attention of their lord. The intense light shone on his bare chest and face, showing off his metallic-golden skin for all his adoring crew to gaze upon.
The cast iron gates on the left side of the arena shifted, and slowly slid apart on a mechanism designed to grind as loud as possible. This cut through the din of conversations and arguments among the crowd only for a second. As the parade of men and women shambled into the centre of the arena, the thousands of his crew thronged on the terraced seats of the amphitheatre laughed and bellowed and hurled abuse and insults at the newcomers. The prisoners, for the most part, took the welcome in their stride. The majority were pirates from rival organisations, mostly the dregs of Karak's ship, but a few were imperial soldiers lucky enough to have survived the destruction of Helius 6. They were, on the whole, unimpressive, but Daw's impeccable eye for talent picked out a few with potential: a female beauty with a confident stride and intelligent gleam in her eyes, reminded him of the Seeress; two tall, heavily muscled slabs - vat-grown pieces of meat that were large and powerful but simpler than a half-brained grox - with shaved heads and disproportionate features – one with an arm half the size of the other, and his brother with a third eye and a hunch that almost halved his height; the last was the most peculiar. Silver-grey hair hanging loose about his shoulders, one half of his bare torso covered in exquisitely intricate black and red tattoos of ancient monsters: two headed wolves, dragons, three-headed dogs and minotaurs – it was truly a work of art, and along with the man's strong stubble-covered jawline and piercing gaze, Daw was forced to admit the prisoner was almost as handsome as he was.
Almost, he thought as the devil strode towards the centre of the arena, clad only in black combat boots and weathered leather breeches with a belt empty of any weapon or tool cinched around his waist. Tall, broad-shouldered and with a slim waist, he possessed a swordsman's build, and Daw had a feeling there was even more to this dangerous man than his appearance implied. He couldn't shake the idea that the prisoner was stalking through the procession of unfortunates, sizing up his surroundings with a cunning, predatory eye. Even though none of those in the hard metal arena below had ever seen one of Daw's bloodlettings before, it didn't take a genius to guess what was going to happen next. 'It's time', Daw revelled as he licked his lips and activated the loud-hailers set into the columns of his podium.
"Welcome, one and all! Ladies and gentlemen! Wretches and kings! Scum and….well, you get the idea," Daw said, to cheers and peals of laughter, the words coming right back to him despite the years since the last as several servo-skulls floated down from the ceiling to record the entire spectacle for future entertainment.
"I am Czar Aleksander Daw, the richest, smartest and most extravagantly talented pirate lord this side of the Segmentum Obscurus. This charming rabble of thieves, brigands, pirates and the odd holy man are my lucky crew who were granted audience to this wonderful spectacle about to unfold! And you are my prisoners, captured from one battle or another but mostly, as you well know, from that void-between-the-ears-farer Reid Karak's now-burning flagship the Doubtless. If only he'd doubted me a little more, eh?" He leered down, seeing snarls of anger directed back at him.
"But let's not keep everyone waiting, so! For all of my charming soldiers in the audience, you have exactly three minutes to finish placing your bets on your favourite horse, and for you poor souls down there, it's only fair I give you the same allotted time to ready yourselves before we begin."
Confused mutters and suspicious glances between the dozens of prisoners were lost as Daw's crew hollered over one another to make deals, bargains and assign odds to those prisoners most likely to make it through the bloodletting. Daw couldn't help but smile as, amongst all the mayhem and chaos, he noticed the young, silver-maned prospect casually sidling backwards to the edge of the arena while his compatriots were milling around in budding panic. The crazed, obscura-addled crewmembers howled for blood, lolling drunkenly over the edge of the arena's ten metre high, sheer metal curtain-wall, barely a foot from the prospect's back. Daw admired the casual nature of the prospect's movements as he attempted to portray a fearless, disinterested attitude to his surroundings. A brave façade would not save him, however tough he tried to appear. The odds of surviving the melee were slim to none; surviving the melee without some life-changing injury or physical deformity had not once been achieved in the almost four decades since Daw had held the first bloodletting.
"You're probably hoping that what you think is going to happen in…one minute and 37 seconds – doesn't. I freely admit to being a man of decadent, some would say sadistic, tastes and pleasures, yet none would say I am also not a fair man. It brings me and my filthy crew here such terrible, sick joy to behold humanity's most natural, base, pure instinct, so you can be sure that should you show us all the true nature of your soul at its most primal aspect and survive, you will be welcomed with open arms into our coterie of the most liberated, renowned and feared warriors this side of the Eye of Terror as family, bonded by a covenant written with the blood you shed in our hallowed temple."
This was his favourite part. Right before the carnage began and everything became too much to keep track of. The prisoners, mostly wild-eyed and with fear starting to grip them in its icy talons, distanced themselves from one another. "The last one standing gets to join me and the rest of these degenerates," he offered, precisely as all the lights in the auditorium shut off at once, leaving everyone in an eerie, expectant silence. Huge floodlights set into the inner wall of the arena flashed on, blood red and bright white.
"So get fucking killing!" Daw screamed.
