Once again, try to think of Sophia as being played by Morena Baccarin (Inara from Firefly and Serenity) and Demetri as being played by Alan Tudyk (but think of his Dollhouse character rather than goofy, Hawaiian shirt-wearing Wash).
He had observed the first fight closely and his gaze followed Sophia back into her cage when it was over. Ambrose was dust, she was still standing, and nobody had done anything to her. It seemed that this really would be a fair tournament, even if all evidence suggested that the winner would still be a prisoner. He was amazed. Everything in this place continued to hold true to what it appeared to be. If anything was lying in wait to return him to the many agonies he had suffered before being brought here, it was certainly biding its time.
He watched the next two vampires walk into the pit. One was blond and stocky, the other dark-haired and much larger. He could hear dozens of heartbeats quicken in excitement, just as they had when Sophia and Ambrose faced each other, and the rabble of young voices from the audience above him began to shout the history of the second pair.
"That's Demetri! He was turned in Germany in sixteen ninety-six!"
"The bigger one's Arawn. 'E was a Welsh lord before 'e became a vampire in seventeen thirty-two." Demetri looked up at the freckly boy who had identified him and inclined his head, sneering. Arawn, on the other hand, kept his black eyes on his opponent.
Their fight went on longer than the first one, lasting minutes instead of seconds and looking more like a super-powered boxing match than anything else. Their differences in age seemed to balance out the discrepancy between their sizes. Demetri had broken Arawn's nose with one particularly well-landed punch, and a few retaliatory sledgehammer-like blows to Demetri's torso caused blood to leak from his mouth.
Seconds later, Arawn had Demetri by the throat, but, demonic features to the fore, Demetri retook the upper hand by brutally smashing his forehead into Arawn's. The larger vampire staggered back, dazed. Not wasting his advantage, Demetri seized Arawn's head in both hands and gave a violent sideways jerk. The audience collectively flinched as the sounds of his neck snapping and his agonized roar echoed sickeningly through the room. With a malevolent grin, Demetri slammed his now paralyzed opponent up against the wall and Arawn screamed even louder than before when the skin of his back made contact with the many crosses protruding from its surface.
Wesley wasn't the only one who felt like he might be sick this time. If the fight had been clean and efficient like the first, it might have been bearable, but it seemed that Demetri, whose cruel laughter rang in their ears, was determined to keep Arawn pressed against the wall of crosses until everyone on the benches could smell the sizzling flesh. Finally, when the girl who had identified Sophia and Ambrose swayed and fainted in her seat, a Watcher's crossbow bolt pierced left side of Arawn's chest, putting him out of his misery.
Demetri, who appeared to be more satisfied by the amount of distress he had caused the crowd than irritated at the early end to his fun, did not immediately go back to his cage once Arawn's ashes had drifted to the ground. Instead, he made for the one opposite it, which contained Sophia. Without slowing, he reverted back to his human face, walked right up to the portcullis separating them, and kissed her hungrily through one of the square gaps in the heavy iron latticework, putting his hands through too so that he could press one to the small of her back and twine the other through her hair. She reached across as well and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back with violent passion.
The Council members were rather taken aback by the nature of this unscheduled intermission. One or two students whistled, but most made noises of revulsion that any woman, demonic or not, could kiss someone capable of the sadistic abuse they had just witnessed. The kissing pair paid them no attention, also ignoring Collins, who was brandishing the cross prod threateningly.
"See you in the final round, lover," said Demetri huskily when they finally broke apart.
"Maybe I'll let you last longer than ten seconds," Sophia replied with an amused half-smile. Demetri gave her a look that spoke plainly of his confidence that he would be the victorious one, then turned and sauntered back to his own cage, making a rude hand gesture at the crossbow-wielding Watchers, all of whom had their weapons aimed directly at him.
And the next two portcullises opened. Only one vampire emerged right away. He was very tall, very thin, and had shoulder length auburn hair. Despite the fact that, like all of the other males, he was clad only in a pair of generic black pants, he looked like he belonged in a tailcoat and fancy breeches, and had an air of snobbish arrogance about him that gave the impression that he was quite used to getting his way without ever having to lift a finger himself.
"That's Livius. Formerly known as Jean-Léonard d'Orléanais, until he was turned in eighteen twenty-seven," shouted a boy on the third row of benches.
The second vampire required provocation from Smith's cross prod before he would come out of his cage. His long dark hair was escaping from the ponytail at the base of his neck, and he was shorter but broader in the shoulder than Livius. A slight shiver seemed to pass through the crowd of Watchers and Academy students at the sight of him. Everyone there would have known who he was even if they hadn't learned about him in class because of what he'd done to two of the men on the team that brought him in.
"Erebus. Sired in England in seventeen oh three," someone put forth quietly. Erebus's face, vampiric features already to the fore, turned slowly towards the speaker, and he licked his lips. Four index fingers tightened on crossbow triggers in response, but the vampire showed no further interest in the crowd members. His attention focused instead on Livius, who was eyeing him disdainfully, not even putting up his guard, waiting for Erebus to make the first move. Even though there were still yards between them, this was a mistake, for in making that move, Erebus did not merely walk towards Livius; he pounced.
The crack of the back of Livius's skull making contact with the stone floor was audible even from the very back row of benches. Livius grunted in pain and tried to throw Erebus off, but he could not dislodge him. Erebus plunged his head down and sank his fangs deeply into Livius's jugular, severing muscle and cartilage as he drained the recycled pig's blood from his opponent's body. He must have gotten the vocal cords too, for Livius's scream of agony was abruptly reduced to rasping gurgles.
At this point, even some of the more seasoned Council members had to look away. Wesley was doubled over, one hand at his stomach and the other clamped over his mouth as his lunch made a desperate bid for freedom.
Blood dripping from his face, Erebus jerked his fangs violently back out of Livius's throat. Then, he placed one hand on his chest, plunged the other into the gaping wound his bite had left, and tore Livius's head from his shoulders.
There was no applause that followed Erebus's victory as there had been for Sophia's, nor were there any disturbed whispers. The clanging of the portcullis closing behind him was loud and jarring in the completely silent arena. Quentin couldn't help hoping that this would not be the vampire they would have to use for the Slayer's Cruciamentum, and it was a few more seconds before he had collected himself enough to signal for the next fight to begin.
After his gate opened, Angel stepped forward, unaffected by the brutality of the last two fights, which had been quite mild compared to what he had seen and experienced during the last century of his existence. The reactions of the recovering crowd to his appearance varied from shock to fear to awe and included everything in between. The one thing every face in the room held in common was recognition; his tattoo was a dead giveaway. Wesley sat a little straighter in his chair, trying to will his roiling stomach to settle. He couldn't miss this.
Soon, the students had found their voices again.
"That's Angelus!"
"The demon with the face of an angel."
"The Scourge of Europe!"
"Turned in Ireland in seventeen fifty-three."
"I thought 'e disappeared around nineteen 'undred!"
"And I thought he was in Hell!"
Angel looked up at all of the faces turned to him and was startled to discover from their expressions that these people not only expected him to fight—an idea he'd gotten used to by now—; they expected him to win. At least against this opponent, anyway, who neither he nor any of the students seemed to recognize. This had not escaped the other vampire's notice, and he was not pleased.
"Aw, hell, you knew all the others, but not one of y'all knows who I am? I didn't die yesterday!" he growled, annoyed.
The students remained blankly silent, glancing at each other and shrugging. Eventually, Quentin was the one to speak. "This is Lyle Gorch; a Texan sired in the late eighteen hundreds, along with his brother."
"You don't get to talk about my brother!" Lyle shouted furiously, raising his fists. These humans had hauled him all the way to England, taken away his boots and hat, and fed him nothing but pig's blood for two weeks. They didn't get to bring Tector's name into this too.
Noticing the crossbows aimed at him, Lyle's lip curled and he grudgingly turned his attention back to Angel. His mood improved upon doing so. It couldn't have been better if he'd planned it himself. The Slayer had killed the only two people who mattered to him, and now he could kill someone who mattered to her. "Well, now," he said, leering unpleasantly, "last time I saw you, you were with that purty little Slayer. How'd that work out?"
Angel's only answer was a low growl rumbling in his throat. This demon did not get to talk about her. He sprang forward. His right hand, which had curled into a fist, soared straight into Lyle's face. Lyle stumbled backward, not knowing how powerful of an effect the involuntary reaction was having on Angel. For the first time in a hundred years, he was the one with the power, and nothing was holding him down. Far stronger than survival instinct, that blinding, glorious realization was what gave him back the rest of what he'd been missing.
Angel was brought sharply back to earth by Lyle's fist connecting with his jaw and the jubilant "Hoo-wee!" that accompanied it. He blocked the next punch and returned with one of his own, followed by a sweeping kick that knocked Lyle off his feet. Before he could do anything else, Lyle had caught up the wooden spike still lying on the floor from Sophia's fight and jumped back up, lunging at him with it.
Angel dodged and, when Lyle made to pull back to try again, grabbed his wrist and twisted, forcing him to bend at the waist to prevent his shoulder from dislocating. From this position, Lyle could do nothing whatsoever to prevent Angel coiling his free left arm tightly around his neck. In another second, Angel released Lyle's wrist and reached around to grab his left shoulder, then wrenched his arms in opposite directions with all of his strength. With a horrible ripping, crunching sound that sent another shudder rippling through the audience, Lyle Gorch's head was separated from his body.
As Angel walked back to his cage, his eyes bright—not with the victory, but with the final return to himself—, up on the benches, Wesley discreetly punched the air in triumph.
But it wasn't over yet.
And Angel is back! Yesss! Also, I would just like to say how incredibly disturbing it is to write Erebus like this. He happens to be a good guy in my non-fanfiction project I borrowed him from. In that, he's basically a much angrier, much less stable, long-haired version of Angel. This version of him terrifies me. On the other hand, we have Demetri and Sophia. I adore them. For some reason, it does not weird me out to picture the actors who play Wash and Inara snogging madly. Finally, muahaha! I have killed Lyle Gorch! Yay, closure!