May 2015 edit: deleted the rape scene. Replaced it with something less gagworthy. lel.

Hehehe…ten hits. I'm hitting it big. But it's like they say. Write for yourself and not for others.

Title of this chapter belongs on Wilfred Owen's powerful poem and not on this steamy pile of fanfic.

Chapter Two: Dulce et Decorum Est

She awoke with a start and her first thought was: I'm not dead yet.

Damn it.

She hurt. Everything hurt. She was cold, and wet, and sick, much everyone and everything around her. The dark walls around her were slick with mold and mottled with old blood. The light from the sconces in the walls in the hallway was vaguely greenish yellow, like her bruises, and it made her cell look like it was swimming in brackish water. It was quiet now, but there would be screams soon. Praying that they wouldn't be hers, she sat up from her sprawled position on the ground. She winced from the twinge of pain that came from between her legs. The reaction was more an involuntary function than an expression of real pain. She had ceased to feel much at all since she had been brought to the Dark Arena.

She leaned up against the blood-stained wall—some of it was her blood, after all—and stared with dull blue eyes at the gate blocking the doorway. The lock was deceivingly simple to plain sight. When she had first gotten here, she had tried every day, for two weeks, to pick the lock and make a foolish escape, but even after all that time she made no headway. And then Shas had caught her at the attempt and had her hand cut off. He flayed the skin from the limb first, and then snipped the tendons and muscles away, one by one. When she had vomited and passed out from the pain he waited until she woke up before he resumed his grisly work.

Once upon a time she would have cried and asked 'why'. Now she just took everything as it came. In the Dark Arena, if you complained, you got it worse. It didn't matter if she wailed herself into unconsciousness or kept silent as the grave; she always felt close to death by the time Shas was done with her.

She was his special pet, but she'd rather have been put in the lava cages instead of garnering any attention from the monsters running this place. Most of the prisoners around here were kept in their cells like animals until their time was up and they were taken away and pitted in a ridiculously one-sided battle against a four story monstrosity known as a Titan. Shas, instead of being a normal jailer and leaving her the hell alone, or maybe letting her get off with a kick to the ribs, Shas subjected her to every humiliation and torture that he could think of. She knew the other Skaarj jailers in the Dark Arena hated him, but not enough to bother intervening on her behalf. They were all monsters. It was just that some were worse than others.

And it didn't matter that her hair was falling out and her skin was smeared with filth and sweat and blood; it didn't matter than her hands were mutilated and she was missing teeth and both of her eyes were nearly swollen shut, and it certainly didn't matter that she was a girl. She knew that Shas wanted to see her break. Perhaps it was a blessing that he didn't realize that she already had.

The first time it had happened she had been surprised, almost taken aback. Her group of six other officers from the ISV-Kran had been captured by several Skaarj scouts as they emerged from the temple of the Nali Water God. Her team had been doing well up until that point; they had the advantage of strength in numbers, their supplies had been good, and they had gotten out of the ship early enough so that the aliens weren't alerted of their presence until they were miles away from the Kran. However, at their first meeting with a Skaarj warrior proved to be their downfall, as its comrades immediately located the humans after the final rounds had been fired. They were transported, by some sort of hovering tank, to the dark stone building with massive doors and a crucified Nali hanging between the two main entrances. The Nali was still alive.

From there she and her teammates had been crammed into a cell that barely was the size of the cargo bunks back on her ship. She was immediately singled out and was escorted down the dark hall, past dark cells whose inmates scurried into the far corners of their cages as the Krall walked by. They shoved her into a room at the end of the corridor. She was surprised to be staring at nine or ten women, all huddled in a corner, and all naked. They stared at her, their eyes wide in their moon-like faces, and one of them gestured to her and said something to her in Russian. Being a part of the English mechanical division that had been hired only days before the Kran had lifted off from Earth, she couldn't understand what was being said to her.

And then the door across from the one that she came in opened, and the doorway was filled with the huge, eight foot frame of a Skaarj. The candle light set his body into harsh contrast, illuminating the green scales of his body and the Razik blades on his wrists. Her legs nearly gave way. His deep-set eyes immediately fixed upon her, and his mouth, set between two lower-jutting tusks, opened to let out an animalistic growl.

She had only seen three or four of the same species of alien, but she knew, somehow, that this one was in a class of its own. And then he had—

She jerked back to reality. Someone was coming.

The door to her cell creaked open, and she barely blinked, barely breathed, as Shas stepped into her private space. She watched him under hooded eyes, pouring as much venom into her gaze as she could possibly muster. She'd never not be afraid of him, but her fiercely burning hate for him was something that she was proud of. She realized suddenly that he had brought company. His hand was wrapped around its throat and was dragging it beside him, much like the way the Krall disposed of corpses—

A girl. Red-gold hair pulled into a ponytail, dirty silver flight suit, NEG symbol on her arm—she was probably with the group of Russian women.

She had to swallow a few times before speaking. "Put her down."

Shas seemed to consider her words, which was ridiculous, considering he needed to rely on a translating device to understand her words, and then ground out his nickname for her, which happened to be one of the only English words he could pronounce.

"…Happy."

When he had first started to call her that, she felt choked by the irony.

The girl's body hadn't moved; she hadn't screamed or whimpered or made any sort of movement against the fierce clutch that Shas had on her throat. Happy realized, with a short pang of horror, that she was dying. Her eyes were fixed and staring and her chest rose and fell with short, shallow breaths. The front of her flight suit was in tatters. She'd been run through by Razik blades.

Happy caught her lower lip between her teeth.

Shas purred at her, the sound filled with smug malice. He let the woman fall from his fingers in a heap at Happy's feet, turned, and left, letting the gate slam shut behind him. His footfalls echoed on the moldy wooden floor, and he was gone.

Happy realized she was trembling. As soon as she couldn't hear Shas's footsteps, she dropped her her knees beside the woman, flipping her over and brushing strands of hair from her dirty face. The woman's breath gurgled through the blood in her throat. She blinked up at Happy, but Happy wasn't sure that she was seeing anything.

This is what it was like for Happy in the Dark Arena. Being forced to watch those innocent four-armed aliens mutilated and pulled limb from limb, listening to the panicked screams of every new group of humans that the Skaarj managed to round up, feeling the heart-stopping shaking of the entire Coliseum when the Titan was let loose from its prison to stalk and kill its most recent victim. She'd thought that she'd come upon the adventure of a lifetime when she'd landed a spot on the Kran. If she could've gone back in time to before she signed on with them, knowing what she knew now, she would've thrown herself into one of the vats of molten steel at the factory where she used to work.

It took a few hours for the poor Russian woman to die. Happy held her the whole time.

849 awoke to two sensations that had been absent from her life since she had first entered her life of crime and ultimate imprisonment: warmth and comfort.

Opening her bleary eyes, she perceived that she was on her back, lying on a straw mat on the floor of a low ceilinged hut. There was a table off in the corner to her right; a knife stuck out of the wood, its blade reflecting the light of a modest fire in the wall-centered fireplace. The hut had no windows and the ruddy light of the fire was the only light with which she was able to see by.

As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she noticed a strange shadow that was cast on the opposite wall by the fireplace. It was several feet off the ground and seemed to raise and lower at even intervals. Her eyes traced the shadow up the wall, across the ceiling, and finally to the form that was hovering slightly above her.

Hovering.

If she had had any more energy she would have been up and out of the hut in a moment. However, as she was, all she could do was peer at the creature from under half-closed eyelids. The alien's body was mostly humanoid, save for the fact that its abnormally broad upper body had two sets of pectoral muscles, and four lean, sinewy arms grew out of its trunk. The upper two arms were folded in a praying motion, while the lower pair was spread out over the cot that 849 reclined on. Its face was fairly flat, with narrow nostrils and a wide mouth. It wore no clothes save for a sackcloth draped around its waist, and with its legs being folded midair as they were, it hardly provided coverage. The creature was decidedly male. There didn't seem to be a hair present on his tawny form. A deep humming came from within his throat; he appeared to be meditating.

He's praying for me, she thought. Probably before he eats me.

She lay there a while longer, listening as the snaps and pops from the fire punctuated the alien's low thrum, before her stomach gave a mighty growl. Her body curled almost involuntarily as she gasped in pain. Her body was rebelling against its lack of food. She decided it was time to go.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, and braced her hands against the clay walls to help her stand. She shuffled past the hovering alien, hoping that he wouldn't break his trance or reach out and snap her neck with his unusually large hands. Before she reached the door the knife in the table caught her eye. She thought that it wouldn't hurt to grab it.

Besides the knife, a serpentine creature was flayed into pieces on the table. It smelled like rotting fish. She sighed in relief. I might be able to get a catch out of the river, then.

She grabbed the knife handled and worked the blade out of the wood. It was embedded deeply; she had to jump up on the table and give the knife several hefty yanks before she worked it free.

"Stubborn bastard," she muttered has she examined the blade. It was dull, but it would have to do. She turned again towards the door before she felt a weight on her shoulder. Turning her eyes downward, she saw four dull-nailed fingers working their way towards her throat.

She froze, and her breath caught. So he was a hostile creature, then. She hadn't heard him at all. Her fingers tightened around the knife hilt.

Flashes of memories burned across her mind—bodies lining the corridors of the Rikers, screaming, blood on the walls, dripping limbs, sightless eyes, death—

Barely containing a strangled scream, she swung the arm with the knife around, trying to hit the creature in the torso. He gave a startled cry and staggered backwards; when she looked at the blade it was clean. Shit! She'd missed.

She whirled around as the alien's hand left her shoulder, holding the knife straight out, preparing to rush him—

And was surprised to see him drop to his bony knees and slam his face into the ground, his hands flat on the floor, palms down. He gave a muffled cry into the floorboards.

She stood there, shaking uncontrollably, sweat beading on her forehead. The adrenaline rush finally ebbed and she sank into a kneeling position, panting. The alien did not move for a while, but as 849's breath returned to normal, he lifted his head and peered around the room with dull yellow eyes. When his gaze fell on her again, fear was written onto his countenance and he was up in a moment, diving into the corner behind the mat, covering his head with two hands and waving his other two in the air in a gesture of supplication. It was a ridiculous situation; this creature, who had to be at least seven feet tall, was begging for mercy from someone who was at least a foot shorter than he and was critically wounded to boot.

Maybe I moved too soon, she thought after a moment. She stood up slowly and twirled the knife between her fingers. The alien made a low moan and pressed himself closer to the wall. It looked like if he could sink into the ground he would've done it.

"Hey," she croaked through her parched lips. "Hey, it's okay."

The creature didn't move for a moment. She sighed and stepped forwards, holding her empty hand out to it. However, at this action, the alien's eyes widened in terror and it jumped up and bolted towards the door. She reached out and grabbed his arm, using his own momentum to swing his body around and sent it spinning into the side of the table. She stood in front of the door and held the knife towards him. "Calm down!"

The alien turned white. Every inch of his ridiculously tall body was quivering. Finally, he dropped to his knees and bowed towards her, muttering something under his breath. She leaned forwards. "Hey," she said again. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He didn't move. To prove her intentions, she placed the knife in front of him and sat cross legged on the floor. "Come on, you bastard," she said. "It's all right."

She breathed a sigh of relief as one of his broad hands snaked out and grasped the knife by the hilt. He sat up slowly, gazing at her blankly. She held her hands up, palms out. "I don't have anything," she said.

He looked from the knife to her hands to her face, and then slowly stood up, burying the knife's blade back into the wood of the table. She looked up at his towering form. He looked as if he was at a loss for words—if he even spoke 'words' at all. All she had heard him do was moan and blubber.

Her stomach growled again, and she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She closed her eyes and said weakly, "You have anything I can eat?"

He didn't move, but he said something that sounded like, "By won da."

She blinked and looked at him. "Pardon?"

The creature coughed into the crook of his arm, but said nothing else. 849 sighed; this 'conversation' was going nowhere. The alien sat down at the table, his body rigid. After a pregnant pause, he spoke again. Irritably, 849 snapped at him. "Stop talking; I can't understand you."

She scooted closer to the fire. "God damn it," she muttered as her stomach knotted into itself again. She was starting to feel lightheaded.

Suddenly, the alien stood up. His eyes were growing wide again, and a pang of fear ran down 849's spine.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

The creature held up his hand, staring at the door with a stricken look on his face. The prisoner reflexively backed up, dimly wondering where her Enforcer was.

There was a steady beating of wings outside the hut; sharp cries echoed closely above them. After a moment, 849's heart leapt. A bird—food!

She sprang up and yanked the knife out of the table, much to the dismay of the alien, who grabbed at her shirt to keep her from going outside. She shrugged him off and flung the door open.

The first thing she saw was that she had been brought to the base of the canyon; hundreds of feet above her, the aft of the Vortex Rikers jutted away from the plateau and cast an ominous shadow over the hut and the dry ground. The river churned and lapped at the peninsula of land; from down here the roar of the waterfalls was nearly deafening. She wondered how she could have gotten down. Surely the alien didn't come and carry her?

Behind her, he stood in the doorway, wringing his hands and pleading desperately in his strange language. If she wasn't so breathtaken by the view, 849 would have paid more attention to the sound of the rush of wings. Her ignorance cost her dearly.

She was knocked to the ground from behind, nearly landing on the knife in her hand. She was about to whirl around on the alien for pushing her when she felt something wet trickling down her sides and sticking to her stomach. Blood?

There was a shadow on the ground, moving in a slow crescent away from her. She looked up. It was a flying creature of some sort, although it was completely different from any bird she had ever seen. Its body was ray-shaped, and it moved liquidly, up and down, as if it was underwater. It was featherless; instead, it had rubbery-looking green skin and a scaly tail that ended in a jagged hook, which gleamed red in the dim light of the sun.

It had struck her? She had been attacked by this…bird?

She sat up, watching the creature circle around her, listing towards her as if preparing for another strike. Suddenly, a gruesome mental image flashed through her brain—her own body, riddled with jagged gashes, rotting next to the river, being fed upon by both the bird and the strange male alien. Panic ripped through her, and she was up in a moment, trying to ignore the stinging pain in her back. She rushed the door of the hut, trying the doorknob; it was blocked.

"Let me in, damn you!" she hissed, making a fist and hitting the door. "I didn't know it was going to ambush me!"

She heard the alien muttering something inside. She almost became hysterical when she heard the animal swooping towards her again. She dropped to the ground and covered her head, wincing as she heard it strike the doorframe; it began squalling and shrieking desperately. She looked up tentatively. The creature's tailhook, poised to strike her flesh, was instead stuck in the wood. It was trapped.

849 hunched there, panting, before she realized she still had the knife clutched in her hand. She stood up on shaky legs, watching the thrashing animal, and suddenly, before she could think, she plunged the knife into the bird's back. It shuddered once as its spine snapped, and then it fell limp.

But 849 didn't stop there. She kept pulling the knife out and plunging it into the soft body, shaking, whispered screams breaking from her lips. Half of her strikes missed and made ugly gashes in the wood of the door. She didn't stop until long after the body was turned into inedible pulp and her knife was scraping against white bone.

When the alien finally opened the door to see if his human companion was still there, he found her passed out on the ground, the knife trapped in her white-knuckled grasp, and the Manta that had attacked her had been reduced to divots of skin on the ground.