A/N
Just a little note; Angronius is not at his peak condition yet in this early stage of the story, otherwise Nuceria's as good as conquered. He is, after all, less than a year old.
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At the peak of civilization rested the sprawling empire of Nuceria, and at its heart lay Reksia.
A city of men, built atop the bones of xenos and beasts, that stood for hundreds of years and would stand for a hundred more. Throughout its winding and twisted streets of polished marble stones, towers of onyx and brass stood high with spiked spires of blackest steel. Bastions and temples of purest gold, siphoned from innumerable conquests of distant lands, pressed together tightly in abstract architectural formations. Military complexes bustled as noisily as the flesh markets that lined every street, from the port that ushered in fresh bounties of slaves and treasures to the high and nigh unassailable walls that surrounded the city.
This was Reksia, the City of Dreams and capital megapolis of the undisputed power in the world.
As much as its architectural splendor reflected the grandiose and seemingly eternal nature of Nuceria, the vibrant heart of the republic that was Reksia was cursed with a debilitating disease. It was named the City of Dreams due in no small part to the nature of its people, who lived as though they were in a dream. Feasts and fornications, decadence in all its forms and deviancy in whatever manner possible, kept the Nucerians in a detached euphoric state.
For it is within their dreams, both magnificent and monstrous, that they find their greatest pleasures. The only thing keeping them in check in their self-centered ways was their strict and rigid adherence to tradition, through elaborate rituals that few Nucerians have the courage to ignore.
A vibrant, beating heart with a creeping affliction. When the heart is cursed, the body follows. With no enemies to fight, no empires to conquer and humble, Nuceria began to crumble.
The roar of the crowd, the elated cheers of her people in the arena of the Colosseum Primus, could be easily mistaken for the cries of the undying spirit of the republic. In truth, these were her last breaths, her ragged and desperate gasps for the life that was slowly being strangled out of her.
The Proconsul's Triumph was celebrated, as planned, with a long and elaborate parade through the streets of Reksia. He rode on a flamboyantly decorated parade float, a dais with hand-carved golden lions that bristled against their onlookers, surrounded by his favorite pleasure slaves and at the head of a glorious procession of his veteran legionaries.
At every archway and tower, the flowing banners and standards of the republic greeted the returning general. From every street, window and rooftop, the crowds hailed their conquering hero and threw red petals to grace his path. All the while they chanted his name like some ritualistic mantra, "Marsus! Marsus! Marsus!"
Although neither Polgara nor her parents would personally join in the parade, she knew that Acraesius reserved a spot for them at the pulvinus of the Colosseum Primus. It was a happy day for her, especially since it was the first time she visited the capital city. Reksia was nothing like Desh'ea, and it was marvelous beyond anything she'd ever seen before.
The parade lasted for hours, until finally it reached its conclusion at the steps of the Colosseum Primus.
The vast amphitheater could be likened unto a city in itself, and it easily put all other arenas to shame, even the Colosseum Magnus which was House Thal'kyr's pride and joy. Its high walls of fine stone reached higher than the tallest tower in Reksia, statues of onyx and topaz depicting the heroes of bygone eras were built into its hollowed out face, and the names of their gods were inscribed upon the base of the nine foundation pillars around the arena.
When it was declared that the Triumph would be celebrated with games of blood sport, the people rushed to fill the stands to watch the gladiators perform for them. Thousands upon thousands of cityfolk flocked to the gates of the Colosseum, but were denied entry as all seats were filled. To calm the growing ire of the mob, live holo-projections of the arena were broadcasted across every channel in the capital so that all would be able to bear witness to the games.
Upon ascending to the pulvinus, and seeing their hero hold his hands up to call for quiet, the roar of the crowd died down to let him speak.
"People of Reksia, brothers and sisters of the almighty republic!" Marsus Acraesius declared, his oratory skills once again showing with the way every ear strained to catch on to his every word. "I stand before you, humbled by your warmest embrace. You have honored me, and your legions by welcoming us home. Now, the time has come for me to honor you! Today, courtesy of the noble Houses Thal'kyr and Ashtura, I am proud to present to you the finest gladiators to grace the face of Nuceria!"
The gates opened, and the crowd greeted the titans with thunderous applause. Gladiators hailing from the provinces provided a different taste to the games of the capital, an exotic sight that brought light back to the ever-shifting mood of the mob. There was a certain thing lacking in the cyborg battles they've grown accustomed to watching that could only be found in a good old-fashioned flesh and bone match.
Acraesius began his tale of their battles against Stygia, a tale reinterpreted through mythical representation. "In the barren plains that the hordes of Stygia call home, our legions stood outnumbered by barbarians! Outnumbered, but not outmatched, for the gods themselves stood with us! Behold Cannicus Thal'kyr, Champion of Sol, Dimachaerus!"
Cannicus walked forward and saluted the Proconsul. He wore the helmet fashioned in the likeness of the sun god Sol, with the divine halo encircling the top like a crown, and the stoic visage that served as his mask. His armor had been modified to perfectly hug his body and limbs, as though it were his own skin. Polished to a bright sheen, it shone like purest gold and he stood as though he were Sol himself.
"Behold Rissio Thal'kyr, Hoplomachus!"
Rissio stepped forward and raised his spear high, drawing the attention of the crowd with his dazzling smile. Although he was a stranger to the people of Reksia, they marveled at the fine results of Desh'ea gene-modifications and embraced the gladiator as one of their own. He stood as Augustus, the son of Lilith, with his silver cuirass and greaves. No helmet would adorn his head, save for a simple thorned circlet.
"Behold Lucretia Thal'kyr, Retiarus!"
Lucretia gracefully twirled her trident and waved at the crowd. The beautiful gladiatrix received an elated cry from the womenfolk, and lecherous jeers from the ignoble men of Reksia. Clad in form-fitting armor that accentuated her curves, emphasizing finesse above protection, she was every bit the warrior woman fantasy that human minds could dream of. She was Augusta in the flesh, a worthy avatar of the goddess.
Finally, it was Angronius' turn. "Behold Angronius Thal'kyr, Dimachaerus!"
Out of all the warriors House Thal'kyr brought to the Colosseum Primus, Angronius stood out. It was not because he adorned himself in flamboyant plumes, bright and polished armor, or whatever pomp and pride that most gladiators donned to battle. Angronius adorned himself in simple studded leather armor and red battleskirts. His massive arms and legs were bared to show the steely muscles that wrapped around his limbs, and his forehead was painted with crude coppery red patterns. He stood for no god in the arena, but ironically was seen as the best representation of the greatest god in the Nucerian pantheon.
He was Mars incarnate.
Seized by some mad spirit, the crowd roared the loudest for Angronius. The gladiators were astonished by their unexpected reaction. Angronius had yet to face his opponents in the arena, and he already conquered the mob.
"They love you already!" Lucretia nudged him, "A good omen. Our victory is assured."
"Hmph." Angronius grunted, "We will see."
Acraesius raised his hands once more to calm the noise of the masses, "And who so dared to raise arms against the legions, the very gods of Nuceria? Who should stand in place of the barbarians who sought to lay waste to our beloved republic and see all her peoples to the afterlife? Only one, I tell you, only one shall share the deserved fate of all those who were slain that day!"
The gates opposite of where the gladiators came through opened. The Proconsul extended his hand in greeting, "Behold the Eaters of Cities, the warriors of Stygia in the flesh!"
The barbarians emerged from the open gate, adorned in the last vestiges of armor they were left with upon capture. The condemned still bore the fresh wounds of their mistreatment from the trip overseas, and moved as though half-dead. They were given blunt and used weapons, and were surgically implanted with inhibitor devices to ensure they wouldn't pose too big of a threat to the gladiators.
It was an execution, not a match, that would begin the Triumph games. The people of Reksia booed at the sight of their enemies, but stopped when Acraesius announced on their behalf, "No, good people of Reksia! Greet these noble warriors with applause before they depart into the afterlife! They met their defeat with honor, let them go with dignity!"
He meant none of it, but the people believed him and so they cheered for the condemned barbarians. With a wave of his hand, Acraesius bade the gladiators to begin.
"This is beneath us." Cannicus growled. "I would not suffer this unworthy spectacle."
"I find your words ironic, considering how faithful you serve our masters." Angronius replied, "Do you so hold yourself so high that you would chafe at their will now?"
"Silence, pup!" The champion barked, readying his swords to deliver a swift conclusion to the lives of their foes. He approached the tallest one among them and raised his weapons to strike.
Suddenly, the Stygian sidestepped the champion and stabbed him in the face with his sword. The blunt weapon's tip collided with the golden visage and stunned the gladiator for a moment, which was all the other barbarians needed to exploit to topple the freshly crowned champion. They launched themselves at Cannicus and started to beat at him from all sides with their crude weapons. None of them cut his flesh nor pierce his armor, but their display made a mockery of House Thal'kyr and amused the crowd.
"Shouldn't we help him?" Rissio asked, surprised that his fellow gladiators stood by and watched while Cannicus got buried in the mess of the brawl.
The sting of his humiliating entrance angered Cannicus, and he rose up to strike back at the Stygians. His weapons drew blood and killed two of the barbarians. Their deaths drew a loud titter from the crowd and they cheered the champion's name.
"Come on, let's finish this and get to the real fights." Lucretia sighed.
The gladiators made short work of the handicapped barbarians, cutting down scores of them with every wave sent from the gates until their bodies littered the whole arena. Angronius didn't approve of the battles they fought that day, he felt as though each fight was like one with a caged lion.
No honor, no glory. Just blood.
Even the other gladiators wearied of the slaughter, and when the last barbarian was left on the sands of the arena, they left him for Angronius to finish off.
The bloodied and heaving Angronius approached the weakened warrior with his axes at the ready. Although the barbarian knelt before him, shackled by the inhibitor device, he saw the flames of defiance in his eyes. Copper skin rippled with his labored breath, and his battle-tested hands grasped the edges of his blade without fear of being cut. Upon his flesh were hundreds of faded scars from a hundred battles.
The condemned was a warrior of great renown among his people. Angronius would not have him suffer an ignoble end for the glorification of Nuceria, and he made his decision.
Raising his axe to bring it before the man's chin, he bade the Stygian to speak. "What is your name?"
The barbarian lifted his golden brown eyes to meet the gladiator's own, and his chest swelled with pride as he uttered in reply. "I am Kipros. Son of Minerva, Warmother of the Horde."
Angronius' eyes fell upon the inhibitor sticking out of the Stygian's chest. With a swift and calculated strike of the axe, he shattered the device and freed Kipros. An astonished gasp erupted from the crowd, and the barbarian gazed in disbelief at the unforeseen act of kindness shown by the gladiator. He felt his limbs become his own again, and he rose up from the sands to stand as Angronius' equal.
The gladiator took a step back and tossed one of the axes his way. From the pulvinus, the nobles murmured amongst themselves. The Proconsul beheld the scene with curiousity, while Polgara frowned upon her errant slave's actions.
"What is he doing?" Marcellus asked.
"I don't know, Papa." Polgara replied.
Kipros wrapped his fingers around the handle of the axe and eyed his executioner warily, "What are you doing?"
"If you are to die, I would have you do so with honor." Angronius said, "Now, fight!"
No longer held back by the inhibitor, the barbarian showed the people of Reksia the ferosity of a warrior of the Horde. He moved with a purpose, swung with the strength of ten men and fought with the courage of his ancestors. The battle, though born of unexpected circumstance, was received well by the crowd. They cheered again, as though Angronius' decisions had always been a part of the spectacle.
"He would rather fight on equal terms." Acraesius observed, "Now that is the true definition of honor."
Polgara offered a weak smile as she didn't wholly agree, "I'm grateful it pleases you, Proconsul."
The battle lasted for half an hour, and would have lasted longer if it weren't for the Stygian's preexisting wounds. He fell when Angronius' axe opened up his belly and sent his intestines pouring out like heavy vines. Disemboweled, but remaining very much alive, Kipros clung to his disgorged entrails as he did with the fraying strands of his life. The roar of the crowd grew dull as his mind started to wander.
He could see the abyss ready to swallow him whole, stayed only by the face of his killer as the gladiator approached to deliver the coup de grace.
"Who are you?" Kipros whispered hoarsely.
"I am Angronius."
The Stygian grinned, "I shall tell of your kindness to my gods...entreat them to be merciful when you stand before them."
The axe fell, cleaving the warrior's head from his shoulders in one swing. The corpse followed the rolling shape to the sands, joining the hundreds that fell to the gladiators that day. With Kipros' death, the crowds burst into a horrid cacophony of shrieks, cries and triumphant howls that put the animals of the wilderness to shame.
"Angronius! Angronius! Angronius!" They chanted.
The gladiator retrieved his weapon from the dead Stygian and awaited his next opponent. With the last of the Eaters of Cities dead, the gladiators from House Ashtura were sent against them. They too fell to the blades of House Thal'kyr, but none of them left an impression on Angronius as the Stygian did.
Though he was a stranger, Angronius remembered Kipros. He burned the man's name into his memories, so he would never forget the honorable man sent to die at his hand.
When the day of the Triumph ended, the gladiators of House Thal'kyr stood victorious and the people found their new favorite in Angronius.
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