Forced Into Tyranny

3: Stale Bite

Rusthelm Town,

Dungeons of the Den.

Weapons and Shadows was a game of names, where everyone and everything had a title. The Freshbloods were the new arrivals, and they came in weekly to participate in the Death Realm matches. In these matches, only two men walked back out, and it was done to filter out the weak ones. Despite the danger, people loved to watch clueless and unskilled participants butt heads and kill themselves.

An Insider was a man who had crossed the first stage. Once a Freshblood could kill an Insider, he was ready to become one. And once an Insider could kill a Champion, he became one. These three ranks were the only ones that existed, and they were achieved through a number of games that could either kill or cut you. A scoreboard was kept to rate each participant, and the stakes were high. In this world, only the strong survived, and the game was a test of both skill and endurance.

For endurance, it was a Regular Match, where both fighters in the same rank would fight until one was too weak to continue.

And a Death Realm match was to see skills...victors.

Even in Regular matches, death was a possibility, but one could concede if they thought they wouldn't make it through. However, the bad side of conceding was that it put your name at the bottom of the scoreboard. This meant that you would have to face either the same person again in a Recoil match or another loser like yourself in Redemption. And these were all Death Realm matches.

Beast was the most formidable fighter in the Champion Territory, feared by all who dared to cross him. He was a legend in the Den, known for his ferocity and cunning. But few knew the truth of his past, of how he and Raven had once been neighbors in the land of Navaría, until they were taken and made slaves. In those dark days, Beast was known as Kriton, a name that echoed with the pain and anguish of a life stolen. But now, as a Champion, he had reclaimed his power and his destiny, and his name would forever be synonymous with victory and glory.

Raven and Beast shared an unbreakable bond of trust, each relying on the other to have their back in the brutal Den. Despite the harsh conditions of their captivity, the six remaining Champions had grown close, forming a brotherhood that transcended the walls of their prison. But their camaraderie was born from the ashes of loss and sacrifice, as they were the only survivors of the seventy-seven men taken from Navaría. Many had perished as Freshbloods, others as Insiders, and the rest as Champions. Yet despite the odds against them, these six warriors remained, united in their quest for freedom and justice, even if they couldn't mention that part out.

Raven and Beast strode down the dimly lit passage, their path illuminated by flickering torches affixed haphazardly to the rough brick walls. They were making their way to the Freshblood Territory, where new fighters were brought in to be trained and tested.

Raven turned to Beast, his eyes filled with concern. "When is your match?" he asked. "And who are you fighting?"

Beast's voice trembled a little as he answered, "I'm fighting with Rumble against four Insiders."

Expression hardening, Raven's jaw set with determination. "Monday?"

Beast nodded. "I hate fighting with Rumble."

That was a Revival match, where the top four Insiders were pitted against the bottom two Champions. Beast found himself among the latter group, having fallen in rank after he conceded his Regular match with Raven the previous week. It was a strange and sobering reality that despite their camaraderie in the Den, the Arena was a place where names were forgotten and alliances were fleeting.

In the cutthroat world of Weapons and Shadows, loyalty and friendship were often seen as liabilities. Raven and his fellow warriors knew this all too well, and they played the game accordingly. However, when it came to Beast's life, Raven's sense of duty and honor could not be silenced. No matter the consequences, he was determined to save his friend and remain true to his allies, even if it meant defying Pillus and the powerful Senate. For Raven, there was no other way.

"What's on your mind?" Beast asked Raven, giving him a tap on the back. Raven winced as he felt the dull ache in his untreated wound.

Kriton had asked a good question. What really was on Raven's mind?

Raven's thoughts drifted to the possibility of cheating the system, as they had done before. The rules of the Death Realm were both a blessing and a curse, as they had the power to both save and destroy. One such rule was that Champions were never allowed to fight other Champions, except in the case of Recoil. This was a random match set up by Pillus for the bottom two Champions to face off against each other and determine who was superior that week for them to place a bet on him to face a Death Realm match.

However, Pillus had ceased setting up the Recoil match, especially since no Insider had killed a Champion in the past thirty sennights. It would be foolish to risk weakening all of his Champions in a Recoil. Raven had a plan, though. He could challenge Beast to a Regular match and then willingly concede, taking his place in the bottom two and fighting alongside Rumble against the Insiders. This was allowed, as Champions were permitted to challenge anyone to either a Death Realm or Regular Match twice a month, as long as they were not Freshbloods.

"I'll challenge you."

Beast choked. "Raven!"

"Cease the shouting of that name," Raven exclaimed. The sound of Raven reverberating in the Den was an unwelcome reminder of his life in Rusthelm. Kriton was not allowed to call him that.

Beast let out a deep sigh, looking ambushed by fear. He stopped walking, and Raven followed suit. "Correction, Hektor," he spoke firmly. "If Pillus discovers our scheme, he will cancel the Challenge matches for Champions without hesitation."

"Until then, I can save your arse."

Raven shrugged, a smile lacing his lips. "Thank me later."

Kriton rushed to catch up with Raven, blocking his path and giving him a worried look. "Wait, let us take a moment to consider our options," Kriton urged.

Raven stood tall and resolute, his eyes glinting with purpose. "I have already pondered this matter. I shall inform Rumble of our predicament, and we shall prepare accordingly," he declared, his voice ringing with confidence.

Raven couldn't bear the thought of losing Kriton. He was more than just a friend; he was a brother. The Den was only bearable because of him, and he had saved Raven's life on numerous occasions. Kriton was the reason that Raven had not given up on life when times were tough.

On a second thought, Raven looked over his shoulder. "Mark my words, Kriton. If you concede before I do in the Challenge, I will break your jaw myself," he thundered, his voice echoing across the passages. With that, he pushed the gate open and strode confidently into Freshblood territory.

~~~

When Hektor was but twenty-one years of age, they came for him - a night he would never forget. The raiders descended upon his village like thieves in the night, pillaging and plundering as they went. In Navaría, life was harsh for the common folk, with meager sustenance and a soil unfit for healthy crops. The poor and destitute eked out a meager living, with wages barely enough to survive.

Kriton and Hektor had quickly recognized the imperial guards by their distinctive armor, weaponry, and engraved symbols on their breastplates. It was evident that the soldiers had no legitimate reason to be in Navaría, and the men had realized that they were their intended targets. The guards had come not to take any goods or valuables but to abduct the young boys, without any explanation.

Kriton, Hektor, and 75 other men were taken by the imperial guards, while the women were separated and taken ahead in carriages. It was impossible to determine the total number of women, as they were not counted when the guards passed through.

Upon their arrival in Rusthelm, Kriton and Hektor were not prepared for the indignities that awaited them. The guards stripped them of their dignity and forced them to wear false honors, claiming that they were warriors. The Master of Ceremonies had always possessed the trait of the son of a w***e. Pillus, the late King and a few others built the game to force honor upon men that merely wanted to survive.

What truly would have been an honorable outcome for the Navaríans was for the games to end, and for them to be allowed to return to their old lives, assuming that Navaría still stood like of old. Alas, the imperials seemed to prefer that they die while entertaining them, rather than granting them the opportunity to return home.

Without combatants, there would be no Weapons and Shadows, and without the game, there would be no business or enjoyment for the nobles who attended.

Hektor was undoubtedly skilled at his craft, but the cycle of cheating death, winning, losing, beating scores, and training had grown stale. He yearned for something more, something that would give him a sense of purpose and fulfillment. The old ways no longer held any meaning for him.

In his quest for freedom, Hektor pushed open the heavy door to the dungeon and navigated his way through the winding tunnels. The only solace he found in this dark place were the flickering torch fires, the meager sustenance that the maidens provided, and the occasional company of his friend.

Two of which were Noble and Colossus, who were by the way sharing a woman, f*****g her with all their strength. He shook his head, not because he was above such activities--they were all too common in Rusthelm--but because it seemed as though the slaves treated s*x as just another part of their daily routine.

Hektor's mission, on the other hand, was clear: stay alive, protect his friend Kriton, and find moments of joy amidst the overpowering tasks that he faced.

At just thirty-one years old, Hektor had not yet lived much of a life. He had spent most of his days fighting in the arena, spilling his blood on the sand for the entertainment of others. The gods—Balius and Kosmos—would not leave him in peace, knowing that his life had been little more than a waste.

"Hektor?" He heard Kriton's voice as he stepped into their training ground.

Taking eyes of the men that trained in twos and even threes, Hektor sought Kriton, who was sharpening his short sword on a stone where he sat. "Have you seen the Scoreboard?"

Silence.

Kriton remained silent, not even a small gesture to indicate his thoughts. Hektor knew immediately that something was amiss. It was as if the air had grown heavy and foreboding, and he could sense that Kriton was troubled.

Hektor had seen it all before. The Den was notorious for driving even the most driven men to the brink of insanity, especially when they brought in Freshbloods. It was a cruel reminder that anyone could knock an Insider out of their position and take the championship for themselves.

He sat on a rock beside Kriton, trying to read his forlorn face. He needed a little bit of consolation, certainly. "Look, Brother, we've been here for ten years—"

"Almost ten years."

Laughing at that, Hektor glanced over at the people that were intensely training with wooden swords and shields. "Whatever the case may be. Ten, almost, more than...Fuck it. The point is, we're the stalest in here, no one knows this game better than us."

"Of what use is it?" Kriton inquired, casting Hektor a look of apathy. "We continue to fight until we draw our last breath. Hektor, we cannot remain as champions indefinitely. Eventually, we will falter, and our blood will stain the arena floor, the very ground upon which we have shed blood."

"Aetherion...my brother," Hektor murmured, gazing up at the sky, towards the heavens, "is still beyond our grasp. The gods have not yet finished with us, and we cannot ascend to their realm just yet."

Kriton let out a relieved sigh and smiled with confidence as he held his sword forward, as if aiming at an invisible foe. He then let go of the sword, letting it clatter to the ground, and dusted his palms on his chiton. His eyes began to wander until he forced out a breath. "Do you ever think about home?"

"There is no home." Hektor's voice was flat and unemotional.

Hektor had pondered over thoughts of his mother and sisters, even the unborn child his mother was carrying when they took him away. But Kriton was not privy to these thoughts, nor did he need to believe that there was any hope of ever seeing them again. Hektor had long since slain the notion of ever reuniting with his family. He had buried those thoughts deep within his soul, and so Kriton should, too.

"Who knows, Sixtus may be dead," Kriton mused aloud.

Hektor shrugged. "It is possible," he said, as Kriton's brother was not the most resilient person he knew. "Then again, he might have found a way out of Navaría."

The thoughts that Kriton had planted in Hektor's mind were once again troubling him. Where were his mother and sisters? Did his mother ever give birth to the unborn child? Was it a boy or a girl? Did the wherewithal to leave Navaría to some place better ever come to them?

Hektor let out a sigh and gazed at the setting sun for a moment before turning his attention back to Kriton. His friend's expression was gentle, matching his short hair, and the curls made him look younger than his thirty-three years. Despite Kriton being older than him, Hektor always felt the need to protect him more than Kriton could protect him.

As the sun began to set, the combatants steeled themselves to return to the Den. The rabbit hole was situated between two open spaces - the Arena and the Training Grounds. The walls surrounding them were made of an unknown material, impervious to any attempts to climb, break, or crawl through. It was as if the gods themselves had crafted the walls to keep the combatants trapped within the Den, their fate forever tied to the cruel whims of their captors.

For years, Hektor had attempted to escape the Den, and Kriton's half-brother had even been speared in the process. Theirs was not the only failed attempt. It seemed that no one could escape the Den alive. The only options were to try and die or not to try and die. The reality was that there was no way out without dying.

"Rumble will be joining us soon," said Hektor, rising to his feet.

The thoughts needed to leave, for he couldn't spend another night blaming his whole life on the mistake of not running as fast as he could when the imperial guards showed up.

Dragon, Beast, Colossus, Noble, Rumble, and Hektor were the undefeated champions. Each had a different way of approaching their day, but it had nothing to do with their positions as champions. Rather, their training regimen was what set them apart from the rest. They trained while everyone else slept, slept when everyone else was asleep, and killed their opponents when they finally decided to wake up.

Noble excelled at manipulating his opponents. He was a master at pretending and was too heavy for his opponents to take down.

Dragon was a man of action. He was the toughest of them all and always the first to draw his weapon.

Colossus was a show-off, much like Hektor. He was the only one who fought with a sword, while the rest of them...well, they used better weapons.

Rumble had tactics, crazy ones. So far, he'd had the best kill; gouging out his opponents eyes with his thumbs.

Kriton was fast and good at sneaking out of attacks. Before his opponents could realize he hadn't hit him, Kriton's hammer was already beating a drum with the clueless man's backbone, making the crowd dance.

And Hektor? Well, he had learned from them all.

Hektor had never lifted a sword until he arrived at the Den. It was both unfortunate and fortunate that he was the youngest. As a Freshblood, Dragon had personally taken him under his wing and taught him how to wield any kind of weapon he desired. He taught him to fight without a corinthian, and Hektor quickly became a skilled warrior.

Dragon had dreamed of joining the army, but fate had other plans. Before he could even apply, he was made a slave. It was a cruel twist of fate that squandered his talents and left him trapped in the Den, fighting for his life day in and day out.

Roars started in the Den. Men chattering and rattling their cells.

"Did you hear that?" Dragon asked the group, turning to face the gates leading into the Den

"Hektor moved next. "Something has happened."

"Sounds so much like the howl of rage," added Kriton before they all began to march to the chaos.