I stood on the Brazen Chains’ practice field with the rest of the ludus. The miniature, artificial sun in the center of Sunburst Station’s ring blazed above. I wondered by what technology was such a marvel achieved. Was it really a ball of plasma or was it just a giant lightbulb, shining down on us?

“Today four of you will be facing seven Infernal Beast foes in the Red Sands arena. Four of you will either put an end to the miserable, brutish existence of seven Black Lycanthropes, or you will die failures.” Gaias said dramatically.

There was a sucked in breath from a few of the members of the Brazen Chains at the mention of Black Lycanthropes. Some looked down, clearly not eager to be selected to be one of the four gladiators fighting today. I kept my stance proud and my footing firm and my bearing strong. He would put me in, he had already said as much, but I didn’t want there to be any hesitation or doubt in his choice to choose me as one of the four.

“This is a fight to the death, an extermination. Of man or beast that is yet to be seen.” Gaias paused. “I hope you will not disappoint me.”

“No, sir!” The whole of the Brazen Chains ludus shouted together, myself included. I was ready to earn my fair share of the prize money.

I didn’t know what a Black Lycanthrope was exactly, but I was prepared to kill one. Hell, I was prepared to kill as many as needed to etch my name in glory.

“Velias!” Gaias called, waving his hand. The blond, bearded man walked from our line of me to stand beside the ludus owner.

“Krixas!” Gaias said. The man was darkskinned and probably the tallest man besides me here.

“Turias!” Gaias said. I was beginning to get antsy. I had hoped to be one of the first picked.

“Commodas!” Gaias called, using the false name he had given me. I walked over.

“The rest of you sorry rats are dismissed to continue training.” Gaias said to the others.

He turned to us. “Get armored, boys. Get ready to kill.”

We went over to the equipment rack and servants helped fit us up. We had chestplates, armor on one arm, a helm, a small thick shield, and a gladius blade.

We loaded up into a vehicle that Gaias was driving and filed in after each other. First, blond Velias, then black Krixas, then red haired Turias, and then me, Adrias Lucion, all wrapped up in concealing dark clothing and my identity hidden even further with the Servus brown eye contacts and black hair dye that Gaias had further insisted on in case I absolutely had to remove my ski mask at any time.

As we traveled to the Red Sands arena, Velias, Krixas, Turias and I idly discussed strategy for the coming games. None of us had ever fought a Black Lycanthrope, none of us had ever personally seen anyone fight a Black Lycanthrope, but we shared what little we knew. I had nothing to give, but Turias knew that they were called the Corpsefather’s wolves. Velias half remembered some myth about a king but didn’t know much.

“So, are they going to be wolves or men?” I asked.

“We don’t know, Commodas. I’ve heard both.” Velias said.

“I’ve heard they can switch back and forth between wolfish and mannish shape.” Krixas said.

We drove closer to the arena. It was sandstone and concrete with steel girders, but a colosseum as the same. It was massive and could fit seventy thousand people in the stands. Gaias drove away from the main entrance to the workers’ entrance and drove downwards and parked in a parking lot. We walked to an elevator and went up to the level just immediately underneath the sandy floor of the Red Sands arena.

It was called the Hypogeum and it was a labyrinthine maze of gladiators, workers and growling cages all coursing through the passageways under the arena. We stepped onto a platform and above us a trapdoor in the arena’s floor opened. The platform raised us from the lower level to the sands of the main stage, the crowd cheering as we appeared and projection screens zooming in on our features. There were commentators on the loudspeakers, but they were so loud that I couldn't make out what they were saying other than that they were clearly very excited by the next match and about us.

On the opposite side of the arena, hatches in the sand opened and the Black Lycanthropic Infernal Beasts crawled out to the boos and cries of disgust of the audience.

The beastmen stood bipedal on the legs of dogs and with the head of a wolf and with the torsos and arms of men covered in black, firm plate armor of bone grown straight out of their skin. The bone was carved, the yellow-white material etched with images of humans being flayed, of skulls, of skinless faces, of wolves and dogs, of hammers and sickles and swords. They had claws of black metal extending from their human fingers, four inches curling out. They had teeth of glinting silver slavered with saliva, forked tongues like snakes that flickered in and out of their canine mouths. They had slit yellow pupils and scorpion tails with diamond tips and horns of bronze protruding from their thick skulls.

One of the seven Black Lycanthropes was thirteen feet tall and wielded a great Warhammer. One had two snarling heads and three lashing scorpion tails issuing from its back. Another had a third eye set in the middle of its head. The other four were roughly cast out of the same mold in terms of shape and size. They were seven feet tall, like me, and rippled with fur covered muscle.

I face the three eyed one and flickered back and forth, in and out of its reach like a dancing flame. It scratched my breastplate with its diamond tipped tail. I punched in the face with my shield and knocked argent teeth out of its mouth and then gutted it. I turned around to check on the others.

Velias was tackled to the ground by one and I tackled it off him and stabbed it to death, its deathwhine in my ear as it pitifully passed from the material realm.

“Mercy is no virtue.” I whispered to myself. I heard thunder overhead.

I got up and engaged the big one with the warhammer. It readied its weapon and brought it forth to bear. I prepared myself for it to hit.

Bang!

The blow from the monster’s warhammer came down like lightning from heaven, it nearly wrenched the shield out of my hand. I could feel the microfractures in the bones in my arms and the tears in the tendons and ligaments.

Bang!

The second blow warped the metal of my shield significantly, leaving an indentation clearly visible to all. I could feel that one of my fingers was broken.

Bang!

The third blow ripped the strap of my shield off and broke my left wrist. I howled like a demon in rage.

The beast drew back its hammer once more and blurred forward at me.

The thirteen-foot-tall Black Lycanthrope struck me in the chest and set me flying through the air and then skidding on the sand until I hit the side of the Red Sands arena’s wall.

I stared at the crowd in a haze, my enhanced vision picking up the details of their faces keenly. I must have been hit pretty hard, because I thought I saw Livia. I blinked. No, that was Livia, Gaias was seated besides her in the stands. I stared at her weeping face and read her lips as she cried.

Get up, Adrias. Get up!

I closed my eyes. Today was not the day I was going to die. It was not, no matter what. I had to stay alive for Livia, if nobody else and if not for my own goals and dreams of advancement to Gold. I sat up, rolled over and pushed myself to my feet.

The big one let me walk to my sword. Perhaps in its own primal way, it understood honor in some sense. I snorted, no, maybe that was silly. What would a Black Lycanthrope know of honor? Could it even fit the virtuous concept into its brutish head? Perhaps it was just savoring its victory, letting its prey come to it.

I charged at superhuman speeds, the wind whistling all around me and rolled just as the warhammer was going to smash into me. I sprung up and stabbed at the creature’s belly and torso and legs, anything I could reach. I moved faster and faster, striking sanguine fluid from its flesh and chipping off chunks of yellow-white bone armor.

My blade was seeking and finding, divining and dividing. In the hands of a wrathful Imperator, it might as well have been pulled from the Broken Smith’s own forges themselves. Black blood spilled out onto the red sands of the arena, and I leapt, soaring through the air to land on the giant Lycanthrope’s chest and roaring, bringing my sword into its face. It thrashed, whipping around, my grip steady on a piece of bone plate growing out of its skin. I stabbed again and again into its face. I slit its throat and let it beat my back with its fists. Slowly but surely, the big beast fell to its knees, slumped over, and died.

I heard the cheers of the crowd resounding throughout the whole of the arena. I raised my sword in the air and the cheers doubled.