Gregorian Empire – Province of Numidia.
Port City of Cartag.
Cartag breathed with its inhabitants, filled with restless energy and movement. The sound of the waves crashing against the stone harbor filled the surrounding air with sea salt.
The gears of pulley machines moved loads and containers toward great wooden ships, or tried to unload the results of extreme fishing along the restless port. Meanwhile, men carried sacks of grain. Toward the docks, provisions for the reckless fishermen who would embark on a new voyage.
The Teleportation Station, located east of the Great City, with its "Portal Gates," continued the steady flow of traffic. And it dispatched flying vessels that arrived from all over the Empire and the Continent.
The sour stench and the various stalls in the nearby market with their spices only stirred the clamor of the merchants even more. They were preparing for tomorrow's event, which would attract the attention of Nobles from all across the continent.
Meanwhile, in the underground prison of the great amphitheater, footsteps echoed among the damp stone, hundreds of roars of savage beasts resonated from their Mithril cages. A man in silk robes and a black toga watched all the beasts with a smile and turned to the organizer, saying:
Acrisio: —"Look at all this, Galio… Hyenodonts, Hellhounds, Leopard Bears, Jundurs, Terror Birds... My people will enjoy the Gladiatorial celebration consecrating the end of Jupiter's month; Prince Alex will be delighted with the preparations."
Galio: —"Then… if the son of the Fourth Prince comes… is that rumor true, and not mere publicity?"
Acrisio: —"The 'Blood Winter of Rumsfeld' will come, and a deal has already been struck with the 'Mercenary King'... according to the arrangements of the Fourth Prince, His Highness Alex will only bring Captain Cortéz."
Galio: —"Oh, by the gods… battles between superhumans?"
Acrisio: —"Correct, His Royal Highness offered a very juicy deal… but we need fodder to feed these beasts, go to the slave market and bring about thirty, begin feeding the beasts. And if those naïve ones from Sobre Rojo come, include them in the preliminaries."
Galio: —"So it shall be, Governor Acrisio."
Minutes later…
Galio walked with measured steps along the cobbled streets, while his mind lightly questioned the Governor's order.
"They're just trials… just that... sorry Gat"
The slave market was in the lower part of the city, where the sun seemed to halt and the smell of sweat and fear grew thick. Merchants shouted prices, raising chains like trophies. Every slave bore a magical stigma on their skin, invisible to them, but so obvious to the free.
Galio passed by cages of gaunt men, women with broken eyes, and youths who avoided his gaze because they knew what he sought… Galio chose quickly: strong arms, bodies that could still run, faces that had not yet learned to surrender. Thirty. Not one more.
And then, he saw him.
A child. Small, bone-thin, with wrists marked by shackles too large for him. He could not have been more than nine years old. His eyes, when they met Galio's, widened not with rage, but with pure terror. And he screamed as if his soul had been seen by death itself:
—"Please! Someone, buy me! I'll do anything! But, please! I don't want to go to the coliseum! I don't want to die!"—He clung to the bars, stretching his hands to anyone who passed. People averted their gaze, quickened their step.
Galio stopped.
It was an absurd gesture. The child would not survive even a minute in the preliminaries.
He knew that by accepting him, he was only hastening his end. And yet, his own voice came out before he could stop it:
Galio: —"That one too."
The merchant smiled with yellowed teeth, struck the cage, and dragged the boy out as if he weighed no more than a sack of rags.
Galio: —"Name."
—"D-Danny…"—the boy stammered, avoiding his eyes.
When the slave caravan set out for the coliseum, Cartag's clamor went on as if nothing had happened. The city had seen thousands like Danny. And the arena had devoured them all.
Galio knew it.
He too had seen what awaited beneath those underground gates:
Hellhounds tearing armed men to pieces.The Jundurs coiling around bodies like dolls and crushing bones with a single squeeze.
And, in his mind, he could already picture it: the new ones, his, screaming and bleeding in vain...
…while they tried to protect that child.
At noon, when the sun was at its highest and the autumn breeze brushed the gathered crowd.
The Coliseum of Cartag—was witnessing the preliminary rounds.
The roar of the coliseum came from the euphoric crowd that had come to see the spectacle of blood… The slave gladiators, with their poor skills, fought uselessly against the beasts that massacred and devoured them without effort.
While other beasts waited beneath the arena, behind their Mithril cages, growing ever more ferocious as they detected the scent of blood nearby. The air in the stands was thick with euphoria and the stifling heat rising from the pools of blood on the sand.
Galio stood by the upper railing, announcing the slaves who entered to their deaths as part of the spectacle. And he watched the arena like a general observing a map of war…
The beasts that had already sated their hunger and thirst for blood were driven back into their cages by soldiers of the Empire. The mechanism carried them back down into the prison.
As that happened, Galio fixed his gaze below: the second batch of slaves were ready—weathered men, fresh scars, and Oxidiam swords that looked more like mockery than weapons.
The gate opened again, the cage trembling with the impatience for slaughter.
An instant of silence among the crowd.
And then, an explosion of demonic barking.
The hellhounds burst out as if the air itself had ignited them. Their skin black as obsidian, with red eyes and fangs dripping venom that hissed when it touched the sand.
The first clashes were brutal: a slave drove his sword into the side of one… but the hound did not fall. A burning flame erupted from its wound, it turned, tearing half the man's arm off with a single bite.
The rest panicked, their instincts forcing them to fight for their lives. For to try to flee was to guarantee death; the thought of those slaves was almost the same: "At least fighting, I have a chance."
Others prayed silently to the heavens. But that did not stop the massacre… Bodies running, falling, dragged down and torn apart as the sand turned thick with red.
The crowd exploded in the stands, but Galio knew the trials were not only for entertaining the people: they were to sharpen and calm the beasts.
When the last man stopped moving, and was being devoured, the hounds were forced back with spear blows into their cages. The stench of burned flesh and metal filled the nostrils of the boisterous crowd.
Organizer: —"Now, ladies and gentlemen, the next group!"—Galio announced, his voice firm though he felt the knot in his stomach.
It was the thirty new ones.
The ones he had chosen.
And among them, Danny, so small that the chains of his shackles dragged across the sand.
The crowd was ecstatic at the sight of untrained slaves, ignoring the child among them completely.
—"Death to the Trash!"—came almost in unison from the multitude in the stands.
This time, the opposite gate rose. A deep hiss, like that of a monstrous bellows, filled the arena. The Jundurs slithered out, each one longer than three galleys lined up, their skin mottled and their scales glistening with dampness. Their forked tongues tasted the air, savoring the fear.
Galio clenched his jaw. He knew the swords they carried would do nothing but scratch the surface of those hides. And it was proven in seconds: the first strike, a direct slash to a serpent's head, left only a shallow line that did not even bleed. The response was immediate: the massive serpent used its body to crush its attacker with no effort, and the crack of pulverized bones marked the end of his fight.
Chaos broke out. The slaves tried to form a circle, shouting improvised orders, throwing blows that did not pierce.
Danny was in the center, trembling, and still two men stepped in front of him when one of the serpents lunged. One was knocked down by a lash of its tail; the other tried to drive his sword into its open mouth, but only managed to receive the bite that split his torso in two.
Galio did not look away when the second Jundur descended upon the child.
He saw the jaws open like a gate to hell.He saw Danny run backward, stumble, and still be caught.
The scream that escaped the boy was brief, drowned in flesh and fangs. Then there was only the sound of bones being crushed as the massive serpent swallowed him whole.
One by one, the rest fell. Some were devoured, others crushed against the sand. None survived.
When the chains clamped around the Jundurs to drag them back into their cages, the arena was covered in bodies and the dust floated like a veil over the slaughterhouse.
Galio said nothing. Did nothing.He only drew a long breath, and wrote down a few names on his parchment.
Because in that Coliseum, the sand did not remember the dead slaves.
It only counted the beasts that were still hungry.