Alliances (Pt 5/6)

“I cannot believe Lillith found a host for both herself and Fenrir. This is quite fortuitous. Don’t you agree, Kalinin?” Stepping through the gaseous green lit portal Gireon created, Rostislav took a deep smiling breath. Miroslav Kalinin, not amused, glanced back to ensure the portals full closure before speaking. The fact that Gireon had created the portals directly in front of the queen meant that his abilities were getting stronger.

…as well as his intuitions.

Pulling his thoughts together, Miroslav apprehensively responded.

“My lord, with all due respect I would be wary of Lilith. While it is true that having one of our greatest enemies become an ally is delightful,” he paused. Rostislav had turned to face him, arms crossed intent on his words. “It does beg the question as to why, sir? He has always thrashed anyone we placed before him, including…”

Again he stopped, this time catching himself as his hand had begun rising to point at Rostislav. One eyebrow arched Rostislav snorted. Pivoting his back to Miroslav he threw his hands in the air.

“That was but a practice match between the two seconds in command of mighty armies!” He chortled. Scratching his bald head, beads of sweat began rolling across his brow.

“Uck, we are home. I have no need for this hide, it is becoming most irritating.”

“But master, leaving your host form they may not survive in our world.”

Rostislav chuckled.

“Does a Quinotaur bother with the wellbeing of ants?”

Bowing Kalinin backpedaled, a sinister grin creeping from ear to ear.

“No sir, they do not.”

“GrrrrahhhOOOOOOOOOO!”

From screaming man to vengeful bull, he bellowed. The sound of sinew and flesh shredding the already massive seven-foot form of his human host resounded against the chamber walls. Horns erupted from human flesh, toes exploded from their placements as hoofs pushed through the outer structure of the feet. His knees, once forward, cracked, snapping backwards as the massive quads of a bull swelled beneath the fragile human frame. Within moments it was over.

“Where is my ring?”

The bellowing voice of the Manticorian Armada’s war general had returned to its kingdom. And everyone had been made aware.

“I believe we placed it here, my lord.”

Walking over to cabinetry against the wall a large golden box adorned in rubies and sapphires rested amongst battle armaments sized for Rostislav’s unique form.

Traversing the few stairs, he flipped open the chest like structure revealing five massive hornlike structures and one golden ring centrally located. Bringing back a pure gold ring Rostislav immediately returned it to its proper place, manually piercing his septum in the process.

“Ahh, much better. Now, let us proceed with the games!”

The battle royale. Deyu’s Quarry was the only arena with the size to hold such an event. This is where those looking to escape their bleak existence come. Those who since Manticorian rule, either share a bloodlust or seek a way to safeguard their families. This life or death battle was the first step to entering the ranks of her majesty's armada, of reaching legendary status fastest. Stepping onto the terrace Miroslav inhaled the adulation of thousands, the crowd erupting with his presence. Miroslav slowly proceeded down a few stairs to the announcer’s deck.

Placing his hand on the central console, a pulse of shadowy purple and grey mystic energy flowed through the post into the floor. An archaic clicking of various plates released the platform, allowing it to float across the arena’s skies; trails of the mystic mist keeping it aloft.

“Welcome, To the Aldar khündiin tulaldaan!” Again, the crowd erupted. Cheers and screams rang in Miroslav’s ears as he hovered over the arena. He adored being adored and this was the epitome of control. The only issue was his current ranking.

“It is my absolute pleasure to introduce one who needs no introduction. The greatest general in the Manticorian Armada!”

From beneath him a slow murmur began to rise. “Bog Smer-ti! Bog Smer-ti! Bog Smer-ti!” Deep and guttural, the chant rose as he continued. “Your ruler and the god of death!”

With grand embellishment, he twirled his hands. Palms rising skyward their volume steadily increased. The mystic mists changed in color from grey to various shades of red; fireworks erupted from the billowed smoke causing miniature explosions above the crowd. Various shades expanded above the arena, leaving puffs of colored chalk strewn over the attendees.

The chanting grew louder and louder, “Bog Smer-ti! Bog Smer-ti! Bog Smer-ti!”

“ROSTISLAV Orvansky, THE GOD OF DEATH!!” In response the tapestries parted by two dazzling succubi, and Rostislav appeared. The crowd, now on their feet, cheered in excitement. Posturing Rosti let out a mighty bellow. Continuing to clamour his praises, the patron’s cheers rose higher and higher.

Waving them off as Miroslav’s podium returned to its docking platform, Rostislav pounded his staff against the obsidian flooring. Immediately silence filled the stadium, even the harpies flying above stopped their constant bickering.

“Today, we deliver to you a glorious bloodbath of flesh and bone. Only six will survive this day. By tomorrow night—” He paused, his chuckle boomed, reverberating against the stone walls of the pantheon before him. “We will see who remains. Each of the six will battle a myriad of beasts and if they survive, they will have the honor of joining our ranks.”

Casting a sneeringly dominant eye around the arena Rostislav again hoisted his hands inciting riotous cheers from the crowd. “Let us begin!” His mouth salivated at the thought of fresh flesh. “Bring out the meat!!”

Swinging his massive arm, he pointed to the iron barred gates on either side of the arena. Opening at his request, the gladiators began filing into the arena. Slowly flooding into the open no one seemed to notice the large dimly lit enchantment filling much of the vast stadium floor.