Feral Victory. (XXIX)
Chapter XXIX
Feral Victory. (XXIX)
Pain started to become a common daily feeling. Six long and hard cycles of beatings, bruising and injury by wooden weapons was inflicted upon him. Shaol's training was ruthless. Maruk assured that they were rough on him. He didn't understand at first to why Maruk enforced such hard training upon him, and that misunderstanding caused more hatred to grow in Shaol's heart... Until one dawn, he overheard Maruk speak with some other person. "Why Maruk? Why do you consist with this 'training' on the beast? You should of by now thrown him in the ring to fight, and if he dies well poor on him." "Why? Why? Let me tell ye why damn why, because fer one, ye aren't the one who paid five steel for him, two, we both know its a rough crowd out there watchin and the Bloodath ain't gettin' any weaker, so I want MY dragon fit and in top shape fer his first real match, and this is the best way. I don't have him beaten with crafted wooden arms just fer the fun of it." Maruk paused, letting out a sigh before continuing; "As hard it is on Shaol... It be the best way to toughen him up to train." The other man replied with annoyance, "So then why all the special treatment eh? The food rations, the freedom of being loose without any chains, and all the benefits you give him?" The man laughed. "Oh Maruk, you act as if you ACTUALLY CARE FOR THE BEAST!" Seconds later Shaol heard Maruk speak harsher than he ever heard before. "And how about then I place YE out in the arena ring, who has no training, against one of the Bloodath eh?! Then feed yer corpse to my dragon! It be mine own choice how I train and raise Shaol, and ye have bloody damn no right to tell ME the provided care I give him is wrong! Now, be off with ya, before I DO throw you in the pit!" Shaol couldn't believe all he heard that dawn. Maruk? Caring?! It was a complete shock to him...but it DID explain many a thing... And thus ever since that dawn, at the date 2E 780 4 2D, which was exactly four cycles ago, Shaol started to adapt himself to shift the view on the whole training process he is being forced upon. In the very beginning of his training, when he was but a yearling, it all started with the man in plated armor. True, that dawn he got the daylights thrashed out of him, though over short time he learned to try to fight back, so he could avoid the pain. The humans
only wore armor because how weak the humans flesh is; he personally has tasted and felt it before. When he did achieve his first victory in training, it was a huge moment of triumph for him, of how he lunged at the weapon to bite at the wood, gripping it in his maw and thrashing with his head to tear it out of the attacker's hands, disarming him. That triumph was short lived though. For one, he never was able to kill them. After he disarmed them, the training session was ended or switched to a different human. Shaol had to learn over the cycles, to become dependent on his growing attributes, such as his reflex and agility, while slowly gaining in strength and endurance. The humans in combat though... were unlike anything he could ever manage. He had to learn how to gain advantage over them, which was nowhere near an easy task, nor achieved yet. They were skilled, who could stand on two hinds, and had flexibility unmatchable by him with body maneuverability. After slowly proving himself to adapting to skill, new wooden weapons were introduced against Shaol; round and hard. After a few encounters with the maces, it was learned fast; blunt weapons hurt. ***
"There ye go, nice an' snug. The armor smiths outdid themselves fer you, Shaol. This...is your first real fight, please for the sake of the money spent on you, don't get yourself killed... Don't let me down, hold your ground, and show them whose boss!" Maruk looked Shaol in the eyes, for a moment staring into his fierce sapphire eyes, almost tearing with pride to see Shaol fitted well in combat armor. He looked back into Maruk's eyes for a moment, his heart pounding with both excitement and fear. This was it. This was the dawn that he is to fight for real, a real death match. Shaol was fitted in newly forged iron armor, which was made out of many separate pieces of plate so that it could fit onto him. A single long and thick plating was securely attached to his natural chest plated scales, along with a much thinner plating that was light for his back and exposed belly. Those three pieces were combined and attached to act as a dragon armor suit, held together with thick leather straps. Even with the majority of his body protected, his left and right sides of his body were exposed as the three major plates protected only his spine, belly and chest. Last attachments were given to him, such like a light, thin chainmail plating attached to the major belly plate, extending to under between the hinds to the tip of tail underneath. The same chainmail plating was given to protect his wing joints, and lastly, was a metal helmet speciality forged to fit him, leaving his jaw unprotected by metal to freely bite and thrash, designed to only protect his skull. The excitement was intense, as this was his chance! He was not going to let himself die like the Strikeath he first witnessed, it was HE, who will earn victory! ***
"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the Brutalalis Arena! Today we've a treat worth getting bloody; two fresh trainees! The winner shall ascend the next rank! Behold though as this fight be not man against man, but beast against man!"The arena announcer spoke clear and loud, Shaol was able to hear the voice over the cheering crowds. The roars of the crowd, the sand under his paws, the armor on his body... It all made Shaol's heart race wild. He smirked to himself. The thrill already was making his blood rush, his eyes fully slitted, as damn right he will unleash his fury in combat, as the wild blood of a feral coursed through his veins. As he stepped into the arena ring, Shaol noticed his opponent approaching as well. ~Not yet...~He told himself as he looked over his enemy combatant, his muscles tense. He looked no older then Nineteen, equipped with an iron long sword in his right hand, chainmail upon his body, and a small round shield on his other arm. He bore a medium cap helmet. Only slight fear gripped Shaol, as unlike training, this was real, and to the death. "Wow, this should be easier than I thought! I feared some man with a sword, not a stupid beast!" The man laughed as he looked over Shaol, almost in disbelief that he was his opponent. He hissed in response, not taking his eyes off his enemy. Were all the Bloodath this mouthy? It mattered not to him. "I give you, Bobam of the Bloodath, verses Shaol of the Strikeath! Who will win? Let's find out!" As soon as the announcer's voice went quiet, Bobam drew his sword, and with no further warning, lunged at Shaol. This was it. This fighter is now attempting to kill him! As if sudden instinct, Shaol dropped low, swiftly rolling to the left. The swung blade glazed against the right side of Shaol's body armor. He smirked wide, not feeling a thing, though his attacker wasn't letting up there. Shaol's eyes were wild, watching his enemy's moves, his heart thundering. A flurry of blows from the human's sword came, first a lower left swing; ducked. Bobam was noticeably over confident in himself, pressing his attacks relentlessly upon Shaol, as if expecting to strike him down fast. He will not let him have that satisfaction! His strikes weren't all harmless though... minor scratches and wounds were inflicted on Shaol's sides, causing a sting of pain. Hissing with anger, Shaol backed up slowly, the crowds roaring in cheer. Most of the cheers were inaudible, though some he heard... "Comeon Shaol yer a dragon! You can do
it!"
"Rip him apart!" They were cheering... cheering for him! Renewing his confidence, Shaol held his ground, looking for any weakness that his enemy showed. It was obvious that the majority of his strength was his sword, and unlike wooden weaponry that was used on him only for training, he couldn't bite the metal weapon directly... but, what about the limb controlling the sword? Without further thought, Shaol leaped at Bobam, whom instantly raised his round shield. The clank sound rang as Shaol's body slammed against the shield, though Bobam was expecting him to try attacking his chest, defending with his shield arm... and leaving his sword arm exposed to the side. That was a bad mistake. Quickly moving his head while opening his maw, Shaol bit down hard on the leather gloved hand, penetrating deep. The moment the blood was felt inside Shaol's mouth, he knew he had an advantage, thrashing his neck to tear the flesh. Bobam yelled in pain, the sword dropping to the ground due to his hand being mauled, using his shield to bash Shaol multiple times to his head. He didn't let that break his grip despite the dazing to his vision, thrashing powerfully, yanking upwards as he stood up tall on his hinds, pressing his body weight against him. The shield suddenly dropped to the ground. For a moment Shaol thought he had him, as he was now disarmed! He didn't see though him reaching to his waist... Seconds later Bobam yelled, following then a deep jolt of pain rushing through his body. Shaol yelped once, loud and long, still holding his grip on the hand. Blood seeped out between his forepaws to the sand. His blood. "Damn foul-play..! Shaol!!" Maruk yelled in a panicked outburst atop the ring with the spectators. Shaol didn't hear him, nor did he really see what Maruk saw; a dagger plunged into his lower chest. The pain was numbing, Bobam held it in him before ripping it out... And stabbing a second time, deep and hard... "SHAAOL!" Maruk screamed frantic, unheard by the crowds loud cheering. A third thrust. Shaol's blood was seeping now, and the roars of the cheering sounded a lot quieter... He was dying. ...dying... It almost felt too soothing as a cold refreshing chill seeped through his body in replacement from pain... dying and letting go almost felt too reliving... ...No! He couldn't let himself die! For Korvi! For his slain mother and to uphold his promise! He can't let himself die like this..! Time seemed to slow for Shaol as he saw a weakness... a pure opening, his last and final shot. Using the last bit of his strength, Shaol lets go of the mauled hand, while then pressing every ounce of
his weight against Bobam along with his faltering strength in his hinds, to knock the man down on his back. The human fighter fell hard; his hand trapped under Shaol with the dagger held tight deep lodged in his lower chest, being unable to move his mauled hand to defend himself. Shaol gave him no chance to react. With him on the ground and with swift action, he uses his left paw with full claws to thrust, goring Bobam through the eyes, penetrating into his skull, gouging him deep. Black silence fell upon the spectators. The crowd was stunned with awe at the moment. Shaol only cared that alas this bitch was dead, now rapidly ripping his claws out, then slamming his claws back in savagely, ripping apart and mutating his face. "Annd Shaol is the winner!!" The announcer suddenly spoke, the crowds roaring wild with applause, chanting his name. "Shaol! Shaol! Shaol! Shaol! Shaol!" The crowds were roaring his name, they... liked him... Shaol took a moment to look at the crowd, looking at the many faces who cheered, before then standing on his hinds, unleashing a roar of victory to them, before falling over on his side, limb, breathing heavily. He survived, and that's what mattered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maruk run into the arena pit from the entrance, followed by a few members of the Strikeath. "S...Shaol..! You did it my boy you really done it!! You have defeated a Bloodath and survived!! We need to get those wounds tended, don't you worry of a thing my boy you'll be taken care of and well rewarded with a hot meal!" That was the last thing he heard as his vision swirled... Rest sounded nice, he needed it, easing himself. For everything Maruk has done and provided for him... At this point having even won his first fight, taking a life, he trusted Maruk... Hhe trusted his life that was now in his hands, not feeling when they grasped him, as his vision faded to blackness, passing out into a restless sleep.