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The Pits Of Jhelom

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Thanatos

The small cell shook with the pounding feet of thousands of peasants in the stands above it. With every drop of blood spilled into the sands the crowd roared, the boards vibrated, and more sand and blood slipped through the cracks. The room was damp and crowded with beings, each bearing the same mark upon the left shoulder. Criminals, all. Murderers, rapists, thieves and enemies of the state. All here for one reason: To please the crowd now roaring above them.

The clamour, though muffled by the walls and sand between the men in the cell and the crowd, swelled to an almost intolerable level. This signified the end for one of their unfortunate comrades, and all those in the cell bowed their heads for the fallen soul. Some shook, some wept, and some remained stoic. However one, alone in the corner of the cell, smiled.

Though he sat in darkness, he was mostly visible, as the dim light given them by the torches just outside the cell reflected in his luminous skin. The pale entity was largely built, standing more then a head taller than most. He bears the distinctively pointed ears of an elf, though any who had used that word in reference to him had been taught the difference between elves and…Whatever he happened to be. A glint of pleasure shone in his blood red eyes as the brute remembered the lessons he had bestowed on those misguided individuals. Snow blond hair brushed the tops of his shoulders, flowing gently as his head swivelled to take in the fear now manifesting in his fellow cellmates. His body was all muscle and sinew, strong and unyielding, yet lean and agile. This being was built for this place that had been feared by all who came before him. Only those with a special taste for blood welcomed the arena, and the pale skinned creature had opened his arms and embraced it like no other. This bloodlust was cleverly masked by an almost angelic face. However, despite his welcoming visage, the others in the cell stayed very clear of him. Perhaps this distance was created out of respect, but, more than likely, it had been born of the fear instilled in them by the stories overheard by the guards posted above.

A voice now sounded, as the din of the people in the stands died down in order to hear the man now commanding their attention. The words mattered not to the pale skinned figure. Only the sound of metal against stone mattered as the guards approached the cell and called out.

“THANATOS”

Thanatos. God of death. An appropriate moniker for the beast now unfolding himself from the darkness, but one he despised. His skill in the art of killing was something he was most certainly proud of. However, the crowd had given him this nickname, and so his real name would be forgotten. Only the champion Thanatos would be remembered. Only this arena warrior responsible for the deaths of so many would hold a place in history. The thought angered him.

Fully upright now, Thanatos made his way to the doorway. He couldn’t help but smile at the grating sound of the key sliding into the padlock. He turned to the others, but none met his gaze. A quiet click, made comparable to the sound of an explosion by the utter silence now permeating the room, and the door opened. Thanatos stepped through the doorway and began to chuckle. The sound echoed down the hallway as the group rounded the corner. Once out of their sight, the prisoners left in the cell let go a collective sigh of relief, as each person believed that man to be their end at one point or another.

As they approached the gate to the arena’s floor, the guards accompanying Thanatos handed him his broadsword. Though it had been polished and sharpened, he could still see the faint outlines of bloodstains left upon the metal. The only trophies he was allowed to keep, and his smile returned.

The gate opened, and screams erupted from the stands. They called for this Thanatos, the creature they had named for his talent at being the last thing any man against him glimpsed before their meeting with their deity. Thanatos took a breath and blocked them out. He was not concerned with their interest in him. He refused to bother with the men who idolized him, or the women who lusted after him for his prowess in the arena. He cared only for the feeling of the cool metal in his hands, for the sand beneath his feet, and for the control over how long his opponents were allowed to live in his presence.

Sand crunched under his weight, and Thanatos walked to the center of the arena. Who would they pit against him this time? What unlucky fool would dare to think he could triumph over Thanatos?

The gladiator grimaced. He had referred to himself by his nickname. How could he have let his name in the arena take precedence over his real name? The thought disturbed him. It was time to leave this place. He had grown too complacent. The lie was beginning to take over.

As the horn bellowed, more gates opened, and three giants among men stepped out into the blistering sunlight. So, these were the unfortunate souls who’s blood would mix with the sand this day.
Anticipation welled inside him. His grip on his sword tightened and relaxed as he swung the sword around in a circle, loosening the muscles in his wrist and forearm for the coming slaughter.

They had circled him now, as Thanatos waited in the center of the arena. Calm and quiet, eyes half shut against the blinding light of day. He could hear the voice of the announcer, a dull sound in the back of his mind. Only one word could set him free.

“BEGIN!” Shouted the announcer, and the rowdy group of peasants launched to their feet in a chorus of cries. “THANATOS, THANATOS!” They chorused.

The pale warrior let out a calming breath and waited. Each opponent, who stood as tall as Thanatos, but carried much more muscle than he, were equipped with a weapon and a shield, though none of it would save them. The man directly in front of Thanatos carried a long spear, which bore a tip that he believed would be perfect for his escape plan. To his left his opponent carried a broad axe. A weapon that would require two hands for a normal man, but the size of this one in particular turned the axe into a single handed weapon. And so, he too carried a shield. On his right stood the smallest of the three walking dead. He carried a short sword that Thanatos knew to be laced with poison. They soon became anxious, made unsure by the stillness of the man who almost shone in the sunlight. One of them, the man in the middle, soon became impatient and began muttering under his breath. Thanatos picked up one word in what his opponent uttered, and decided that all three would need a lesson in respect. “Elf”

Thanatos lunged to the right, bringing his arm up in a vicious arc, slicing through the muscle and bone of the mans forearm, rendering his poison laced sword obsolete. The man cried out. In shock and in agony, and brought his shield up to ward off the oncoming attacks from the pale ghost. The crowd howled as the other two opponents broke into movement then. They had been as surprised as the new amputee at the speed of the attacks. Thanatos hammered at the shield, knocking the bleeding man backward. Another sound of pure agony, and a sickening splintering of bone sounded. Thanatos’ continued striking of the shield bent the metal inward so fast and hard that it’s carriers arm had shattered between the metal coils that secured it to his body. The fight in this man had gone. In shock and pain, weak from the blood loss, his adversary stood shakily. His eyes had glazed over from the pain. A flick of Thanatos’ wrist severed the man’s jugular. Warm lifeblood splashed over Thanatos’ chest. He smiled and pivoted, quickly landing a kick to the man’s chest, sending him across the sand into the place where his life drained from his body. One down, two to go.

After seeing the results of facing Thanatos alone, the leftover prey grouped together, coming at him simultaneously. Thanatos wanted that spear tip, and so when they were almost upon him, he began to move, circling around, side stepping, then lunging between them. Both took a swing in his direction. He dropped down low, in time to feel the wind caused by the movement of the giant axe above his head. Next came the spear. Now on his knees, Thanatos lunged backward, his lower back resting against his heels. He could feel the heat of the sand beneath his shoulders. As the spear floated above him, about to be drawn back to it’s master, he flicked his sword upward, clipping the tip of the spear. Metal against metal sounded in the arena, and the crowd roared its approval.

Now angered from the failure to obtain the spearhead quite yet, he leapt to his feet. The axe-wielder was still stumbling from the effort of swinging the axe the first time, leaving Thanatos’ with a few precious moments to separate the spearman from him. He gathered his strength and ran at the spearman, planting a foot on his now upraised shield, running along the metal until Thanatos kicked out at the soldiers helmet, launching himself off of the giant. The force of the kick sent the man stumbling, rendering him unconscious as he hit the ground.

Thanatos recovered, turning to the axeman and walking toward him. A low growl of frustration sounded from the metal clad giant, and he brought the axe up for another swing. Thanatos ran at him, dodging as the axe swung by him. He placed a hand on the mans shoulder and used the momentum to hop onto his challenger’s back. A flick of his wrist and his sword was point-down, aimed for the back of the surprised goliath’s neck. With one hand wrapped around the hilt, and the palm of the other pushing at the butt of the sword, he drove the blade into the axemans neck and rode the flailing man to the ground. A dust cloud rose as Thanatos’ roared his triumph and dragged the sword through the sand, and the man’s spine, jugular, through his flesh. He severed the head of the unfortunate man, creating a trench in the earth, a trench that quickly began to fill with the sticky red fluid now pumping from the gore at apex of the fresh corpses spine. Thanatos drew his arm up, straightening it out quickly, flicking the excess gore and blood from the blade.

His final target stirred, coming to quickly and launching to his feet (as well as a man his size could). He glared at the ghost.

“What..are you!?” Exclaimed the spearman.

Thanatos simply smiled and broke into a run. The spearman steadied himself and prepared for the attack. He lunged, bringing his spear up and out at the near colorless streak coming at him now. Thanatos gained speed, and as he neared the spear tip he dropped, sliding beneath the spear and swinging his sword arm upwards. A satisfying severing of the wood resounded and the spear tip hit the ground. Thanatos continued the assault, bringing one knee up, putting his weight upon it and spinning, with his sword following suit. Another dust cloud formed around the crouching man and a blood curdling scream broke through it. Thanatos had scooped up the spearhead and stored it in his boot as he brought the sword around, relieving the spearman of his legs from the knee down. Quickly, even before the giant had a chance to hit the ground, Thanatos lunged upward, bringing his sword straight up. A clean cut from stomach to sternum. Gore and viscera spilled out from the gaping wound. The agonized scream was cut off by a sickening gurgle. A death rattle emerged from the dead man as the giant finally hit the ground.

The pale warrior stood, facing the crowd, covered in blood and gore, but still loved by these people chanting his title. The elation of battle was soon over, however, as pain, red hot and blinding coursed through his veins. With every beat of his heart the pain surged and receded, each time coming back with a ferocity greater than before. Thanatos cried out, clutching at his chest and dropping to his knees. He had felt this crushing pain before. No man nor beast could get him here, but this pain was more than he had experience before. His vision blurred, and the last sensation felt before everything went black was the scraping of his flesh in the sand as the soldiers dragged him from the arena. The crowd was silent.


To Be Continued...