Another day, another death.
I grasped the spear, my fingers wrapped painfully tight around the wooden haft. Drying body fluids crackled on my skin as it pulled free of my opponent’s corpse. The spearhead glistened in the sun as I shook it above my head, letting out a primal roar. A fierce feeling of victory welled up in my chest as the noise echoed around the carved stone arena.
The adrenaline faded with the sound and I grounded the butt of the spear, leaning on it heavily. I staggered away from my kill, the ichor-soaked sand sticking to my bare feet.
How many rounds would I last for?
Maybe today they would kill me.
I sunk into lethargy, watching as the portcullis began to raise. I'd already fought through three opponents. They would surely push me farther.
My next enemy entered as soon as the portcullis was up. Easily seven feet tall, the black bug was probably twice my mass. It had wings, a horn, and vicious looking fangs. Its legs were pierced with holes, its wings ragged. It stood on four legs like a horse, but its shell was hard and it had multifaceted eyes. Splinter called them 'changelings'. I was going to kill it. It roared, turning and bowing to the crowd, trying to gather some applause.
Grandstanding. What a fool.
I was halfway across the arena before it could react. I angled my spear sharply, lashing out while dashing past. I watched its movements, the shifting of body weight, the flick of its antenna-like ears. It dodged my feint, lifting a foreleg as I jabbed. So it was stuck when I stabbed for its back leg, trapped by its own stance.
"Stupid amateur," I spat, as the spear slid through one of its piercings. It sunk deep in the sand behind. I heaved, leaning into the turn as I darted behind. It tried to jump back, but it had no leverage on the spear. It fumbled, nearly falling. I seized the opportunity and lashed out with a kick, stepping deep into the turn to pivot on my heel, bringing my foot against its locked knee with punishing force.
CRACK.
The sound of its knee shattering might have sickened me, if taking these things apart wasn’t so very enjoyable. The insect screamed and fell. I leaped backwards and calmly circled it. It was hurt, but I knew from experience; this was by no means over. Surveying the arena, careful to keep my opponent in sight, I spotted another weapon.
They didn't like giving me heavy weapons anymore. I'd gotten an axe, once, and that match hadn’t ended until the archers intervened. Those black carapaces crack so very nicely! They only allowed me spears and swords now, and once in a while, a rapier. It was still leaning against the wall, right where I'd left it. I edged over to it, reaching to pick it up as my attacker struggled to its feet. It limped a step towards me, but stopped. I leveled the rapier. It wasn't much, as weapons go; three slender feet of cold steel, pointed on one end with grip on the other. The changeling lowered its head, returning the threat with its horn.
I groaned. Magic. I hated fighting magic. Sure enough, its grey aura wafted out, coalescing into a series of orbs. They floated a second, sizzling, before zipping towards me. At least this one was an amateur. A trained magician was a serious challenge.
I dodged for my life, taking the only option available; I charged. I sidestepped the first, ducked the second, slid past the third, and took the fourth square in the chest. All the air rushed out of my lungs. I was sent flying backwards, skidding on my back across the sand. I was up in a flash, hand still clamped on the rapier. My shirt had been burned off again. The crystal embedded in my chest pulsed yellow as I spun, trying to keep the changeling in my vision. It had taken to the air, the infernal buzzing of its wings thrumming in my ears. I immediately looked to the sun, diving away as it swooped.
I evaded a few attacks by rolling and diving, but quickly worked my way to the corner of the arena and placed my back against the walls. Unable to swoop, my attacker descended.
"Enough. I'm finishing this," I growled. I dashed towards my attacker, stabbing with my rapier. It buzzed backwards slightly, trying to simply outdistance my thrust. It jerked in surprise as the thrown weapon rattled off its face, enough of a distraction for me to dash in, grab its neck, and swing onto its back. I saw the archers, ever alert for an escape attempt, raise their bows; I didn't give them any time to shoot. Moving like lightning, I whipped the short dagger out of my belt and slammed it into the base of my opponents skull with a dull crunch. Orange goop spilled down my arms and the corpse fell from the air, flopping limply under me as it hit the ground.
Once again, I had won. I raised the dagger high, roaring my victory. This time my audience responded. In the seats above my head a swarm of changelings buzzed their wings and stamped their feet in applause for my performance. I bowed to them, turned and bowed to the Queen. Her eyes glowed and I felt the numbness start, the thrill of victory fading into a gray lethargy. I grit my teeth. Splinter claimed they 'fed' on our feelings, that this was a charade to them, some sort of energy amplification and extraction process. Whatever they did to steal my feelings, I hated it; the thought that they were inside my head was nearly enough to drive me insane. The queen was pleased. She stood and inclined her head to me ever so slightly.
Apparently I had done better than I realized. They were letting me go early. A bow, held in the gray telekinetic aura they all shared, hovered just long enough to send an arrow my way. I smiled as the shaft slammed through my chest with a FWIP. I tried to stay upright, but quickly fell to the sand. It hurt, but it would be over soon. A blow to the heart killed quickly.
Burning. Icy shock and terrible, scorching heat warred in my chest. I groaned and raised my head; I was on my bed, in my quarters again. The sun lanced through the tiny barred window. I rolled onto my back and looked up at the ceiling.
"Wesley." My neighbor, one cell over, greeted me.
"Splinter," I replied.
<"How many you kill?"> He asked in broken English. Soon after I'd arrived here, we had started teaching each other our languages. It had been slow going at first, but now we were at least basically conversant. We habitually used each others language, attempting to improve.
"Seven." I replied, in equally poor Equestrian. "I fight four times. I kill seven changelings. I fight good. Kill me early."
I stood and stretched, working out the kinks in my muscles. Regeneration always left me sore. I'd have a bit more rest than usual, unless they decided to pull me again tomorrow, but I didn't take chances. I checked my body all over, looking for anything unusual.
Besides, of course, the evil yellow gem and the scars, rapidly fading, from mortal wounds.
"I'm OK," I said. "This time."
<"This time."> Splinter replied. <"Next time, me."> I nodded. Splinter's turn was tomorrow. I walked to the bars separating our cells, and sat down cross-legged. He sat across from me, in that odd way he had; haunches on the stone floor, forelegs in front of him. His dusty yellow horn and coat shone in the sun, highlighting his brown mane and the gray saw-blade of his cutie mark. A green crystal teardrop pulsed in his chest, twin to my yellow.
"One day, we leave." I repeated the promise to him, in his native language.
<"One day, we leave."> He echoed it in English, grinning. I made a fist, and bumped his hoof through the bars. "Sleep now," I said, rising. "Talk later." He nodded and I returned to my lumpy bed, curled up, and closed my eyes.
Blood. Pain. Fire. Screams.
I woke up.
"Splinter."
<"Wesley. Sleep bad?">
"Yeah." It was dark in the cells, but the window was starting to lighten. They would come for him soon. I used the bucket in the corner and checked my ledge, finding a stone bowl of water and green goop. I carried it over to my spot near Splinter and started shoveling the unappetizing mess into my mouth. Splinter had his head pressed against the wall. He was twisting it back and forth, slowly boring into the rock with his horn.
"Drilling to freedom?" I asked, flippantly.
<"One day, we leave."> His serious response shut me up.
<"You know,"> I said, switching from Equestrian to English. <"I think I'm beginning to lose hope. I've considered ending this."> I lifted my shirt and rapped my knuckles against the gem embedded in my flesh, causing it to flare slightly.
<"Could. You could burn."> Splinter replied. <"Showed you how."> He snorted slightly and switched to Equestrian. "Had enough?" He asked, taunting me. In the first days of my imprisonment, that was one of the first phrases I'd learned from him. Had enough? Was I going to chicken out? I may have been an alien, arrived here who-knows how, but Splinter had made it clear to me that he had no time for cowards. I'd clung to that. In the midst of the degradation we were put through, forced to kill, forced to be killed, treated like cattle and if I understood right, even being fed on like livestock, he'd offered me a sliver of respect. Respect for my courage.
"No." I replied softly. "Not a coward," I shot back.
I knew I could end it. He'd shown me how the jewels reacted to our emotions and thoughts. Once we could communicate in a broken mix of English and Equestrian, he'd explained to me, slowly and cryptically, how the jewels could be destroyed. Focus your thoughts on them, chip away at the magic long enough, and they would crack and crumble before disintegrating in a flare of magic. A flare that would blast your gem and body to dust.
<"Good,"> He grunted. <"Have your life to live. Get you out yet.">
"Splinter...I will not leaf you."
"Leave. Leave," he said, calmly correcting my pronunciation.
"Leave," I repeated, correcting myself. He was getting pretty decent with English, but I still found Equestrian hard at times.
<"You go if I say. I not giving you choice, Wesley."> He shot me a hard stare, and I reluctantly nodded. We had agreed that if either of us saw an opportunity, we should go for it. If he saw an opportunity for me... I couldn't stay to spite him.
Clicketty. Clacketty. The sound of hard, chitinous hooves echoed down the corridor.
He glanced at me, then at the door.
<"My time,"> he said. The guards were coming for him. Soon he would be in the arena.
"Fight well," I replied.
<"Always.">
When Splinter was returned, he was still healing. The guards dragged him into the cell and threw him on the bed. His limbs flopped around, uncomfortably corpse-like. I watched the green gem in his chest flare and imagined I could feel the vile magic from my cell. His wounds were severe, but they faded visibly as I watched. Even the blood matting his coat was burning away. The gems regeneration was harsh, but very thorough. It even patched my clothes, though they got burned, slashed, and torn time and again. The evil green light flowed over him, crawling along the lines of his body, patching and repairing. After a half-hour or so he groaned and sat up. Walking over to his ledge, he drank.
"Splinter."
<"Wesley.">
"How many?"
<"Twelve. I fight five times, kill twelve changelings.">
I watched as he checked himself over. He inspected himself thoroughly. My brows creased in puzzlement when he froze mid search, only to restart.
"You OK?"
<"No."> His voice was choked. <"No. Not OK."> My eyes widened and I started to panic a little.
The restoration gems grafted to us were not free. Besides the horrific cost of having them attached, they came with a cost for their use. They...burned up...part of you when used. Or, at least that's what I gathered from Splinters broken, jargon-filled explanations. Every time we healed, they burned a little more. Eventually, whatever they drew on was exhausted.
I'd seen it, once. A burnout. Her name was Fallen Leaves. She'd been a rust-red pegasus. I'd been fighting with her in the arena, back when there had been enough slaves for team matches. We were up against timberwolves; tough opponents, but not impossible. Leaf, though, had been slowing down for weeks. I covered for her as best I could, trying to deflect anything too harsh. I knew she’d been punished for a poor showing in her previous fight.
There are some very inventive ways to torture an immortal slave.
I could tell we were going to lose this one. The fight wasn't even half over, and she was slowing down. I'd had my leg broken, and she was surrounded when the wolves got her. The bugs jumped in soon after she'd gone down, trying to save something; the gem needed your skull intact to work with. It couldn't raise the dead. But it was too late for Leaves. I watched the magic flare up, literally consuming her. Maybe crushing my own gem would look like that? At the very least, I'm pretty sure she didn't feel anything as the pillar of amethyst fire roared heavenwards.
I cradled my head in my hands. The darkness of despair swirled around me. Would I be alone soon? How long did Splinter have?
<"Wesley."> I looked up to my one and only friend. Splinter stared at me, his expression serious. <"I sleep. Midnight, wake. Then you leave.">
I nodded slowly, emotions swirling in my chest as Splinter lay down. Hope surged up first. Could I really escape? I believed in Splinter with my whole being, but our captors weren't amateurs. They had seen it all. We had probed their reactions, timetables, escape routes, every scheme had been blocked. How could he do it?
After hope came guilt. Guilt at leaving behind my one and only friend in who-knows how many billion miles. The only person I knew. We had fought together, forged bonds of blood and tears together in the red sand of the arena and the cold dark of the night. Could I leave him? His face flashed on my inner eye for a second and I grimaced. I'd better be able to. He'd never forgive me if I didn't.
I didn't know much about Splinter. We tried to talk, but the language barrier combined with our ‘off-days’ not overlapping meant I really knew very little. I looked up to him like an older brother or cousin. He had taken me under his wing when I arrived, caring nothing for my different body or language and made sure I made it through the night. Then the day, and night after. One day at a time, he'd held me together. I liked to think I'd done the same for him some days.
After guilt came despair. A tiny voice in my head whispered that it wouldn't work. That escape was impossible, resistance futile. The bugs were too good. Although we could beat the grunts one-on-one, the elites would mop the floor with us. Besides, simple weight of numbers meant we were powerless. I tried to crush the voice, but it kept whispering. I counted the hours to hold it back, watching the moonlight from the window slide up the wall, keeping vigil. Splinter's sleep was restless. He whimpered and thrashed. I surely had done the same.
<"Splinter.">
I didn't bother whispering. The guards couldn’t care less what we did, but I spoke English anyways.
<"Splinter, get up. It's time.">
His head popped off the bed and he looked around, before slowly climbing to his feet and stretching. His hoof scratched around his jewel. He claimed it itched. I'd never felt it myself, but maybe his was different. He walked over to the shelf, retrieved his supper of nutrient goop and ate it slowly.
<"So, what's the plan?">
He reached up and tapped his horn.
<"Going to magic you.">
My heart sank. We'd considered this one. The gems blocked any magic being cast. This didn't bode well.
<"Splinter-">
<"Stop!"> He barked. I did.
<"Here's happening. I'm going."> He made a bursting motion with his hooves. <"No idea. Today? Tomorrow? No idea. I'm walking dead, Wesley."> I nodded slowly. If he really was reaching burnout, then that was the truth. He wasn't going to last much longer. <"Last battle, took a spear."> He motioned to his side. <"Still feel it. Cut my liver."> My eyes widened. He really was right on the edge. I wondered how long he'd known. I hadn't fought by his side in weeks...I couldn't gauge how well he was holding up. <"Here's happening. One last run. For real. One last run.">
A suicide mission. I buried my face in my hands, trying to hold back tears. Splinter wanted to do a suicide mission. We'd used the term in our fights; <"one last run">, to give your partner some room. Throw yourself on the enemies spear. Jump under their feet. Maybe your friend could last another round.
<"Wesley."> I looked up, seeing sadness and compassion in his eyes. <"Tonight, you leave.">
Those three words brought hope surging up in my chest. For so long, we'd promised. Tonight, Splinter was going to pull through for me. Even at the cost of his own life. I nodded and swallowed a sob, putting on a brave face. <"Thanks, Splinter. I won't disappoint you.">
<"Right. Here's plan. One last run; I'm burn. Use burn, make magic for you. Magic take you away."> He motioned from the gem in his chest to the horn on his head. <"Simple. Take you far away. No guards, no bugs. No worries."> A smile split his face. <"Life to live again.">
<"Right."> I took a deep breath, and blew it out. <"Right! I have a life to live. Ok, Splinter. What can I do?">
<"Come."> He motioned me over to the wall where he'd been drilling with his horn. He slid his horn into the hole. <"Hand on horn."> I reached through the bars and grasped the base of his horn. <"Good. Hold tight. Rest is me."> He closed his eyes and started to concentrate.
The green glow of his gem increased. First it was just a flicker, but it slowly gained strength. The light went from dim to brilliant, the flickering incandescence throwing stark shadows on the walls as I crouched by him. For a second it was bright as day. Then something cracked.
It was a small thing, like a twig popping in a fire, but it unleashed the inferno. The burnout of Fallen Leaves had been calm compared to this. Blisteringly hot flames shot from beneath Splinter’s body. He tried to aim them away, but even so I could feel my skin start to cook. Icy heat rushed through my veins, my gem healing me even as my flesh blistered and bubbled. It would be worse for Splinter, but he was used to working through pain. As his gem flared again, his horn started to glow. Green flames arched upwards, wrapping around his head and feeding into the horn. The ocher color of his magical aura bled into the sickly green of his hearts flame, and his horn pulsed brighter. Soon, there were twin suns in the room. I dimly heard scrabbling at the door, shouting and clanging as guards rushed about. The light show must have attracted some attention. I was just about to say something, when Splinter's pain filled eyes latched onto mine.
Goodbye.
His lips moved and he wrenched his head sideways. There was a sickening crack and the world flashed one more time, filling my eyes with spinning black and red and my ears with a rushing noise. For an immeasurable minute I hung in space, neither here nor there, the pressure of the cold stone cell gone.
I'm dead. Or in free fall, I thought. Did he send me into space? My eyes strained for a hint of light. I was about to start panicking when sensation returned. I was falling.
Finely honed instincts kicked in and I yanked and spun, righting myself in midair as quickly as possible. I was tumbling through a confusion of branches, green leaves and brown limbs flashing past my face until I hit the ground with a bone-shaking thump. I rolled forward and came to rest laying on my back.
Above, I saw the moonlit sky.
Through the leaves of a tree.
Free.