01-31-2017, 12:10 AM
Upon starting their travels and leaving the black sands of the lands around Grooota behind, Tearen was starting to get a better appreciation for just how varied and deadly the landscape of the Underverse was. Far from the fire and brimstone hell of certain tales, the Underverse was more akin to some sort of twisted steppeland. Jagged, imposing shafts of dark stone defiled the horizon with their impossible bulk, and the terrain that stretched before them was choked with long-dead foliage and moldering fields of ancient carnage.
That wasn't to say that there were no volcanoes at all; certainly not. In fact the banded, scarred appearance of the ground made it seem as if the entire span of the central hellscape was the freshly cooled remains of some volcanic cataclysm. Unlike the magma lakes of the Ashen Steppes, which attracted greedy prospectors and lava farmers, the molten pots of stone that speckled this land were infested with large blocks of prisons, dumping grounds, and torture chambers. Tearen could always tell when they were approaching one such feature when the screams started to drift along the constant, bitter wind.
Ilthiax and Tearen rode on a pair of identical Weirdlings; evidently one of the products of Grooota that actually performed to spec. The beasts were akin to immense earwigs, but instead of a hard exoskeleton, their flesh was pale and pulpy. Triangular hoods enclosed their faces, and their limbs seemed to be infused with bionic hydraulics to supplement their lifting capacity.
After what seemed like a few days of travel, Ilthiax and Tearen arrived at their next venue. Azgradurg wasn't much different from the previous city that Tearen had fought in, save for the fact that it was much larger and had an actual name. The sprawling demonic slum town was nestled inside the yawning span of an immense skull that was half buried in the grey, burned out stone of the central hellscape. At Ilthiax's behest, Tearen had summoned a simple set of robes to cover his weak-looking body. The larger demon claimed it was simply for Tearen's own benefit. The colosseums were all about spectacle and appearance, after all. Despite his considerable actual strength, a frail appearance would make it difficult for Tearen to make headway in the tangled politics of the Underverse fighting rings. Riding their arthropod weirdlings into the crumbling shanty-town, Ilthiax and Tearen discussed the nature of the upcoming event.
"Now, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. This next event is still considered a small-time gig. Come out on top in this tourney though, and we'll have a shot at getting you into some real serious matches." Ilthiax said, looking up and down the street for a place to stow their mounts. Tearen kept his emerald gaze straight ahead, peering out from the deeply obfuscating folds of the sack-cloth hood that covered his head. With the immense skull blocking out the admittedly wan light of the Underverse sky, the inner streets of Azgradurg were almost pitch dark. A few stalwart torches marked the intersections of the winding streets, but aside from that, Tearen had to rely on his other keen senses. Ilthiax continued his lecture.
"Things here are a little bit more structured than the all-out brawl we just came from. There will be a qualifying round to get you into the brackets, and then you'll be facing off directly against other small-time gladiators. They're just as desperate to make a name for themselves as you, so keep your wits about you on and off the killing floor." Ilthiax droned. Tearen simply offered a small nod. Internally he chaffed against the tacit implication that he was at all interested in becoming a renowned gladiator within the Underverse, but as with everything else so far, he decided to play along.
How many other contenders are there? Tearen asked softly as they rounded the corner into the arena district. Unlike the ramshackle bowl that the previous fight had taken place in, it appeared as though this structure was purposely built to serve as a venue for bloodsports. Great, ragged banners flapped from the eaves of the monolithic structures, and the howls of distant beasts punctuated the otherwise soft drone of city life. The pair dismounted before Ilthiax answered Tearen's question.
"Well, that entirely depends on how many survive the qualifying round. Usually we can predict anywhere from four to six survivors out of twenty or so. Though, I hear that the qualifying matches this season are going to be particularly...trying." Ilthiax said, guiding their weirdlings over to the dank stables. Bizarre beasts of burden crowded the humid barn room, ranging from immense wolves with skinless faces to what appeared to simply be mounds of flesh with legs haphazardly grafted on. Tearen was growing tired of Ilthiax's tendency to for vague overtones. It was bad enough that he was looked as chattel for the entertainment of others, but then for his handler to try and patronize him with softened language was simply tiresome.
You should consider being more direct with me, Ilthiax. Remember, I follow this path because I choose to. There's scarcely anything you or Grooota could do to force me to stay. These attempts at pacifying the peril I place myself in chafe my patience. Tearen said in a sharp, hissing tone. Ilthiax's face screwed into a barely contained fit of rage. It was the first time that Tearen had really shown any sort of push-back against his handler. With an angered snarl, Ilthiax pulled what appeared to be a small, black pendant from his coat pocket and squeezed it firmly. Agony, sharp and all-consuming immediately forced Tearen to crumple to the ground. His back felt as if it was on fire; even more so than when Grooota's insignia had been laser etched into his flesh. He should have known there was more to this marking than a simple branding. Still, Tearen refused to be cowed by such a trivial thing as simple pain. Green eyes gleaming wide, Tearen turned his head to look Ilthiax in the eyes. The fat, cyborg demon held a look of delighted sadism as their eyes met. But then, in a flash of pure white brilliance, Tearen sent a burst of overwhelming thoughts funneling into the greedy miser's brain.
Ilthiax dropped the pendant to the ground and staggered back against the door to a stall, bellowing pathetically. With some effort, Tearen forced himself to his feet, despite the echoing pain that ricocheted up and down his back. Tearen grabbed Ilthiax fully by the neck and slammed it hard into the wall behind them. Gagging, Ilthiax looked down at Tearen with all the fear of a cornered rat.
I may be a veritable nobody in the grand hierarchy of the Underverse, but do not mistake me for some mewling whelp, Ilthiax. I am like no being you have ever encountered before, and I cannot be controlled by simple gimmicks. Remember this, and you may still be of use to me. Tearen spat, lifting the black pendant to their eye level with his mind. He let it hover before Ilthiax's face for a moment before shattering the abyssal trinket with an effortless thought. Another moment passed before the Shadow released the immense cyborg and began stalking off into the false night of Azgradurg.
"Y-you..." Ilthiax choked, leering at Tearen as he strode away, "Where do you think you're going?! Hey!"
See to it that the entrance arrangements are made. Don't fret, Ilthiax. I'll be ready to fight when the time comes. Tearen cooed, before slamming the door behind him with a mental tug. This narrative of indentured servitude to the ruling classes of the Underverse was already becoming tedious to the ex-enigma. Perhaps fear and pain would work on other, more powerless Primes than himself, but the vast powers that he had at his disposal set him far apart from the normal, fleshy stock that came raining in from the Omniverse above.
In time, Tearen would see to it that the entire Underverse learned this lesson. Thoroughly.
That wasn't to say that there were no volcanoes at all; certainly not. In fact the banded, scarred appearance of the ground made it seem as if the entire span of the central hellscape was the freshly cooled remains of some volcanic cataclysm. Unlike the magma lakes of the Ashen Steppes, which attracted greedy prospectors and lava farmers, the molten pots of stone that speckled this land were infested with large blocks of prisons, dumping grounds, and torture chambers. Tearen could always tell when they were approaching one such feature when the screams started to drift along the constant, bitter wind.
Ilthiax and Tearen rode on a pair of identical Weirdlings; evidently one of the products of Grooota that actually performed to spec. The beasts were akin to immense earwigs, but instead of a hard exoskeleton, their flesh was pale and pulpy. Triangular hoods enclosed their faces, and their limbs seemed to be infused with bionic hydraulics to supplement their lifting capacity.
After what seemed like a few days of travel, Ilthiax and Tearen arrived at their next venue. Azgradurg wasn't much different from the previous city that Tearen had fought in, save for the fact that it was much larger and had an actual name. The sprawling demonic slum town was nestled inside the yawning span of an immense skull that was half buried in the grey, burned out stone of the central hellscape. At Ilthiax's behest, Tearen had summoned a simple set of robes to cover his weak-looking body. The larger demon claimed it was simply for Tearen's own benefit. The colosseums were all about spectacle and appearance, after all. Despite his considerable actual strength, a frail appearance would make it difficult for Tearen to make headway in the tangled politics of the Underverse fighting rings. Riding their arthropod weirdlings into the crumbling shanty-town, Ilthiax and Tearen discussed the nature of the upcoming event.
"Now, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. This next event is still considered a small-time gig. Come out on top in this tourney though, and we'll have a shot at getting you into some real serious matches." Ilthiax said, looking up and down the street for a place to stow their mounts. Tearen kept his emerald gaze straight ahead, peering out from the deeply obfuscating folds of the sack-cloth hood that covered his head. With the immense skull blocking out the admittedly wan light of the Underverse sky, the inner streets of Azgradurg were almost pitch dark. A few stalwart torches marked the intersections of the winding streets, but aside from that, Tearen had to rely on his other keen senses. Ilthiax continued his lecture.
"Things here are a little bit more structured than the all-out brawl we just came from. There will be a qualifying round to get you into the brackets, and then you'll be facing off directly against other small-time gladiators. They're just as desperate to make a name for themselves as you, so keep your wits about you on and off the killing floor." Ilthiax droned. Tearen simply offered a small nod. Internally he chaffed against the tacit implication that he was at all interested in becoming a renowned gladiator within the Underverse, but as with everything else so far, he decided to play along.
How many other contenders are there? Tearen asked softly as they rounded the corner into the arena district. Unlike the ramshackle bowl that the previous fight had taken place in, it appeared as though this structure was purposely built to serve as a venue for bloodsports. Great, ragged banners flapped from the eaves of the monolithic structures, and the howls of distant beasts punctuated the otherwise soft drone of city life. The pair dismounted before Ilthiax answered Tearen's question.
"Well, that entirely depends on how many survive the qualifying round. Usually we can predict anywhere from four to six survivors out of twenty or so. Though, I hear that the qualifying matches this season are going to be particularly...trying." Ilthiax said, guiding their weirdlings over to the dank stables. Bizarre beasts of burden crowded the humid barn room, ranging from immense wolves with skinless faces to what appeared to simply be mounds of flesh with legs haphazardly grafted on. Tearen was growing tired of Ilthiax's tendency to for vague overtones. It was bad enough that he was looked as chattel for the entertainment of others, but then for his handler to try and patronize him with softened language was simply tiresome.
You should consider being more direct with me, Ilthiax. Remember, I follow this path because I choose to. There's scarcely anything you or Grooota could do to force me to stay. These attempts at pacifying the peril I place myself in chafe my patience. Tearen said in a sharp, hissing tone. Ilthiax's face screwed into a barely contained fit of rage. It was the first time that Tearen had really shown any sort of push-back against his handler. With an angered snarl, Ilthiax pulled what appeared to be a small, black pendant from his coat pocket and squeezed it firmly. Agony, sharp and all-consuming immediately forced Tearen to crumple to the ground. His back felt as if it was on fire; even more so than when Grooota's insignia had been laser etched into his flesh. He should have known there was more to this marking than a simple branding. Still, Tearen refused to be cowed by such a trivial thing as simple pain. Green eyes gleaming wide, Tearen turned his head to look Ilthiax in the eyes. The fat, cyborg demon held a look of delighted sadism as their eyes met. But then, in a flash of pure white brilliance, Tearen sent a burst of overwhelming thoughts funneling into the greedy miser's brain.
Ilthiax dropped the pendant to the ground and staggered back against the door to a stall, bellowing pathetically. With some effort, Tearen forced himself to his feet, despite the echoing pain that ricocheted up and down his back. Tearen grabbed Ilthiax fully by the neck and slammed it hard into the wall behind them. Gagging, Ilthiax looked down at Tearen with all the fear of a cornered rat.
I may be a veritable nobody in the grand hierarchy of the Underverse, but do not mistake me for some mewling whelp, Ilthiax. I am like no being you have ever encountered before, and I cannot be controlled by simple gimmicks. Remember this, and you may still be of use to me. Tearen spat, lifting the black pendant to their eye level with his mind. He let it hover before Ilthiax's face for a moment before shattering the abyssal trinket with an effortless thought. Another moment passed before the Shadow released the immense cyborg and began stalking off into the false night of Azgradurg.
"Y-you..." Ilthiax choked, leering at Tearen as he strode away, "Where do you think you're going?! Hey!"
See to it that the entrance arrangements are made. Don't fret, Ilthiax. I'll be ready to fight when the time comes. Tearen cooed, before slamming the door behind him with a mental tug. This narrative of indentured servitude to the ruling classes of the Underverse was already becoming tedious to the ex-enigma. Perhaps fear and pain would work on other, more powerless Primes than himself, but the vast powers that he had at his disposal set him far apart from the normal, fleshy stock that came raining in from the Omniverse above.
In time, Tearen would see to it that the entire Underverse learned this lesson. Thoroughly.
And, we dream of home I dream of life out of here Their dreams are small My dreams don't know fear I got my heart full of hope I will change everything No matter what I'm told How impossible it seems We did it before And we'll do it again We're indestructible Even when we're tired And we've been here before Just you and I
Don't try to rescue me I don't need to be rescued
Don't try to rescue me I don't need to be rescued