The Fallen Kings [M]

[Sasuke Uchiha]

Putrid, vile, and profuse, the crimson skies of the Underverse, like a shroud, wrapped the environment in an inescapable taint. Sorrow, agony, and malevolence colored not only the Gothic Victorian style of Diablo’s Black Kingdom, but that of each and every one of its many denizens as well. Atop this nightmarish hellscape erected a proverbial and irrefutable embodiment of dominance and control: Diablo’s ever seeing, ever watchful eye. Engulfed in a blazing, dance of fire, nothing escaped its gaze, certainly least of most, the coliseum.  

An attraction of infamous renown in this verse. Day after day, its stands were filled with crazed fanatics and its earth sullied with the blood of the fallen. Even early in its conception, rumors of fame, glory, and the Dark Lord’s favor sparked an interest that spread like wildfire. All tested their grit upon the blood stained sands; Diablo’s hordes, banished primes, and secondarys alike. Most of whom, however, had never exceeded their expectations quite like that of the current reigning champion: Allanon.

Undefeated, and with thirty-five hard fought victories, Allanon’s run in the coliseum was truly remarkable. Not only that, but the bastard seemed to enjoy sadism. Notorious for tormenting his prey and forgoing quick deaths, Allanon had become a crowd favorite in a world full of ravenous killers. He belonged here, came alive under the dark lord’s eye, and had no designs of escaping the Underverse. Believing himself a reckoning, there was no better verse more deserving of his ilk.

Standing seven foot seven, Allanon was a goliath; his presence easily discernible as he strolled the overlooking balcony festooned to be the winner’s quarters. Seasoned warriors seemed to occupy less space as the brute inspected the day’s amenities. A bountiful feast had been provided for the more successful killers, wrought with the nefarious food items, pleasures, and various delicacies of hell. Thundering sounds of the crowd roared overhead as the day’s events began to unfold.  

“Welcome to the arena! These pathetic worms will fight for their lives against the best that the Lord of Terror has to offer. The last prisoner standing gets to live!” A loud voice boomed across the arena as gears began to rotate, the coliseum doors raised, and gladiators spilled onto the battlefield.

“Just like you wanted champ,” sneered a gruesome flesh, metal monstrosity of a combatant, “looks like we got a new batch of fresh meat to play with, aye, Allanon?” The monster known as Scripper cackled with gleeful anticipation.

Under a fiery crimson sun, a gong sounded, and chaos consumed the battlefield below. A fray of combatants, weapons, and metal clashed against a fierce eruption from the crowd. Allanon couldn’t be bothered. He stood unmoved, unattached, and emotionless, before finally turning to leave, seemingly unimpressed.

The announcer's booming voice came once more, “Wow folks, it seems like someone is actually putting up a fight this time.”

Allanon stopped his advancement.

Talent revealed itself in the form of a blonde warrior emerging victorious in multiple exchanges early on in the skirmish. “Looks like we got a bold gladiator here. Let’s see how spectacularly and gruesomely he dies,” the announcer’s voice shouted with glee. His voice dripped with excitement.

“Awe, will look at that,” Scripper, the amalgamation from before hollered, excited by the feats of a golden warrior, “We got a lively one boys!”  Adjacent to the monster, Allanon had reappeared, his interest along with him, finally starting to peak.

Announcer, “Aaaaaaaand he’s dead. Looks like that’s it for Goldilocks, folks. Good show, I’m told that one was prime, though. So, don’t worry folks, that won’t be the last of old Goldie!”

Scripper tuned to say something, but Allanon had vanished.