[M] Retribution IV: Rebirth

[Shang Tsung]

With a dull thud, the man landed against the harsh floor of the arena pit. The impact momentarily deprived him of his hearing, as the roars of the demonic crowd were dulled by the ringing sensation. When he found his senses a few moments later, Argento pulled his arms beneath his chest and pushed up off of the dirt floor. As he laboriously rose to his feet, he was finally able to appreciate the gravity of the situation.

He’d seen these places before, although he’d never actually gone into a gladiatorial arena. Despite the stories of how exciting Valik’s seasonal ‘games’ were, he had never opted to go. What business did a religious man have watching such blood sport… especially when that same man had a wife and two young daughters who looked to him?

Now Argento knelt on the floor of one of those very heinous structures, and much to his chagrin, the entirety of the patrons who sat in the stands above him were demons. They jeered his very presence as an announcer spoke in a language that the paladin couldn’t quite understand, given the noise level. He did hear the word ‘Belial’ a handful of times, and from the crowd reaction, the paladin could figure that Belial was the patron of this arena.

On the other side of the pit, the sound of a whining winch drew the attention of the crowd and caused them to hush just a little as they waited for the portcullis to rise. Scrambling to his feet, Argento took a moment to assess his own situation. His armor was gone, and he was clad only in the bloodstained clothes he wore beneath his normally impenetrable mantle of sun-blessed steel. His weapons were likewise gone, and even the necklace and religious icon he held on his person had been taken from him. Did these creatures know no dignity? What value would they extract from a few daguerreotypes of a man’s dead family?

Argento clenched his hands into tight fists, but even as the anger swelled within him, he knew not to let it in too much. There was a fine line between a blessed warrior and a vigilante touched by divinity. From the other side of the arena, nearly half a dozen demons shambled out from beneath the blood-marred portcullis. Each of them was armored and armed with at least two visible weapons, and those that didn’t have clear weapons sported tusks or giant, slashing digits where their fingers should have been.

“I should have expected little else from demons…” Argento muttered as he started to back away. Behind him, the gate he’d been thrown from was already closed, and a handful of demons with pikes were waiting, undoubtedly to stab at him if he attempted to flee.

Flee? I’d rather end my own life.

Turning to face the approaching horde, Argento placed a hand over his chest and tried to clear his thoughts. While the sun didn’t shine in this dreadful place, his connection with his divine guardian was still intact to an extent. He could still tap into a handful of the powers he could normally wield on the surface. Beneath the palm, he felt the familiar warmth of sunlight as the demons spread out and started to stalk toward him. From the looks on their faces, they must have seen him as some sort of pushover—a feeble, bloodied lion thrown into the den of the hyenas.

Hubris isn’t an invention of mankind.