Cyborgs, insectoids, and various other non-human forms made up the ranks of the dogs waiting behind each gate for a chance in the Arena.
Captain-General Thalia Camejo sat comfortably in the second tier of the seating area, outside any reserved boxes but still close enough to the Arena.
The first bout was a ten-man battle royale, with only a single victor.
When Pierce stepped onto the crimson dirt, he wore nothing but robes around his lower half and coverings over his face, arms, and legs. Over those black wrappings were various designs marked with Erythan Clay for protection and victory.
Some traditions followed neither art nor science, but instinct, and the black wrappings were one of them.
When the horn was blown, a sandstorm began to rise in the Arena, while the audience could still see the show unimpeded through specialised projectors.
Drummers struck up a beat, cutting through the roar of the windswept sand with a rousing pulse, met in turn by the rhythmic stomps of the eager audience. Fiercely, they slammed their feet down and clapped. The beat fell, and they clapped before stomping again.
The theatre roused with a heavy, hearty sound that could be heard even from the markets, through the bustle of commerce.
That beat became the backdrop as the combatants were loosed upon one another. Scrambling and rushing onto the arena grounds, they sought each other through the veil of the sandstorm. Red earth clung to them, creating a film of crimson camouflage.
Pierce dropped low to the ground, almost on all fours, stalking his way forward at a steady pace.
Inside the cover of darkness, some of the fighters had already met. Unfortunate for them, it was the insectoid and the Khatim. A guttural squeal pierced the stinging winds, followed by a wet, ugly crunch as scarlet splatter spread through the arena. The silence that followed drove the remaining fighters away from the center.
While Pierce crawled through the dirt, a heavy metal claw reached through the storm and slammed shut around his neck. Firmly restrained, his wrapped hands shot to the clamp, trying to find the mechanism holding it in place, but a sudden jerk sent him crashing to the ground as the clamp reeled him back.
Dragged face-first across the dirt, skin grinding against sand and stone, Pierce felt the force increase after only a few feet. At that point, he pivoted, trying to straddle whatever the clamp was tethered to. When his thighs wrapped around what felt like metal chain links, he stretched out his legs.
Again the dragging force yanked harder, this time enough to pull him off the ground and into the air. Feet first, still wrapped around the chain, he suddenly felt a crushing set of teeth clamp down over them, as if trying to tear through flesh and bone. But the teeth struggled against the twisted chain. The mechanism choked, seized up, then retched out the length of chain in a metallic gag, slackening and dropping him to the ground.
Pierce recovered quickly and rushed through the sands until he reached it. Grabbing the snapped length of chain in both hands, he lunged forward and swung it into the metal-plated face that emerged from the storm. A clang and a shower of sparks lit up their position like a lighthouse.
"Fuck!"
The cyborg twitched and turned toward Pierce. Its glowing green lenses, set into a face of glass and composite, were cracked from the hit, trying to piece together a clearer image of its target, but the chain came swinging again.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
On the fifth strike, Pierce swung with enough force to rip open the clamp around his neck and send it smashing into the cyborg's face, knocking it backward.
"Unbelievable. To think this one would find Zossos first and beat him like that?" Captain-General Camejo raised her brows so high they stretched the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes.
A quick sigh slipped from her nose as she watched the unobscured view of the battle.
Her brow tightened after watching Pierce simply walk away from the beaten cyborg.
He narrowly missed a swing from another fighter, this one human. Larger and stockier than Pierce, the man missed with his fist, but a fast teep to the chest sent Pierce skidding through the dirt.
The assessment came fast, almost instantly.
Five bruised ribs. Three cracked. Wrists sprained. Some bleeding, but most of it had stopped.
His focus remained steel-hard, even beneath the thunder of his opponent's strikes. His opponent was fast and precise.
Someone trained. A classic Yadani. He's striking to stun, to break me down.
He reasoned that much after blocking a hidden straight punch clean into his cheek. He leaned into the hit, meeting it head-on with a nasty crack, causing his opponent to reel back in pain.
Stepping up and through the man's guard, Pierce struck his throat several times, slipped low to the ground, then smashed the backs of his knees and threw him down into the dirt. And once his opponent was on the ground, Pierce drove his elbow into his face, over and over and over again.
The metal faceplate shifted and pinched against bruising flesh. Blood spilled through the uncovered patches of the man's face, clotting in the seams of his armour. Standing in the sand-blasting winds, Pierce watched dust cling to those wet splashes of blood, drenching his wrappings and, in some places, erasing the clay markings.
He tried to catch his breath. A mouthful of blood was spat out. A sharp sting bit into his side and brought him to his knees.
The dusty veil was less overwhelming down at his feet. From there, Pierce's vision cleared for some distance. Another pair of Yadani rushed a massive figure encased in a glistening carapace. Its scythe-like blades swung with hungry precision, trying to shear the pair off at the legs.
Pierce clawed and crawled his way away from that conflict while his wounds flared, though the strength to stand returned once his breathing slowed and narrowed into focus.
"Half the combatants have now fallen. The Storm-Veil will now be lifted!"
A coarse voice cut through the howling winds in unmistakable Scarlet Tongue.
At those words, the sands quickly fell still as the force of the winds died. And there stood five unlikely figures.
Pierce pulled the wraps from his face, allowing himself to breathe more naturally. Ahead of him, only a few paces away, stood a scarred and bleeding fighter, gripping the torn limb of the insectoid and ready to lunge for him.
Pierce looked past him and saw the insectoid's blue blood bound with the red sands, creating a crust of violet over its broken shell, with a dead fighter torn in half and his insides strewn over it.
Armed with equal parts panic and vigour, the fighter charged him, spitting words too slurred to make sense of.
Pierce took several steps back, making sure his peripheral remained open. His focus fell not on the weapon itself, but on everything else. The sound of the opponent's body in motion, the pull of muscle and tension, which parts were coiled and which were loose, even the scent he exuded told Pierce more than enough.
An assessment was made, not by a Blank of some mysterious strength, or a Scholar of war but by a learned Speaker of Og.
Once the man was close enough to swing the clawed limb, Pierce already knew where to step. He slipped beneath the weapon and knocked his opponent off balance. Following the path set by the attack and the weight of the limb, the man pitched forward before planting a foot to steady himself. He turned to swing again, only for his jaw to be rocked by a flying knee that threw him into the dirt.
Pierce rolled around the man's body and took the weapon before turning toward the open grounds of the Arena, where a three-way standoff was unfolding.
The bronze-coloured fighters wore wrappings similar to Pierce's and danced between one another's strikes. Their fists were fast and hit shockingly hard, each clean blow landing with a heavy thud. They moved with a learned cadence, as if already familiar with one another's bodies and rhythms.
When Pierce stepped toward the deadlock, the fighter in the middle used their distraction to sweep the nearest opponent, finishing him with a quick blow to the throat and then the jaw, only barely managing to avoid the other fighter's kick.
That kick aimed for the head and landed squarely against a guarded side. As the victor turned toward Pierce, a clean and unseen blow threw him to the ground. But Pierce rushed past him toward the remaining fighter, turned over the clawed limb, and used its blunted edge to beat the man down, knocking the wind out of him with two well-placed hits that ended in a wheezing cough.
After pulling back, he tossed the limb aside. It felt like a mountain in his exhausted arms.
Pierce stumbled toward the last fighter, who was still shaking his head clear from the hit, but Pierce did not wait. He dropped low and tackled him, striking at his throat through the struggle, only to be thrown off as the man choked for air. Still holding the wrappings that had once covered his face, Pierce tied them around his arm before rolling over and around the scrambling fighter, strangling him.
The fighter kicked and spat, swinging elbows into Pierce's side, but he was unmoved. A dull shine came off Pierce's blue eyes as the man stared into them, feeling only the grip around his throat tighten and tighten.
With a single, long breath, Pierce's shoulders relaxed, pressing deeper into the vice he held in spite of the cuts and wounds from the struggling fighter. He pressed harder until the man's eyes turned bloodshot, then rolled back.
In that moment, Pierce's hands opened, loosening around the throat before falling limp at the fighter's side.
He looked up at the canvassed roof of the Theatre, at the red-and-cream sails wafting with the cheers of the onlookers. A shadow loomed over him while his vision grew fuzzy and dull.
"The battle is over! A Yadani has been chosen as the victor!"
The authority to make the call came from a similarly armoured figure, much like the one that had prepared Pierce for battle. The cheers turned into rumbles as spectators ran from the stands to the Arena, seeking to meet their chosen Yadani.
"You have made your bets wisely, Chani."
A bearded onlooker stood and straightened his robes before stepping up to the seated Captain-General, looking down on her while her gaze barely moved from the Arena grounds.
"Since we have not parlayed with credits, I can assume you want something else?"
"Whatever gave you that idea? I simply came for a good fight."
"And Governor Hishrub surrounds himself with the company of whores for their political insights."
Gold of hair and eyes, another spectator, almost as young as Pierce, sat behind Thalia wearing an unsettling grin, his words stirred the rage of the companion seated beside him.
A wide and plump man, as large as three men in weight and girth, with thinning hair making up his brown beard and brows, scowled at the youngling through beady eyes before spitting out a curse.
At each other's throats, the elder continued to engage her.
"What is it you want? Speak of it so that I may be on my way."
"Hmm. Perhaps I wish to journey to the Sirius System. You could ferry me and my company, at your expense, of course."
"Sirius... at this time, you must know of the Empire's restrictions—"
"That is why I speak not with the President, Ion Forstwalhen of Sol Horizon Enterprises."
"Then you can imagine my confusion. If you have not come to me to seek the logistical expertise of my company, what can I offer you that would be different from simply making the journey yourself?"
"That is my own business. Unfortunately for you, the fact that you are now indebted to me does not afford you that knowledge. Know only this: you will make the appropriate voyage to the Sirius System exactly six days from now. The where and what of the cargo you will be moving will be divulged in time."
She stood, swatting away the reach of one of Hishrub's guards before he raised a hand, urging them to hold off. The Captain-General, never losing her spark, glared back at the guard with a venomous stare before walking away.
"Sir, what is your order?"
Like shadows appearing from some unseen corner, two tall individuals wearing masks of smooth, faceless features approached and flanked the elder.
"Find out how she learned of our work."
"Sir?"
"Do it. She threatened me with such ease and had the gall to make such an absurd request. Whatever she has learned, discover the source of her information and deal with it. I have preparations to make."
After the fight, Pierce lay bound by aches and frozen in place by bruised and broken bones as he slowly bled out.
A fate fit for any great Yadani. The honour to touch and even treat them was a sacred one, bestowed upon their chosen.
However, Pierce could barely muster a call loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. He had no one to bestow that honour upon—
"Stand proud, Mr. Ophe. You are strong."
From the corner of his eye, through glazed and dust-caked lids, he spotted her familiar strut.
"Captain—"
"What did you make of your first Yada experience?"
She stopped close enough for her shadow to creep over him, blocking out the red lights of the Arena.
"Ma'am... why did you bring me here?"
"Would you like the answer first, or medical attention?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"The kind that requires an answer in the next two seconds... one... two—"
"Medical aid!"
This agony burning through his body could not break his mask, but it was still real, tearing through every muscle and every nerve, screaming for him to do one thing—
shut his eyes, and forget this entire day.
Through his exhaustion, she saw something primal, animalistic, and unchained act out behind his eyes.
"Let's get you patched up."