Twin Suns of Atlantis: Dorgon

"I was fighting for my life, not for anyone's amusement," Dorgon grumbled. He rolled his shoulders to loosen up. "Those two. Of course."

"Of course. Listen. I'll keep Vokesh occupied while you take out Nicos. You're much faster than him and I know how to handle the lance with these." Karas clicked his claws together confidently.

"As you wish. Once Nicos is dealt with, I'll fight at your side."

* * * *

Lance against claws, axe against monstrous war club. Like dancers in an intricate, deadly ballet, the four men circled around each other, taking measure of their foe. The crowd murmured in disapproval, for blood had yet to spill. There was the occasional feint or poke at a foe's defense but to Jendayi it seemed the fighters were stalling for time.

"What are they doing?" the ambassador complained after draining his goblet. He brushed a few errand locks of golden hair behind an ear and leaned forward. "That's not a fight, damn it!"

"Would you be so eager to throw your life away for the amusement of others?" his wife asked, challenging him with a hard look.

"Isn't fighting their purpose?"

The crowd roared. Vokesh had lunged, the razor-sharp tip of his lance gouging a deep, crimson furrow in the claw-wielder's thigh. Karas didn't scream but his limp told everyone how severe the damage was. With this first strike as the signal, the fight began in earnest. Dorgon had seen his ally get hurt. The scale-plated grey giant jumped into action, raining blow upon blow onto the tusked behemoth he was facing. Despite his obvious prowess, Nicos managed to deflect each and every blow with the stone-lined sides of his weapon.

Another roar, echoing the yelp of pain from the claw-wielder. He had managed to tear a gash into Vokesh's golden armor but the lance-wielder's retaliation was swift and brutal, the wicked tip of his lance jutting obscenely from the claw-wielder's arm. Vokesh roared, pumping his arm into the air three times. The crowd answered with a cheer. Deliberately, Vokesh gripped the lance with both hands. The crowd chanted, a low moan rising like a ravenous tide as Vokesh yanked his weapon free, taking a large chunk of bloody meat out of his opponent's arm.

The crowd rose as one, feet stomping, fists pumping, roaring like a single, malevolent entity.

Dorgon, now finding himself pushed onto the defensive as the tusked warrior swung his massive bludgeon in vicious arcs and cuts, managed a quick glance at his comrade as he writhed in the sand, unable to even clutch his mauled arm. Vokesh rammed his lance to the sand next to Karas' head and took off his mask. Karas, in a last attempt to still turn the fight, fought into a sitting position and raked his claw against Vokesh's legs. A vicious boot to his ruined arm sent him back into the sand, howling in agony.

"What do you want?" Vokesh roared, tossing his mask into the stands.

"Death!" came the answer from the crowd.

"Death it shall be!" Vokesh roared, reclaiming his lance and shaking the bloody clump from its tip. Slowly, savoring every moment, he planted his foot onto Karas' chest, denying him even a feeble struggle. He bent low and pulled the beaked mask from his opponent's face.

A painful grunt shattered the hush. Even Vokesh, so close to delivering the killing blow, looked up.

Dorgon had finally managed to break Nicos' guard. He stood behind him while Nicos cowered in the blood-stained sand, looking in wonder at the shattered remains of his right knee.

"Death! Death! Death!" the crowd roared as one, shaking the arena with the force of their demand.

Almost gently, Vokesh lowered the tip of his lance. Even from high up, Jendayi could see the panic on Karas' tattooed face as the tip came closer and closer. Then, with a satisfied grunt, Vokesh rammed the weapon into Karas' eye.

Dorgon's scream of rage was drowned out by the crowd as they celebrated. He grabbed at Nicos' back, pulling the giant to the ground by his leather straps. Nicos didn't go down as easily as Karas did. One massive fist caught Dorgon in the gut, lifting him clean off the ground. To Jendayi's amazement though, Dorgon recovered in the blink of an eye. He kicked the side of Nicos' helmet, stunning him for a heartbeat, then the axe came down in a glittering arc, devastating the other knee. Not content with robbing his opponent of his legs, Dorgon chopped again, taking most of Nicos' fingers as the giant tried to shield his head from Dorgon's assault.

A guttural, inhuman scream was the only warning Dorgon got. He dove to the side, barely avoiding Vokesh's lance, thrust with the full force of a madcap charge. Still in motion, he turned on his heel, arm and axe coming around in a crimson-stained arc, the head of the weapon colliding with Vokesh's breastplate and stopping him with the force of a titan's fist, the scream of tortured, folding metal just as loud as his pained howl. Vokesh shook his shaggy, bearded head, staring blankly at his empty hands. His lance lay in the sand a few feet away, borne on its own momentum. Dorgon, axe high overhead, used the barely conscious Nicos as a stepping stone and jumped, aiming for Vokesh's head.

The crowd held their breath.

* * * *

Vokesh's gauntleted hands came up, grasping the haft just underneath the blade. The force of the blow buckled his knees but the axe stopped mere inches from his face.

"I'm not an easy one to kill," he gasped, blood trickling from his mouth.

"You want the axe?" Dorgon growled. "Have it!" He let go of the weapon, his fist hitting Vokesh square in the face, destroying his nose. Vokesh shook his head as if someone had doused him in water but didn't topple. He tossed Dorgon's axe aside, spitting more blood and came back to his feet. Dorgon dodged backwards, evading Vokesh's fist strike.

"You think you are the only one touched by the God-Emperor?" Vokesh roared, pink spittle flying from his lips. "I was his favorite until you came along!" There was a sharp hiss and two blades extended from forearm sheaths. Vokesh clanged them together.

"And now you'll die." Slowly, inexorably, Vokesh advanced, his eyes clear and focused despite the prodigious amounts of blood pouring from his mouth and shattered nose. To Dorgon's amazement, he seemed to move faster as well, his movements more fluid despite the heavy armor he wore.

"It will be my pleasure to cut you into tiny pieces and piss on them," Vokesh growled, his blades weaving an intricate pattern in front of his face and chest.

Even without his new gifts, Dorgon easily understood the disadvantage he faced. Vokesh was heavily armored, better armed and possessed by powers only Vokesh and the God-Emperor knew. All he had was a badly battered arm guard and...

Vokesh lunged, both blades scything through the air, intent on eviscerating Dorgon's unprotected midsection. The scale-plated warrior fell back, only to be nicked by both razor-sharp tips. Frantically, he scanned the arena for a weapon, anything to turn the tide.

Dorgon evaded another vicious barrage of slashes and dove to the side, past the feebly stirring Nicos. The big man's war club was within reach and Dorgon, clutching the unwieldy, massive weapon, came to his feet. He swung it in a wide arc, clipping Vokesh's ravaged chest. The man howled in agony but didn't slow down.

* * * *

"He should be dead," the ambassador gasped, pointing at the wedge-shaped crater in Vokesh's armor. "How is he not dead?"

"Oh, yes. I nearly forgot about him," Xevex mused. The God-Emperor leaned forward, watching the bloody proceedings with obvious glee. "The last of a doomed test series. The others' hearts couldn't take the strain of the adrenaline-powered muscle enhancements. Maybe he hadn't been taken to the limit yet."

A hush had fallen over the arena as all eyes were fixed on the battle below. Another bell-like impact rang out as Dorgon slammed the massive club into Vokesh's shoulder. The armored hulk didn't even flinch under the metal-crumpling hit, retaliating with a vicious slash to Dorgon's arm. The black-haired giant almost dropped his club.

Xevex' head turned, taking in the horrified looks the ambassador and his wife gave him. "What?" he asked, irritated.

"What- ...what are you doing here?" the ambassador gasped. Another roar from the crowd. Dorgon had finally dropped the club, horrible amounts of crimson pouring from a long gash along his forearm.

"You mean besides shaping the future of humankind?" Xevex asked, shrugging. "You don't worry your little head, dear ambassador. Sit back and enjoy the show, yes?" The ambassador winced, as if someone had poured ice water down his collar. Slowly, as if fighting every inch of the way, he turned his attention back to the grisly spectacle below.

* * * *

Dorgon knew Vokesh was toying with him. Even after suffering blows which would have felled any ordinary warrior, despite the horrifying injuries he had sustained, Vokesh fought like a well-rested veteran. He seemed to feel no pain and his armor appeared weightless by now. Or was it?

No. Not at all. Vokesh's eyes rolled inside their sockets and his mouth was distended into a perpetual O, trying to supply his raging, bleeding body with oxygen.

"Let's finish this," Vokesh gasped, his arms no longer executing precise slashes. Rather, he flailed, all coordination forgotten. "You- you're bleeding worse than the Emp'rer's harem at... the eve of the month. Let me-"

The armored hulk stopped, his relentless advance forgotten, a hand digging around in the blood-seeping crater on his chest. Helplessly coughing, Vokesh went to his knees, his face turning purple.

Not questioning his luck, Dorgon seized his opening. He grabbed the bearded warrior by the head with both hands and twisted, hard, snapping his neck like dried kindling.

The crowd gasped. Vokesh did not fall. Defiant to the end, his massive armored form remained on his knees, head grotesquely staring backwards.

Dorgon fell to his knees as well, gasping air into his own burning lungs. Now that the battle was over, his body screamed in protest, every nick, every cut, every contusion burning like the Pits. He had no idea if he healed at all or if the grueling battle had robbed him of his miraculous powers. It took him a few moments to realize that the crowd was dead silent. He looked around, only to see confusion and disbelief etched on the few faces he could see.

Dorgon rose then waded through the bloody arena, littered with the carcasses of men and beasts alike. As he went, he claimed Vokesh's lance, blood-stained streamers twisted and tangled. Eventually, he stood beneath the Immortal's Gallery.

"Do you have more?" he roared, raising his weapon high above his head. "I've beaten everything you've thrown at me! Now let me go!"

"The gods are pleased with your prowess, Dorgon," Xevex called from above. "Lay down your arms and rejoice. You have indeed won my favor."

The crowd roared in approval as a squadron of guards swarmed the arena, dispatching the barely living form of Nicos as they came. They quickly disarmed Dorgon and placed a bright, white cape around his bloody shoulders. He let them lead him into the tunnels, then up several long flights of stairs.

* * * *

Jendayi gasped as the guards led Dorgon into the Gallery. From up close, his bloodsoaked frame looked horrible, his once lustrous hair caked to the left side of his skull, his right arm a scabbed-over, sorry ruin, numerous bruises and cuts where his opponents had landed blows. He needed rest and healing, not a parade in front of the bloodthirsty crowd. But there was no deviation from the ritual.

"Citizens of Atlantis," Xevex called, his voice easily filling the Gallery and the arena beyond. "I give you your new champion, Dorgon! May his reign be long and stained crimson!"

A quick, sharp hurrah answered his proclamation. Xevex opened his arms wide in greeting, bowing his head to the triumphant victor.

He doesn't look very triumphant. Just tired, Jendayi thought. I'm surprised he's still standing after all that.

"As is custom since the dawn of time, the champion may ask a wish of me. Anything." Xevex stressed the word, his voice a silken whisper.

Dorgon straightened, as if ice water had been poured down his back. Then, slowly, his lips moving as if they tried to discover the words for the first time, he stuttered.

"I- I. Give me... the most beautiful wench alive."

* * * *

Sitting in the fragrant waters of the bath, Dorgon came back to his senses.

What in the burning Pits have I done? Why would I ask for sex when I could have had my freedom?

Anger stirred but only briefly. He was simply too tired to rage.

Maybe I can find a way to escape. After some rest, that is.

He yawned and stretched. Most of his injuries had healed by now. Generous amounts of soap and water had taken care of the blood and the grime. He would escape. Tomorrow.

Groaning, he hoisted himself out of the bath and padded to a low bench where towels had been laid out for him. He took one and wrapped it around his waist before leaving the bath chamber.

After his victory, they didn't toss him back into the pits. Under guard, he had been marched back to the palace. The streets of Atlantis were lined with celebrating masses, men pumping their fists, women baring their breasts or swooning as he shuffled past them.

Arriving at the palace, they threw him into the same suite of rooms he had already been in, before his inspection by the God-Emperor. The adjacent room was a luxurious bedchamber, walls painted with maritime scenery and illuminated by crackling fire bowls. The bed was large enough for six; next to it was a table piled high with food and drink. No windows though. The only other door led back to the hallway. Dorgon tested the handle. The door wouldn't open.

So I've traded one cage for another. Wonderful.

Dorgon shrugged. There would be a way for him to escape. He hadn't seen any slaves come and go but he was certain sooner or later someone would show up to check on him.

Eventually, they'll toss me back into the Pit. I should be gone by then. But until then...

Sitting on the bed, he helped himself to bread, meat, cheese and wine, glad for food not scraped from the bottom of a basket. Only when he broke open the third loaf of bread did he realize how ravenous he was. Dorgon reached for the wine pitcher to refill his goblet when the door latch clicked.

Flanked by two armed guards, a hooded and veiled being entered the chamber, body wrapped into a richly embroidered purple robe. Dorgon came to his feet, the towel slithering off his hips. Both guards had their blades out in an instant. Taking a step back, Dorgon raised his hands. "There's no need for blades. I'll cause no trouble." Yet.

"Enjoy," one of the guards snarled. The other, sheathing his blade, leered at Dorgon before both of them filed out of the room, closing and locking the door behind them.

His visitor reached up and folded the hood back. A cascade of silver hair poured down her shoulders and golden, slitted eyes blinked at Dorgon. Her skin was the tell-tale crimson of a true Huan-i. Legends told of mystical dragons who consorted with the natives of that far-away land, their offspring touched by something not entirely of this world. The ethereal beauty in front of him gave new weight to those legends.

"Greetings, victor," she whispered. "The God-Emperor personally chose me to be with you tonight." Her hands traveled down her front, parting the robes, displaying more crimson skin and gentle curves beneath. Golden curls and wreaths had been tattooed onto her shapely breasts and a radiant topaz sat in her navel. Her mound was dusted with fine silver fuzz and more elaborate gilded designs adorned her thighs and calves. A thin silver chain tinkled around her ankle.

"You can call me Sirra, victor," she purred, shrugging out of the robes entirely. Her voice was smooth and dark, with only a hint of the sibilance usually associated with her people. A thin, reptilian tongue darted forth from between her lips, tasting the air.

"You are not what I was expecting," Dorgon said, his eyes roaming over her body. She was gorgeous and moved with sensual elegance, each measured step bringing her closer to him. Sirra slid her arms around his neck, locking her fingers behind his head, and smiled up at him.

"Do you find me disappointing?" Her body melted against his, hard grey scales against hot crimson skin.

Dorgon inhaled deeply. She exuded a spicy, slightly musky fragrance. Unusual yet very pleasing, like everything about this unusual woman. She was as beautiful as he was alien. At least in this Xevex had kept his promise. He inhaled deeply, feeling his rod stir between them.

I might as well, Dorgon thought, embracing her. His fingers caressed down her back, tracing her spine before they came to rest on her shapely, firm behind. He kissed her lips. Her mouth opened and her thin, long tongue slithered out, playfully licking the inside of his mouth. Hungrily, he cupped her buttocks, pulling her close.

"I take this as a 'no,'" Sirra murmured when their kiss broke. "What is your name? I don't want to call you 'victor' all the time."

"Dorgon," he growled.

"A pleasure to meet you." Her hands, fingernails extended, clicked along the scales on his chest, traveling down, over his toned abdomen, until they reached his crotch. His rod awaited her questing hands, proudly pointing upwards and past his navel. Dorgon held perfectly still, spellbound by her cryptic smile and gentle touch. His hardness seemed even more receptive to sensations than ever before - or the soft, playful caresses and careful squeezes were alien to his altered body, so used to pain and trauma that they seemed like something entirely new.

"Sit down, Dorgon," Sirra softly ordered, nudging him towards the bed. Dorgon slid onto the mattress, curious what the exotic seductress might have planned. Smiling, she went to her knees in front of him. "I would like to thoroughly explore the little you," Sirra said, her breath on his sensitive organ chasing goosebumps up his spine. She grasped his hilt with both hands, stroking along the full length before she lowered her head. The feather touch of her tongue tore a groan from Dorgon's chest, which turned into a helpless chuckle as he realized that Sirra had looped her tongue around his glans, squeezing it deliciously. She made a playful sound then her lips engulfed him, the soft fluttering of her tongue all over his hardness.

Dorgon grasped two fistfuls of her hair, holding her head in place. Sirra softly moaned around him. Her hand cupped his sac and moved it upwards, signaling her willingness to take him that way. Or so he hoped. He gently thrust upwards. Her moan took on an appreciative note and she sucked, her fingers rolling his balls. She was a virtuoso of the tongue, coaxing groans and heated gasps from him with effortless ease and soon Dorgon realized that he couldn't contain himself much longer. But the instant he came to the conclusion, his body went rigid, almost ramming his rod down Sirra's throat, and a veritable flood of his seed poured forth, spilling from her mouth, over her chin onto her crimson breasts, coating her heaving flesh in a pearly sheen.

Giggling playfully, she kept his tip between her lips until he had spurted his last, one hand busy between her own thighs. If his pole sagged at all, Sirra couldn't tell but she appreciated his endurance. The Huan-i crawled onto his lap, her hot, wet sex slithering along his slick hardness.

"We will have so much fun, you and I," Sirra hissed, licking beads of sweat off Dorgon's chest. "Now, take me with all your might, victor."

* * * *

The ambassador had finally fallen asleep amidst a tangle of sweaty, exhausted bodies. A broad-shouldered pleasure slave removed his sizable rod from the Parthyan's pale ass with a disgusting, wet sound. The two girls which had tirelessly tried to get the ambassador's member up after his fifth climax sighed and rolled away from him. It had taken an impressive amount of spiced wine to get him to that point. The ambassador's wife had fallen unconscious quite some time ago, brought to utter exhaustion by one of the broad-shouldered, black-skinned gladiators Jendayi had brought in for her amusement. If a lowly diplomat had that kind of staying power, Jendayi wondered how mighty the Parthyan warriors would be. No wonder Xevex was courting that frigid realm's king for an alliance, something he'd never consider otherwise. Up to that point, what Xevex couldn't win with veiled threats, he won through sheer military might. The flying Atlantean war machines, the unearthly engines of destruction he could bring to a battlefield dominated by spearmen, archers and scythed chariots had few equals.