Gregorian Empire — City of Cartag.
Provincial Amphitheater, 9:00 A.M.
The bells fell silent. For a few seconds, silence lingered before the roar came crashing back like a wave. The crowd was ablaze, eyes glittering, mouths stained red with wine.
For them, what was coming was the main dish. And the Announcer did not disappoint.
Announcer: —"It's time for the second turn, ladies and gentlemen… best of luck to the fifth lot. But now, by your request, the next unlucky souls will face the most beloved monsters of Amethyst City, Lichstein. You know who I mean, don't you?... Brought here thanks to the Mercenary Guild—give it up for the entrance of the Green Demons!"
The Goblings' Entrance
The ground shook as the side gates burst open at once.A shrill, metallic roar flooded the arena: cages crammed full of Goblings were dragged to the center. Dozens of small creatures with gray-green skin, yellow eyes, and fangs dripping saliva. As soon as the locks snapped, the cages opened like starving jaws.
The Goblings did not charge blindly.They clustered in circles, shoving each other, shrieking in a guttural tongue that sounded far too ordered to be chaos. They were organizing.
From his balcony, Galio knew.
—"The people love this," —he muttered to the scribe beside him—. "Nothing entertains more than watching rats use their heads."
The scribe scribbled, trembling, as the first gladiators entered: twenty men and women, some hardened fighters, others newly bought slaves, all carrying short spears and light shields.
The clash was instant.The Goblings swarmed in packs of six or seven, clambering up shields, biting tendons, jabbing sharp stones into throats.
—"Don't falter! If we hold the line, we can win!"
One gladiator skewered two at once with his spear—but in seconds five more piled onto him, dragging him down and clawing his face off with nails sharp as daggers.
The crowd roared:
—"Hahaha! Look how pathetically he died!"
—"See how they work together!"
—"Go, Goblings! Leave no one standing!"
In minutes, the gladiators were finished. Some ripped apart, others literally eaten alive. The Goblings devoured the remains with animal discipline, as if the spectacle belonged to them too.
***
The Troll Awakens
By 9:30, the climax arrived.The ground thundered as the northern gate opened. A black Damascus steel cage, wrapped in chains and glowing runes, was dragged by ten oxen and imperial soldiers.
Inside, hunched and breathing, was the Troll.Nearly four meters tall, skin gray as living stone, muscles knotted, scars telling of a thousand battles. Its breath was thunder held back.
The crowd fell silent for a heartbeat at the sight. Then, like a storm breaking open, they erupted.
—"The Troll! The Troll!"
—"Crush them, meat mountain!"
—"Smash their skulls!"
When the chains fell away, the beast opened its yellow eyes and roared so powerfully the air vibrated in everyone's lungs.
The opposite gate opened, shoving in thirty more prisoners: gladiators, slaves armed with rusty axes, and two veterans clad in patched armor.
—"Damn our luck," —one veteran muttered.
—"Oh gods… we're going to die!" —shouted the youngest.
—"Shut it! If we charge together we might stand a chance!" —barked a gladiator, though his shaking legs betrayed him.
The Troll took one step. The ground trembled.And the slaughter began.
The first gladiator sprinted with a spear.One swipe from the Troll turned him into a broken doll against the floor. His skull burst like ripe fruit.
The rest tried to circle, yelling to keep courage. Some stabbed at its sides, others hurled stones with slings. The beast roared, spun, and with its makeshift club swept five men aside in one blow.
Some bodies slammed against the wall, leaving bones, flesh, and streaks of blood. Others simply burst on impact, raining gore across the sand.
Meanwhile, the Goblings, freed at the same time, dove into the chaos.While men tried to distract the Troll, they swarmed the stragglers' legs, dragging them down and eating them alive.
One veteran managed to slice two Goblings' heads clean off and bellow:—"Its eyes! Aim for its eyes!"
But before he could swing again, the Troll's fist smashed his chest. His torso disintegrated under the blow, leaving only head, arms, and legs scattered.
Bodies piled high. The arena was no longer sand but red mud. Survivors screamed as Goblings hunted in packs, bringing down the strongest, while the Troll flattened anyone in its path.
One man tried to flee back to the gate they'd entered.
The crowd jeered:—"Coward slave!"
A rain of fruit and stones battered him.Before he reached the door, a Gobling leapt at his throat and dragged him down.
By 10:00, the massacre was at full peak.The Troll bellowed, blood streaming down its arms. Goblings shrieked, slick with entrails, gnawing warm bones.The last gladiators knelt, broken—some praying to the gods, others simply weeping.
Galio, unshaken, leaned toward the scribe:
Galio:—"Write this down. The Troll is a success. But we won't use him at tomorrow's opening… for today, he makes a perfect finale."
The scribe nodded frantically, scribbling.
The crowd was delirious.Nobles applauded with feigned grace. Plebeians howled like beasts themselves. Children laughed watching Goblings tear arms off. Women bet on how many seconds the last gladiator would last.
Finally, when the creature crushed the last man's skull into the sand, the coliseum erupted in cheers. The crowd wanted no mercy. They wanted more.
Announcer: —"Ladies and gentlemen, we'll soon take a brief recess… and we have surprises ahead, for I've been informed Red Tickets are in attendance. We'll soon see what they're capable of."
The announcement was timed with the 11:00 bell, ending the second phase.
Bodies were dragged out like garbage. The Troll, roaring in fury, was hauled back into the underground cages by ten soldiers. The Goblings, blood-soaked, were whipped back to their pens, though several soldiers lost fingers and ears in the process.
The crowd kept chanting, drunk on violence.For them, this wasn't enough. They wanted the third phase. They wanted more flesh.
Galio watched calmly.His smile was thin, razor-sharp.
Galio:—"Tomorrow's spectacle will be legendary. Pity for the beasts… "—he whispered, before instructing his aides—. "Go to the entrance. The fools will begin to arrive soon."
As his aides hurried off, he lingered a moment:
"This I do for you, son… I will never forgive a single one of these wretches."
And as the sun climbed over Cartag, the arena floor was already a sea of coagulated blood.The day was barely halfway to noon.
The slaves in their cells and the spectators in the stands knew it. Some prayed for the day to end, others wished the bloodshow would never stop.
Meanwhile, outside the city…
Sam was racing toward Cartag at full speed, CI-Mask in place.
[Master, I still oppose what you intend to do. (. ͠• . ͠• .)]
—That'll be my signature. Just like a WWE gladiator.