Chapter 30: Howl With Rage
The short man led Morne past a handful of cells just like the one he had left, each so dark he could just vaguely make out the silhouettes of those within.
Then they ascended a set of dirt stairs and arrived at a steel door.
The short man opened it, revealing a small corridor, and gestured to Morne. "Get in."
"What's in there?" Morne asked.
The man scowled. With a flick of his finger and a muttered word, a shockwave flew from his finger and slammed into Morne's gut with the force of a sledgehammer, causing him to double over in pain and driving the air out of his lungs.
"Question me again and I'll kill you where you stand," growled the man. "I have no patience for horrible listeners."
Morne coughed as his lungs gasped for air. It took a full minute before he finally reined himself in and straightened, only to be tossed into the room by the irate short man.
The steel door slammed shut behind him, leaving him in darkness for a split second before a torch flickered to life to his right.
Taking a seat on a mound of dirt resembling a bench, his eyes went to the other end of the small corridor, which had yet another door.
This door opened less than a minute after Morne had entered. He pushed himself to his feet, stepping through warily.
The door led to what was best described as an arena. The circular area was fifty feet wide, with walls twice as tall as Morne. The tops of these walls were floors for an audience, protected by a thick layer of glass reinforced with metal bars.
The audience members were mostly barbaric ne'er-do-wells with mismatched armor and bloodthirsty grins, with a few gaudily-dressed nobles sprinkled in.
Among them, Morne spotted the four that had captured him. Tross gave him an affectionate wave, then cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted "Don't let me down, now!"
An announcer, seated behind a wooden desk in a spot where he could monitor the action, tapped the cube in front of him, sending a *thunk, thunk, thunk* throughout the arena and stands.
"We have a fresh competitor tonight!" said the announcer animatedly, the glint of a metal tongue showing with each word.
The bandits cheered loudly, stomping their feet on the ground.
"What's more, he's a Mage! He was provided to us by our very own Tross and her crew, so you know he's top-tier. How are you doing down there, big guy?"
Morne spared him only a glance before his eyes went back to Tross.
His expression gave little away, but the fury smoldering in his gaze was another story.
Tross only smiled down at him prettily. She had nothing to fear from this man. They had taken him down with ease once, it would be far easier to deal with him when they went for the kill.
"No answer?" smirked the announcer. "Guess he's shy!"
The bandits laughed heartily.
"That's fine, big guy. We didn't bring you here to talk. We brought you here to fight! Y'see, we have a special deal for you. You live through everything we throw at you, you get to go free! You fail, and we'll just forget you ever existed.
"Oh, also you'll be dead. Almost forgot to mention that.
"You have five rounds ahead of you. If you want to see the sun again, then better get to murdering!"
A gate squeaked open, and out walked a man beefier and taller than even Morne.
His bronze chest was bare, and the lack of hair on his body combined with the sweat coating his skin highlighted his abs and every muscle and vein in his arms.
His decency was covered by a pair of trousers lined with bones ranging from skulls to knuckles and toes, and he was unarmed and unarmored except for a small buckler strapped to his left arm.
He grinned at Morne, banging his right arm against his shield. "I'll enjoy crushing you."
"The first round, Bobby the Butcher!" said the announcer. "Anyone familiar with our events knows this man well. He loves the feeling of flesh snapping and bones breaking under his grip.
"This will be a hard fight for our new blood, but we never said freedom was easy!
"Now… Begin!"
Bobby charged forward, head down like a bull and arms reaching forward.
Morne tore his gaze away from Tross, looking at his sprinting opponent.
The two were close in size and physique, but Bobby was larger by no small margin. If they engaged in close combat, Morne wasn't certain that he'd come out on top.
At the same time, Splinter wasn't at the point where it was lethal just yet, though he had brought it to the Eme stage of mastery, so he wouldn't discount its usefulness.
Seconds before Bobby arrived, Morne dove to the side.
He hopped to his feet while Bobby dug his heels into the ground, attempting to change his direction. But he had built up too much speed during his charge, and took several seconds to slow.
Morne closed the distance with a sprint, sending a punch as Bobby turned, arm cocked at the waist for a blow of his own.
Morne's fist connected with Bobby's jaw, snapping his head to the side, while Bobby's fist hit Morne square in the stomach.
It had less force behind it than the short man's finger flick, but not by much.
Morne staggered back, wheezing to catch his breath as Bobby cracked his neck with a hand.
"That almost hurt," Bobby said with a grin. Blood dripped down his teeth, but he didn't seem to mind. "And here I thought you might be able to make me feel something. A shame, really."
Morne caught himself, planting his feet ten feet away. He panted as he glared back at that smug face.
Then, without warning, he threw his hand forward, pointing at Bobby's eye.
"Splinter shot."
A blob of dark energy flew forward with the speed of a thrown rock. It wasn't fast, but there was too little room to dodge.
It collided with Bobby's eyelid, which had closed reflexively, and sent a wave of pain into it that caused him to howl with rage.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone