Damycles
swift
Lucid Dreaming
Tim the Yeti
Hammerman
Nepsis
Fetzen
Noctis
4323O2Erika didn't know the name of the man she had just killed. He gurgled and gasped, clawing in vain towards her naked and perspiring body as he iron shiv she stuck through his throat acted like an open valve to drain his lifeblood in what seemed a matter of mere moments. The stranger's strength failed him and he collapsed forward, blood drenching both the ground beneath him and soaking the dark, tattered clothes covering his chest. There was a moment of silence as the crowd gathered at the top of the crude gladiatorial pit stopped in their jeering and savage wooping. Erika was certain that this was the end of her existence. Surely men were going to be piling into the pit to take their vengeance on her for killing one of their own. Shutting here eyes she braced for the first gunshot or woosh of air that would signal her execution.
It had been three days since the SkarBlades, one of the more violent and unpredictable gangs in the underhive had taken her and many other rival undergangers prisoner. It was a bold move on the part of the Skarblades to launch such a heavy raid into the territory of the cutters. The Skarblades larger neightbour. Like any woman living in the underhive Erika predicted her life would become very short and very unpleasent. While she wasn't exactly an upperhive beauty princess. Her body too lean and wiry from a lifetime of harsh survival and scrounging only just enough food to survive day by day. She had several scars that gave testiment to how many close calls she had suffered and a mop of shoulder length dirty blonde hair which was now clinging to her neck via a layer of sweat and grime.
She was still a woman, and not an ugly one by the standards of the underhive. A brief existence and torment and gangrape was about all she expected to be given. Being stripped naked and tossed into the fetid fighting pit only reinforced that idea. But being thrown a jagged shiv, and told she had the opportunity for one last fight before the end. That was a generosity she did not expect, and a mistake she intended to make her captures regret. It was rusty and bent, and it cut her hand just holding it just as much as it cut her opponents flesh. But it was a weapon, and as long as she had a weapon she ha a chance.
She had fought like a possessed Hell-bitch and won, somehow, someway she found or was given the strength to win. And now she faced her death at the hands of his pissed off comrades..... Only the jeers and taunts she heard next weren't directed at her. They were directed at the man she just killed. They spit on him and chastized him for losing to a woman of all people. One of the other gangers swung his legs over the edge of the pit and was about to drop down and finish the job when another man pushed his way through the crowd.
Evil was the best single word to describe this man. Evil and maybe hateful. Bare chested like a feral world barbarian with such a thick network of scar tissue it was almost impossible to pick out the strange rune branded squarely over his heart. Almost impossible, but somehow that peculiar brand was very much visible through the lattice of scars running around and through it. It hurt Erika's eyes to look at it for too long so she looked him in the eyes. Somehow that was even worse. His eyes were orbs or pure hate and a bloodlust that went beyond simple psycopathy. They locked her gaze and she found herself unable to look at anything else or take in any other details of this strange man.
“Well fought.” When he spoke it was with an unnatural bellow to his voice and all the other gangers silenced themselves to let him speak. “There is little to say other than this. Damarak was weak.” Gesturing with scorn towards the fresh corpse ad Erika's naked feet. “You clearly are not. Our master despises weakness and rewards the strong. He has seen fit to see you emerge the victor today. As a mark of respect towards your victory and to our masters will, I will give you this opportunity. Join us, take Damarak's place in the Skarblades. Whatever he owned is now yours by right.” Jumping down into the pit Erika was struck by how large this man was, no man in the underhive could hope to find enough food to maintain such a body. She knew he could and would kill her much easier than her other opponent, this Damarak. She watched him bend down to retrieve Damarak's knife, A crude chunk of iron, brutally hammered into shape by the hand of an underhive 'artisan'. It was a crude and ungainly weapon but this new fighter held it out to her handle first.
“Once chance to accept. Or you can die here and now in this pit. Choose quickly, neither I nor my master like to wait.” It was an obvious choice to make. Erika had no idea what this man was talking about when it came to masters but to refuse was to die. Besides, there was a part of her..... and perhaps it was just the leftover adrenaline working its way through her veins. But a part of her felt a rush, a new kind of high better than any chem she could remember taking. Sure she had killed before, but that was always for a reason. Survival, food, clothes, etc. She never took any special pleasure in the act before. But this fight was different. It was a more visceral and heady experience. The act of killing never felt so empowering and the scent of fresh blood, a smell that previously repulsed her now reeked of satisfaction. The thrill of the fight was so intense that it was dizzying!
A voice whispered a reassurance in her head that this was not simple adrenaline, but something better. Something she could experience more often and more easily than with chems. She felt a rush of power overwhelm her now that she could properly bask in her victory. The voice promised a life of power. Of strength and the ability to take what she needed when she desired it instead of scrounging for rotten scraps and selling her body for another chem hit. The voice could help her, give her the strength she needed to take the things she wanted....... All she had to do was take it, take the knife and bend her knee..... It seemed a fair trade.
It had been three days since the SkarBlades, one of the more violent and unpredictable gangs in the underhive had taken her and many other rival undergangers prisoner. It was a bold move on the part of the Skarblades to launch such a heavy raid into the territory of the cutters. The Skarblades larger neightbour. Like any woman living in the underhive Erika predicted her life would become very short and very unpleasent. While she wasn't exactly an upperhive beauty princess. Her body too lean and wiry from a lifetime of harsh survival and scrounging only just enough food to survive day by day. She had several scars that gave testiment to how many close calls she had suffered and a mop of shoulder length dirty blonde hair which was now clinging to her neck via a layer of sweat and grime.
She was still a woman, and not an ugly one by the standards of the underhive. A brief existence and torment and gangrape was about all she expected to be given. Being stripped naked and tossed into the fetid fighting pit only reinforced that idea. But being thrown a jagged shiv, and told she had the opportunity for one last fight before the end. That was a generosity she did not expect, and a mistake she intended to make her captures regret. It was rusty and bent, and it cut her hand just holding it just as much as it cut her opponents flesh. But it was a weapon, and as long as she had a weapon she ha a chance.
She had fought like a possessed Hell-bitch and won, somehow, someway she found or was given the strength to win. And now she faced her death at the hands of his pissed off comrades..... Only the jeers and taunts she heard next weren't directed at her. They were directed at the man she just killed. They spit on him and chastized him for losing to a woman of all people. One of the other gangers swung his legs over the edge of the pit and was about to drop down and finish the job when another man pushed his way through the crowd.
Evil was the best single word to describe this man. Evil and maybe hateful. Bare chested like a feral world barbarian with such a thick network of scar tissue it was almost impossible to pick out the strange rune branded squarely over his heart. Almost impossible, but somehow that peculiar brand was very much visible through the lattice of scars running around and through it. It hurt Erika's eyes to look at it for too long so she looked him in the eyes. Somehow that was even worse. His eyes were orbs or pure hate and a bloodlust that went beyond simple psycopathy. They locked her gaze and she found herself unable to look at anything else or take in any other details of this strange man.
“Well fought.” When he spoke it was with an unnatural bellow to his voice and all the other gangers silenced themselves to let him speak. “There is little to say other than this. Damarak was weak.” Gesturing with scorn towards the fresh corpse ad Erika's naked feet. “You clearly are not. Our master despises weakness and rewards the strong. He has seen fit to see you emerge the victor today. As a mark of respect towards your victory and to our masters will, I will give you this opportunity. Join us, take Damarak's place in the Skarblades. Whatever he owned is now yours by right.” Jumping down into the pit Erika was struck by how large this man was, no man in the underhive could hope to find enough food to maintain such a body. She knew he could and would kill her much easier than her other opponent, this Damarak. She watched him bend down to retrieve Damarak's knife, A crude chunk of iron, brutally hammered into shape by the hand of an underhive 'artisan'. It was a crude and ungainly weapon but this new fighter held it out to her handle first.
“Once chance to accept. Or you can die here and now in this pit. Choose quickly, neither I nor my master like to wait.” It was an obvious choice to make. Erika had no idea what this man was talking about when it came to masters but to refuse was to die. Besides, there was a part of her..... and perhaps it was just the leftover adrenaline working its way through her veins. But a part of her felt a rush, a new kind of high better than any chem she could remember taking. Sure she had killed before, but that was always for a reason. Survival, food, clothes, etc. She never took any special pleasure in the act before. But this fight was different. It was a more visceral and heady experience. The act of killing never felt so empowering and the scent of fresh blood, a smell that previously repulsed her now reeked of satisfaction. The thrill of the fight was so intense that it was dizzying!
A voice whispered a reassurance in her head that this was not simple adrenaline, but something better. Something she could experience more often and more easily than with chems. She felt a rush of power overwhelm her now that she could properly bask in her victory. The voice promised a life of power. Of strength and the ability to take what she needed when she desired it instead of scrounging for rotten scraps and selling her body for another chem hit. The voice could help her, give her the strength she needed to take the things she wanted....... All she had to do was take it, take the knife and bend her knee..... It seemed a fair trade.