Sobella dismounted from the horse as the last people perished in front of her. Far from her prior expectation, there was no pain or sense of loss, no horror rose within. Instead, she felt only a numbness, even her flesh, though it responded to her will to move, felt hollow. She fell in beside her escort, the Magister was paying them no mind as he addressed the crowd. Nua looked up to the sky. ‘So blue, blue sky, red sand, it’s like another world here despite things being so similar… or maybe, maybe it is like being back ‘there’. Maybe that’s it.’ She thought and put her hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun while she looked over the temples. The massive structures were a marvel of scale, each appeared to the naked eye at least, to be a perfect matching distance from their opposite just beyond the arena in which she now stood.

She released the horse and slipped her hand into that of Sobella. The woman’s hand was clammy, the fingers lacked the tremor she expected. “People.” Nua whispered. “Cruel people. But people.”

“Don’t die. Not before me.” Sobella whispered in return and gave her head a tiny shake. “Don’t make me watch that too.”

“You’re very brave, Sobella.” Nua said, reinforcing her efforts with the demon-elf tribute, and seeming to glow despite her numbness, she straightened up a bit more and squeezed the hand that had taken hers.

As they spoke, the ones responsible for the slaughter were tearing apart chunks of flesh and throwing them into the outstretched arms of the crowd. Pieces of fingers, arms, legs, various organs, even heads sailed through the air to land among the ratmen, tigermen, lionmen, hyenamen, birdmen, and others as if one had gathered a zoo. The hungry crowd was all but a frenzy of praise for the gifts of the god-emperor.

Nua began to see a pattern. ‘Their faith… their religion, it is centered around ‘eating’ the way the Starwatchers are centered around fate. Their reverence towards the god-emperor comes from his empire’s ability to feed them all.’ Nua realized, and it all began to make sense. ‘The travel restrictions minimize hunting and create dependency on trade for supplies, the god-emperor’s many ranches and tribute levies provide for populations that couldn’t otherwise feed themselves…’

Accompanied by her sense of reluctant awe at the brilliance and administrative ability behind such a detailed system of ensuring stability was another recognition, a recognition of a profound weakness within it. As that realization began to dawn on her, the last of the sacrificed meat and bone was cast off leaving only sands of deeper red than had been there before as proof of their atrocity.

When that happened, a cart began to enter the arena, and the Magister again addressed the crowd, “For reasons not known but to the mad,” the pantherman paused to let the crowd enjoy his poor humor, “the tribute from the feeding grounds of the east is escorted by only one meat.” He held one finger claw up for emphasis and went on seamlessly. “Therefore there is no question about who will fight.” He swept his hand toward where the pair stood, and Neia released her hold on Sobella’s hand to step forward.

“It is true!” Nua called upon her priestly powers of projection, ‘One audience or another, the same to me.’ She chuckled mentally and set about stealing the show while a cart came in through the same path the slaughtered had passed.

“I am Nua Calen Aiwenor, no native to the east am I! I come from an empire far to the west, built by the will of the god of death, by the labor of the child of the unliving. An empire built by the mother of terror and her many allies. An empire no force in this world can contest against!” She laid the challenges and titles on thick, her glowing golden eyes and the willful timbre of her voice hammered into the ears of her listeners.

Out of the corner of one eye, she saw the open cart held, as Sobella had predicted, a mockery of the demon elf. The victim had fake horns secured to the head, and deep purple paint obviously applied copiously to what was obviously a very different shade of skin before.

If one squinted just the right way, she might pass for a demon-elf. Crude ropes, rather than chains, were securing her to four nails stuck into the four corners of the cart, and from what Sobella could see, there was only emptiness, a hollow of a person, still in the eyes of whoever she was.

Nua drew out her knife and raised it aloft, “You want our tribute to know despair and terror, but she is stronger than you think… and so am I. I am told that I may choose who to fight today, but that is meaningless to me. I know no names here, so send me the warrior you love best among you! Send me that one, unless the Tlalmok are cowards who can only slay the helpless and the weak!” Nua roared her defiance to the crowd and held out her knife in challenge, she waved it back and forth between herself and the city’s crowd, breaking the spell.

The crowd roared a single name. “Timnah! Timnah! Timnah! Timnah!”

The Magister came to her, fury in his eyes, “If he were not going to kill you, I would have taken the honor proudly, meat.” He uttered in a guttural growl, towering over Nua.

She looked up to him, “No, it isn’t your time to die yet, beastman. We’ll meet again one day though, so don’t die on me before then.”

“I’m not the one you should worry about.” He snarled, his teeth bared and hungry.

Any further intended speech was cut off as a golden lion drew eyes to itself by cutting loose with a terrible, sky shattering roar.

It descended from among the crowd, pausing to cut loose another spirit breaking battle cry.

Sobella put her hand on Nua’s shoulder, her courage bolstered by her escort’s earlier praise, she leaned in to Nua’s sensitive ear and whispered, “Please win.”

Nua nodded, then stepped away, brushing past the Magister, she approached the cart where the ‘prize’ lay staring up at the sky. She leaned over her. She was young, though it was hard to say exactly as she had the ears of a half elf, her vacant expression spoke of a life of despair and terror. She reached down and stroked the girl’s face with her right hand, ignoring the crowd and their descending champion with all their noise.

“I will save you…” Nua uttered tenderly.

There was no real response from the woman, or if there was, Nua could not find it.

Behind her, Timnah was being equipped. She could hear it clearly, and that in and of itself pricked the curiosity within her. She turned to see him bedecked in red silk ropes that held segmented Pauldron armor to his shoulders that extended into armor over his arms. His torso was bare, but the red silk rope was also present at the waist, and held an orichalcum codpiece to protect his genitals.

He bore no weapon, preferring clearly to fight close with the weapons nature gave to him. His mane was rich, thick, and shone like golden wheat in the light of the sun. The white fur at his chin was done in a braid that hung down the length of a finger, and several strips of his mane at the front had been done the same way, secured by small silver clasps just above the tips.

When he was ready, Timnah approached, stopping ten of his paces away from Nua. Sobella took the horse and moved well away from where the combatants stood.

“You think you can win, meat?” Timnah asked with a hefty chuckle, “There is no way for you to save her, let alone yourself.” The lionman gestured to the girl bound to the cart.

“No?” Nua cocked her head curiously.

The crowd fell silent while the Magister moved to take position.

“No.” Timnah uttered with a firm shake of his head that caused his braids to bounce about.

Nua looked down at the woman beside her, put her left hand on the neck, and twisted her wrist. The snapping of the neck revealed the perfection of the acoustics, or perhaps the skill of magic casters who made it so that the sounds on the sands carried to every spectator.

As such, they heard the crack and knew what Nua had done.

“There.” Nua said decisively. “I just proved you wrong, Timnah, your people will never hurt her again, I’ve saved her.” Her eyes of blue stared at him with the promise of death, and the unthinkable realization hit like a shockwave.

“Death is the final salvation from pain.” Nua uttered, and one of Timnah’s feet stepped backward in shock.

He realized in an instant what he had done, and opening his arms out wide, he roared his defiance at her, and charged before the Magister could call for the fight to begin.

His roar of defiance did not have the effect he desired on the wood elf assassin. [Lesser strength][Assassin strike][Endurance of Unlife][Flow of Wind] She uttered her arts and reached for her throwing knives. She had two in the air before three paces closed, the crowd was already on its feet to see their champion in action, the sand flew beneath Nua’s feet, the scent of blood was thick in her nose. Like it was yesterday she could feel the memory of pain from her many beatings and lashings run through her and flee as if in terror of who she had become.

The armored claws of the lionman came down in a twin angled strike meant to grab her, but Nua was already gone, in his flesh the two knives were stuck, but they did nothing noteworthy.

Nua dove between his legs, grabbed his lashing tail, pulled it taut, and brought her favorite blade down, cutting it off beyond the tip so that she held the tuft of fluff.

Timnah yowled at the sudden pain, and as if he couldn’t accept what had just happened, he reached behind him to the base of his tail and brought it around to look.

Nua held the tuft aloft like a trophy, then dropped it to the bloody sands, and stomped on it, grinding it beneath her foot.

They turned to face one another again. “I’ll make you regret your birth!” Timnah roared at her, to which Nua replied with nothing but bared teeth of her own.

They charged again as one, and two more of her throwing knives were drawn out and thrown into his body, striking his thighs, but seeming to do no harm worth mentioning.

This time he didn’t move to grab, his claws came out and raked around to catch her, he might as well have tried to capture the wind, Nua bobbed and brought her knife around to shave at his flesh. ‘Yersin, are you hungry, partner?!’ She shouted in her mind as the two engaged in a dance that had the crowd roaring on its feet, nicks and marks from her slashing adamantite blade began to show, but even with the enchantments for bleeding and the serrations sawing at his hide like teeth, there was little blood to be had.

‘Of course, partner! I’ll get a lot of mana from something like this, just like I got from their little displays, I could feast in this city for a very long time.’ Yersin replied, ‘I might even be able to restore the mountains I had to give up so long ago.’ Yersin answered with such enthusiasm that she could practically see him clapping for joy.

‘Good, get ready.’ Nua replied, and leaping upward, she thrust her legs out, striking the lionman in the chest and pushing herself off.

She flipped backward, hit the bloody sand with her hands, then bounced back several times while Timnah went back on his heels from the magically enhanced kicking of her feet against his chest.

Goaded again, Timnah followed, straight into two more knives that stuck into his torso at the stomach and seemed to mean nothing to him. Nua’s golden hair flowed in the wind that picked up, and the two closed again, his blows began to come faster and faster. [Speed of Death] Nua activated another art to keep up, before he caught her hair in a moment of inspiration, and pulled her off her feet. She felt the yank as he raised her up and flung her bodily to the ground. The soft sand cushioned some of the blow, but it forced her to arch her back, and briefly she lost her wind.

He pounded her twice more sending her sailing overhead, ‘You sonofabitch…’ Nua snarled as she hit her back against the ground again, and bringing her knife up, she severed her hair, costing him his hold on her.

He looked at it briefly in confusion as Nua caught her breath on the sands, then held it up as a trophy, as she had done before with the tuft of his tail.

The crowd cheered at the turnabout.

But hushed as the wood elf stood slowly behind him.

“Timnah!” Nua roared, “I’m over here, come on little kitty, we’ve got more time to play!” She wiped the blood from her face with the back of her hand, and held up her knife again.

Timnah tossed her golden hair down to the sand, and stomped on it in imitation of herself, and roared his challenge to her once more. They charged, Nua threw her knives faster than before, piercing his body but accomplishing nothing of note once more, as they came together again.

Her left hand formed a fist, and she punched the throwing knife embedded in his chest, backed by the power of the false hand, she drove the protruding blade through his thick hide, and ripped from him a stunned roar of pain that had him arch his back. She punched again, driving the knife in his thigh all the way to the end. Pain followed pain as she pounded the knives he’d arrogantly ignored, deep into his body, blood spurted out, and each punch ripped out howls of pain that froze him briefly before he could respond to the next blow.

In a matter of seconds, the bright blades were coated in red within his golden body, and to the horror and shock of the crowd, Timnah fell to his knees, and Nua’s left hand smashed into his nose, crumpling it and sending the titan sized lionman down to his back.

Silence greeted the turn of events. Nua approached her lost hair and took it up. Timnah was struggling to rise, no roar welcomed her coming, but his warrior’s will would not let him stay down. Nua spun and kicked him in the jaw with her booted foot, shattering the bone with the martial blow and sending him falling to his face.

“You are strong.” She uttered, wiping blood from her face again and spitting into the sands while he got up on all fours.

She wrapped her hair around her hands and jumped onto his back, forcing a grunt of pain when her knees dug in, then looping it overhead, he realized too late what she intended. The golden hair of Nua Calen Aiwenor cut into his throat and with her martially enhanced grip and speed, she was garotting him before the crowd. His limbs came out and flailed, Nua took the hair in her left hand and shifted it to her right wrapping it several times before letting go. Her knife passed into her left hand as she did so, his struggles were mighty, but on his back as she was, he couldn’t reach her.

While a speechless crowd looked on, she took the knife in her left hand, and brought it down into his throat, piercing through one end, and out the other. Blood pumped out through the ripped open flesh, and the golden hair filled the gap as if to staunch the flow, she wrapped the hair tighter, Timnah was shaking, spasming. Nua’s snarl and breath struck his ear as he tried to rise to his feet. Her knees dug into his back and forced him to bend as she pulled him as hard as she could.

‘Her breath is cold, so cold… like a corpse…’ He managed the brief understanding as life fled with the blood that flowed through the strands of golden hair.

The unbreaking strands went deeper as the grip tightened ever more, she left the knife embedded in his body and her left hand came down on the top of his head, pressing down on his once beautiful mane. ‘Feast, Yersin! Feast!’ She called out to her partner, and the gem of death began to rip the life out of his body as painfully as he could. Yersin raced against her wounding and her garrotting of their opponent, to finish Timnah first.

Timnah’s limbs felt limp, and he managed one gurgled, pain filled cry before the disbelieving crowd.

Nua’s left hand folded into a grip, she pulled at the head while her lost strands cut through the gaps of bone and severed it from the spine.

Then the head was in her hands, as was her hair, but the body was toppling forward alone.

Nua planted her feet in the bloody sand, her body stained with red blood and sweat from her victim and herself, she held it high, so that all could see their best loved warrior’s head in the hands of an elf. “You! Can! Die!” She shouted to the silence, then bent and took up her fallen knife.

“Is there another?! Or are we done?!” She roared the question, and dropped the head of the golden lionman into the bloody sands.

While she turned the lionman corpse over and retrieved her throwing knives, Sobella rushed to where Nua was, and flung herself bodily into the blood covered woman as soon as she could.

“I can’t believe you did that… you won… you killed a beastman… a lionman no less, maybe a champion of this city, he’s dead and you live… how… how… no, I don’t care how… you lived… now I’m not alone…” Sobella whispered and clung to her escort, her champion. Her fingers pressed tight into Nua’s arms, her earlier numbness, gone, her fear, dead with Timnah.

The crowd snapped out of its trance by then, and a howl of mourning went up from the stands that filled the city with the sound of horror and disbelief.

“I suppose he was a popular one.” Nua muttered, and began to walk away. As she headed for the horse, she found herself nearing the Magister, who stared at her through yellow, fear filled eyes. “According to your customs, I am free to go now, aren’t I?” Nua looked at him through endless pools of blue, and only yellow fear stared back.

Finally, the Magister nodded his dark head and mustered out a tiny “Yes…” before turning away to look at the body, demanding that the headless lionman rise again.

“I’ll see you again someday, just as I promised.” Nua mouthed to him as they reached their horse.

Nua mounted the stoic steed, and hefting Sobella up behind her with practiced ease, she looked out over the sea of variable faces, “This is not goodbye, beastmen of the Tlalmok, this is only… until next time… when I return to Tezcatli, you will get another chance at me.”

She wheeled the horse around, and went out the way she’d come, and headed for the gate at the end of the city, leaving behind her, something to mourn…

And something they would remember, whether they wanted to… or not.