Enjoy! Next will be one of the first times Aries was dehumanized… Just need to decide which one. Should I do a time that happened during an argument with Smith? The first time that started a longer trend? Or the first time concerning the arena?
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Aries Short Novel; Mistakes
Gwyar/Khorne, age 15
Mrs Cattell/Gunnr, age 33
Chile/Lutatius, age 16
Smith(ex), age 17 (deceased at 15)
Aurora(sister), age 19 (deceased at 11)
Irene (mother), age 45 (deceased at 37)
*~*~*~*
Gwyar followed behind Mrs Cattell, fast enough to keep up but slow enough that he wasn’t right behind her. Slow enough that he didn’t come off as excited to be back here. As he walked, he fidgeted with the bandages on his hand, trying to pay attention to whatever there was to pay attention to.
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Turning down a narrow alley after Mrs Cattell, he was careful not to mess with the plants. He’d been told the first time he came here that the white flowers were poisonous, through more than just ingestion. A mere touch could apparently be all that is needed. He wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but he also wasn’t willing to test out the theory. Suffice to say, he hadn’t needed to be told again, he took enough care to not mess with them. The other plants were nice to look at though, small red and white plants that grew along everything leading up to the warehouse where the arena was.
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Halfway down the path, Mrs Cattell stepped into the warehouse. He didn’t give himself time to stare around the outside, stepping in directly after her. Glancing around the inside, the ground floor seemed just as desolate as always. He supposed that made sense, no one would suspect anything if the place on top of the arena looked like this. The usual smell of blood and rust was somewhat hidden by the smell of fresh spring rain, he supposed he should be grateful for that while he could. He rubbed at the bandages on his hand, and followed Mrs Cattell down the stairs to the lower floor, where two guards stood by a door nearby. Gwyar continued to follow as they walked over to the guards, one with black hair and the other with dirty blonde, he didn’t dare to try and find out the eye colors.
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The one with dirty blonde hair spoke though, head turned towards Mrs Cattell. “Intent?”
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The indifferent tone always made his skin crawl, he didn’t know what they were thinking, he didn’t have a chance to find out. Regardless, Mrs Cattell didn’t seem to notice as she answered just as indifferently, “Training.”
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The one with dirty blonde hair nodded, and asked just as monotone as the last time, “Names?”
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Mrs Cattell slipped on a small smile, tone just as empty, and her presence still just as imposingly threatening to Gwyar. He wasn’t sure if the guards noticed or not, but he was fairly certain that she just always had a murderous aura around her. She gestured to herself and then to him as she spoke. “Gunnr and Khorne.”
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Without a word, the one with black hair pushed open the door that would lead down into the arena. Just as silently, he felt a hand hovering behind his back, so he took the initiative and stepped through the doorway first, beginning his descent to the lobby of the arena. The stairway was narrow, more so than the alley, and he reflexively brought in his shoulders. The walls of the stairs always seemed too close to him, like they were closing in, the dim lighting and strong stench of blood did nothing to help. He fidgeted with the bandages again, holding back a wince as the material rubbed against one of the scabbed over injuries at his palm. He didn’t get to wince, the injury was his own fault. He continued down the stairs.
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Stepping into the lobby, where alcohol joined the different scents surrounding him, he stood to the side of the stairs, allowing Mrs Cattell to step down and turn to him first. She was always the more direct one out of the Cattells, which was just about the only silver lining as she spoke to him. “Today’s agenda is observation. If the opponent has a usual fighting style, it should know what that is before it ever fights against the other. So before heading to do any actual training, it’ll watch some of the fights and try to take notice of any patterns. Different weapons are better suited to different styles of attack, after all. Does it understand?”
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Gwyar nodded quickly, responding as he did, hands rubbing at the bandages wrapped around his hand and fingers. “It does..”
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Mrs Cattell nodded, “Good. If it requires me, then it’ll go to the training room. Do not bother me unless absolutely necessary or if it believes it’s ready to begin today’s training.” And then, she gave him a rare smile, like she trusted his ability to do as she ordered. The trust felt nice to have, even if he didn’t like the arena. So, he nodded again and watched as she turned and weaved through the crowd to go to the training room… He was just lucky that he knew where that room was.
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He shifted uncomfortably by the stairway, looking at the crowd between him and where he’d be able to watch the next fight. They weren’t too crowded yet, and with his height he’d manage to get through rather easily, but… He never liked to watch the fights, and he never enjoyed pushing through people, or getting trapped by the amount of people in the crowd. That would be in the crowd by the time the fight started. He didn’t exactly have a choice though, so he slowly made his way forward and towards where he’d be able to watch. Hopefully, with a good enough vantage point to be able to find what he was supposed to watch for. He didn’t want to mess up, Mrs Cattell was worse than some of the others that handled punishments. Plus, he’d just earned her trust, she used to constantly stay at his side whenever he wasn’t fighting.
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Ignoring the conversations he passed by, he still paid attention enough to listen for anyone that might refer to him. Not a common occurrence, but that had happened once or twice, usually though, at least one of the Cattells were there too and ended up answering for him. He wasn’t exactly keen on that happening today, he’d rather not, but he couldn’t exactly tell that to anyone that would say something to him.
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He managed to reach the place he’d been aiming for without anyone speaking to him though, so he counted that as a small mercy and looked into the ring. He had a fairly good vantage point for his purpose for watching today, probably one of the better ones. That was good enough for him at the moment, as he stared into the area.
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Within minutes of him getting there, Mrs Cattell and him must’ve shown up after the last fight had already ended, the announcer’s deafening voice spoke. “For the next fight, we have our mighty beast, Draca in one corner!”
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Peering down at the newly named opponent, he’d seen him once or twice before, Draca. A ginger with rather messy hair, orange-brown eyes, and light olive skin, a black headband to try and keep the bangs out of his eyes. Someone known for his brutality while fighting, trench knives clenched firmly in his hands. From what Gwyar could see, he looked ready to pounce as soon as the fighting bell rang. Not that he could blame him, he’d learned that the quicker you were throughout the entirety of the battle, the better chance you had.
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Glancing over to the other fighter as the announcer spoke again, “And in the other corner stands our resident knockout fighter, Lutatius!”
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Gwyar paused, leaning a bit for a better look. He’d never actually seen this one fight. They were about the same height as Draca though, with neat black hair, heterochromatic eyes of blue and amber, and tan skin, burn scars littering one side of their face. In their hands, they held steel short sticks, a spike added to the end of one of the two. The title didn’t make too much sense, and neither did the weapons. As far as he knew, the only way to win was to kill the opponent. He shifted a bit, and listened as the announcer continued.
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“Go ahead and call the win, dear audience! You’ve got two minutes to bet before the fight!”
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Well, as the high pitched tone of the broadcast ending rang, he supposed he should probably get comfortable and hope no one spoke to him as he waited for the fight to start. Looking between the two fighters though, figuring out which would win was somewhat challenging. Draca depended on getting close to his opponent, while Lutatius obviously had a larger range, but killing Draca would be harder for Lutatius since only one of their weapons had a spike at the bottom end. So the sharp end was even on the wrong side. Though, maybe the title was supposed to hint at Lutatius knocking their opponent out before killing them? That might make sense, and if that was the case then Lutatius winning was much more likely than Draca. Though, that all depended on the style of fighting the two used, maybe he was wrong about Lutatius though, he had never seen them fight, after all.
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The two minutes passed quickly and uneventfully, which Gwyar was beyond grateful for, and soon, the announcer came back on the speakers. “Alright everyone, the two minutes are up, so let’s take a seat or stand and get ready for the game! If everyone’s in their places, we can go ahead and start the match! The beast, Draca, versus the knockout, Lutatius! Who’s ready to go?”
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The responding roar of the crowd was loud enough to have him suppressing a flinch, though the volume didn’t seem to bother anyone else in the crowd. That… Probably had to do with the fact that everyone else was contributing to the volume. He wasn’t here to enjoy the fight, as if he ever could, no, he was here to observe. To figure out the fighting styles of Draca and Lutatius, apparently.
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Regardless of his reason for being here, the announcer spoke again, “Good to hear! Let’s get into the fight and see which one will win!”
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And just like that, the starting bell covered up whatever cheers the crowd made or any words said by the announcer, and the fight was officially beginning.
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Immediately, Draca was pushing forward off his feet and going towards Lutatius, whose feet planted in the ground and stance spoke only of defense. Gwyar narrowed his eyes and leaned forward a bit more, peering down as Draca tried to get within range to actually fight with the trench knives. The defensive stance Lutatius had seemed much better in comparison, as he managed to keep away from the sharp edges of the knives due to the range given to him by the steel rods and still get in blunt hits here and there.
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Draca seemed unlikely to quit trying to get closer though, continuing to try and push forward, continuing to adjust to dodging the rods just enough to try and get in range for his trench knives. And while he could admire the determination to get close enough to win, he doubted that would happen. An aggressive style like Draca had just wouldn’t work against someone with a defensive, quick style like Lutatius. Not unless they had other advantages, which Draca didn’t. He didn’t have speed, height, and the bangs certainly didn’t help his eyesight.
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The majority of the fight seemed to follow this pattern, Draca attacking aggressively and Lutatius defending, managing to land some light hits here and there while Draca couldn’t even get in range. And then, after Lutatius had managed to knock Draca back yet again, his grip changed to where he was holding both steel rods in one hand, reeling them back before swinging forwards. The steel collided with Draca’s head with far more power than the light jabs that had been done before, and Gwyar called that being the end of the fight. Draca fell to the ground, and all that was left was to kill him.
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Only, that didn’t happen. Instead, Lutatius nudged him with a steel rod, and then stepped back, raising the weapons as if he’d won. And the crowd cheered as if he had too, which was… Confusing to say the least. While Gwyar supposed that the hit could’ve killed Draca, wasn’t just being knocked out more likely? He narrowed his eyes, trying to tell whether or not Draca was still breathing.
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Seconds later though, the announcer was speaking again. “And the winner through knockout is Lutatius! Make sure to collect whatever you won from bets and the next fight will be in a couple of minutes as soon as Draca is out of the ring! With that said, enjoy your stay at the arena everyone!”
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The words had him frozen, even as people began to walk away, eyebrows furrowing and eyes narrowing. He hadn’t… You could win fights by knocking out your opponent? He hadn’t- He hadn’t known that. He’d been told, the Cattells told him— He thought he’d only win if he killed his opponent. His chest suddenly felt a lot tighter, airways far thinner. He hadn’t known that. No one had told him. Right..? He hadn’t— He hadn’t been told, right? He hadn’t just ignored that. He wouldn’t have— He wouldn’t have killed anyone if he knew he didn’t have to. Right?
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He wanted out. He wanted to leave. Was leaving, was running worth the punishment though? Not like he could really run forever. He’d have to return to the Cattells eventually. He didn’t have anywhere else to go to. And they’d be upset. They’d punish him. He’d lose Mrs Cattell’s trust. And that had taken so long to get.
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He stood there a bit longer before deciding he didn’t want to watch any more fights. He’d rather just go to Mrs Cattell. The sooner he did the rest of the training for today, the sooner he could leave with Mrs Cattell. He knew enough from this one fight to at least explain two different styles of fighting. He… He could think about everything else later. He wasn’t… He hadn’t been told. That was all. There wasn't any other reason…
Fall 
Day 
Hurricane
