Glatorian Comics

2009 - Glatorian Comic 2: The Fall of Atero

Adapted by Michael Larson. Edited by Jeff Douglas.

One Day Before the Atero Championship

Strakk and Tarix were in true form, armored up and bristling with energy.

For the experienced Glatorian, an arena match was like an art or an elaborate dance. That was one thing the Skrall failed to understand, which made them very unpopular with the crowds. Glatorian were trained to have enough stamina and endurance to make a match last sometimes for hours, for such a thing pleased the Agori crowds. Skrall tended to throw everything into the first few minutes which was devastating for Glatorian who only knew endurance fighting. However, necessity was forcing Glatorian to learn the Skrall style, and it was only a matter of time before they lost their advantage.

✴        ✴        ✴

Throughout the gargantuan arena, Glatorian were spread out, caught up in individual practice matches. Even some Agori fighters could be seen, though they had limited themselves to a special corner of the arena, well away from the other fighters. Agori physique didn’t lend itself well to athleticism and combat, which is why they didn’t tend to be as popular as premier Glatorian. Still, every once in a while, one or two Agori would rise above the ranks as popular entertainers.

More prominent were regular Glatorian, who inhabited a tier well below Prime and Second Glatorian. As fighters not nearly as powerful as the elite two, they were relegated to minor combats throughout the year, usually over personal squabbles or internal village lawsuits. Unfortunately, because they were never pitted against the premiere Glatorian, they were never given the opportunity to hone their skills against truly veteran warriors. Naturally, this meant their skills were never as good, leaving them to be matched in minor squabbles against Glatorian of their skill level, and so on, in vicious cycle. As such, with rare exception, these Glatorian often remained in their tier all their careers and were usually overlooked. Still, any who remained in this profession so long had come to terms with their employment, and many were perfectly happy leaving the elite Glatorian the pleasure of hacking at each other.

All of this is to say, even if a village may lose its First or Second Glatorian, and even if it musters the courage to call upon a Glatorian untested in the highest tiers of battle, such a Glatorian will often turn the opportunity down. In fact, half of Metus’ job consisted of convincing and recruiting such a Glatorian to go for higher opportunities.

Somewhere in between the two standard ranks of Glatorian lay the vehicle fighters, who were widely celebrated by commonfolk, but on whom snobbish individuals turned up their nose, owing to their reliance on vehicles. Despite any stigma, however, this was always the best opportunity for an Agori or lower Glatorian to gain the affection of a village, as well as occupy a uniquely valued position in the gladiator economy.

Yet above all else, so prized by their villages that they were what amounted to celebrities in the wasteland of Bara Magna, were the Second and Prime Glatorian. Together, these occupied a tier of their own and were lauded for their services to their villages. So mighty were these fighters that often elders grew uncomfortable when both were away from the village, as the Glatorian were seen as essential lines of defense and policing should danger arise.

Some of them grew proud due to their status. Others were wise enough to recognize the total emptiness of their fame.

✴        ✴        ✴

So despite the myriad of fighters scattered throughout the arena, most of the Agori who crowded in the Arena Magna had come to see the various Prime and Second Glatorian train.

In one area, Ackar, Gelu, and Vastus were fully locked in a three-way battle, more for their own entertainment than anything else. In another, Tarix and Strakk were engaged in what was already an hour-long duel. If they kept it up too much longer, they’d both be too sore for the real fight tomorrow. But right now, both of them were enjoying themselves too much to care. This was, after all, the only time out of the year the Glatorian can fight without significant stakes hinging on their victory.

Tarix, especially, needed the distraction. Recent weeks had seen the Prime Glatorian dour and unusually moody. Being in his element again was rejuvenating.

At least, until Strakk accidentally—and innocently—brushed upon a grave subject.

“So where’s Kiina been?” he asked, as he blocked one of Tarix’s axes. “It’s been the talk of the town. Atero is usually her scene. Not like her to—woah!—to miss it.”

At this, Tarix seemed to slow as a shadow crossed his face.

“Kiina is in Tajun. As is our elder, Vapius.”

The way he said it made it clear that it was the best answer Strakk was going to get. He nodded, “Oh.”

The two continued fighting, but even Strakk could tell that something was different. The thrill was gone from Tarix’s face, and he seemed to betray more aggression. The two dueled for a while before the Water Glatorian spoke again.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he murmured.

Strakk roared at this, bringing his axe down on Tarix who blocked it. “Ha! Then I’ll beat you quick tomorrow and you can go home.”

“You know what I mean,” Tarix said, swinging wide. “A major trade caravan bound for Tajun was wiped out by Bone Hunters. The shipment… we needed it. I should be with my people.”

Strakk brought his axe down hard. “One good blow and I’ll knock you back there!”

Tarix caught the axe between his blades and held it tight. “I’m serious.”

Strakk gulped as the Thornax Launcher that decorated one of the blades was now uncomfortably close to his face.

In a blur of motion, the Water Glatorian twisted his blades, ripping Strakk’s axe from his hands and sending it flying away.

“Hey!”

“Now who’s going to beat who quick?” Tarix grinned, a gleam flashing in his eyes.

Strakk snorted, and then looked away. “What does it matter? As soon as the Skrall show up, they’ll stomp all of us… just like they did last year. If they hadn’t suddenly left and returned north, you likely wouldn’t have won the Championship at all… No one can beat them in the arena.”

“Maybe not,” Tarix said, retrieving Strakk’s axe. “But I haven’t seen one here yet. Wouldn’t be upset if they skipped this one, to be perfectly honest.”

“Why, so you can win?”

Tarix laughed at this, but didn’t respond. As he leaned over, he hesitated and threw a glance in Strakk’s direction. “A better question is, where’s Gresh? I haven’t seen him since we got here. Thought he was going to accompany us to the arena.”

“Who knows. Though I don’t recall him practicing with us last year.” He shrugged. “Kid’s got his quirks.”

“Fair,” Tarix said, handing the axe back to Strakk. “Here. It helps if you hang on to this.”

Strakk smirked. “I’ll remember.”

✴        ✴        ✴

As Solis Magna dipped below the horizon, and as final preparations were being made for the big day tomorrow, Tarduk happened to be wandering through the outskirts of the city when he heard faint scuffling noises. Intrigued, he followed their direction, and as he rounded a bend, he saw Gresh, wielding his newly-repaired shield and practicing elaborate gymnastics.

“Gresh!” Tarduk exclaimed. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Startled, Gresh whirled around, as if he were caught in ambush. Seeing it was only Tarduk, he visibly relaxed.

“Tarduk. What are you doing out here?”

Walking over to his canteen, the Glatorian took a swig before starting again.

Tarduk stepped closer. “Looking for Kirbraz. You wouldn’t happen to have seen him, would you? Or Kirbold? I’m going on an expedition with Crotesius from Vulcanus, and was curious if they were interested.”

“This close to the tournament?” Gresh grunted.

“Yeah. I’ve calculated the length, and theoretically we should make it back in time for the main event.”

Gresh swung his shield as if blocking an attack, then somersaulted backwards and fired his Thornax launcher.

“Can’t say I have. Though Kirbraz and Scodonius probably intend on competing tomorrow.”

“Yeah, probably,” Tarduk nodded. He started to leave, and then paused.

“Mind if I watch?”

“Not at all.”

The Jungle Agori found a nice, safe place to watch from. Tesara’s Second Glatorian moved with seemingly effortless precision—precision nearly matching that of Vastus himself. Tarduk could practically see the hordes of opponents, sweeping around Gresh, throwing their full might against him, only to be thrown off their feet and into the rocks. Nevertheless, the hordes kept coming, and Gresh was ready to fight them.

“Do you always practice your moves alone?”

“I’m not alone. You’re here.”

Tarduk frowned. He knew better than to pry, but he’d been quite interested in learning the answer. All the other Prime and Second Glatorian basked in the attention of the crowds as they practiced with each other. Gresh was the only one of them who hadn’t made an appearance in Atero Magna today.

Gresh seemed to sense Tarduk’s disappointment with his non-answer.

“I’m not a veteran like Strakk or Tarix,” he said between swings. “They have one set of moves they let other Glatorian see in practice, and another they use in the arena.”

Without warning, he leaped into the air and executed a flawless flip forward, landing on his feet and aiming the Thornax launcher straight at the startled Tarduk.

“I need to keep mine secret,” he grinned. “Anyway, why let them know what’s coming?”

“Because what’s coming could be the death of them all.”

Glatorian and Agori gasped and looked around. Gresh threw a glance at Tarduk as if asking if anyone had followed him there. But the Agori’s incredulous expression answered that question in the negative.

“Who’s there?” Gresh demanded.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then, like an apparition materializing from the fog of night, a hulking crimson figure stepped into the moonlight.

“Am I forgotten already, then?” Malum sneered, as several Vorox beasts appeared at his back. “Perhaps I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been in exile.”

Gresh raised his shield, every sense heightened in alarm. As a Glatorian, Malum had been renowned and feared even before he had been exiled. Being forced to survive—and coming to thrive—in the wastelands had only unleashed the madness and unfettered power that had already been there. In the dimness of night, Malum’s red eyes blazed with wrath and ruin.

“Tarduk! Get back inside the city!”

“But—” he protested.

“I said inside! Now!”

As Tarduk scampered off, Malum chuckled softly.

“What are you afraid of… Gresh? My friends? They won’t hurt anyone… Unless I tell them to. And I am not here to cause harm, but to help you.”

“I’ve heard of your kind of help.”

The exile stalked forward, circling Gresh.

“There is a storm coming, Glatorian. Not a windstorm or a sandstorm or anything you can hide from until it has passed. This storm will swallow you whole… You, your friends, your villages, your people.”

Gresh stood still as Malum circled, following him with his eyes. “And are you going to help us weather this… storm? Or are you just here to talk?”

“Oh, Gresh… Gresh, Gresh, Gresh. They said I wasn’t good enough to fight with the likes of you… They said I was a killer, remember?” Malum laughed. “But I will tell you this…”

He stopped directly in front of Gresh.

“This storm has a name. You and yours will be screaming it before too long if you don’t flee now. Run, Gresh—Run fast and hard and hope they don’t find you.”

Gresh shook his head, running his shield through the fire of his torch. “Sorry to disappoint you, Malum. I’m a Glatorian. And Glatorian don’t run.”

✴        ✴        ✴

The day had arrived.

Another year of anticipation was at an end. Many had looked forward this day, yet not all for the same reason.

A veritable sea of Agori crowded the stadiums with concessions, flags, and masks in the fashion of their favorite Glatorian. At various points around the arena, banners with the emblems of the four participating tribes stood proudly against the wind. In the ring of lounges and private boxes along the top, the shouting and cajoling of vendors died down as they realized the hour had come.

In the arena, one of the circular gates slid open.

Metus, acting chair of this year’s Atero committee and dressed in ceremonial garb, emerged from the tunnel and made the long walk to the center of the ring. In the stadiums, individual conversations died out fast as eyes were drawn to the Ice Agori. The blast of trumpets snuffed out what little discussion endured.

Taking his place in the center of the arena, Metus raised his eyes to the crowds.

“Villagers of Bara Magna! One hundred thousand and one years have passed since our planet was wracked by vicious warfare and carnage. The whole of our society was torn to shreds as we were led into war against each other by those who used us as pawns. Then, as we thought we had nothing left to lose, our very planet was shattered open. Water became as valuable a resource as jewels, and plants became as scarce as diamonds. The very land beneath us crumbled and died, and we were driven to desperation to survive.

“Though none sought war, it was a path that seemed inevitable. With such strained resources, the fires of desperation nearly drove the peoples of Bara Magna into bloody combat once again. It was only the intervention of the noble Certavus and the innovation of the Glatorian system that restored order to our shattered society and renewed a vestige of civilization in the wastes.

“To mark the anniversary of the founding of the Glatorian system, we gather here in Atero to celebrate our beloved fighters as they engage in the most spectacular, the most glorious fighting in their careers! As you know, many changes have occurred since last year—the controversial fighter Malum has been cast out, the rising star Gresh has cemented his position as Second Glatorian, and the former reigning champion of Agori, Deritus, has retired—just to name a few! As usual, we the committee have studied the Glatorian with scrutiny and lined up the very best brackets for this year’s series. Now, without further ado, allow me to introduce our Master of Ceremonies, the irrepressible… Amseles!”

Another tunnel opened and Amseles stepped out, painted from head to toe in colors of all four of the present tribes, even as Metus hurried out of the arena and back into the tunnels. With a lopsided grin, the beloved emcee struck a wacky pose, and the crowds erupted in a fit of roars and cheers.

✴        ✴        ✴

As Amseles began his opening remarks, Berix happened to be walking back from the concessions with his arms full of food when he realized the seat he’d occupied only minutes earlier had been taken. So were the seats next to that one, and all the seats before, beside, or behind those. Frowning, Berix scanned the crowds for an open seat, but with no success. Hopeless, he was about to throw down his food and run to some of the other sections when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Looking for a seat?” asked Raanu, elder of Vulcanus.

Berix’s eyes widened. “Yes! Do you know of one?”

The Fire Agori smiled. “Come with me.”

By now, Amseles had finished his opening words. Turning to one tunnel after another, he shouted the names of Glatorian to thunderous uproar, while the combatants emerged, running wildly or dancing into the arena.

Raanu led Berix to one of the upper boxes, where a few other Vulcanus officials sat. Berix looked around awkwardly as he realized he was the only non-fire tribe Agori there. A few threw amused glances at the Vulcanus elder, but most were too distracted to notice the new arrival. Raanu gestured to the seat beside him, and Berix sat uncomfortably, nibbling on his mound of food as quietly as physically possible.

The door swung open again and Metus stepped inside.

“Off to the races!” he beamed. “Lots of nice matches scheduled for today, but I specifically avoided scheduling Ackar until this afternoon, as you requested, Raanu.”

“Appreciated.”

Metus walked up to Berix, who gazed awestruck up at him. “Is this seat taken?” he asked.

“N-no, not at all,” Berix said, squeezing further to the side to allow his new fellow-non-fire tribe Agori entry—all the while marveling at his new fortunes.

“With any luck, we’ll avoid the problem we had last time,” Metus added, sitting. “But since you aren’t the only tribe with one primary Glatorian missing this year, the brackets evened out nicely.”

Raanu knitted his eyebrows. “Who else is missing theirs? Oh, right—”

“Tajun,” Berix put forth humbly. He blushed, realizing Raanu had already remembered.

In the arena, the last tunnel whirled open and the final combatant walked in, waving his hands at the eager crowds.

With the Glatorian lined up before him, Amseles raised his voice once again.

“For Glory!”

“For Glory!” the Glatorian resounded in response. Their shout rang for miles around.

“For Victory!”

“For Victory!”

Amseles threw up his arms. “For Honor!”

“For Honor!”

The crowd exploded in total mania and responded with unhinged enthusiasm. At last the games had begun. In Raanu’s box, all the Agori had leaped to their feet and were screaming at the top of their lungs, flinging their arms around and waving their flags. Berix grinned, and as the fire tribe shouted cries for their beloved Ackar, he whispered quiet prayers for Tarix.

After what might as well have been hours, the Glatorian hurried off the arena and Amseles brought the crowd back in.

“Our first match for today! You know them so well I don’t even need to introduce them… But I will anyway! Taaaaaaaaaaarix vs… Straaaaaaaaakkk!”

The gates swung open, and both Glatorian raced toward the center of the arena. Amseles said something to the fighters, and both nodded. Amseles stepped backwards and shouted, “Begin!”

Without further ado, Strakk raised his axe and brought it down hard on Tarix, who pinched it between his twin blades and held it. But the Ice Glatorian grinned, twisting his axe and snagging it on one of the swords and yanking it out of Tarix’s hand.

“Told you I’d remember!” he exulted.

“I don’t need two swords to beat you, Strakk,” Tarix laughed, swiping for his opponent’s legs. The Ice Glatorian leaped back and aimed his Thornax Launcher for the Water Glatorian’s remaining sword arm.

“Right, you still have one. Let’s try for none.”

The launcher fired. Time seemed to slow, as Tarix’s eyes narrowed.

For a moment, it seemed like he was doomed as the projectile barreled toward him.

But at the last minute, he sprung into the air ahead of the onrushing Thornax and backflipped right as it flew beneath him.

“Please,” he started.

He landed on his feet, aiming his own launcher straight for the startled Strakk.

“I was dodging Thornax when you were still swatting at snowflakes.”

✴        ✴        ✴

From the stands, Raanu snorted and laughed.

“Strakk doesn’t stand a chance. I once saw Tarix beat Malum with that move.”

Berix decided he’d try again at conversation.

“If the Skrall don’t show up, Tarix might even win the tournament. I wonder where they are.”

Metus shrugged. “Not like them to miss a chance to humiliate everyone else.”

Raanu shook his head. “Can you believe what Gresh was saying this morning? I can’t believe Malum had the nerve to show up here.”

“I heard,” Berix nodded. “Malum is just crazy… I mean, isn’t he?”

A chill visibly ran up Metus’ spine. He looked at the other Glatorian.

“Sure, but… what if the ‘storm’ he talked about is the reason the Skrall aren’t here? What if something… got them?”

“You think their convoy got caught in a storm?” Raanu knitted his brow.

“Maybe,” Metus nodded. “I hate to say it, but if an element storm is heading for the arena, we need to put the games on hold and find cover.”

Berix shifted uncomfortably at the thought. “Maybe… maybe we should go out and check. You know, just look around. Maybe the Skrall are on their way, just a little late.”

Metus raised an eyebrow. “Why are you so concerned about the Skrall, Berix? You know something we don’t?”

“No, but if the Skrall are out there, it will at least rule out a weather storm.”

Raanu and Metus exchanged glances. But the Fire elder shrugged and stood.

“Good idea. I suppose I could afford to stretch my legs. Coming Metus?”

The Ice Agori considered a moment—he could see the rest of the Tarix/Strakk fight or take a look outside on the off-chance anything was arriving at the city. The Ice Agori was unparalleled in sports enthusiasm, and he really did want to see the rest of the match…

But as Raanu and Berix started to leave, he sighed and followed.

The three Agori made their way fast down the steps of the stadium, discussing the upcoming matches as they went. Despite Malum’s words, they were all fairly confident that he was probably just fear-mongering. This would be the first championship he’d sat out, and he was almost certainly just jealous about his exclusion.

The three soon arrived at a small gate on the north side of the arena. As it was opening, Raanu was just saying, “I’m sure there’s some simple explanation for their absence… not that I miss them at all.”

The gate rose to its full height, and the three were hit by a wall of wind. Squinting through the gust and the sand particles, Metus could see a towering cloud of dust and sand rising up to the very skies.

He gasped.

“Oh no… Look out there—what a sandstorm! If that hits the arena now—”

“Oh my… That’s not a sandstorm,” Berix shook his head. He pointed. “It’s the Skrall—an army of them!”

Metus scowled.

“What is it with you and the Skrall—”

“No!” Raanu gasped. “He’s right! But… surely they’re here in peace…?”

✴        ✴        ✴

It had arrived at last. Ten centuries of Skrall, accompanied by siegework engines borne by Rock Steeds and a column of light cavalry, ground to a halt in front of the city gate. They had marched south along the Skrall River, accelerated by the tide’s flow. For almost two days unceasing they had marched. But at last they had arrived.

Stronius spurred his Rock Steed forward, circling before Arena Magna before riding back before the Skrall. Agori heads were popping up along the rim and windows of the arena as the news rippled through them. The elite warrior smiled.

If we have an audience, then we’ll put on a show.

He looked at the horde and raised his mace.

“For Glory!” he barked.

“For Glory!” the horde shouted back, over a thousand voices in unison.

“For Victory!” he barked.

“For Victory!” the horde shouted back.

He whirled his steed and looked straight at the city.

“For Power!” he yelled.

“For Power!”

The words hung in the air for a split second…

And then pandemonium erupted in Atero. Total mania and unhinged terror.

Stronius smiled.

“Charge!”

✴        ✴        ✴

Raanu ran through the tunnels straight for the arena.

“The Skrall!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “The Skrall are attacking! Evacuate the city! Get everyone to safety!”

Mid-fight in the arena, Tarix’s heart sank.

But he knew better than to delay. Faced with such a threat, he took charge.

“Gresh! Strakk! Ackar! Everyone! We have to hold them off so the Agori can escape!”

At Tarix’s rallying cry, the frozen Glatorian stirred, surging forward toward the north gate.

“Is he crazy?” Strakk demanded, more to himself than anyone else as he ran. “They’re Skrall! None of us has been able to beat one, let alone hundreds!”

“Then we’ll die trying, I guess,” came Gresh’s voice from beside him.

Strakk rolled his eyes. “Sorry for asking. I forgot—you’re crazy too.”

A few Glatorian arrived at the north tunnel in the arena and seeing something, raised their swords and shields. But it was for naught—Stronius trampled them on his steed, and his mace finished the job. Skrall charged into the arena in his wake, smashing down the first few waves of Glatorian.

In the arena, concessions and banners were flung everywhere as Agori trampled each other trying to escape. In several places, the gates and stairs became deathtraps as several attempted to go through at once and got caught. These victims were incapable of extracting themselves and were inevitably crushed under millions of pounds of pressure from those trying to push them through.

As Skrall surged in from the north gate, the emcee, Amseles and some novice Glatorian, led a crowd of terrified Agori in the direction of the two giant east gates. As they were about to escape, Skrall warriors appeared out of nowhere, smashing into the Agori and descending on Amseles like a swarm. By the time they were finished, he was left in the sand, barely clinging to life. The Glatorian strewn about him were not so lucky.

In the arena, the fighters were fighting a losing battle. To allow the Agori time to escape, they had flung themselves at the Skrall warriors who had swept into Arena Magna. But for every Skrall warrior they stopped, a dozen more seemed to take their place. They might as well have been attempting to stand their ground against a hurricane.

At the west gate, Raanu was holding the exit open and helping people through. Hederi the astronomer had seen him some distance away and was running in his direction.

But it was the last thing she would ever see.

The Skrall that had ended her followed her gaze, and his eyes fell on Raanu. Running for the Fire elder, he raised his blade and was about to bring it down on the defenseless Agori when something slammed into him from the side and sent him sprawling in the dirt.

“Good thing I got this shield repaired before I left Vulcanus, huh?” Gresh grunted as he wielded his shield, recognizing the Skrall from his match a month earlier.

“Pity I didn’t finish the job,” the Skrall snarled. “Last I saw you, I was about to snuff out your existence. Shall we pick up where we left off?”

He swung his blade hard at Gresh, who met it with his shield. But the Skrall brought his own shield down on Gresh, nearly wrenching it out of his hands. The Glatorian screamed, and the Skrall threw him backwards.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Gresh gasped.

“We are the most powerful. Why should we fight in the arena for what we want when we can simply step on you all like insects?”

Gresh raised his Thornax launcher and fired. “Because we ‘insects’ have a sting!”

The Skrall raised his shield at an angle, and the projectile bounced off harmlessly.

“Give up Glatorian. You can’t win.”

As Gresh was about to answer, Tarix’s voice rose above the chaos.

“Strakk! Look out!”

The Skrall siegework engines had begun smashing away at the grandiose towers that dominated the arena. One of them cracked off its base and was lurching forward in the direction of the fighters. Tarix and Strakk scarcely got out of the way before it crashed to earth, sending debris in every direction.

“That does it!” Strakk snapped. “Stay if you want to, but Atero is finished.”

Tarix looked around at the stadiums, which were now fully evacuated, save for the corpses strewn along the exits and stairs. At the west gate, the last of the living had nearly escaped.

“Go,” he croaked. “I’ll get Raanu and the others out. We’ll meet in the canyon. It’s… it’s over.”

This was all Strakk needed to hear. Racing forward, he shouted for the remaining Glatorian to retreat. Tarix and Gelu held off the onrush as best they could, but eventually they, too, were forced to make a run for it.

And so they ran.

They ran, escaping through the gate as another tower tilted forward and collapsed to the earth.

They ran as Agori lost their footing in the river and tumbled over the waterfall to the rocks below.

They ran, knowing much more than Atero’s Arena Magna had been destroyed that day… and much worse was still to come.

✴        ✴        ✴

Within Atero, a lone Agori had been hidden under the stadium. Sensing that the only inhabitants that didn’t belong to the rock tribe had left, he finally emerged from his hiding place and walked up to Stronius who was standing nearby and talking to Skrall commanders.

“Well done,” he said, clapping slowly. “The road to domination has begun.”

The elite Skrall warrior whirled, ready to strike someone down, but his lips curled in contempt at seeing the one he was commanded not to kill.

“You,” he sneered. “You should have run with the others.”

“Yes, yes, yes, I’m leaving now. Just congratulate Tuma on his victory… I always could pick a winner.”

✴        ✴        ✴

Several hours later, the stream of Glatorian and Agori flooding into the canyons to the north was beginning to slow.

From their cave, some of the refugees had a view of the distant arena. Atero was up in flames, and all except one of the towers had been brought down.

In spite of this, after being on edge for the better part of the morning and the early afternoon, Tarix finally allowed himself to let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“How many did we lose?”

Gresh, who was sitting a small distance away, raised his hoarse voice.

“At least half a dozen Glatorian, maybe more. Agori are still scattered in the desert, trying to make their way back home. But there’s no way to tell at this point.”

“The Skrall attacked without cause… killed without reason,” Raanu moaned.

“They had a reason,” Strakk growled. “Because they could. And Atero is probably just the start.”

The Water Glatorian shook his head. “An army of them… against a handful of villages that can’t stop squabbling long enough to agree on which owns an oasis or a pile of rusted equipment.”

“Tarix, do you think we can stop them?” Gresh asked. “Do you think this will be enough to unite the villages?”

“No, Gresh. I don’t think we can. I only know we have to. But the villages are so terrified of the Skrall, they will just go back to their old lives, back to the usual schedule of Glatorian matches, because to acknowledge this tragedy would mean they must rise against the storm. They will swallow the Glatorian losses today and keep going as if nothing had happened. The Agori will not unite. They have not united in all their history.”

Gresh looked at the Fire elder hopefully.

“Raanu, surely you and the other elders will unite?

But the village elder said nothing. He would not make promises he knew would never happen.

“Nevertheless. No matter what may come,” Tarix swore. “No matter how much the villages will buckle down and strive to wait out the storm, we must fight to protect what is ours. And when it is all done, when the threat has abated, we will come back to this place. We will rebuild Atero. When we have broken the Skrall and sent them packing back to where they came from, I swear…”

The black smoke cloud billowed up from Atero as the last tower of Arena Magna collapsed. What remained of the stadium slid forward and disappeared over the falls.

Through clenched teeth, Tarix uttered his vow:

“We will return.”