Chapter Two

One Months before the Atero Championship

Berix ran for his life.

It was foolish, he knew. There really was no point in trying to escape death when it was as tight on his heels as it was right now. And if death came in the form of a Bone Hunter?

Berix somehow ran faster.

As he did, however, he realized that he should have been long gone already. Listening through the sounds of his own breathing, he could hear no stomping behind him, nor the breath of the reptile on his neck. Daring a glance backward to the left, he realized nothing was behind him.

This movement was ill-timed. The glance back combined with Berix’s shock at escape and a poorly-placed rock, worked together to fell the water Agori. Berix fell face-first into the sand with a grunt.

Then he heard them approaching.

Calmly, they drew near, towering over the downed Agori. And now he realized why he hadn’t been caught sooner. In drawing out the game, the Bone Hunter had eclipsed Berix on his right flank.

The Rock Steed, Skirmix, reared, unleashing a terrifying cry into the desert wasteland. The rider’s lips curled into a vicious smile as he raised his sword.

“Hunt’s over,” Fero snarled. “You lose.”

Terrified, Berix closed his eyes, anticipating the fall of the blade. Never in his wildest dreams had he anticipated it ending like this, yet here he was. After so long, his reckless, unimpeded treasure hunting had proven to be his downfall.

He waited for the end.

But the clanging sound of a projectile striking the metal blade caused him to open his eyes again.

Fero was glaring at something behind Berix with a cold rage in his eyes.

“You must be tired of living, Glatorian,” he snarled.

“No,” came the reply. “Just tired of Bone Hunters like you.”

Berix whirled and saw a confident young Glatorian reloading his Thornax Launcher and aiming it directly for the Bone Hunter’s head. The Glatorian was green, a Jungle Glatorian from Tesara evidently, if his armor was anything to go by, and nearly twice Berix’s size.

As Berix gazed at him, he realized that he had seen the Glatorian before, often fighting in the arena, either training with Tarix and Kiina or battling for Tesara’s claims. They had even adventured together once, though it was doubtful the Tesaran Glatorian remembered. Although he was relatively new, he was still a well known, up-and-coming star. Gresh, his name was. But for the most part, Berix had only ever admired him from a distance — to be this close…

“Leave the Agori alone and move along,” Gresh finished.

Although Bone Hunters were almost universally feared, the Jungle warrior betrayed no fear as he regarded the warrior of the rock tribe.

But Fero simply laughed.

“One lone fighter, still with sand in his ears, challenging a Bone Hunter? Did the sun get you, or are you just stupid?”

“Not sun-struck,” Gresh replied. “Not stupid. Just a traveler. One thing, though…”

He gestured behind Fero. While they’d been talking, two more Glatorian, one blue and the other white, had flanked the Bone Hunter.

“I never travel alone.”

✴        ✴        ✴

From a distance, several pairs of red eyes caught sight of the conflict unfolding in the dunes. The head of the pack signaled the beast-like creatures behind him. Powerful fighters as they were, they knew better than to challenge both a Bone Hunter and a team of Glatorian at once. But once one of these fell, the rest would be theirs.

✴        ✴        ✴

Fero shouted in pain as a Thornax from the white warrior struck a glancing blow to his left shoulder. His mount, Skirmix, had done a good enough job keeping the Jungle Glatorian at bay with his jaws, even as he dualed the Water Glatorian from atop the Rock Steed.

But the three Glatorian were too experienced as warriors to handle all at once. Yelping, he spurred Skirmix to charge the Ice Glatorian who was blocking their exit.

“Block him, Strakk!” the Water Glatorian shouted.

But this barely registered for the Ice Glatorian, who simply stood there as the Rock Steed charged for him. Raising his mighty axe, it was all he could do to make a strange gurgling noise with his throat before Bone Hunter and mount slammed into and kicked him into the dust.

“Ow,” Strakk groaned feebly. Under his helmet, his cheeks flushed. Thousands of years of arena combat and he could only muster so much as a throat garble as the steed had charged for him. Strakk didn’t believe in anything except his own might, but somehow he found himself praying that he hadn’t been heard.

“I said block him!” Tarix shouted as he and Gresh ran over. “Not get trampled by his mount.”

“He’ll be back, and with friends,” Gresh grunted, his eyes scanning the dunes the Bone Hunter had escaped into. “We should keep moving.”

The water Agori, Berix, stirred. He had been wise enough to scramble away from the fighting, but as he came closer, Tarix recognized him.

“Berix, right?” he asked. “I know you.”

“Gresh,” the Jungle Glatorian offered his hand. “My travelling companions here are Tarix and Strakk. We were just passing, but saw you were a bit outmatched.”

“Thanks for the rescue,” the water Agori replied, returning the gesture. “Though I’m afraid I don’t have anything to pay you with.”

Tarix smiled slightly. “Don’t worry. We did this one for fun.”

“Speak for yourself,” Strakk snapped. “I don’t fight for free.”

“Glatorian don’t charge to save a life,” Gresh shot back at Strakk, who merely scowled in response. The Ice Glatorian had encountered Gresh once or twice before, but even prior to their first meeting he had heard a great deal about him, and his code of honor. Such things were dangerous these days, and while Strakk hated to say it, Gresh wouldn’t make it far with such a heavy load like that.

Deciding to change the subject, Strakk turned to Berix.

“So what are you doing so far from Tajun?” he demanded. “Agori don’t fare too well on their own out here, in the dead of the wastelands.”

The water Agori grinned sheepishly. “Collecting bits of old armor. I need better protection if I’m going to fight in the arena someday.”

“You need more than that, Sand Flea,” Strakk responded. “You need…”

But his voice trailed off. Some camouflaged movement was crawling along the sand dunes right for them.

“Well, folks, we’ve got company.”

They moved with incredible speed. Three of the tan creatures had scarcely appeared before the warriors before something exploded from the dune behind Tarix, toppling him to the ground.

“Block him, Tarix!” Strakk quipped.

The Water Glatorian rolled his eyes as he and the tan warrior tumbled to the sand. He restrained himself from firing right back at Strakk.

Unfortunately, the others weren’t doing too much better. The small party was now surrounded, and the dunes were crawling with the primal tan creatures.

The animalistic warriors were the species “Vorox.” Once a proud civilization, this lost sand tribe had backslid over 100,000 years ago as a result of some Great Being experiment. What sapience they once held became neglected and forgotten, and they were abandoned to the harsh wastelands to fend for themselves. Accompanied by the Zesk, companions that might have once been the Agori of this tribe, the Vorox represented the very worst the desert had to offer.

For if the remaining tribes weren’t careful, they would suffer the same fate.

“What do you think?” Gresh asked, narrowly raising his shield to block a leaping Vorox. “Hungry? Or angry?”

“Probably both,” Tarix grunted from his position in the sand.

Strakk swung his axe down hard on a Vorox, cutting deep into its shoulder. “Since when do Vorox need a reason?”

Gresh batted another Vorox away. “Good point.”

✴        ✴        ✴

Some distance away, Berix found himself in a terrifying situation. Having instinctively backed away when the fighting began, he had stepped further and further back, faster and faster.

But in his rising haste, he tripped and fell backwards on something that felt like flesh.

Berix looked down.

He was surrounded by four Vorox limbs.

Shouting in shock and surprise, he leaped forward, but the limbs snapped shut behind him. Raising his hand, he barely could get it up to block the stinger tail descending upon his exposed form.

As the Agori squirmed and struggled to make his escape, he dimly perceived several more large Vorox closing in on him. As they drew their blades, the raw iron glistened in the desert sun.

Then, so quickly Berix almost thought he had imagined it, a sharp, distant whistle cut through the sounds of struggle. Berix found himself thrown forward, face-first, and as he picked himself up and whirled, he realized a hole lay in the dune where all of the Vorox had just been standing. The sand moved quickly to fill in the cavity, and just as quickly as they had appeared, there was no trace of any living creature.

The Agori moved closer to the three Glatorian, who were watching dumbstruck as the last of the creatures receded. Spying a dark silhouette on a ridge nearby, he pointed.

“It was that Glatorian over there—I think he signaled them,” Berix said. “But who is that?”

Tarix stepped over and followed the Agori’s gaze.

“That’s Malum,” he said finally. “Exiled from Vulcanus for crimes in the arena—against Strakk, actually. Looks like he’s made new friends.”

“Here I thought the desert couldn’t get more treacherous,” Gresh muttered. “But if the rumors are true, and the Vorox really have made Malum their leader…”

“Ah, I remember,” Strakk said, almost fondly. “A rather sore chap. Couldn’t take a loss.”

“You were fighting dirty,” Tarix growled. “Taunting him for hours.

“Still, I almost can’t blame him,” Strakk continued, ignoring him. “A Glatorian really shouldn’t be condemned for behavior in the arena. Why, I’ve almost snapped a few times myself… It’s the arena, it does things.”

“On that particular occasion, it was all you,” the Water Glatorian bit out.

“Oh, like he’d never done the same,” the ice Glatorian growled. “Malum would be the first to tell you to fight fire with fire.”

“Speaking of fire, we’re due in Vulcanus, remember?” Gresh spoke up. “And I have a match waiting for me. We’d better get a move on.”

“You’re fighting today?” Berix asked Gresh. The Jungle Glatorian nodded.

“Yes,” Tarix said, starting in the direction of the road. “Locking horns with a Skrall, no less.”

“A Bone Hunter, a Vorox pack, and a Skrall,” Berix said, gazing up at the green warrior. “All in one day!”

Strakk snorted.

“Welcome to Bara Magna.”