The Arena (Ally Deathcanon 3)
It had been at least eight days. The whippings had left huge, streaks of ragged scabbing marks across his back and shoulders that had torn through the tissue of his ancient scars. The screws at his feat had broken several of his toes, and his arms felt as if they were tearing from his torso after what seemed like decades of constant suspension. The sound of his manacles being unhinged rang though his ears and then, as he fell on his face, he felt the ropes go around his hands and the spiked gloves of the jailer push him out the door.
The pointed end of a spear pushed him towards a torrent of noise, broken only on occasion by the lash of a driving whip. His eyes were still adjusted to the dark, but his vision was blurred due to his hunger, thirst and sleeplessness. From around a hallway the noise became more intense, the corridor grew bright, and then from under his aching feet Ally felt the solid stone hallway turn into a vast sandy circle, lit by a thousand torches and strewn with bones of a menagerie of creatures.
The Orcs gathered around in rows, some standing on top of another for a better view, each gnashing and spitting towards the center. The tribes where differently garbed, some held the colors of Moria, others of Dol Guldur and even Goblins of the misty mountains hissed and spat at him as he walked with not but his burlap trousers as a defense against their knives. From the edge, in the highest chair, sat a Chieftain in a crown decorated with human ribs, at his hip Ally could see his dagger, the most precious of his stolen possessions. The Chieftain stared attentively, quiet amongst the noise, and nodded to the Orc that stood behind Ally.
He felt his bonds cut, and as he turned as sharply as he could muster the jailer shut an iron barred door behind him, smiling gleefully as he raced through the labyrinth of tunnels to find the ring and take his seat.
He returned his attention to the circle. From the crowd came what he could discern as cheers as a tall Orc in leather walked out to meet Ally. He turned his back to him quickly as the Chieftain rose and silence replaced the roars and applause.
The chief screamed out in the Orcish tongue, “Let the maggot die by his own sword!” as he cast a sheathed blade to his champion. The crowd wailed in excitement as the Haradic kilij was unsheathed and his executioner strode towards him. Ally felt fear, rage and anger take over his weakened body. He looked from side to side in search of escape routes and hiding spots but found only Orcs and fire. He stood firmly in place, certain that though he could avoid the first strike he was merely delaying the inevitable. Then from under his feet he felt something. Something hard, something sharp.
As his own sword fell downward in an attempt to strike at its master, Ally rolled to the right and with his free hand picked a strewn femur bone that had broken at the end. He palmed it and assumed a defensive stance, avoiding the slashes and hacks the Orc used his weapon in the most improper of fashions. The rush of combat flooded Ally’s veins killing the pain of the merciless torture of the previous days, and as his opponent lumbered with a huge downwards strike, Ally delivered a massive punch to the right side of his opponent’s face before repeatedly stabbing him in the throat with the bone. His opponent dropped the sword, rasping as black blood shot past his lips and grasping wildly in an attempt to remove it. Ally picked up his sword, and with a single defiant slash, cleaved the Orc’s head from his shoulders.
Booing and Roars echoed through the halls, the Chieftain growled as Ally threw the severed head towards him. The chief pointed towards the crowd and two axe welding drones came from the mass of Orcs, only to be quickly dispatched by ally.
The second wave of four where killed within minutes. Ally used the serrated edge of his kilij to blind one, and in another move used the straight edge to hack off the arm of another. What was meant to be an execution became a circle of bloody contest, and finally the Chieftain stood and commanded silence. He stepped down behind his podium. Under the murmurs of disgust and the hissing and spitting Ally didn’t hear anything.
Then came a thunderous crash as the wooden throne shattered, its void quickly filled by Orcs, and through it came the Chief on the back of his Warg. Ally stood firm, his kilij tight in his hand he moved slowly. The beast and Ally circled each other, waiting each time for the Chieftain to lunge towards their prey.
As Ally avoided the first lunge he felt a 9 tailed whip with metal nails move across his back, and turning around saw it in the hand of the Chieftain. The whip came across his back dozens of times, as Ally drifted further towards the edge he narrowly avoided the swords and spear tips of the spectating Orcs. Each lash of the whip tensed his muscles and set him off balance. He suddenly found himself in front of the iron barred door, directly in the striking distance of the Warg. As it sped forward, Ally desperately threw his killj in a downward strike and cleaved the top of the monster’s skull.
As it sank onto the floor the Chieftain was quick to dismount and roll away from the Warg, lest he be trapped under its tremendous weight. Ally desperately tried to pry the sword from the skull of the Warg as the Cheiftan drew the Haradic glass dagger stolen from his captive. He firmly paced towards Ally, raising his whip high in the air. As it was driven downward, Ally ducked sharply while prying the sword from the beasts skull in a desperate pull, and then swung it towards the Chieftains ankles. His feet stood firm in place as the rest of him toppled.
As the Chieftain fell onto his back, the crowd began to roar and spit in disapproval. Ally stood over him, the expression of rage stretched across his features and pouring out of his eyes. The first of his strikes cut of the Chieftain’s right arm. The second severed the left. Ally was quick to remove his ancestral dagger from the amputated left hand, and then plant his foot directly onto the Chieftain’s chest. He raised the dagger over the Chieftain’s face, and showed the Orcs what true brutality was.
With each successive strike the Dying Orc’s features became more and more distorted into a mass of torn flesh, broken bone and black blood. Each downward thrust deliver more splatter onto Ally’s enraged face, and as the crowd of Orcs grew silent his enraged panting became a terrifying scream that hung in the air.
Placing his sword alongside the dead Chieftain, Ally placed his hand over the body and with a single enraged strike her drove his hand into the dead Orc’s chest cavity and removed its cold, lifeless black heart. He stood, raised it into the air for the entire crowd to see, before putting it to his lips and gorging on the tender dead tissue.
His teeth and lips were stained black, and as he picked up his sword in his free hand he turned his attention to the crowd, who now began to hiss and unsheathe their reserved weapons. He spat back at them in the Black speech, the lanterns and torches seemed to dim and his eyes blacken as he roared at the crowd.
“I am Hak’Ahli! Son of Hak’Jagi! I was born in the darkness and when I die I shall return to the world as a vengeful ghost! I will eat the flesh of Orcs! I will drink the blood of your children! I will flay the skin from your backs and break your bones! I will not return to the grave until every last one of you lie dead by my hands! I am the shadow from the sands that lies in wait! Kill me now! Kill me and in the next life I shall feast on your hearts just as I feast on his!”
The Orcs surged, each trying to tear him apart with primal bloodlust. Ally’s curse rang trough the caverns and echoes outwards into the mountains, their hatred burning into the ears of every Orc they crossed. Ally repeated them over and over and over with huge breaths, swinging his blades as violently as he could against the onslaught, even as the swords of the Orcs fell upon him.
