The Fleshing
Not a single seat in the colosseum was empty. Row upon row, spectators cheered for combat, glory, and bloodshed. Draven flashed his perfect pearly whites and waved. He lived to oblige them. He was a public servant, after all.
Field managers were finishing removing the remains of the convicts, a mob of carrion crows hanging about the crimson carts like a black cloud. A voice boomed out from the hextech audio amplifiers placed throughout the stands.
"Well folks, it seems that Draven has gone and pureed the entire death row without suffering a scratch! It's a damn shame, but we’ll have to end the entertainment a tad earlier than usual."
Almost instantly there was a cacophony of booing. But they had intended for it.
"Oh? You want more? Won’t take no for an answer? Well…. I suppose we still have a few prisoners of war left over."
The response this time was thunderous. A thousand hands clapped and feet stomped in unison. A chant was taken up.
"ALI-STAR! ALI-STAR!"
Draven grinned. The cow had become popular over the months since his incarceration. Both criminals and jailers that strayed too close had to be collected with a mop. Though the fights usually ended in seconds, the beast was still a fan favorite. Not like it mattered anymore. The glorious Draven wasn’t going to allow some rancid bovine steal his limelight.
The entire arena grew hush as several torches were doused. The orange-red light of the blood moon eclipse illuminated the arena. Draven smiled, having long ago planned the events to coincide. The effects were perfect. Steel gates rattled as they were drawn up, revealing a yawning maw of darkness. The echos of hooves hitting rock slowly grew louder. Draven adopted a fighting stance and started spinning up his axes.
Alistar erupted into the colosseum with a deafening roar that made the entire audience jump and cry out. Angry red welts, burns and scars drew a network across the cow’s tortured body. In addition to “physical encouragement”, guards drugged the food and water given to prisoners to ensure they were in a frenzy. No one likes to watch a coward running in fear or crying for mercy. Of course, the cow warranted a dosage that would kill several men - but the cost was worth it.
The result was a reckless, berserk animal. A danger to itself and everyone around it. It helped silence the dissenters of the Great Barrier Genocide. No one was better at PR than Draven.
Gleaming red eyes leveled at Draven, dilated in rage.
"CRUSH YOOO!" bellowed the minotaur, foaming at the mouth.
He leveled massive horns in a brutal charge. Hands tore out chunks of earth as he dropped to all fours and crossed 60 yards in a blink. Placing one axe in his teeth, Draven leapt forward and performed a one handed front handspring vault off the lowered head of the bull.
Draven landed, raised his arms in the air and took a bow. Alistar didn't stop the charge, turning a section of the wall into a shower of bricks that collapsed a section on top of him. The audience gave a standing applause, fear replaced with praise and laughter. The chanting changed.
"DRA-VEN! DRA-VEN!"
"This is going to be too easy" Draven mused.
Behind him, Alistar had extracted himself from the rubble and began another charge.
The first axe buried deep into the ball of muscle that formed Alistar’s massive shoulder. The howls of pain muffled the cheering from the stand. Yet Draven’s smile faltered. It had almost seemed like the beast had moved intentionally to intercept the axe from hitting the chest and taking a lung. Draven removed the second axe from his mouth and started the spin. The great Draven didn't miss twice.
With a furious toss, the axe turned into a silver disc as it arced towards Alistar’s head. A metallic clang rang out. Twice now the crowd was utterly silent.
The axe clattered uselessly to the floor. In the final seconds Alistar had blocked it with an iron manacle. Now standing at full height, Alistar slowly drew his forearm across his mouth to clean off the spittle. The sound of shattering rock accompanied Alistar cracking his knuckles. He picked up the fallen throwing axe and bent it clean in half. His ruby red eyes again focused on Draven. The haze was gone.
In a clear tone, Alistar spoke.
"You have made a grave mistake, executioner. Your hubris will be your demise."
"How did he escape the drugs? He would have starved to death months ago!" was Draven’s last line of thought before the minotaur's straight-arm sent him spiraling into the air like a rag doll. The impact of earth brought Draven into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.
But Alistar did not halt his momentum. Clay, iron and stone gave way to his force as he made a new door in the arena. He barreled into the prison quarters, snapping and twisting metal bars like they were twigs. Chains that weren't broken were torn directly from the wall.
Instantly a flood of inmates poured out in a bid for freedom. Gaolers rushed out in an attempt to curb the riot. The crowd was in a terror, and citizens crushed and trampled each other as they crawled over stands towards the exit.
It was sheer pandemonium.
Draven awoke, and struggled to his feet despite the alarms of pain. In his stupor, he saw Alistar return from the prison, standing about the mass of struggling bodies. Sitting on his back using his horns as handholds was a small servant girl. One of the kitchen maids.
Alistar waded through the rioters like water. The gate that allowed carts to enter the arena was torn straight off the hinges.
The prisoners abandoned their attempt to get into the stands and surged for their new exit. Draven took several steps at them, but darkness filled his vision and he collapsed once again.
……...
Weeks later, many of the convicts had been caught and killed in the streets. Warwick’s man-hunter teams were released in attempt to capture high value prisoners such as Alistar and the Viscero. Sweeps to the mountains and back produced no results.
No watchmen had noticed a moving shadow that slipped past the city limits in the darkness. Twin orbs shone yellow even in utter darkness, filled with hatred and malice.