Caught in Darkness Ch. 11

"I thought I killed you too quickly." The Unkillable conceded. "Your Mistress said you were skilled, but I dropped you too easily. You didn't give me enough of a fight. You faked it didn't you?" He thrust out his sword, and Mule caught it in his chains. The blade showered sparks all over the man's skin, but the links held. The Unkillable showed him his true prowess in battle by burying the man under a relentless barrage of quick thrusts and slices. Mule was forced to duck and dodge as fast as he could. When he couldn't, he used the thicker steel of his manacles to redirect some of the blows. Despite the raw power of such a large sword, the General was using a barrage of quick thrusts and slashes. His opponent was quick, not powerful. Mule's body started taking some of the punishment that blade dished out in cuts and gashes all over his person. For the moment, he was on the defensive from the onslaught.

The Majestic watched the fight, but saw only her trump card barely escaping The Unkillable's strikes. Her smirk eventually faded away, this fight wasn't looking good. All it would take was one serious blow from that weapon and Mule would be done for. Her magic couldn't heal him this time. If he was going to win, he needed a weapon and the perfect opportunity to use it. She looked across the Pit to the elf Mule worked so hard to protect. Riyarra was just as engulfed in the fight as everyone else, and also just as confused to the tactics the human was using. She was no help dissuading The Majestic's growing fears.

A black metal boot took the human's footing out from under him, and that heavy greatsword followed the man's body as it fell to the floor. Mule barely got his manacles up in time to block the blade as it came down to cut him in half. The General followed the blade and put his weight behind it, grinding it closer to Mule's face. The crowd cheered their General as on the sharp black steel inched closer and closer.

"You disappoint me." The General growled. He placed his armored forearm over the back of the blade and used the added leverage to press it closer into his opponent. "You're weaker than the Eltharians. I have killed enough of them to know. Your legend is a lie." He sneered. That shift in his weight was what Mule was waiting for. He planted his knees into the General's stomach, and lifted the Zecarin's body up with his legs. His hands guided the weapon past his cheek into the floor, and the sudden imbalance sent The Unkillable flipping over him onto his back. The Unkillable rolled to his knees, but Mule was the quicker and got his chains up into a double fisted haymaker. The manacles around his wrist slammed into the back of the General's helmet. The ding of metal on metal echoed throughout The Pit and elicited sympathetic groans from the crowd above.

The Unkillable was dazed, but used the force of the blow to roll forward and swung his weapon up to where his opponent should be. It missed Mule by inches, but a quick twist of his wrist and it nicked a gash across Mule's chest as the man tried to outdistance it. The wound bled badly for such a shallow cut. Mule retreated some feet, putting distance between him and the rising General.

The Majestic's visage turned cold at the sight of his bleeding chest. She had seen him kill so many times; he was quick and deadly, no effort was ever wasted, all he needed was the opportunity to strike and it would be over. Unfortunately, it didn't look like this warlord would give him that opportunity. One of her guards touched her shoulder, and the Majestic took her eyes from the fight. He nodded to her hands, and to her surprise they were dripping blood. Her sharp nails had bit into her palms and punctured the skin. The lady ignored him and her wounds and kept her eyes on the fight.

Mule backpedaled from the wide arcing slashes his opponent was cutting through the air. The Unkillable was over exerting himself trying to overwhelm his opponent; it was working, Mule couldn't do anything but dodge and evade, but it was also tiring the expert warrior. This was turning into a battle of will and attrition. Mule glanced behind him and found he was coming dangerously close to The Unkillable's trio of slaves. The two Zecarin ladies were already moving out of the way but Riyarra was standing still. Either awestruck or resigned to any fate that may befall her, she wasn't scrambling out of the way like the others. It was almost as if she refused to be afraid for her own life. This was the opportunity Mule needed -- something the General hated more than him.

When he got in range of her, Mule stopped back-stepping and spun to one side as that blade came for him. The Unkillable's fury was burning out and his recoil attacks had become slower and slower. This time when he saw his opponent dodge, he went to strike again and found the elf girl in his way instead of the human. The defiant look on her face fueled his frustrations; he would wet his blade one way or another. The Unkillable lunged forward to skewer her up to the hilt with that massive weapon. He took his eyes off his true opponent long enough for Mule to get close. Dawning comprehension came too late as he saw that thick shackle chain coming down in front of his eyes and catching his neck at the metal gorget. Mule spun in place the moment it made contact, twisting that chain taught and putting his back into the General. With a fierce yell that ripped through his vocal cords, he thrust his hips back and dropped his torso. Pulling with his hands over one shoulder he yanked with all his strength as his body dropped. The surprised warlord was sent flying backwards over Mule's shoulder to collide painfully face first onto the ground.

With the still chains still wound tight, Mule planted a foot on the back of the General's neck and pulled up as he grabbed his wrists together. The Unkillable let go his blade and struggled to grab the chains and stop the strangulation. The metal of the warrior's gorget groaned under the tension, and suddenly gave way bending inwards. Mule released his victim an instant later and walked away to catch his breath.

The General got to his feet and picked up his sword, but the strength had left his hands. He gasped and wheezed as the misshapened armor piece was now putting pressure on his windpipe, making it hard to breath. He yanked off his helmet and struggled to remove the warped piece of metal, but it was too damaged to come off. Mule just stood and watched; the fight was over, The Unkillable just didn't know it yet. The Zecarin's wheezes turned to coughs and gasps and his dark grey face started to turn a shade of deep purple. A hushed silence suddenly fell over The Pit at this sudden turn of events.

The hall was filled with only the frantic gasps for air. The general went weakly to his knees. His fingers clawed, pulled, and tried to pry the bent gorget off his throat. The harder he yanked, the more it bit into his undercoat and through it into his neck. Soon a small trickle of blood could be seen seeping from the seam of his gorget and scale shirt.

"You're an animal." Mule spat a safe distance away. "Die like one." The General's eyes grew wide at this unlikely coincidence. The prophecy had been about him! Frantically he yanked at the misshapen metal, but the harder he pulled the more it cut into his neck. His strength soon gave out between the lack of air, and the blood loss, and the General collapsed. Mule picked up the greatsword and placed the tip to the unconscious and wheezing male's neck. With one quick, violent thrust, the tip passed through all until it bit into the stone of the floor. The maroon carpet drank in the blood that flowed. The Pit was quiet.

"Today I take a name!" Mule yelled to all that would hear. "I am The Killer!" he threw the sword to the ground with a clatter and approached the High Patriarch. He went to one knee before the wooden throne, and he could feel the tension in the two remaining Generals. The High Patriarch stood, his aura of power flared and the gemstones glowed brightly.

"You have murdered a Zecarin General." The Patriarch announced with a stern voice. He came to stand before this human.

"He was unfit." The Killer answered sternly. "May a more worthy, pure-blooded Zecarin, take his place."

"You, who have already claimed so much, will not make a claim to be General?" The High Patriarch raised his head and looked down his nose at this human. The Generals flanking him on both sides had their weapons at the ready to skewer this man should he misspeak. It was a trap.

"Only a son or daughter of Zecair can be a General." Mule stated plainly. "Zecair deserves no less. May the elite soldiers prove their worth." The Generals seemed to relax a little. "I desire all that I can attain legally."

"Rise then, Killer." The High Patriarch said begrudgingly. "Your name has been taken. Claim your rewards for your house." The old under elf raised his hand towards Te Killer, and the remaining shackles disappeared. The Killer turned and looked above to those seated around the Pit. He met the curious, and hateful gazes of the spectators and councilmen above. They would not suffer a human among them for long. His gaze fell to those in the center, the guards of The Unkillable were visibly nervous. The Twins, and Riyarra were still fighting the shock of seeing the monster they hated dead on the ground. Even the Majestic couldn't take her sneering visage off the body.

"By law," The Killer started. "I will claim only those in this room that owed servitude to the dead." His words were invoking the Claim of Rights. It was the part of a name taking ceremony, when the victor chose his spoils from the defeated. "Those that owed fealty, may return to their house and serve its new master, I do not claim it or them." This uncommon act of charity caused mixed reactions from those above. Even the High Patriarch was arching one bushy eyebrow in suspicious confusion. "You three." He pointed to the slave girls. Then he turned to The Majestic, whose smug visage was borderline proud.

"The Majestic, whose life belonged to the dead." The Killer started. The Majestic finally met his gaze as an equal that time. She no longer looked with contempt or scorn. "I claim her house, and I give her the name The Lascivious, in servitude." The Killer met her gaze and didn't flinch. The Majestic's smug expression melted, her jaw dropped, and her nails dug back into her palms. This betrayal was unexpected, and she couldn't hide her outrage. That unladylike gaping mouth closed tightly, barring rows of grinding teeth. This last damning act finally won a favorable reaction from the crowd. Jeers and lewd comments echoed off the walls towards the newly fallen Councilwoman.

"The Killer," The High Patriarch said. "Your house will now need a representative to The Council of Ten. You will not be allowed." His voice was trying to be neutral, but even he was having a hard time accepting this human among them. The Killer paused and thought for a moment.

"I will send an appropriate delegate. One, worthy and loyal to Zecair." The Killer said.

"The Killer, now that you are in possession of a forbidden slave, you are now guilty of treason." The High Patriarch said calmly and folded his hands together before him. "How do you plead?" Mule glanced at Riyarra and thought on how to answer that. Hopefully he had worked the crowd up enough to be suggestible to anything involving bloodshed.

"I will use her as bait, to ambush more Eltharian patrols. She is now a tool of war." He answered. Riyarra gave him a murderous look, her trust in this man was all but destroyed. Even if he was lying, he did it so convincingly it called into question everything else he had ever said to her. Mule, The Killer, this human... could not be trusted.

"Let it be done." The High Patriarch announced the ceremonial end to the Trial. He turned and walked from The Pit, ever grateful to be done with this fiasco. The two Generals paused and saluted the man that had killed one of their own. In their eyes he saw the respect he deserved for the service he had done Zecair, even if the people would not openly voice it.

Mule approached the entourage of The Unkillable. He met the gaze of each guard and gave them unthreatening looks. Despite his efforts, they still looked ready to swarm him or flee.

"You," he pointed to one of the more impressive looking soldiers -- a tall Zecarin male with a broad chest and black chain armor. "Deal with the body, the rest may return to your house. You three..." he looked to the Twins and Riyarra. He didn't meet their gaze for long. "Attend to your new Lord and Master. We're going home, and I need a bath."

****

A bath was indeed what he needed. The Killer sat on a washing stool of the spa room his legs were spread wide, and his hands were planted on his knees. It was a fierce posture, even for one here to relax. This was the same room where he first fought The Unkillable and lost - on purpose. This time, he had posted guards outside to ensure he was no disturbed.

The Obedient attended him. Like him, she was naked. Her short red hair was wet and pulled back behind her ears. She was at work, dabbing the numerous cuts on his arms and thighs with a cotton swab. It reeked of grain liquor, and each time it touched a wound he would hiss through his teeth. The Killer's hand went to his chest and touched the stitch work she had performed on the nasty cut there. It was clean work.

Kneeling on the stone floor away from them was a Zecarin woman. Her head was shaved bald, and numerous earrings lined her long ears. She was naked with only her jewelry to adorn her. A matching pair of silver rings protruded from the puffy nipples of her well endowed chest. They were connected by a thin silvery chain to a ring in her navel, and that one to another ring somewhere between her thighs. Her gaze was plain and stoic.

The Killer breathed in the scented air. He was so looking forward to a long soak in the hot water of the tub before him, but first he needed to be properly groomed. And his new personal servant was seeing to that. The Obedient finished cleaning his wounds and pulled a thin silver razor from her jeweled box. It opened with a click, and The Killer raised his head ever so slightly. Her hand touched one of his cheeks and tilted his head to one side as she moved that razor towards his throat. She paused in her work.

"Why do you trust me with this?" She asked earnestly. The razor came around his head so he could see it clearly in the dim light.

"Your proficiency is well renowned." The Killer smirked slightly. "You were recommended to me." The razor went to his neck and gently cleared off a section of the short beard that had overtaken his face.

"And how do you plan on paying me for my services?" She cooed into his ear.

"I was thinking of giving you a more suiting name." He responded. She shaved off another section.

"Choose your next word carefully, Master." She whispered huskily. The razor went to his skin, right below his adam's apple.

"I am open to suggestions," He whispered back coyly. The blade, with expert care, shaved the difficult contours of his adam's apple. "The Lacerating comes to mind." As the blade went up his throat to his chin, it slipped ever so slightly. The Killer hissed.

"Was it worth it?" she said sweetly as she wiped the blade clean on a towel. The Killer touched the small nick on his chin and checked it had barely bled.

"I'll tell you when you finish." He responded. "Clever answer." She giggled and resumed clearing his chin of hair.

"Our house needs a new face for the Council." He said offhandedly. "And a new Master, I will not be tolerated here long."

"The Loud can be quite good at entreating others." Her hand never slipped once as she worked. He paused and thought about her recommendation.

"No," He responded quickly. But his reason why took some deliberation. "She doesn't have the ferocity for politics."

"Another clever answer." She smiled and started to work on one of his cheeks. "Do all humans grow so much fur on their faces?"

"The men do." The Killer tilted his head to one side to follow her lead. The blade finished that side of his cheek and moved to the other. In a few quick strokes she had the last of his beard removed. The razor was cleaned and folded back into its handle. With a clean section of the towel, she dabbed the rest of his face clean. From her jeweled box, she pulled out a vial of yellowish oil. This she dabbed into her palm and then rubbed it into his pink, hair free face. It took the sting of the shaving away instantly.

"Don't ask where it comes from." The Obedient grinned at him when she came around in front of him.

"Raeal mucus." The Killer wrinkled his nose. "We use it up top too." The Obedient smiled in concession and stood up offering her hand. Her Lord took it, and she guided him into the hot bath waters beyond.

The Killer let loose a long profound sigh as the soothing hot water eased his aching muscles. It overpowered the twinging sting of the many cuts on his legs when they contacted the water. He went to the first ledge under the water and sat down. The Obedient's dark skinned form glistened in the light from below the water. He didn't get such a good look at her before, the light in The Majestic's chamber was so dim. She had the attractive curves of an athletic female; her hips were round, and her body slim and toned. She even showed off a little abdominal definition when she bent over. Her breasts average but ample for one so conditioned, and still perky as they stared The Killer in the face.

"See something you like?" She toyed with him as her hands ran up her sides to cup her breasts. "Despite being such a lowly human, you deserve a reward for taking care of such a thorn in my side." She said with a pout on her lips. The Killer shook his head with a chuckle.

"Why do you trust me enough with that?" he said, using her own words.

"Your proficiency is well renowned." The Obedient replied and bit her thumb seductively. "You were recommended to me." The Obedient let her hand slide down her stomach as she flexed the muscles. She leaned down to her master, and draped her arms around his neck. Her full red pouty lips went to one of his ears and blew gently on it. "This time, I get your tongue, all of it." she whispered into his ear.

The bath slave sitting quietly near the wall didn't move, and didn't speak. This was her home, her place of work and rest. It wasn't uncommon for lovers to take to the baths and not need her services. Sometimes on rare occasions they requested her skill during their lovemaking. For now this was no different than any other visitation; only she got to see the monster that threw two houses into chaos in one day.

The Obedient had served as a bath slave, she knew the skills needed to service visitors. She had served in many roles, and learned many things. It was an honor and a privilege to be served by one with such a reputation and value; the lord of their house deserved no less. As she stood to her feet and walked towards The Killer, her feet straddling his lap, she held the presence of the Mistress more than the Slave. She ran her hands down his long wet hair to his cheeks as she stared down at him. She glanced up once to the bathing slave and nodded to her. The slave moved a stationary string instrument from behind her to in front of her. It was made of bright yellow wood with a hardened glaze; metal strings ran across its length. The slave pressed her fingertips to the neck of the instrument while her fingernails started to pluck out a slow sensual melody. Her nails had been cut to different lengths, and each one coated in metal to improve their strength and durability. Their differing lengths made different sounds from the strings.