Raptor and Rapture Ch. 02: Demon Princess

"Enough talking!" The arena master blasted jovially over the crowd, "We have a standard three round match, round one begins in sixty seconds! Our fighter's first opponent... the multitude!"

Tarquin licked his lips as the crowd moved frantically over his head. Thousands of tickets were being exchanged between the arena changers down every row as the mercenary gripped his spear. He would have much rather begun the fight suddenly, because sixty seconds was a small eternity to wait for an unknown opponent.

The betting ended abruptly as the side gates opened. Half a second later, a myriad of shrieking could be heard from both sides of the arena, and a stream of feathery, scaled velociraptors began to sprint into the arena.

"Shit," Tarquin stated flatly as he began to run forward towards one of the arena's corners.

The dinosaurs chittered and hissed as they ran towards him. None of them were any taller than calf height, but already at least a dozen were chasing him, and more were pouring in from the open gates.

"This is the first round?!" Tarquin shouted aloud as he wheeled backwards and swung out with his spear. The raptor closest to him took the the hit at it's lower neck, but the blow only glanced it as it screamed throatily and lunged toward him.

He had no idea how many of the small dinosaurs were making their way towards him, but he knew that he wouldn't stand a chance if he couldn't get his back up against a wall. On the same token, he wouldn't have another easy shot against one, and he drew his spear back and went for a hard thrust.

The rusty, roughly sharpened steel point pierced into the throat of the creature and it gurgled loudly as it thrashed to the ground. Tarquin barely had time to pull the spear out of the dying animal before the next raptor came into the vicinity, and instead of trying to face it he began to run once more.

He heard a cacophony of screeching and growling and turned his head back to see two of the dinosaurs ripping and tearing down at their fallen comrade.

They're starving, Tarquin thought to himself as he kept running. Not good news for him, since the normally timid pack hunting lizards were more likely to take risks against him, but on the other hand, he might be able to use it to his advantage.

Only a few seconds had passed, but already Tarquin was beginning to feel like the fight was going to last longer than he wanted it to. He gained the wall and pressed his back up against the corner. He turned quickly then to assess the situation, and he found himself face to face with another hungry raptor.

He raised his shield instantly as the creature sprang at him, and the hardened leather held well against the birdlike claws of the starving animal. After blocking, the mercenary crouched low and pushed his weight upwards with a grunt, and the relatively fragile dinosaur tumbled backwards.

He would have made a move to kill it, but three more of the raptors filed in front of him. Although they weren't nearly as intelligent as their larger cousins, velociraptors weren't as stupid as people thought they were, and Tarquin had witnessed how much destruction they could cause when they came in numbers upon an unwitting camp.

The four turned to six, then the six to ten as Tarquin raised his spear and shield. There was only enough space at the corner of the arena for perhaps two of them to attack at one time, and it seemed like they realized it as they hissed at him and bared their razor sharp teeth.

Above him, someone in the lowest row of seats screamed down at him, "Die fast and make me some money, damn you!"

Despite his current situation, the mercenary laughed, "Thanks for the encouragement!" He shouted as he prodded away one of the advancing raptors.

All of the raptors that had been released in the arena were now lined up in front of him in a triangular, almost uniform position. The four directly in front of him paced slightly and attempted to stare him down, but Tarquin only hissed back, "Gimme a second, I'll think of something, I know you don't have all day either."

At his words, another one of them made a lunge toward him, and he pricked it deftly, causing it to yelp in its own way and retreat back into the group. A new raptor stepped into its place, and Tarquin sighed. Even if he could defend himself for an extended period of time, he would never get anywhere if he couldn't start picking them off. He estimated them to be at least thirty in number, and he was certain that the match had been pitched very poorly against him.

"Fight!" A woman screamed at him from some direction as his mind raced.

"Easier said than done, lady," he muttered as he shifted his shield toward one of the more ancy raptors. They were attempting to wait him out, it seemed, and since he'd already killed one of them, they knew better than to try and attack him directly. Still, the stalemate would inevitably end in favor of the raptors, and he would definitely need to make a move soon.

After suffering from several more seconds of booing and angry demands to do something, Tarquin took a deep breath and made his move. He raised his shield arm and tilted the edge of his spearhead against his forearm, then sliced into his skin with a wince. It wasn't a deep cut, but it was deep enough to draw a good amount of blood, and he looked over the raptors as they began to smell it. Their black eyes became more desperate looking as they squaked, and some of the ones further back began to shake their heads and growl.

"Smells like fresh meat, doesn't it?" Tarquin said out loud as he squeezed the wound he'd made and forced it to bleed more. He tilted his shield arm downward and felt the warmth of his blood eke down into his palm thickly, and he spat in it a few times as he kept his eyes on the increasingly impatient creatures.

"You want some blood? Here!" He shouted as he raised his hand suddenly and flung the liquid at the closet raptor. The fresh blood splattered over the raptor's face and neck, and it cried out in confusion as it's fellow raptor snapped toward it. That, in turn caused the blood spattered raptor to snap back, and within moment the four raptors directly in front of him were fighting amongst themselves.

Tarquin didn't hesitate: he lunged forward while they were distracted and thrust his spear into one of them, gouging it deeply before twisting it hard and yanking it out. The creature screamed as it went down, and several of the raptors jumped on top of it as it did so, all of them beginning to lose their reason to hunger.

The mercenary saw his opening as the entire gaggle of raptors began to break, and he took it. He allowed his arm to slip out from under the shield strap before he ran forward. The creatures were too confused by their own squabbling to react to him, and he charged past three of them as he threw the shield forward. It landed on one of them, and Tarquin jumped on top of it immediately, squashing the poor creature beneath him. He nearly tripped as he ploughed forward, and one of them slashed into his shoulder, catching him right between a soft spot in the armor. Tarquin grunted, but continued forward with a shout, swinging his spear all the while. Finally, he broke free of the corner and ran as fast as he could toward the only thing he could think of that could save him.

It didn't take long before he was pursued. Within seconds, at least half the group was already chasing him, and the second raptor he'd killed had already been picked clean by the others, which meant that the rest would soon follow.

Tarquin made no attempt to look back; doing so might cost him precious seconds, and at the moment, he might not even have that to spare. His eyes were focused on the rock avalanche trap he'd seen earlier, and if he could execute his plan properly then he could eliminate all of his enemies at once... assuming he didn't get caught in the trap himself.

The crowd cheered uproariously as Tarquin sprinted toward the trap. He wouldn't have another chance if he failed, but failure was the furthest thing from his mind as he raised the spear over his head and chucked it forward.

the spear flew straight enough before thunking loudly into the side of the wooden dam that held the rocks at bay. He drew the knife he'd taken from the armory and pitched himself up the steep incline. He almost lost his footing, but he grabbed out for the jutting spear and hauled himself forward, using it as a handle to brace himself against the edges of the dam.

The entire gaggle of raptors was nearly upon him, and several were already beginning to ascend towards him. Tarquin grit his teeth and leaned down as far as he could before he began to saw at the rope that was holding the rocks at bay.

He heard the sound before he felt it. As the knife bit through half of the rope, the dried, sinewy fibers creaked as the rocks shifted, and a half second later it snapped altogether.

Tarquin gripped the spear dearly as he turned his head and pressed his body tightly against the edges of the dam. The raptors, of course, were unable to turn back, though some of them tried as the rocks avalanched downwards in an unstoppable torrent of sheer weight.

Tarquin heard the rumbling and the guttural shrieking of the creatures as a thick cloud of dust rose. For how loud the trap had been when it was set off, it was disturbingly quiet a few seconds later, and a huge cloud of dust was covering the scene from the majority of the audience.

Tarquin coughed as he tried to gain his vision. Carefully, he lowered his body from the makeshift handle he made and set his feet on the ground. As the dust settled, the crowd roared, and Tarquin attempted to pull his spear out. He frowned deeply as the wrapping twisted loose from the spearhead, and he was left with only a stick.

"Victory for the raptor rider!" The arena master shouted over the crowd. "An impressive display of tactics and quick thinking, but how will our contender fare against more intelligent opponents?!"

The cries of the crowd nearly drowned out the voice of the arena master, "You have one minute to add to your bet!"

Tarquin huffed, as he examined his broken weapon, "Not even a five minute break?" He asked himself as he replaced his knife and picked through the mess of boulders and dead raptors.

As he caught his breath, something made him look up into the arena seats, and he spied Gazin looking down at him from one of the nearer box seats. Crizet stood beside him with a flat, unassuming look, and the mercenary wondered what was going through her head as he dusted himself off.

He attempted to focus himself as he made his way back to the middle of the arena. The first round had seemed a little unfair to him, but then, he supposed nothing was going to be fair when an angry father was trying to defend his daughter.

"Prepare for the second round, raptor rider!" The arena master blasted down at him as the gates opened. Tarquin was still recovering his breath when his opponents entered the arena, and he rolled his eyes and sighed before sprinting forward.

Five fighters came out to meet him, three from the eastern gate and two from the western. Each of them were well armed and armored, and the two he was running to meet looked particularly bloodthirsty.

"Prisoners!" The arena master's voice blasted overhead, "Whoever kills the raptor rider gets their pardon...today!"

The crowd screamed more loudly than the fighters he was about to engage, but Tarquin could only focus on one thing: he needed a blade. He had skill enough to use most any weapon with proficiency, but if he was going to fight against sentient opponents he always wanted a sword.

The fighter on his right was wielding such a weapon: a long, single edged curved blade. It was longer than Tarquin would have preferred, but he wasn't exactly in a position to be choosy. The fighter to his right, a demon woman with a pair of scythes, wasn't going to let him take it easily, however, because she attacked first.

The scythes, Tarquin learned, were connected by a long chain, and he stepped aside quickly as one of them whizzed past his head. The demon yanked the chain back in her hand, and the mercenary span out of the way, missing the keen edge by inches as it was taken back by its wielder.

The fighter with the long sword came in fast directly afterwards, and Tarquin stepped back as the very weapon he wanted nearly cut into his shoulder blade.

"Let me kill him, I've been here longer than you!" The demon woman hissed at her temporary partner as she readied her weapon once more.

The man with the sword was wearing a helmet, and his features were hidden as he replied, "First come, first serve, Rita," he slashed out at Tarquin once more.

The mercenary dodged the attack easily, "Don't I get a say in this?"

"Not if I cut your tongue out!" The demon, who was apparently named Rita, shouted as she threw her scythe at him.

Tarquin had to move in. Between the swordsman and the demon, he wouldn't have a chance if he waited too long to attack. The situation was unique in that they would each want to kill him themselves, and it might be the only factor that would keep him alive. He figured that he might have another half minute before the other three opponents were upon him, and if he allowed himself to be surrounded on all sides then the fight would be over very quickly for him.

The thrown scythe was expected the second time, and Tarquin was a man who hated to be taken by the same trick twice. He twisted his body to the left, just enough to dodge the scythe, and hurled the broken spear at the swordsman before throwing himself down into a low crouch. He took hold of the chain with both hands and yanked as hard as he could with a growl, and the demon woman fell forward with a startled cry as her weapon was ripped from her hands.

Tarquin kept hold of the chain as he looked up to see the swordsman swinging down toward him; apparently the broken spear handle hadn't done much to slow him . The mercenary gripped the chain taughtly and grit his teeth as he met the heavy edge of the blade with the steel links. He almost lost his grip, but he managed to slow the blow to a full stop, and for two seconds, the mercenary struggled to keep the edge at bay as the fighter pushed his weight down.

The mercenary felt the swordsman lean forward even harder, and that was when he loosened his grip completely and fell to his side. The blade glanced his shoulder, but did no damage as the swordsman lost his balance, and Tarquin flicked his hand up the chain to gain the scythe's handle.

He popped himself up from his prostrate position just in time to block a sloppy backswing from the swordsman. He backstepped and saw the demon woman lunge for the opposite scythe, but he pulled it from her grasp and flung it toward the swordsman.

The swordsman was well armored, and the blunt, outside curve of the scythe bounced from his plate armor as he advanced upon Tarquin.

The mercenary's eyes flashed over his armored opponent within a second as he pulled the opposite scythe into his hand. He was going to do something he'd never done before: it was dirty trick, taught to him by a fighter who was easily ten years his senior, but five against one wasn't what most most would consider a clean fight to begin with.

Deliberately, Tarquin lowered his guard slightly, and the swordsman took the opening and swung diagonally towards his torso. The mercenary stepped forward, directly into the blow, and blocked the swing with both weapons. Immediately after blocking, he ran the blade in his right hand down the length of the sword's edge.

The sword had somewhat of a guard on it, but most fighters didn't trust their guards enough to protect their hands from such attacks. The swordsman was one such man, and he pulled back sharply in an attempt to rescue his hands from injury. It was exactly what Tarquin needed, and he fell once more to his knees, feeling the long sword knock against his helmet as he released his guard and sliced decisively into the swordsman's fingers.

The swordsman cried out as his blade fell from his hands.

Tarquin was just about to slice into the man's throat to finish him when he heard the man shout, "I concede!"

Tarquin experienced a brief moment of confusion before he realized that the swordsman had given up. Before he could react, however, he was tackled from the side. The demon had gained her footing faster than he'd anticipated, and the two went tumbling to the ground in a flurry of shouting and flailing.

"Die!" Rita was on top of him, attempting to gouge at his face with her sharpened nails.

Tarquin raised his arms and defended himself for a brief moment. The scythes he was holding were of little use to him in such a position, and he had no room to swing them effectively. He'd seen plenty of soldiers and mercenaries alike die simply because they were unwilling to relinquish their weapons, and he had no particular attachment to the tricky, chained scythes, so he simply allowed them to roll out of his hands as he covered himself from her scratching.

"I'm getting out of here today!" Rita screamed as her bloodshot eyes looked down at him murderously. "Three months I've been here! Three fucking m... ah!"

The demon screamed as Tarquin broke his guard suddenly and grabbed the woman's wrists. He squeezed them tightly with an iron grip as he forced her down towards him, and before she could scream again he craned his neck toward her and pulled her down onto his helmet, smashing her face against the steel cap. Her body went limp immediately, and he threw her off before scrambling to his feet.

The swordsman was ambling away, still clutching his bleeding hands to his chest, and Tarquin had no desire to chase him or question his concession. He was unsure of when or how they were going to let the man exit the arena, but he had bigger problems to worry about. He took up the longsword and tested it's weight and balance, then faced his new quarry.

The entirety of the fight had taken less than a minute, and the three approaching fighters were nearly upon him. From what he could tell, they were moving at a casual pace, and it seemed that none of them were too eager to engage him after what they'd just witnessed.

He took in the three opponents quickly and gathered up as much information about them as he could. From left to right, the first was a lanky looking fellow wielding a halberd with a wicked barbed point. The one in the middle was a dark skinned man with piercings all over his body, and Tarquin recognized him as a mercenary that must have been from a desert country far to the south. The fighter didn't appear to have any weapon, but Tarquin knew better than to assume that was the case. The third and final opponent appeared to be wearing a pair of matching claws, and he couldn't tell their gender or species beneath the myriad of colored furs they wore.

The crowd had become relatively quiet since Tarquin's bought with the first set of fighters, and it was clear that everyone was waiting to see who would make the first move. The three began to split in separate directions, each of them heading to a different area of the arena, no doubt in an attempt to circle around him.

They were still nearly a hundred yards off when Tarquin was forced to rely on his instincts. he heard a small shuffle behind him, and as he heard it he spied the exotic looking fighter in the middle of the three move forward.

The crowd began shouting loudly, and Tarquin dove to the right as he heard a strangled warcry followed by a scream. He snapped his head back and saw, Rita, the demon, falling forward with a look of shock etched into her features. He'd mistakenly thought that she was unconscious, a mistake that very well could have killed him, but it seemed that her surprise attack had backfired on her. Her face was bloody and some of her teeth had been knocked out, no doubt from the blow he'd struck, but that wasn't what had killed her. A smooth, round stone was embedded into Rita's forehead, and it scarcely bled at all as Tarquin rolled over instinctively. A shower of dust pelted him as another stone skipped violently across the ground, right over where his head had been just a moment before.