Chapter Text
The roar of thousands of voices rolled beneath the sandstone arches of the Kaleela Coliseum, shaking loose centuries of dust from carvings depicting centuries of war and conflict. Drums pounded in measured rhythm while colourful banners bearing noble clan sigils swayed above. What had once been a place of legitimate combat had now been transformed into a festival.
The Kaleela Coliseum hadn’t seen such a big and boisterous audience since the previous gladiator season. Bets and beers and brawls were at an all-time high. Larkabar nun Lau’ud’s gold ornamented paws brushed against his tunic of vibrant geometric print. His felt fez hat layered with a striped silk turban sat stiffly yet proudly on his head, like a king looking down to his servants. Like most Kaleesh, he obscured his face. A Muumuu skull—a hand-me-down from his father—covered his forehead and nose. Glued beneath it was a piece of thin fabric. It wouldn’t muffle his voice like bone did.
Perfection was expensive.
Unfortunately, so was imperfection
He had to look his best—even the tiniest details mattered. In the grand scheme of things, his clothes would not be the main attraction of this legendary upcoming fight, even he knew that. Regardless, Lau’ud took one last glance at himself through his dressing mirror—ornamented with gold as well—and cleared his throat.
His lips parted, sharp silver teeth on full display.
“La—”
The door behind Larkabar burst open. A muddied and scraggy Kaleesh, no older than fourteen—an adult by Kaleesh reckoning—, stood near the doorway. His filthy feet did not step an inch into the golden man’s room.
“Sir”, he huffed, letting a huge and heavy bucket plunk on the floor. His scraggy arm no longer trembled like a leaf. “I present you all coins that have been collected hitherto. Some from the entrance fee, others from donations.”
The other man’s face fell, looking at the younger adult through his mirror. In no universe would he ever turn just to speak to this menial.
“And why”, Lau’ub sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Are you bringing me this now, little ragamuffin? Surely you did not forget where we deposit these buckets until the show’s over, yes?”
Ragamuffin, as Larkabar had nicknamed him, averted his gaze. He inhaled, cheeks pouting, but needed long seconds until exhaling. “Well…”, his foot instinctively stepped forward before quickly retracting, “two things.”
The younger one lifted two fingers up—two things, see?
“Me and the others finally managed to separate the molly from her young. But we don’t know what to do with them! They cry all the time; someone has to be with them all the time. It’s exhausting!”
Ragamuffin gulped.
“And another thing. The king and queen are here, the princess too. As well as—”
Lau’ub’s turquoise eyes widened like saucers.
“The KING and QUEEN?!”, he turned around swiftly, “And you’re only telling me this NOW?”
“I—”, Ragamuffin’s arms shot up defensively, neck burying into his shoulders. “I didn’t have enough time to tell you! Those kits have been making my shift hell. And also—”
Though there were no “also”s. Larkabar nun Lau’ub had long run out of his preparation chamber. He could not keep the royal family waiting. The attention this will bring to his coliseum, the renowned Kaleela Coliseum—so much gold on the line, so much business!
The young adult slouched, eyebrows obscuring his eyes. “Ugh.”
Now back to the kits…
Gods, those desperate cries infiltrated Ragamuffin’s mind again. How they tried to suck on his chest and stomach. If only he could lactate.
For a brief, fleeting moment, he stared straight ahead after the vanished Larkabar.
“Hamar-ya, sir! If I ever find your mother, I’ll be your new father…”, he muttered under his breath, ready to turn away and walk back to that dirty narrow barn.
“Who’s the retard? Whose mother?”, asked a sonorous and gruelling voice in an innocent tone as if they had been born yesterday.
However, Ragamuffin knew better. This deep voice was not born yesterday, although not many years before him either.
Don’t look up, don’t look up.
You don’t want him thinking you were talking about him, right?
Or would freezing make me look even more guilty?
“Uhm”, against all odds, he managed to clear his throat, “Nobody in particular. I was talking to myself, you know.”
Ragamuffin looked up. “It…”
There he was.
The beast himself.
The fighter of beasts.
The untamed berserker.
Bentilais san Sk’ar.
“…happens, you know?”, shrugged Ragamuffin, chuckling weird and awkwardly.
The purple monster-of-a-Kaleesh reciprocated, although his laugh reverbed across the entire hall, almost shaking the many artefacts off the wall.
“You are right, dear Ishkabaal! Insulting imaginary ghosts is always fun.”
Sk’ar smiled. Even Lau’ub would be jealous at the amount of gold wrapped around every tooth. Same with his claws. A gladiator’s best features always had to be on full display; be it through jewellery on their teeth, talons, tusks or barely wearing any clothes.
“But, hey”, chuckled Bentilais, flashing Ishkabaal another grin—the latter felt like a princess being courted—and a brief wink—even more now—, “I best get going. I’ve got a helmet to put on, a beast to slay and an audience to entertain.”
His foot leaned back, body spinning to the other side swiftly with one easy turn.
“See you around, Ishkabaal!”
And, before he could forget, a golden coin was thrown in the younger man’s direction.
His eyes widened.
It spun and spun, resembling a ball. Spun and spun and spun…
The ball got bigger. It landed on Ishkabaal’s pointy nose, back to being a flat circle.
For a singular heartbeat, the coin seemed to have rested on his middle crus, content with its position.
“I—!”
Only for it to tumble and clink against the floor anyway.
Ishkabaal sighed, slouching once more. “See you around, Sk’ar…”
──☠︎──
Bentilais shut the door behind him. Frozen in place, paw still hovering in the air, he breathed.
In and out.
In and out.
The king and queen of all people? The king and queen here, now?! Why now? What had he done?
Noonkalis was almost always present—of course she’d show up—, though her identity obscured through layers upon layers of multicoloured thin veils.
But the rulers of Kaleela?
He straightened his back.
In front of him hung a rectangular slice of a mirror. Beneath it a wooden bucket filled to the brim with water. On the right wall, there sat his iconic headpiece—a thoroughly polished, bronze Thracian helmet layered with a large and gruff Erkush skull on top of it. His first kill as a gladiator, the kickstarter of his career.
His proper introduction into adulthood.
For a chamber burrowed deep within the Kaleela Coliseum’s underground, any gladiator wanted it.
However, this was his chamber and his alone. His door—“SK’AR” had been engraved on it a few years ago—showcased this more than enough.
But back to the mirror.
What stared back at Bentilais wasn’t really a purple brute warrior. It was just him; Bentilais san Sk’ar.
Benti.
A lilac Kaleesh. Sixteen years of age, three years into adulthood. Less than one jump away from hitting his head against the ceiling. Other Kaleesh needed one or more. Even his parents, even Noonkalis.
No shaman or healer could explain his immense height. Usually, Kaleesh his height were extremely stupid—hamari, retards.
However, retardation never came. Sure, he was dumber than his sister, but who wasn’t?
What he had in return though…
Sk’ar’s eyes trailed down to his chest. The two strips of leather—one holding his right arm’s armour intact, the other simply for show—strained hard against his body stronger than last season.
He bit his lower lip, shaking his head.
No time to think. Lau’ub must be waiting.
And, with a quick reach, crouched down subtly and clanked the helmet onto place.
──☠︎──
“Ahem”, Larkabar cleared his throat against the bronze voicepipe in front of him.
Still, the audience continued to cheer and converse.
Lau’ub squinted his eyes shut. He’d rather not look straight ahead. At the other hand of the field, rested on the highest spots available, sat the mighty royal family.
The queen had taken up the topmost seat, veiled head tilted down at the king’s direction. Her right arm lay effortlessly on the kings’s golden crown, as if claiming ownership of a pet.
The king, as unbothered as ever, perched uptight. A small pair of binoculars rested on his lap. His index claw soothed over it smoothly.
And below them both sat the princess.
Larkabar gulped, feeling a rush of warmth travel down his stomach.
Oh, the princess, how to describe a young woman like her?
Despite covering her hair with a heavy white veil, some raven baby hairs protruded through it. The rest of her face had been somewhat covered with a light veil. Her figure—rumoured to be the perfect mix of curvy yet athletic—had been locked away underneath a baby blue and lithe kaftan, only to be layered with more cloth over it—a semi-circular white palla with red stripes, adorned on the edge with pearls and gold.
Although Lau’ub’s stare didn’t register to her at all. These weren’t the first pair of eyes laid on her today, nor would they be the last. She seemed much more preoccupied with staring at the coliseum’s solar clock, hands drumming against her lap while she bit down on her lip.
“Ladies and gentlemen!”
Larkabar placed a firm paw against his chest. His voice echoed all throughout the coliseum thanks to the bronze speakers scattered in every nook and cranny the establishment had to offer.
“Boys and girls!”
His eyes trailed down to a family sitting on one of the lower chairs. A mother, father and their eight children.
Octuplets, most likely. Or simply extremely close in age.
Eight little Kaleesh all in scrappy clothes.
His heart frowned.
They had been eight once too.
Now? Only he remained.
Whatever.
Lau’ub glanced up at the royal couple.
“Kings and queens.”
Only for his eyes to trail lower once more. The princess, as glistening as always, resting on her seat. Paws still drumming against her thighs.
“And princess…”
His gaze lingered on the princess longer than propriety allowed. Rumours claimed noblewomen daily soaked their paws in milk to soften them. Looking at her, Lau'ub wondered whether said rumours extended to the rest of her as well.
“… es.”
No wonder he still slept alone.
Regardless, no reaction from the young woman.
But the crowd cheered. That was all he needed. Larkabar grinned.
So much gold.
That ten-headed family? At least worth ten gold coins.
He cleared his throat once more.
“Today is the day! The most anticipated fight this season has to offer. The true hierarchy of nature shall come to the test! Who will win…”
That was the cue.
“Kaleesh…?”
Bentilais ducked, stepping forward as the harsh sunlight hit against his oiled-up body. The pair of leather strips continued to strain against his chest. He lifted both of his arms up—the leather hurt even more now—and waved all over the place. He slowly spun around, eyes travelling throughout the entire audience.
For a split moment, he saw them. The three royals.
The princess flinched.
The king’s paw grabbed for his binoculars.
The queen stiffened, rolling her eyes.
“Or…”, Lau’ub’s voice echoed.
That was the other cue.
Sk’ar’s foot instinctively took a step back. He shifted his weight.
Don’t look back. Not yet.
The gates on the other side of the field flung open. A loud roar reverberated all throughout the stadium. The audience erupted into a loud cry of cheering and screaming.
But not Bentilais. The creature’s howls and moans weren’t loud enough yet. Nor had Larkabar finished his sentence.
“Beast?”
That was it. The whines and growls got louder.
Sk’ar turned around. The muumuu jumped. Their gazes met.
The beast and the beast who fights beasts.
Only one is destined to come out alive.