2nd July 722 BNM

Midday

Chamitaly, Romane Imperial Homeland

Romane metropolis

Colosseum, basement levels

Combatant holding area

Armor clanked slightly as the Gladiators alongside her breathed and calmed their nerves, the rumblings of the Colosseum's thousands strong crowd echoing through the stone and marble superstructure to their very bones. Voices of those seeking entertainment, and them seeking those to shower with praise, or relish in the shedding of inglorious losers' blood on the sand.

Mashri steadied herself in her armour, sensing the nervousness around her, as she was placed among many less trained combatants, some barely trained at all. She expected at least half of them to die. They weren't warriors, she was, and she had to survive, and fight well.

If she won the crowds, she could guarantee surviving even if she was injured, just as all instructors taught their gladiators. Easier said than done, and crowd disapproval guaranteed death.

"When you enter the ring, you stand together, raise your weapons to the Emperor, and shout the Gladiator's salute as one! Now go, and fight for your glory!"

Their trainer, the grizzled Chamois elder male, remarked loudly as they thundered up the steps into the arena, the piercing midday sun shining like a blinding light as Mashri saw the Colosseum come into view through her helmet's eye line.

Compared to when she came in here to kill prisoners and enslaved gladiators for sport, honour, or simply being ordered to, this was daunting.

The Colosseum reared up all around them, seats of writhing, chanting masses bellowing for battle and bloodshed. Mashri galloped out, her armor and weapons clanking as the other gladiators marched out beside her, many in awe at the arena which was the centre of Romane activity at this very moment.

Looking around, Mashri's gaze fell upon a pair of robed figures in the lower stands at one section, their grey and blue robes betraying their identity to her, and her alone. The Wizards had come to watch, as promised 2 days ago, the first, and probably hardest fight she'd face here as known right now.

She knew this well, for she had been in line to fight in the Colosseum on this very day herself, with her regiment. For glory, and as a soldier, she'd be likely to win.

Now she was on the receiving end of the fabled arena of glory and blood.

As the crowds died down at a hand wave from the Chamois Emperor Iulian, the announcer began to monologue:

"Today, your Emperor is proud to present, the recreation of the triumph of the Iudian Garrison over a barbarian sneak attack, taking many brave Romane lives as they fought back this bid by a desperate, defeated and disparate foe! Today, before you now, your Emperor presents, the Barbarians of Iudia!"

"The horde snuck in, braving the wilderness of the night, sand and beast, to sow destruction and death upon Romane's power. Today, their offensive is displayed for you, the people of Romane!"

"And of the first obstacles the barbarians face, is the wild creatures of the untamed wastelands, and the barbarians beyond their own violent clansfolk! Behold, the Clash of the Iudia tribes!"

At that moment, chains were pulled by guards at the edge of the arena, as trap doors suddenly opened in the floor of the arena in 3 sections. Out from them, roars bellowed.

A fearsome roar came forth as a trio of grey wolves, massive in size for their kind, and scarred many times over, leapt forth from each of the pits, numbering nine in total.

Snapping at the gladiators from their chain links, preventing them from charging the huddled gladiators immediately, the Wolves snapped at each other aggressively while another door opened at the edge of the arena.

From inside, a pack of 6 Romane dogs, armed head to toe in faux barbarian armour, wielding swords, snarled as they shouted taunts at the Gladiators/barbarians they were about to combat.

Mashri recognised some of the dogs from practice, and she recalled what had been said by her trainer:

Win the crowd, you can beat them, but training new recruits is expensive. Please the most possible to earn your freedom quickly.

Standing firm, as the Wolves snarled menacingly, presenting a trio of no-go zones for her and the other gladiators, Mashri loudly shouted to the others in the ring with her:

"Stick together, lock shields, take them one at a time as they come!"

Wolf snarls filled the air as the 6 Dog gladiators charged. These gladiators were sportsmen, while herself and the others were disposable compared to them.

The first enemy bore down on one Dog, the desperate prisoner blocking one slash with his sword before the more experienced gladiator then sidestepped a retaliation strike, slashing deep into the dog's back enough to send him down in a bloody heap.

The Crowd roared as Mashri and the other Dogs huddled close, while the Wolves snapped at them from afar as the 6 Dog gladiators pounced on them.

Up in the stands, Starswirl couldn't help but feel apprehensive as he saw the group of eleven remaining lower gladiators scattered, as the experienced, but fewer in number Dog gladiators routed them, driving them apart.

One Chamois enslaved fighter, a slave sold to pay off her master's debts, wandered too close to one of the wolf trios, and the grey blurs pounced on her while the crowds hollered in glee.

Siral turned to Starswirl, wondering with some marvel at the entire spectacle:

"Amazing, isn't it? The suffering of others, celebrating victors, spectacle, entertainment, all to distract from issues at the Empire's borders, boundaries becoming harder to maintain."

Snapping out of it, Starswirl gave a quick nod in agreement, before he added over the roaring crowds: "No population revolts if they're distracted from insecurities."

Turning his gaze to the arena ring again, Starswirl murmured under his breath:
"And yet, I can't help but wonder exactly how such brutality like this may alter Mashri's loyalties."

Siral still had unvoiced doubts about this whole prophecy being specifically about this soldier turned gladiator, but he kept quiet.

By the looks of things, as Mashri reared up and slammed her forehooves into a Dog gladiator's back, she was able to handle herself easily.

There were now 4 dogs left, 1 dead, and 1 injured by her hooves. But she was right, they'd lost 5 of their people already, the least experienced, leaving only 6 left fighting, 1 more injured and unable to get up, safe from any wolves for now.

A howl sounded, and rearing back, Mashri felt a hot prick as the edge of a dog gladiator's blade just barely missed her less armored upper foreleg, the horse whipping around to kick out her other forehoof, knocking the sword from the dog's hand.

Growling, the dog jumped back, while off to the side a fighting Chamois ally of Mashri's backed up quickly, sword clashing with one of the Dog fighters. One dog nearby, having been knocked back by another Horse gladiator's last suicidal charge [into the dog's outstretched blade], brought him too close to a trio of Wolves.

The crowds roared, and Mashri saw the Dog gladiator in front charge her again, weapon out and glinting in the sunlight.

Throwing a curse from her mouth, Mashri turned, and ran towards the Wolves tearing the Dog fighter's body apart, throwing off the one coming for her slightly by her actions.

As the crowd roared once again in awe, and some laughed out loud, Mashri charged full force, sword outstretched as she leapt up, tackling off one of the wolves while near completely decapitating another. As the 3rd wolf snarled loudly and charged, she span and kicked it in the head full force, smirking beneath her helmet as the skull crumpled beneath her hooves while the wolf flew backward unmoving.

Ignoring the wheezing last wolf of the trio on the ground that she'd tackled hard, she shot a glare at the Dog coming for her, while she scrambled to pick up every weapon on the dog's person.

As she raised the spear she'd salvaged, the dog's eyes widened at the truth behind her bold actions. Now she had weapons that weren't sub-par compared to their own.

Spear curled in her foreleg, she hurled it hard within a second of picking it up, and a howl rang as it buried itself into the dog's shoulder, throwing him backwards.

One dog turned in surprise at the noise, and was cut down by the neck by the Cattle gladiator male he was facing.

Now, there was only 1 Dog left, the big one, their leader.

He stood as tall as she was, and wielded a large blade in one paw, and an axe in the other, and wore armour that only covered his torso and upper legs, leaving his bristling muscles exposed.

Looking around, the Arabic Horse female saw that only the Bull Male and the two Chamois male gladiators remained, but only the Bull was fit enough now to fight. All the others were dead, or too tired.

Aside from the big dog though, 2 of the dog fighters were injured. Her own speared dog was struggling on the ground, the spear dug in tight, but not lethal, just painful enough to stop him fighting.

But as the crowds roared at this turn of events, they knew the champions of these rookie, prisoned gladiators, and the Dog fighter's big leader was underway.

The Bull charged first, snorting loudly as he lowered his head to ram the dog, some mounted shoulder swords also extended.

The Dog stood fast, and actually ran towards the Bull too. Sand kicked up as the two charging behemoths came closer, until the move was made.

Leaping up, the Dog swung his body midair enough to barely side dodge the bull, but he plunged his first sword deep into the bull's back, leaving it in there as he landed, and the bull continued to run.

Like a driverless chariot, the bull slowed, teetered, until he slumped down in the sand, blood dripping from the sword hilt buried in his bristling shoulders.

Turning his gaze to the remaining 3, the Large dog disregarded the tired two Chamois males for now, focusing on the skilled Arabic Horse. Pulling out another sword, the Dog snarled in a challenge at her.

Breathing hard, Mashri knew she had to be careful here, and let him attack, but not give him an opening.

The Large dog charged, and as he reached her, sword swinging down, Mashri surged forwards shield first, the metallic clang ringing as she made his swing rebound from the impact, and she pressed the attack back with gusto in a heartbeat.

Sword swinging, she missed his arm, the large dog fast for his size, and as the dog swung again with his other sword, Mashri sidestepped, hoof kicking out to knock the outstretched sword from the dog's paw.

Enraged, the Dog ducked as Mashri swung her blade at his neck, and grabbed her forehoof before she could swing again, pulling out another sword with his free paw. Eyes widening, Mashri grunted with the effort as she swung her body around, the Dog caught by her physical strength as he was hurled from his grip on her to land roughly on the sand a few feet away.

Raising her shield, she slammed it down edge first, missing as the dog rolled backwards, and his sword then came swinging in from the side, aimed for her head. Backing up, Mashri swung her shield straight up, knocking the dog's arm upwards, the sword flying from it, and she then swung low, the sword making a sizeable slice into the Dog's lower left leg.

Gasping, the dog staggered, and fell over, unable to fight anymore as Mashri then raised a hoof up and slammed it down onto his chest, her other hoof raising the sword to aim at his neck.

Suddenly, she felt a hammer like blow to her stomach, and she staggered away as the Dog fighter rolled away, the kick to her abdomen made before she could get him completely secured.

Wincing, the Dog put his weight on his good leg, grunting as he stood, ready to fight, one legged if need be. Raising a sword, he stood firm as Mashri gave him a dour look through her mask, her head rolling backwards from exasperation at his determination.

"I shall not fall so easily Venata!"

He knew her by the name she and others went by in the army, clearly, but any lack of respect he had for her had evaporated silently in combat.

Seeing that he was a stationary target, one hit meaning he'd fall over, Mashri gave a look over to the referee, the robed Chamois male having a hoof to his chin in thought at the situation.

A whistling in the air brought her back to the arena, as Mashri ducked, a spear clattering to the ground behind her. Turning quickly, she saw the Dog readying to hurl his next spear, and as he chucked it in her direction, Mashri raised her shield in her forearm, bracing as she extended it forwards.

The spear head dented the shield's inside noticeably, and remained imbedded in the shield, missing her hoof itself from the shield's behind. But now, as she lowered the shield, she saw the large Dog had no more weapons, aside from a small knife, and was unable to move.

With a sigh, she pulled out her sword, beginning to walk towards the Dog.

As she walked, she heard faint chants rising:

"Live, Live, Live, Live!"

As agreeing with the audience, a loud bugle sounded from the referee, and the call to end the match was echoed with the doors opening for some arena guards coming to bring in the survivors, and retrieve the dead and wounded.

Turning her head, Mashri saw the Emperor, Iulian, standing with his golden crown glinting atop the Chamois male's head, clad in fine blood red robes and armor, inside the royal box. As the crowds chanted, the Emperor cast his gaze upon them, lingering slightly longer on Mashri. Extending a forearm, the Emperor heard the chanting, and then raised the hoof up in the air.

Cheers exploded, the people's will had been heard, the survivors would not be slain, they had put on a good show.

Over the roaring crowds, Mashri turned to see the 2 surviving Chamois male gladiators allied to her being hauled away by some guards to the arena doctor, along with the only other remaining Dog gladiator, injured earlier in the battle.

Battle rush leaving her, Mashri slumped in her armor, as the crowds cheered the names. The name of the Dog champion she'd faced down, bested, and been made to spare, and her own.

Her imprisonment didn't matter here, she had put on a terrific display for their tastes.

As the crowds roared, she felt a swell in her chest, and couldn't help but raise her sword triumphantly before she began to slowly walk to the tunnel back to her quarters. As she raised her sword, the crowds roared in approval once more.

Mashri left behind the blood stained Colosseum arena for today, having won the crowds.

As she heard the howls of the 6 remaining Wolves in the arena sound with the Wolves being dragged back into their holding pens, the one she tackled having been stabbed to kill it for its crippled state, she couldn't help but ponder the short term future.

This was how she would last long enough to witness her brother be brought to Romane. She would fight, she would put on these displays, and she would enjoy them.

Their approval of her fuelled her drive, and despite her predicament, she felt a sense of gratefulness to the crowd still giving her this chance, and allowing her to perform as she had.

But now, as she walked down, mind set to a potential future meeting with her brother, perhaps even here in the arena, she wondered what might change in the presence of ones who divided her initial loyalty to earn her this spot in the glorified gaze of the populace in the first place, even as barely more than a celebrated slave.

Up in the stands, Starswirl looked around the arena, as the crowds continued their cheers of approval at the fight that took place. Mashri had won the crowd's favour, and she clearly both relished in it and intended to keep it so.

As Starswirl thought for a moment, Siral beside him couldn't help but turn his grey robed head:

"She seems to have many devoted fans now. How long until they grow tired of her I wonder?"

At these words, Starswirl couldn't help but remark: "That remains to be seen. But of the Prophecy, of her being of the Essence of Loyalty. What loyalties? Hers to what she ultimately decides, or that of those that know her to her?"

That question still remained, as no overt display of loyalty to trigger any sort of influence over Starswirl, as predicted, had taken place.

But in time, it would come.

Author's Notes:

An action heavy chapter, but one demonstrating the exaggerated 'to the death' media interpretation of the Colosseum. If they fought well enough, professional, and reknowned 'slave' gladiators were spared death. Expensive to train too, non-lethal fighting where possbible was encouraged and trained for.

Exceptions included prisoners and unaffordable slaves, who were thrown untrained into the ring, and disposable fodder.

And a question surrounding many celebrities, up and coming or current, be it ancient or modern day setting. What loyalty matters more/is more secure, star to fans, or fans to star? Just as important as what is more important? Ideology, self and legacy versus heritage, even if not as much a member of it like Mashri was.