The Arena by Apathetic

Trials

The dirt choked and filled her nose as she fell; it was thick, dusty, filled with sharp little rocks that swiveled their way into her nasal passage and made tiny cuts. Blood then filled her nose as she coughed, tasting blood on her tongue. Gritting her now bloody teeth, she scrambled onto her feet, coughing out blood and dust, running her tongue over her cracked and bleeding lips. She sprinted forward, snarling like an animal, and her grit-covered fist crushed the teeth of her opponent with a sickening crunch.

The snarling demon in question was hurtled backwards by the force of her blow, and then the woman's teeth found purchase in the writhing creature's throat. Without so much as a flinch or a breath, her teeth ground in and then wrenched to the side and out, blood spurting across her pale face and down her throat. Spitting out the dark red liquid, she crouched low, her sapphire colored eyes flaring with animalistic survival. Dark black hair fell down her back, hanging in ragged ends just above her slim waist.

Bright sapphire colored eyes sparked in her pale face, with a spattering of freckles earned in a now forgotten youth underneath her eyes. A ragged, sleeveless shirt the color of smoke clung to her lithe frame, muscles toned underneath her pale skin. Soot black pants fell to expose bare toes, indicating bare feet, as she crouched like a hunting wolf, a perpetual snarl on her pretty face. Dirt and grime flecked her slender body, along with splashes of deep red blood, some her own and most not. She snarled and yipped as an unexpected hand dug itself into her thick hair, and wrenched her backwards off her feet. What met her intense gaze was the site of a frenzied young male, drool spilling over his lower lip, snarling and frothing in want.

Disgust flittered across her face as she grabbed hold of his muscled wrist. With a deft, almost casual twist, she snapped the fragile little bones within the appendage, and smiled darkly as he reeled away in howling pain. Taking her advantage, she hobbled back onto her nimble feet, and spun to face him.

The arena was darkened with split blood and broken bodies, weapons laying forgotten as the demons within its dome battle with tooth and claw, fist and magick. The massive structure was made of stormy colored marble, and the dirt floor was enormous. Silver stands rose on every side, but were bent and battered, as though the brawl had reached even there. And it had.

A majestic sunset filled the Arena, seeming to set everything a blaze, filling the spiraling columns and sweeping balconies with orange and golden light, mixed with azure and deep, lustrous purple. Bronze colored light struck her raven hair, igniting the red within like fire.

She turned on her heel, like a dancer in the sunlight, her hair fanning about her and her eyes smoldering in reckless determination. Two creatures, one male and one female, closed in on her at once. This was lawless, horrid battle; kill or be killed; two on one was fair. Amber light flared in her eyes, something like panic, and then she did the simplest, most devastating thing she could have done; she ducked. She went to her knees in the thick dirt, particles of dust swirling up her legs as the two air-born fighters struck each other in mid leap. Instantly forgetting their intended target, they latched onto each other, slashing and snarling, flesh tearing and bone snapping.

The two opponents fell before her in a thrashing tangle, and she lit out again, her blue eyes searching endlessly for any form of escape. Without slowing her sprint, she skids to a stop before a screeching silver haired woman, and swung out with her shoulder. Her shoulder met with the woman's and sent her sprawling in the dust. Without a second thought, the black haired lady took the top of the fallen's head, and twisted until chin met spine with a resounding snap. Leaving the woman to thrash her life out in the dust, she sprinted off yet again, glancing almost carelessly up at the Royalty Box. In the Royalty Box sat three figures none of which she could put a face or gender to, but still her blood boiled in wrathful hate, and her hair raised like hackles. In her distraction, a meaty fist contacted with her face, and she was propelled backwards as her jawbone cracked.

He lazily lowered his wineglass, his full, pouting lips puckered as he watched the increasing blood bath beneath his gaze. His steel gray hair was long and lush. His gold eyes narrowed as he watched the battlefield, and his old eyes alighted on the young woman with the hair like a sunset. She was lithe, nicely proportioned, a good height; she was obviously of fine breeding. With a thick finger, he prodded the young man next to him. The man, appearing in his early twenties, cast his father a bored look.

"What is it?" His voice was sharp, cold; annoyed.

He had silver hair, obviously inherited from his father, but he wore it long, the choppy bangs falling just into his eye sight, the rest hung back in a low ponytail, carelessly. He had angular, regal features, high cheekbones and a strong jaw. His eyes were bright golden, also from his father, and they were lit dully with a haughty, arrogant light. His lip was curled in distaste, exposing fine white teeth. He held no love for his father figure.

"Hold your snarl, boy. Look at that woman there." His father's voice was clipped, and cold.

He would have lashed out at the older man then and there, if it weren't for his mother's soft presence in the room to make him mind his 'manners'. The older woman in question sat her knees softly crossed and her hands resting calmly in her lap. She had thick, blonde hair that fell to just above her shoulder, falling in stylish layers around her thin face. She had warm, open green eyes that shone with understanding and yet, deep within them swirled the spirit of a weary warrior. He graced his mother with a small smile, before letting his sharp eyes follow his father's point.

His gaze alighted onto the petite figure battling for her life, just in time to see her struck squarely in the jaw, knocked backwards. He winced for her; she looked so little. He was surprised when she spun upward onto her feet, and spun, backhanding the large enemy away from her, blood spraying. She moved forward, digging her nails into his jugular, and began to brutally wrench it out, seeming to have trouble as the man struggled and repeatedly hit her, leaving large, welling bruises. Then, the man gave a final jerk, and fell still into his death. She straightened slowly, brushing her now filthy hair behind her shoulder.

Then, his breath caught as she turned, her gaze fixing onto the Royalty Box, and then seemed to meet his eyes. He was unable to determine her eye color, but he could tell that they'd sweep him away. She was so fierce, so alive and vibrant; so wild. A low growl spilled from between his smooth lips, and his mother smiled brightly, and his father gave a hardy guffaw.

"Well, Sesshoumaru, it seems you favor this one." His father's voice grated on his nerves.

"She is a beauty," his murmured lowly.

His mother's gentle voice, "She does not seem like the others."

He nodded slowly; his mother had a point. She was not frothing and slobbering herself with want, nor was she acting like a female in heat should. This woman seemed completely aware of the fight, completely aware of her situation; and she obviously wanted out of it. As he watched, an opponent once again beset her. This woman was also beautiful, but not with the softness he could read in the black haired woman's. She looked weak, next to the bloody goddess that he so suddenly, and badly, wanted to see face to face. In fact, her weakness was proven when her life ended at the hands of the black haired beauty, with a simple, crushing fist to her throat.

"She's undoubtedly a barbarian," hissed his father, rudely.

"Hush, father. She is obviously intellectual. I want to meet her," said Sesshoumaru.

"So be it, my son," whispered his mother.