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whumpfessional · 2 years

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Fight Pit

Pt 5 of Circe’s Story, other parts in Masterpost.

Yeah.. this is where it starts to get real bad for her. Heads up if you aren’t good with what I’ve been told are “viscerally described” fight scenes. I just really like writing them.

CW: Slavery, minor whump, gore, death, sci fi typical violence, non-con drug use

Even when they entered the small arena, it didn’t click in her mind. Ka’hairal had come home late from some event. She hadn’t known the details, had just been told to ready more formal attire.

He had left quickly and it had been quiet that evening. She had been able to read more of the manual, slowly sounding out the letters. But she only had a few seconds warning from the boot steps, thudding down the hallway to leap to her feet, staring down at the floor.

She could smell the alcohol on him as he barged in, flinging his formal jacket on the bed. However, he didn’t toss himself down as he usually did. He stood in front of her instead, muttering to himself. “She’s gonna lose dressed like that..” as he stomped to the wardrobe, rifling through. She watched as a set of hand wraps as well as a jacket of leathery material were thrown on the ground.

“Put those on and come with me.” Ka’hairal said, already moving out the door. She scrambled to grab the clothing off the floor. Put them on? On what? Come with me. That was easier. She held the clothing tightly as she followed Ka’hairal down the hallway. He seemed to be heading out of the compound, weaving his way to where the shuttle was parked. The driver was waiting for them when they got there.

Ka’hairal climbed in but she paused outside, not quite sure what to do. She hadn’t been in one, not with one of them. Her palms began to sweat before there was a sharp whistle from inside, one she knew as a summoning. Boarding the ship, there seemed to be two rows of finer seats and a metal bench. Easy.

“I said to put those on.” His voice spoke from the front row. “We are going to Segar’s party.”

Segar. Her stomach plummeted as she put on the hand wraps, securing them around her wrists. He had been the one she had kicked. Pain began to spike up her back from the healed scar tissue.

“He asked for you specifically. There’s going to be a tournament.” She could have sworn she could have heard the smirk in his voice. Her hands were shaking as she pulled the slightly large jacket on her, unsure whether or not to do it up.

It was less of an arena than a large, open roofed ring with a slight pit in the middle. Many Batarians were mulling around, around Ka’hairal’s age. There were humans in the mix too. More than she would have expected. It was odd to see them standing still in the crowd, silent among the enthusiasm and drunken conversation.

Ka’hairal waved his hand and a few responded, beckoning them over. Glancing around as they moved through the crowd, she noticed that the other humans had more on than usual around. It was a weird assortment, a helmet, someone was wearing what looked like a sheet of metal tied around their torso.

The sinking feeling in her stomach grew as they got closer to the group. Icarek and Segar were there, laughing as Balak joined them.

“Good, now we can start. I’ve set up the matches already.” Icarek began, starting to move towards the ring.

Segar gave Balak a clap on the shoulder, “Gonna admit, I didn’t think you would do it.”

Balak gave a shrug, “She’s gonna win. I’m not overly concerned”. His hand lowered to his hip. And it all hit her at once. There were two swords hanging, not just his. The second was one of the practice ones, but real metal, not the safe material the training ones were made of.

The other humans. The ring. This was a fight pit. And not one of the sanctioned ones either. The noise around her muted as she began to run through this. She was going to have to fight. And she couldn’t lose. Not with Balak here. To disappoint? To fail? It would be better to fall on the sword.

They were moving towards the ring. She followed, lost in panic. Icarek was stepping into the middle, calling everyone’s attention. The crowd began to push in around, everyone trying to get a view. He was talking but she couldn’t hear above the blood pumping in her ears.

Some humans began to enter the ring, filing through. They seemed to all be a similar type, strong and muscled, wearing hand wraps and barefoot. Young, maybe a year or two older than her. The age of the crowd. A countdown sounded, she felt the noise around her swell as the men began to fight.

It was brutal, ugly fighting. There didn’t seem to be any rules. Blood began to fly from broken noses and smashed jaws. The crowd pressed in further. She took her mind some place else.

She was very proud of this trick, though she had no one to share it with. This ability to leave her body, leave the present, dissociate from whatever new horror she faced that day. The bloodbath continued in front but she no longer saw it, didn’t acknowledge it as reality. It was some holo show and the audience clapped as a single man remained standing, swaying slightly on his feet.

Money was exchanged around her and a new group entered. They were similar to the first group but they had weapons. A part in the deep of her brain began to scream, trying to get her to run, telling her this would be her fate. The holo show continued, this time with smashed in skulls from hammers and guts falling out of stomachs. There was a smell but she wasn’t there. Not until she had to be.

There was a small break and she began to pull herself back into her body. The ring was cleaned and raked, the stains of blood and viscera swept away. Servers carried drinks through the crowd and she watched as Balak and his crew boistered back and forth loudly, recalling their favourite parts of the fight. The slaughter.

An alarm on Icarek’s omnitool sounded and he offered Segar a pat on the back before heading back into the ring. Balak and Segar clasped hands and Balak began to walk away. She followed and they continued close to the ring. Icarek spoke again over the crowd.

“It has now come to the tournament section of tonight’s entertainment. Would those participating please bring their fighters to the ring entrance. Again, fighters to ring entrance. We will begin as soon as the first contestants arrive.”

Balak continued to move to the front until they were right in front of the ring before he turned to her. She bowed her head as he reached for the second sword, handing it to her. He didn’t say anything as he stepped back, leaving a clear entrance into the ring.

She paused for a second too long as he grabbed her shoulder tightly, pulling her through towards the ring. She stumbled forward but caught her feet underneath her, maintaining a hold on the sword. The crowd was still loud as she stood in the center, people beginning to call out bets and odds.

There was movement from the entrance and another girl stumbled in. She was younger than her and about half a foot shorter. She clutched a dagger in her two hands.

This girl had never held a weapon before, that much was clear. Looking over to Balak at the edge of the ring, he gave her a nod with his chin towards the girl. Icarek joined back in the ring, speaking loudly. “Our first fight of the tournament will commence. Fighters, ready, set,” there was a pause that stretched, “Begin!”.

The two of them stood still in the middle as the crowd began to shout, egging them on. The smaller girl moved first, running with her dagger outstretched. Disarming her was a simple matter of stepping to the side before slamming her hilt down on the girl’s wrist, grabbing the dagger from her opening hand. She followed through with a punch to the face afterwards, her hand still wrapped around the hilt.

The smaller girl crumpled to the ground, clutching her face. She watched forward and rested the sword near her neck, as Balak would do at the end of fights. She turned back to look at him with a confused expression on her face, as the crowd was still yelling loudly, working themselves up. His eyebrows raised slightly and he gestured again at the girl, prone on the ground. She looked down at the girl, who stared up at her, paralyzed by the point at her throat and back at Balak, confused again. He tilted his head right slightly and her stomach twisted as he gestured again with his chin towards the girl.

Oh. Of course. It couldn’t be easy. It couldn’t be like practice. A chill swept over her as she stared down at the girl, who was now crying softly.

She knew how to do this. She was there as Balak was taught, was shown where the human heart was, how to stop it. He had held the blade to her chest as his tutor has shifted the blade slightly, showing him how to slip it between the ribs.

That had been years ago but it had stuck. How Balak had leaned into the blade slightly, just to see what she would do. He liked those kind of games. Seeing how far he could push, what he could make her do. Like what she was doing now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she lowered the sword from the girl’s throat before she closed her eyes tightly and plunged the sword into the girl’s chest. The sensation was sickening and she could hear the gurgles coming from the girl’s mouth as she withdrew the blade. Something warm splashed across her face but she kept her eyes closed as she turned away,

Not opening them as she walked back to the entrance.

Balak’s right tilted head almost made her stumble backwards but she kept going, standing before him. She heard the crack before she felt the pain of the slap, her head wrenched to the side. She was pulled back by a hand crushing into her chin, forcing her head back towards the ring.

The girl’s body was being taken off, leaving a trail of blood in the sand behind it as it was dragged away.

“You do not look away.” Balak hissed from behind, turning her head to follow the path of the body. “You keep your eyes open. Or that’s what I’ll do to you.” He released her roughly, then turned back in order to watch the next fight. She slipped in behind him. The blood drying on her face began to itch but she stood still, allowing the world to slip away from her again.

Blood spilled across the sand of the ring. The fights seemed to go on and on, each as brutal. There was no hesitation after her fight, all those entering the ring were ready to kill. The crowd around laughed and cheered, booing when a particularly large fighter was taken down by a smaller one.

Balak was stepping aside again and for a solid moment, she thought about running. She would be grabbed before she had turned fully and taken the step but that act of refusing, of saying no. Of not having to kill.

But the consequences of that were greater than whatever she could face in there. The fights had been short for the most part, to the death. They weren’t drawn out, weren’t an example to others. A death here wouldn’t hurt as much as that rebellion would. So she found herself walking back out into the ring. She noticed that she had been clutching that girl’s dagger the whole time and she forced her fingers to release themselves, tucking the dagger away into the waistband of her pants.

Her opponent was already in the ring, slightly taller than her, with a thin frame. Their hair was shorn short and there was a twitchiness to how they stood. As she got closer, she began to recognize the bags under the eyes and the sallow skin. And when they smiled, there were the telltale red stained teeth.

They were a red sand user but from their tics and twitches, the way they scanned around, she would guess that they were in withdrawal. They didn’t seem to have a weapon on them but her attention was drawn away before she could examine further. Icarek entered the ring.

“We are now entering the second round of the tournament. Give it up for round two!” The crowd chanted, yelling out. “Fighters! On my mark! Ready, set, begin!”

Before she could turn back to face her opponent, something barrelled into her, knocking her back onto the ground. It fell with her as her breath was knocked out of her chest. She looked up to see the other fighter on top of her chest as a fist slammed into her face. Another followed it and she pulled up her arms, trying to shield herself from the blows. Pain shot through her face and her arms as the blows rained down. Think, think, think.

She jerked her knee upwards and got it around their right leg. Pushing up her hips and legs, she flipped the position so that she was on top of the addict, pinning their arms under her knees. The shock on their face made her sneer slightly and she slammed her fist into their face. It hurt but the handwraps cushioned the blow slightly. They screwed up their face, trying to call on some biotic force. She cracked them across the face again, causing their head to snap to the side.

It felt good to hit something. The momentum of it carried her blows over and over. The pleading eye closed and she felt something crack underneath her knuckles. The shouts of the crowd were white noise at this point. Her mind was as empty as it was watching the other fights, a backseat row seat to the view of someone’s face crumpling inwards. Feeling the body first struggling, then twitching, then still underneath her.

By some strength she didn’t know she had, she was able to stand up, to leave the ring behind. She couldn’t look up until she stood right in front of where she knew Balak was. A hand roughly gripped her chin and pulled it up so that it faced towards him. It was yanked side to side before the hand left her face. Before she could pull it down again, a pair of hands grasped either side of her nose and jerked it back into place.

The white hot pain caused her legs to give out for a moment but she caught herself before failing, instead just stumbling backwards and bringing her hands up to her face. She hadn’t realized that it had been broken, the excess of scar tissue and nerve damage across the bridge of her nose must have blocked some of the pain.

She slunk into place behind Balak. Her nose throbbed but she forced herself to stay in the moment, in the crowd. She had made a mistake, zoning out, not having a clue what to expect from this fight. So this round, she forced herself to watch.

The larger guy with the sheet of metal strapped across his chest was first. The makeshift armour was splattered with blood and he carried a heavy club. His opponent was smaller but still muscled, holding a longsword like he knew what to do with it. The swordsman was skilled but the metal covering the man’s chest was proving to be rather effective. With an impressive twist, the swordsman slipped his sword under the large man’s guard, slashing through the straps that held the armour up.

He wasn’t quick enough to pull back and the club slammed down onto his arm with a loud crack, the man letting out a loud scream. The sword fell to the ground. The fight ended soon after that, the swordsman’s head cracked open on the sand.

It was hard to keep her focus after that. She came back in the middle of the third fight in time to watch a fighter get impaled through the back. She struggled to stay in the moment, taking in the strength of the woman who had stabbed him as she withdrew the sword and the body fell to the ground.

The final combatants of the round entered the ring. There was a slight uproar as the two entered. One of the young men had obviously been injured in the fight before. He was limping heavily, though she couldn’t see any blood. The other man had a smile on his face as he twirled his sword, waiting for Icarek to count them in.

The crowd could taste blood and began to push inwards. On Icarek’s “Fight!” the man surged forward, swinging his sword downwards towards the injured man.

It got confusing after that. The injured man’s leg seemed to collapse underneath him but instead of crumpling to the ground, he moved into a roll to the side, slashing his sword out. It wasn’t clear what he had attempted to accomplish until the other man stumbled and fell to the ground with a scream. Blood began to pool around his ankles and she was able to see that his tendons had been sliced through, preventing him from walking.

The young man strode up to him lazily, limp magically gone and jammed his sword between the downed man’s shoulder blades. With a twist, his scream was silenced.

The crowd roared. Her stomach sank. She was going to die. She was going to die here in this ring for the entertainment of these monsters. Her whole fucking life a waste. All of it for nothing. All that bullshit for nothing.

She spent a hard moment staring at Balak’s back, gripping the sword tightly in her hand. But he stepped aside and the ring stretched open in front of her.

The man with the club was in there. She looked back, trying to catch Balak’s eyes. To beg for help. But he just looked back lazily, smirk egging her on.

She felt something then, something burning in her gut, tensing her muscles. She wanted to scream from the frustration of it all. But she was going to win. Just so that she could knock that stupid fucking look off of his face one day.

There were murmurs from the crowd as she entered the ring and some laughs peppered the room. The man in front of her smirked as well, looking down at her. Icarek stepped into the ring.

“Welcome to the semi-finals, ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready?” The crowd thundered, feet stamping, blood thirsty. “Let us began! Ready, set.” The pause. She slowed her breathing, focusing on her opponent, on how he shifted his weight. “Fight!”

She was off the second it was called and not a moment too early. The man dashed forward, slamming the club down in the spot where she had just been. She tried to circle behind him but he was faster than she realized and she was forced to pull back, slipping around again. There were boos from the audience at this cowardly behaviour. It didn’t matter. Did they think she had any honour, any pride left to lose?

He seemed to favour his right side so she faked to his right before slipping around to his left, managing to take a slice at his side. She didn’t get back fast enough though and she felt herself lifted off the ground as the club slammed into her side.

Crack. She couldn’t breathe. There was no air left in her. She lay on the ground, gulping and trying to press herself up as the man slowly began to approach. He lifted his club above his head, rallying the crowd. Her ribs screamed at her as she forced herself into a crouching position.

As he neared, she began to try to stand, failing and falling back down to one leg, her sword being used to prop herself up. He stood in front of her and raised the club again. She sat, muscles tensed.

As the club was brought down, she pushed herself into a forward roll, bringing her close within the man’s guard. She pushed to stand, leading with the sword tip and impaling it in the body hulking above her. The body crunched as she did. The crowd hung silent for the moment. Then the body above her crumpled and began to fall forward.

Her sword had gone up below the rib cage and reached within the chest. She didn’t have long to study her work before she sank to a knee, doubled over from the pain in her side. Looking up, she saw Balak at the side of the ring. For once, instead of leaning lazily, he was upright. She saw him flick his hand beside him and bit down on her lower lip.

She was going to have to walk. Slowly, she pushed herself up, arms wrapped over her side, trying to keep it from shifting further. Every step sent another wave of pain through her body. She could taste blood in her mouth.

Before her was Balak. She braces herself for another attack but instead, she felt hands lowering her to the ground, speaking quickly.

“Icarek, what are the rules on medigel?” She heard Balak say, calling the other boy over.

“Not allowed until the end. And don’t even try it, it’ll get you banned.” Icarek replied.

“Kra’tash,” Balak cursed. She opened her eyes slightly, noticing Segar staring their way.

He began to make his way over, clapping Balak on the shoulder, “Do not worry, friend, I’ve got something for you.” Segar pulled out a small case and shook out a couple pills, handing them over to Balak. “Videilict. Open up the capsules and you can get her to snort it or just rub it on her gums.” He looked up, the sounds of the next fight occurring in the ring. “You’re going to want to hurry.”

Balak grunted, tearing open the pills and shaking them into the palm of his hand. A hand roughly tapped the side of her cheek and she opened her mouth, feeling a rough hand run powder along her gums. She struggled not to gag, to keep breathing through her mouth. The finger was out of her mouth and she gasped for breath, shaking slightly.

“Is it addictive?” She heard Balak ask as she struggled to breath through the aching in her side.

“Nah, not really. Only if you give it to them frequently.” Segar replied, “Though I did give you a double dose.”

The pain was everything and then it wasn’t. She paused for a couple moments, waiting for it to flood back in. But it didn’t. She blinked slowly as she pressed to her feet, keeping a hand on the wall in case she fell again. But she didn’t. And it didn’t hurt. It felt great, actually. Energy coursed through her and she fought back a smile. She twisted her back slightly, feeling the scar tissue. It didn’t stretch but it didn’t hurt like it usually did.

Balak turned back to see her standing and raised his eyebrows slightly at her rapid change in condition. He stepped closer, leaning down to her, looking her over. With a huff, he gestured his head over to the arena. There was only one fighter standing, the young man. The other body that had made a mess on the sand had been dragged out. It was her turn.

She felt the buzz of the crowd around her as she entered in. The lights felt brighter than they had been before as she stood across from her opponent.

He looked unscathed. There was blood on his clothes and splattered across his face but none of it seemed to be his. She had only seen him fight the once but she knew enough to shift her weight backwards, preparing her defense.

Icarek entered into the ring, standing between the middle of them. “Welcome,” his voice boomed, “to the grand final of our sudden death tournament.” There was a chuckle through the crowd. “Only one may have the honour of victory.” Honour. She would have spat if her mouth wasn’t so dry.

“Without further ado, Fighters.” Icarek backed up to the edge of the ring. “Ready, set,” The arena was still, silent. No one moved. “Fight!”

The man exploded forward, slashing downwards with heavy blows. She was prepared and was easily able to block and parry. It was the same as her fights with Balak. But this time, she had to win.

She managed to catch the sword at an angle along their hilts and gain leverage, pushing him back a few steps before pulling back, buying herself a couple moments. Whatever Balak had given her, she could feel her heart racing in her chest, her eyes hyperfocused in on her opponent. Time felt slowed and she was able to follow his movements, predicting where his sword would fall. She was able to keep up and she began acutely aware of the fact that without those pills, she would be dead by this point. He raised his sword above his head with a single arm and she moved to intercept it.

A pain exploded in her left thigh and her leg collapsed beneath her. Looking down in shock, a dagger had been driven into her leg. She hadn’t even seen him draw the dagger. The sword was coming down swiftly and she too raised a single arm, her other hand grasping at the wound on her leg. The swords clashed and with a deft twist, hers was forced out of her hand, sent skidding around the sandy flooring of the ring.

Fuck.

The roaring of the crowd was overwhelming as he stepped in closer, lowering his sword to her neck. His eyes were smiling, victory in sight as he cockily looked out to the audience.

Swiftly, she shifted to the side and reached up with her off hand, pulling his sword arm inwards, the sword going over her shoulder. At the same time, she reached with her right hand into the belt of her pants, drawing the dagger that she had hidden there. Blood spurted as she dragged it through his wrist, feeling it cut against bone. He let loose a wild yell, grabbing her wrist and twisting it roughly, forcing the dagger to fall to the ground.

She struggled to stand but despite the drugs coursing through her system, she was unable to place weight on her injured leg. Suddenly, there was a crushing pressure around her neck as she was hauled upwards. She wanted to scream, feeling the dagger moving within her leg but no sound escaped.

Weapons forgotten, the man held her off the ground, his face contorted with rage. Blood flowed freely from his injured wrist over the front of her tunic as both hands clasped around her neck, crushing inwards. Panic flooded her senses as she hopelessly grasped at his hands, clawing in desperation.

Darkness began to fill in the sides of her vision, narrowing her vision. She tried to kick out with her legs but the dagger shifted slightly and she lost hold of his hands, sinking further into his grasp.

She closed her eyes, going limp, allowing her hands to fall to her sides. The crowd exploded but the man kept his grip, intending on squeezing the life from her.

In a fluid motion, she jerked her left leg upwards and yanked the dagger out of it with her right, the drugs taking the full brunt of the pain. Her eyes forced open, she jammed the dagger through the side of his neck and tore it back out, a spray of blood exploding in her face.

For a moment, he still hung on and she feared that she had somehow missed. She watched as his eyes widened and his mouth gaped open, only a gurgle coming out. The hands loosed and she fell to the ground with a crash, his lifeless body tumbling to the ground beside her.

She gasped for air, her lungs aching as air was forced through them. Her leg throbbed and her hands grasped at it, pressing down onto the wound that was now bleeding freely. The world was still hazy around her as she lay there, consumed by the sheer will to keep breathing, for her heart to keep beating.

There was a sharp jab into her leg and a hiss as something was injected. Under her hand, she could feel the wound began to knit itself together. Her eyes jerked open to see Balak standing above her, head tilted slightly to the left. A swell of emotion rose in her that she hated herself for having. Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself to her feet, keeping her eyes on the dirt stained with her own blood. The combination of the medigel and the drugs kept her moving but she could feel where it was going to hurt once it wore off. Icarek was shaking Balak’s hand, raising his hand upwards in victory.

She felt nauseous. The lights were still too bright, the noise was too loud. But she kept it in. Save face. She swayed slightly as they stood, not able to listen to their conversation. Something about credits? She wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. She was so relieved she almost cried when she heard Balak snap, the crunch of his footsteps leaving the ring.

Limping along, a tear of gratitude slipped out once she realized that they were making their way back to the air shuttle. The driver looked incredulous as the two of them climbed into the shuttle. Aware of her blood splattered condition, she sat carefully in the back, trying to not get the mess on anything. They were silent as they took off. She could hear Balak typing away on his omnitool, firing off some messages. She allowed her brain to shut down, the hum of the air shuttle filling the silence.

They landed before long and Balak disembarked first, gesturing for her to follow along. She descended as quickly as she was able, a spike of fear shooting up her when she realized that she had made him wait a moment. But he didn’t comment, just began to lead the way through the house to his quarters. She kept her eyes on the ground, though she heard the gasps and the mutters of others as they walked through the complex.

The drugs were beginning to wear off and a heavy fatigue settled over her. Her ribs began to act up again, sending shooting pain through her side with every step. Entering into the quarters, Balak took a seat, gesturing for her to pour him a drink. She moved slowly over to the cabinet, biting down hard on her lip in an effort to keep her vision focused as she moved back over to him, handing him the drink with a bow.

A hiss escaped her lips as she pushed herself back up and she froze for a moment. But he didn’t comment and she made her way back to stand by the wall, resisting the urge to slump against it.

“I knew you would win.” Balak broke the silence, taking a sip. “You would never shame us like that.”

Her body was shaking from the effort of standing at this point but she forced herself as still as possible.

He waved his hand. “You’re dismissed. Go clean yourself up. I’m leaving again so you may have the evening off.” She bowed deeply, almost losing her balance but catching herself at the last moment, making her way towards the servants entrance.

“Stop.” He called out as she reached for the door and she choked back a sob before turning back around. “I was impressed by your performance.” The words hung in the air as he took another sip, swirling the amber coloured liquid in the glass. “You may go.”

She stumbled through the door and gently shut it behind her, letting the latch click in place before she pressed her back against the wall opposite the door, letting herself slide to the ground. A sob began to build in her chest and she bit down on her hand to stifle the sound. She curled inwards, huddling on the ground.

But everytime she closed her eyes, all she could see was their faces. The addict, the large man. The young man, choking for a breath that would never come as he bled out. The dead, open eyes of the young girl as her limp body was dragged out of the ring.

It was a while before someone found her, shaking and muttering, alone on the ground.

#circe story #circe #balak #minor whump #gore #death #slavery #noncon drug use #drug use #female whumpee

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