#or that they were emboldened by the previous quashing of opposition and found themselves to be untouchable

[orlandospride]

the twist of fate being that spain winning the world cup was, perhaps, exactly what was necessary to happen in order to clean up the rfef, because….

they got away with it. they were in the clear. they achieved their goals of ridding the team of the ‘problem’ players, and forcing the others into grovelling, humiliating, public compliance. they had the perfect “see? we were right all along. we’ve been vindicated!” playbook in their back pocket. they had a stable enough pr stance, and world cup to parade around in the defiance of any noise around them

but they literally just could not stop themselves from being absolute weirdos for one evening. it’s incredible. and frankly, a little scary

[agent-monkeywrench]

No way but up part 3

Part 1

Part 2

The crowd continued to file into the stands as they approached capacity. The master of the arena looked upon the audience lovingly, not a matronly or even benevolent love, but the love that a shepherd feels for their sheep as they are in the stalls waiting to be fleeced. This wasn’t an arena for trueborn socialites or high ranking Kabal members, it was an arena for low level Kabalists and halfborn tradesmen who had only just recently shucked the yoke of slavery; these disadvantaged Drukhari became parched just as all other Drukhari but didn’t possess the means to obtain their own slaves. The arena master smiled broadly at the comfortable life she’d built herself, having learned that these dregs would trade nearly everything they owned to stave off she who thirsts. 

Darnah Fel turned away from the view of her arena and returned to the buffet within her personal sky box, selecting an assortment of delicacies onto a plate while completely ignoring the human slaves around her. Three of the slaves she had selected to serve the food were intentionally starved and emaciated, keeping them near the buffet allowed her to sample the misery of their hunger pangs and rumbling bellies as they were forced to smell the exquisitely prepared food. Another three slaves stood directly opposite them, with the instruction to observe the malnourished and immediately report any attempts to steal food; there was no practical reason for it Darnah Fel just found it amusing that when you arbitrarily gave humans privilege, through no merit of their own they felt superior and immediately began to abuse what little power they were afforded.

She went through a mental checklist as she leaned against the balcony with her hors d'oeuvres in hand; advertising had been a success based on attendance, a small fleet of Raiders stood ready near the ticket exchange to ferry overflow customers above the arena at twice the initial ticket price. She’d also prepared several splinter cannon stations around the perimeter to convince any Raiders or Reavers not under her banner to keep their distance. She’d even pared down the amount of gladiator slaves she’d allowed killed over the past several weeks in expectation of a particularly bloody show. Her unexpected guest of honor in the adjacent skybox was the only uncalculated variable for the evening, the thought of whom caused her to nervously scarf down her food and return to the buffet for a fourth plate. 

The spectator Raiders began to circle around the edge of the arena as the first event began, a sky game between a flight of Scourges and a pack of Hellions; each group had a designated leader which they had to defend while simultaneously attacking the enemy leader, first team to kill the others leader won. The Scourges gleefully opened up with a multitude of heavy weapons while the Hellions made comparatively more conservative strafing runs with their splinter pods; in the opening volleys no hits were landed between the teams, but stray rounds peppered the crowd with varying levels of destruction. The weak were cowed by the deaths in their midst, while the strong were emboldened by the fear in the air. It was a nuance that the larger arenas failed to harness Fel thought, the fear of the audience was just as important to her and her Hektarii as the deaths and anguish from the events were to the audience; it was how she managed to keep the arena running without having to sacrifice thousands of slaves a night, keeping her budget in the more frugal hundreds of slaves killed.

The Scourges took an initial lead downing two of the opposing Hellions, but the Hellions rallied after discerning the bobbing evasive pattern the Scourges used and began pinning them in; the Scourges were now at a disadvantage being used to the battlefield rather than the arena, where they could retreat from combat and allow their opponents to become distracted by less fortunate allies before once again swooping in. Of the three remaining Hellions whichever was currently under the most fire would continue to run as a decoy while the other two moved into a flanking maneuver to employ their glaives. After several failed runs the Hellion flankers ran a gauntlet of defensive fire before neatly dismembering the Scourge leader and taking off in opposite directions; the Scourge leaders remains fell in at least four unequal parts to the arena floor below. 

The Hellions had won and the surviving members of the teams were ushered off to receive their rewards; Fel didn’t believe in executing the losers, instead the Scourge had likely already made arrangements for his resurrection and the Hellions would simply recruit new members assuming they didn’t already have them waiting in the wings. In a few weeks she’d extend an invitation for a rematch and bill it as a grudge fight, it reduced her overhead and provided a broader amount of willing contenders as there weren’t such harsh consequences for failure; harnessing the natural infighting between members of her own race was yet another aspect of Fel’s financial micromanaging tactics, when Drukhari were willing to kill each other her stable of gladiator slaves didn’t require as much replenishing.

The next event was something of a free for all, one hundred and fifty Cultists were herded into the center of the arena before ten Beastmasters and the Khymerae under their control surrounded the Chaos followers. She had heard that the cultists, worshippers of the blood god if she remembered correctly, were comically easy to capture; One of the ships of her meager Kabal intercepted emergency hails from an imperial world, and after basking in the destruction caused by the Khornate rampagers simply landed and allowed them to board the cargo holds before quashing their fury with a nerve agent. It was the kind of brilliance and conservation of effort she appreciated and saw to it the Captain was given an appropriate bonus. The crackle of more warp beasts arriving from the immaterium brought her attention back to the arena; the creatures plodded and stalked around their beastmasters awaiting the command to attack, to which the cultists formed undisciplined ranks and began chanting and drumming on their bodies without any sense of rhythm. 

Overwhelmed in their fervor some of the cultists broke away and charged the warp beasts, being ripped to shreds in no more than a second once within reach of their unnaturally configured claws and fangs. As the Beastmasters closed in the Cultists finally committed to an attack, throwing themselves forward in droves. “Graah!” Darnah Fel joined in on the Cultists battle cry mockingly, chuckling as the Khymerae tore through swaths of them in different attack patterns according to their masters whims. The Succubus Archon held a particular disdain for followers of chaos, humans so weak in their own conviction as to commit the ultimate ego death and submit themselves willingly as playthings to the ruinous powers. That of course didn’t stop her from relishing their deaths, in fact serving only to increase her delight as she could taste the last nanoseconds of sheer doubt that cut through their blind rage; universally their last thoughts were the realization there would be no reward for their worship before they simply ceased to exist in this reality nor the next any longer.

The Cultists were only ever intended to be obstacles for the Beastmasters, the true battle ensuing between them after clearing enough of the cultists to maneuver; two of the rookie Beastmasters were overwhelmed and beaten to death by gaggles of the chaos worshippers, their Khymerae vanishing back into the warp upon their deaths. Several more of the contenders were eliminated by their peers, most of which were caught off guard while distracted by the droves of Cultists. Nearing the end of the battle only two of the Drukhari were left, the remaining Cultists seeing sense for the first time and staying near the edges of the arena where the audience could throw their food and drink onto them from above as well as derisive insults and laughter at their cowardice. Unsurprisingly one of the beastmasters was her current champion while the other was a young upstart who had only recently been introduced to her arena. They engaged each other in melee while their remaining beasts did the same, the champion with a single large creature with horns similar to a Mon’keigh bovine, and the upstart with a pair of smaller but heavily muscled Khymerae which phased in and out of existence with an ease Darnah Fel had never before seen. 

Her champion was the superior combatant forcing the upstart onto his backfoot with each strike, wearing away at his defenses; the beast fought their own battle, but the smaller creatures of the upstart seemed to have the advantage in this regard, striking, fading, and striking once more in tandem against the larger Khymerae. A veteran of the arena herself, Fel finally spotted the pattern the upstart was taking advantage of; the more of an advantage her champion had in single combat the further he allowed his summoned creature to drift away from him, drawing it near only when the upstarts beasts sought to attack him. The upstart continued to barely fend off the assault of her champion until the opportunity he was waiting for presented itself, one of his beasts phased out of existence reappearing behind her champion and neatly separating his head from his shoulders with one of its lashing claws. The arena burst into a thunderous cheer and applause at the unexpected turn of events, even Fel herself clapping in delight at the surprising display; despite her attachment to her previous champion she now had a new one, and if she felt so inclined might decide to resurrect the previous one just to feed on his outrage at having lost.

Finally, it was time for the main event as three groups of gladiators were released from their pens to wander into the arena; one group was comprised of the Imperial Mon’keigh, another of the ally races of the Tau empire, and finally a group of her Aeldari cousin taken from both Exodite colonies and Craftworlds. Each group not only fought for their lives, but the incentive of more comfortable accomodations until their next battle within the arena; comfortable beds, clean clothing, and better rations which they had been denied. All three of the groups adopted defensive postures but made no immediate aggressive moves towards one another; the crowd jeered and booed at the gladiators hoping that would provoke them into violent action but they continued to group together nervously with their weapons at their sides, seeming to wait for something. Fel allowed this to continue, feeling as if it was helping to build the anticipation until it reached the five minute mark at which point she decided to prod them a bit to get the ball rolling.

With a wave of her hand a nearby attendant began speaking softly into a communication crystal, and no more than a moment later a fourth pen opened. To her surprise the modified Tyranid organisms within didn’t come flooding out snapping their mandibles and clicking their claws together in excitement, only a few of the Hormagaunts poking their heads out into the artificial sun. She openly frowned, noting their strange behavior with a growing sense of apprehension, it wasn’t until the carnifex came plodding into the arena with a naked Mon’keigh standing atop it with one of her halfborn slaves riding side saddle behind him clutching her arm in a makeshift sling that she finally felt a pit in her stomach; what she was witnessing simply should not have been possible. She hated to admit it was somewhat exhilerating, she had heard of the trouble the Mon’keigh had caused to have been thrown into solitary confinement with the Tyranid but there was no way she could have predicted that he would seemingly thrive in such an environment; she could only hope the isolation had driven him mad and that he would attack the other gladiators as they all turned to face the new threat.

She was so fascinated by the Mon’keigh sauntering into the arena she barely heard the soft voice from behind her. “Is there a problem dear cousin?” the sultry voice inquired causing Fel to abruptly spin to face it, recognizing it immediately as the guest who should have been in the next skybox; rather than use the attached door her guest had simply leapt the few meters between boxes without making a sound. “Of course not dear cousin, all part of the show.” Fel lied with a practiced ease, masking the mounting fear she felt as she prepared to be interrogated by arguably the greatest gladiatrix ever produced by the dark city, her pleasant voice completely at odds with her hardened, muscular physique. She stood alongside Fel, dwarfing her by several inches as she crossed her arms and faced the arena. “Well, let’s hope that’s the case then.” The larger woman offered as she squared up the Mon’keigh in the arena. “Of course it is, how else would a meer Mon’keigh be able to command the bioforms without my help?” She feigned offense to her stone faced compatriot, fearing she may have just dug herself deeper into the lie.