Pale gave Boss Tycon the best smile he could.
It was embarrassing, but he was in trouble.
The Sir glared down at him. His green visor made him look a little more intimidating than usual... but his mouth was twisted in the same expression he usually wore.
"I told you to go before we boarded the lift."
"I did! Haa~" Pale laughed uneasily, "I just... I have to go again?"
"Go on the wall," Tycon commanded.
"I... what? I can't!" Pale shook his head, "This is a public area?!"
He didn't want to... not that he had any real options, since they were crammed together in a small room.
"Relax," Tycon shook his head. "Hundreds, if not thousands of gladiators before you have urinated on these walls."
The way Boss said that made it sound like it was something to be proud of? It was still peeing on a wall. That really didn't sound right...
Pale stared at the packed earth on the platform they were standing on. He thought it was squishy because of... blood. When thinking about gladiators, he first thought of flashy skills and a loud crowd and-- and spilled blood! But because of what Boss said...
...It probably wasn't blood in the dirt.
"Did... my dad also pee here?" Pale gulped, "Like when he was fighting alongside you, Sir?"
"...Probably," Tycon frowned. Beneath his visor, he was probably furrowing his eyebrows, too. He always did that, "Cease your staring, young man. Be quick about your business..."
Pale went to a wall... circulated his mana... and willed himself to pee...
"Boss."
"What?"
"It's not coming out."
Pale wanted to cry. This had never happened before! He forgot how to pee!
"That..." Tycon paused to take a breath... "is a problem that only you can solve, young man."
"Bosssss~" Pale rested his helmet on the wall, "Don't you have... a skill for this?"
"Stars and stones, boy, my Class is Warlord, not... Urination-Assistant."
"Boss, come on!" Pale turned his head, pouting, "Can't you-- y'know... snap your fingers and make me pee?"
ραпdα Йᴏνê|(сòm) "You can't be serious," Tycon tilted his head up, (probably rolling his eyes.) "Even If I use my ⌈Commander's Strike⌋ skill on you *successfully*, then you'll PISS yourself every time I do so in the future! Is that what you want?"
"N... no," Pale sighed.
"Now stop complaining and... go."
Boss sounded really upset. It made Pale feel a little guilty.
He was right... He always was? 'I'm never wrong, don't question me again' was one of Boss' favorite sayings.
Pale took in a deep breath and he tried to focus. Some things, he just couldn't ask anyone to do for him. Peeing was one of them.
"...Did you finish, young man?" Tycon asked.
Pale adjusted himself while staring at his feet and the mucky pee dirt... "I don't have to go anymore..."
...
Theo stretched his back, leaning to the left... then to the right... then rotated at the waist with his elbows flared, "Yo, Maximus, you gonna warm up?"
The dragonblood didn't react-- as if he hadn't heard him at all. He stared up at the ceiling of the elevator shaft...
The ascent to the arena floor was painfully slow.
Maximus was the perfect, ever-professional gladiator. According to the rumors, his muscles were carved out of stone by the Eternal Flame, herself.
...As rude as the guy was, Theo was inclined to believe the tales.
The Sanctum Parmularius stood a head above most men, could tear apart leather armor with his bare hands, and was so well versed with lightning-magic that he could probably shite it out his other end.
The man always kept his silver cuirass in pristine condition-- and nearly had a literal glow because of it. His shield was thick, half-a-man's weight, and his spear was custom-made by the finest craftsmen in Tyrion.
What was unnerving about him was... he rarely spoke. He... acted.
Theo and the rest of their guild, Noctis Umbra, had to find everything about Maximus through trial-and-error.
Training with him was fine-- though he mostly trained alone.
He drank and ate like a normal man-- he didn't care for the particulars.
He quietly played card games when requested. He bet conservatively and... wasn't particularly good or bad.
He didn't go whoring. Whores came to him... and they probably paid for the service.
There was... one thing they learned, though.
Maximus was not to be provoked, not even in jest.
The old leader of Noctis Umbra-- the one that was around before Theo took over... he said something about Maximus' sister once.
Theo didn't remember the exact phrasing, but by the end of the night, there were over twenty gladiators with injuries that required magical healing. For the gladiatorial careers of eight men and women, magical healing wasn't enough.
As for Maximus? He hadn't taken a Flamescarred scratch... not to his person, not to his reputation... not during the ordeal-- nor after.
No one was stupid enough to give him any trouble, the Church included.
A dragonblood-- a non-f*cking-human injured Tyrion citizens. He literally broke them with knees and fists. The hypocritical bastards came by to check the structural damages... they carried the charred bodies out of that place, honored to be doing the work of the Eternal Flame. Then, they asked Maximus if there was anyone else they needed to arrest.
They would have licked his criminal arsehole if he told them to.
Maximus was the best Flamescarred thing to ever happen to Ezyria. Those men and women of the Church... they were Ezyrian too.
The old guild leader said he was the one at fault... and the man couldn't walk two steps without soiling himself. Maybe he realized the error of his ways-- that no one should disrespect the man and his child-sister. Maybe he didn't want Maximus to finish him off.
After that, Theo was placed in charge of Noctis Umbra.
What he really wanted... was to remove Maximus from their roster... or dissolve the guild and reform without him-- maybe move to Rixus.
In returning to their roots, all they had to do was win in the arenas.
For a normal guild, winning meant profit. Profit meant they could maintain their equipment. It meant everyone could sleep under a roof...
But they had Maximus. And he was damn good at what he did.
Fighting in the arena, he'd do anything to win. He didn't give a shite. He'd throw sand. He'd go for the testicles. One of the guys, a Warrior Class --he swore he got *bit* during a wrestling match.
He got bit. By Maximus' Flamescarred teeth. It was like he wasn't a Tyrion-- he was more like... a savage from the Beast Kingdom.
It wasn't a popular fact... that the greatest gladiator in Ezyria was also its filthiest fighter.
But more than undefeatable... that Maximus was considered a Tyrion hero. He was just that good at winning-- especially against fighters from the other nations.
With him in their guild, winning meant... riches. Riches meant being invited to drug-filled parties with the wealthy elite, with high-ranked bishops and members of the senate. It meant that everyone in Noctis Umbra could live a life of hedonistic luxuries.
If Theo tried to kick Maximus out... his 'friends' would band together and hang him off the tallest tree they could find. They'd even laugh at it, trying to get in the criminal's good graces.
...When the lift reached the top, he and Maximus were set to fight the fastest rising gladiator guild in Tyrion.
They also hailed from Ezyria. They were called Sol Invictus.
It was funny-- night and sun. The posters around Caeruleum advertising the match played on the clashing names well.
Theo shifted around uneasily. He checked the straps on his shield and he tightened the buckle on his helmet... "You nervous, Maximus?"
As nervous as he was?
"Shut the f*ck up," The dragonblood muttered, his gaze never straying from the lift's doors.
Theo grimaced. With that reaction, he probably was.
"We should make a plan," He said aloud. Even if Maximus didn't want to talk, they needed at least a basic strategy, "Invictus' roster's got a lot of threats. Ranger Quies is probably gonna be something to watch out for... and the criers have been saying they'll probably send out their own Sanctified Psyker for you-- Zuko, I think his name was..."
"Wrong."
...Maximus' reply was short and direct.
Theo inhaled the stink of the cramped lift in, trying and failing to reign in his annoyance... "Who do *you* think they're sending, then?"
"Invictus' only chance of winning against me is using the Berserker and the Tactician."
...Theo slowly grimaced over the dragonblood's choice of words. He made it sound like he was fighting alone.
"Flame take that," Theo spat, "The Berserker? You mean Dragan? I've seen some of his matches. The fat criminal's all show-- he's just a big, barrel-chested fool with an oversized sword."
Maximus said nothing... which Theo took as permission to go on, "And the Tactician? That guy's probably the weakest gladiator in Sol Invictus! I don't even know his name! Do you?"
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