A while later and there was a break. The field was cleared and somewhere in the depth of the theatre, the next set of athletes were preparing.
While this was done a series of beasts were released into the field and a new fighter would come out, dressed in little more than the athletes and bearing a shield as well as their weapon of choice. The fighter would battle the beast and Markus found this more interesting than the games – how the fighter would go after his kill, the tactics they used. because all the professional slayers were training for the solstice events, the ones brought out weren’t particularly skilled - in fact, he was nearly sure they didn't have a choice being here, most with slave or prisoner markings.
But their near-complete lack of skill was what Markus found so interesting, how they approached the challenge without any experience. Lions and bears were brought out first, then frustrated bulls, and when they were down, out came the mythical sort – a minotaur, normal sized, and fire spitting salamander the size of a small horse.
Minotaur’s were less common place now than they once were, as creating them fell out of style with Cesar, who was the last king known to make them. Julius had thought they had made to much noise breathing and Antonius thought they would scare the children, but Markus didn’t hate the idea of having one or two around when he himself became king. They were known to be stronger than lycan, but lacked the loyalty and the intelligence that the lycan possessed, which was a drawback Markus had to consider. Plus, there was something disheartening knowing that one day, the descendants of his own Minotaur would be slain for entertainment.
Yet another duty for a firstborn son – creating of the beasts. This one Markus was not afraid of. This one, Markus could easily see himself doing. In fact, if things stayed as calm as they had been recently, he would set a time for the ceremony and would get that part of his rite of passage out of the way. He might even enjoy bringing his beasts along with him on his journeys.
That was one of the special gifts bestowed onto the sacred clans - the ability to create beasts through the Covenant of Service, one of three Covenants they were capable of producing.
“He won’t make it…” Malia sang lowly, Florence holding her hands to her face as she squealed, slowly moving closer to her mother.
Markus watched as the minotaur pierced one of its horns into the slayer's chest, picking him up to throw him aside with a toss of its head. The crowd screamed, Florence covered her eyes and turned into her mother’s waiting arms.
Malia, meanwhile, chuckled to comment that the fighter chose the wrong weapon. “How old were you when you slayed your first Minotaur, nephew?”
Five. Markus had been five. His Grandfather had wanted him to retrieve a horn from one of the beasts to be made into a handle for a brush and had instructed Markus to fetch him one. He had directed him to where there was a herd and gave him until sundown to retrieve it. Markus failed. He paid dearly. The next week he returned and retrieved dozen of horns for his grandfather, along with their heads.
And Malia knew this, knew it wasn’t a happy memory. She looked at him over her shoulder with a quirk of her lips and a glint in her gaze. “Ah, yes. I remember now.” She giggled a little before she turned back to the game while Florence turned further away from it, covering her ears as the fighter’s agonizing screams echoed up the stairs.
Markus stared at the back of his Aunt’s head for a brief moment before he returned his gaze to the games, choosing to be unbothered by his Aunt's behavior.
Another fighter was brought out and his Aunt let out a bark of laughter, commenting on how this one wouldn’t fair better. He didn’t. A third, and then a fourth tried. When Florence began to cry, Malia peered over her shoulder at Markus. “Perhaps you should go down there, nephew, save a few souls?”
Markus had zero desire to intervene in the games. Putting himself at the center of everyone's attention was asking for trouble - and if he lost himself in the chaos while battling a beast? It'd take him weeks to pull his mind back together.
Another two fighters fell and Markus sat there watching, Malia turning fully to stare at him with a clever expression.
“They aren’t going to continue the rest of the festival until it’s dead, nephew.” She teased.
Markus lowered his chin before he slowly stood from his seat to go to the railing, staring down at the minotaur pacing back and forth, viciously go back after the still, mutilated corpses of the fallen fighters. He drummed fingers impatiently against the railing - taptaptaptap - regretting his decision to leave his sword behind. Had he brought his sword and scabbard, he would have easily been able to toss it and the beast from here and retrieve his sword without having to go down to it. As long as he had the scabbard, all he needed to do was snap his fingers. But, alas.
He reached up for the pin on his shoulder holding up his purple cloak, undoing it to stick it between his teeth and hand his cloak off to Malia. He took the pin between his fingers then and tested the weight. It was pure gold, shaped like a fig leaf, and would do just fine. He crushed it in his hand, rolling it between his palms then until it was in a more rounded shape. He traced the beast with his gaze and when it paused to stare down at another one of the victims, he hurled the metal at it. It went straight through his left temple and exited through the back of his head.
It fell to the ground and it took the crowd a minute to recognize that it was dead before they began cheering.
Malia gave him a clever look. “Is that where you were aiming?” She mocked.
“It was slightly off.” Markus admitted. He was aiming for the spot between its eyes, his favored target. She chuckled at him and called his throw sloppy as he retreated back to his seat, taking his cloak from her as he passed to drop it on the bench before he sat on it.
He wasn’t there long before he sensed someone coming up the stairs. Both he and his Aunt turned slightly to stare at the empty doorway, waiting for the new arrival. No one outside of their family used this box, but whoever was coming up the stairs was doing so at a brisk pace - it wasn’t the light footsteps of his sisters, nor the heavy footfall of his Aunts or the clumsy, uneven steps of his father.
Shortly a man emerged, a peasant by the looks of his clothing. He stumbled through the doorway, breathing heavily under the intense stare of the prince and the annoyed look of the princess. He looked at Malia before he went straight for Markus.
“Your majesty -” The man said before he swallowed thickly, catching his breath as he panted heavily. “Something is happening over the hills -” He bent over and reached into the satchel on his hip to pull something out, extending it toward Markus. Markus glared at the bloodied item in the man’s palm before he dragged his gaze up to the farmer. “Whatever this is has descended onto the farms and is devouring everything - the crops, the vines, the livestock!” He raised his palm toward Markus again and Markus saw in the mind eye of the man an image of farms being covered in a swarm of something. His immediate thoughts were locust, but when he looked back down to the man's hand and retrieved the item there, he saw what appeared to be a tiny human leg, just shorter than the length of his smallest finger.
He lifted it to his gaze before he looked to Malia.
A dark expression fell over her face. She seemed to believe the farmer and considered this serious, which meant it must be. “I will fetch Cydonia and Hesperia. Go.”
Markus returned his gaze to the farmer. “Show me.”
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