27. Bowie & Oakley
“How would you like him? Ever erect?”
“Huh?” Yuo reacted, unsure of what he just heard.
“I mean, killing excited him. He almost came, while almost killing you.”
The son of Gun looked on.
“He would have cum, had he managed to bring that trident down on you.” Azazel beamed.
Yuo ruminated Iesu's eyes behind the slits of the Retarii's helmet. The last he saw of him alive, the love Iesu sent forth from that stare while he stood straddling over Yuo; he pondered, did Iesu sacrifice himself? That moment's hesitation, was it to give him time to strike? He guessed in the end Iesu just couldn't do it, at least for that split second. Or was it on purpose? He gave Yuo the upper hand, the first call. If he hadn't taken it, the trident would have been lodged in his throat. And Retarii ejaculate choking him like a cocktail mixed to his own blood. (He got bathed in excrement eventually.) Anyway, he'll ask his friend when they meet.
All it took was hair. DNA to resurrect the dead. Memories Azazel will reconstruct from historical recordings, interviews with those who'd interacted with Iesu and Yuo's own thoughts. Most importantly, Iesu would be how Yuo remembered him. Patience was key. You wouldn't want to rush. Take your time; get every ingredient right.
They entered Hellenne to a hero's welcome. Yuo's return to the Northern Hell, dynamite. Local hero homeboy. Fireworks the whole night. Nyaamah and Noah were treated to a royal parade and an exotic banquet followed by arena entertainment. Spilled blood for the pleasure of esteemed guests. Yuo faked enthusiasm. He'd had enough of coliseum rhapsody. Nyaamah instead was thrilled to life! This was better than war. It was purposeful, had meaning; she recalled daddy Lamech's and brother Tubal-Cain's heartless battles of power, the tears that rained on Sethians and Cainites; what benefit did they bring? It was arguably, definitely, better and more peaceful after she'd taken charge. Of course violence could not be obliterated; hence the games. Such a great idea. Directed aggression. Wrestling wouldn't do, some fatal flow of crimson is always in our appetite. Consumption. We eat animals against their will, even plants maybe; all for pleasure. That satiation to know we destroyed. Took a life. Gladiatorial glory is just leveling up. That same satisfaction which death of others grants. Give the public a bloodbath. Sell the story of gladiatorial prestige. Moreover, she had something the Hellennes didn't. A real god on her side, not just artificial gladiatorial national pride. Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country blah blah…a stupid storyline to die for. Lies and propaganda, brainwashed programming. She knows, having effectively employed fiction politically. Imagine, gladiators dying not for nationalism and some bronze bust erected as a memorial of recognition but actual tangible eternal glory. Gladiators got to fuck a lot alive; sell them the truth of a fucking forever afterlife!
She is aware Azazel is resurrecting Iesu; she is aware of commander Yuo's guilt trauma. Comforting him after sex like a good temple prostitute should, she hopes he can lay his past to rest. She wonders if a permanently erect Iesu proposed by Azazel will help. How could Yuo pour his heart out to a rigid turgid shaft to feel better, a flagpole forever raised? What more, Iesu's hard dick and saggy balls were the last things he saw of his best friend, not to mention shit and guts. How is any of these to help her man?
She'll ponder later. Right now the games are on. Blood, blood, blood! First out, feeding petty thieves to lions. Look how those idiots run. She laughed. Especially hard when a big cat took a bite of a malnourished bum. The skinny naked small-time criminal was lucky to get out of that snap alive with half his ass flapping about as he fled around like a bleeding chicken trying to take flight. Not that lucky the next time round as a lioness pounced on him and lugged his struggling figure across the theatrical floor until his marionette movements jerked to a limp corpse. Cheers. After the delinquent lunch and the animals speared back to their cages, clowns as drag entertained with vulgar jokes and obscene acts that culminated with a scripted hair-pulling altercation with one loose spontaneity gone awry wrong when one of the sissies lost his mascara and a testicle and another blinded by the four inch spike of a broken high heel. The other half of the purple pair was seen stuck in the posterior of a running drag queen as he clutched his squinting ass sprinting for the stables to the hilarious amusement of the audience. This was followed immediately by a leather and whips showcase of sadomasochism where willing fat members of the senate were publicly ‘punished’ by professional madames that made Nyaamah feel proud to be female.
The games then turned serious with a guillotine wheeled out. Still on the subject of the senate, an ex senator found guilty of extortion and preemptive murder was to be beheaded in the arena. The crowd cheered the decision and booed him, then cheered again and booed once more when he implored his innocence, and finally cheered as his curly head rolled and his horror-opened mouth ate the dust of the sandy grounds.
Suddenly there were loud roars all around the coliseum. Nyaamah enthusiastically recognized the audio pollution. Armourbugs. Though electric, they produce menacing decibels in artillery or turbo mode. Yuo said to her that no one was going to die for now, unless an accident occurred. It was just an exhibition. Souped up vehicles ramming each other and monster trucks clambering over the smaller armour coated cars. Two-wheelers, small, swift and dangerously bending round corners and squeezing between larger obstacles, manoeuvred past the bigger four-wheelers like cockroaches escaping slippers. Motorcycles they’re called, and Commander Yuo had taught her how to ride one back at Enoch city.
Trumpets then blared and anthems raised. The gladiatorial games proper are about to begin. Her host Mr. Gun tells her that they're in the middle season of the eliminations. There are sixty-four warriors left alive and over the weekend thirty-two duels will be held across the four major cities of Hellenne. This is where it gets exciting. The weaklings have been weaned off and only the tough and strong remain. It's a big affair, and Hell is honoured to host eight fights of death over two days. Mr. Gun who bequeathed Yuo’s good looks but who is now prosperously rotund mentioned that Hell is in a good position this season with about a third of the last sixty-four originating from their provinces, and of the one third competing, almost half have the privilege of home turf. Hell is packed with tourists and supporters from the other three regions. Fans.
Nyaamah asked what happens if the two warriors battling are from Hell.
“Oh, that happens all the time. Ultimately gladiatorial sport is individualistic. Fans like the warriors for who they are, the colours they bring, their fighting styles, their signature last strike to end an opponent etc. Of course there is regional pride involved if a championship contender is from your home state, and provincial pride if the duelers, especially if it's the final, are from the same region. Hell has a strong tradition of producing the ultimate warriors.” Gun beamed with pride as he nodded at his boy, adding and grandly pointing at Yuo, “Behold! The one and only champion of champions!”
His son returned a smile that could have been a smirk.
The games started. Ooo ahhh moments, build ups and climaxes, brutal deaths; they witnessed four fights that day, the highest ranked by the bookies from the Northern Hells was on, but alas! To the horror of the home crowd, his genitals flew ten feet into the air. Everyone, including him, knew it was over after the cock landed a foot in front of him and his descending marble-pouch in the capturing hands of a Neo Hellenne Amazonian. She teased and taunted him, pricked and punctured him with wounds even as he bled away at the groin. By the end he was just a lacerated hollow pitiful bleached-out blue-veined creature that collapsed to his own death unhampered. The stadium was dead silent. Except for the Neo Hellenne away-fans section. Nyaamah cheered in her heart for the Amazonian. Go grrl power! Then someone clapped. And another... And another, till the coliseum erupted in rapturous emotion. Victory is given where victory is due. The citizens of the Northern Hells cheered the Amazonian and honoured her with the victor's call. Their mangled wraith of a hero was carried off from the battling grounds with as much laurel as it was possible for one who'd lost his manhood. The Amazonian pocketed his gonads as a souvenir but allowed the decency of returning his severed penis for the reputation and bereavement of his family.
The games were finally over. But Yuo reached out his palm to place it over hers. He had a surprise for her. They brought out the gene edited Velociraptors she'd gifted the commander to the bug-eyed awe of the people. Then chains were dragged out. There was one final match. One for the sole purpose of entertainment. One commander Yuo and his father, Mr. Gun, had specially arranged for her.
The chains were pulling something large, and strong. Something that was pulling and fighting back. Something that didn’t want to be here at the coliseum. And making its presence felt. The crowd was perked. Waiting in anticipation. Whatever it was that was coming, it was going to battle the Velociraptors. The hungry dinosaurs, agitated by armourbugs revving, snapped at the vehicles as they zoomed past. Motorcycles circled till a dust cloud formed. The sound of iron rattling louder, and when the air cleared, standing there, staring sharp at the VIP box where Nyaamah and Noah were seated, was an extremely pissed Tubal-Cain in chains.
AI generated art prompted by author
Any similarities to persons and events are coincidental. Use of names of public figures, places and events are purely fictional and are not representative of them.