Fools, these Mortals

Viola Chapter Eleven

Roaring thunder of manly laughter awakened my slumbering brain. My head felt heavier than a boulder as my eyes opened. Slowly, I sat to collect my shattered mind, until my vision cleared. The thick smell of smoke from the fireplace floated like thick diseased miasma. The stench of sweat and ale almost caused a small coughing fit. Crowds of blurry male silhouettes gathered around a railing; all were gazing below. Occasionally, snarls from wounded beasts ignited the men's bloodlust and cheers. Some I recognised from the ship, and glancing behind to find the entrance door, more faces came in. Mentally, I counted as many as I could identify from the ship. Phantom relief cooled my sweat as I managed to get past twenty-five, but there were too many men cramped in the space to count further. Smacks of flesh hitting flesh reverted from below, where the men were spectating. What kind of entertainment were they watching? Tables were scattered around; bunks climbed the walls at the side of the chamber, blankets lay abandoned over their edges. Creating an almost drape effect across the walls. Dull amber light lit the room to its grim reality. Skinny sets of stairs led up a wall to a door. One window was disguised by the darkness outside.

"The boy's awake!" one of the men shouted.

Before I could even attempt a thought, multiple rough hands snared my arms and hurled me to my feet. I didn't have the strength to fight them off. Too much blood had left me to summon any fight. Heaving me through the crowd of men, I was shoved ungraciously to the barrier. An ale was forced into my hands, and from their harsh movements, it wasn't long before the alcohol drenched my hands. Breathing heavy breaths, I focused my eyes on my ale to fight against the thickness suffocating my conscious thoughts.

"Come on lad, you need to watch this." My neighbour clasped a rough hand onto my shoulder, securing me to watch their sport.

Below the servants' quarters was a ring. In the centre of the sand stood a muzzled vampire. Standing a little over six foot, bald, and straight plain features. Dressed in mouldy rags that clung to his legs. The muzzle covered most of his transparent facial skin, but the deterioration reached the circles of his eyes. Never before had I seen a creature so emancipated and clearly wounded. Black blood stained his fragile skin, clotting around his ankles. Lash markings branded his back. Various wounds across his body also had blood trickling over them, highlighting each rib and stern muscle group the creature possessed.

Stalking the vampire were two of the criminals that were sold alongside me. The ones that didn't taste good enough to be useful. Armed with dull, rusty, steel swords, the men traded blows with the vampire, trying to create an opening through his defences. The vampire had his claws to defend himself, and clearly weakened, the match was more even. Flesh hit flesh as cheers came from the surrounding men. Strangely, the leaked blood from the men's open wounds did not entice the vampire to attack. The muzzle was the barrier preventing that fatal strike of fangs. Each droplet that stained the sand was ignored. It was soon apparent that even with thirst pushing the vampire further into madness, the men couldn't overpower the beast.

After a series of parries, the vampire quickly disarmed the men and broke the arm of one. Collapsing to the floor screaming, the vampire focused on the fleeing human. Attempting to climb from the pit, the human was snatched from the wall as the vampire continued to beat his body. Agile and balancing on the wall, the vampire beat the man as they hung, precariously clinging to sparce ledges. The human couldn't even defend himself, risking a high fall. Blood stained the wall of the pit as the audience bellowed their approval for the entertainment. The vampire graciously fell, landing nimbly to the sand, leaving behind an effigy of his bloodied victim sticking to the wall from the intense pounding of flesh.

It stalked over to the last weeping man trying to crawl away, his mouth constantly moving. Speaking to the beast to show him mercy. The vampire didn't. A screech came through the muzzle when the vampire pounced onto the man and sufficiently broke his neck. The men in the audience cheered and hooted at the deaths of two men. Clanking of beers and groans of hearty drinking deafened the crowd from the last gasps of breaths from the dying man. Throughout the whole spectacle, my heart hadn't stopped racing. Even with the vampire weak from thirst for a prolonged period of time, man was no match. Armed or not. There was no way to defeat them.