This FICTIONAL story is intended for personal, ADULT use only, and only where local community standards permit. If you are personally offended by extreme themes of violence, do not read any further.

This work is intended for your personal use only. Please do not attempt to repost, sell, etc. without first getting the author's express permission.

 

Thank you.

Faibhar

Bad, Bad Company

Dawn flutters and marches, the lone crucifix the sole focus for the black-winged birds and an army of ants, their appetites for fresh carrion unrelenting. The gender of the corpse mattered little to avian and insectival diners intent on merely satisfying their hunger cravings. Obvious tortures inflicted prior to the stillness of the feast also were of no consequence to the food chain participants. By mid-day, Nature would reveal glimpses of bleached white bones in the now desolate arena

Some 3 Weeks Earlier…

“She was found nearby with escort and a friend.”

Tsunacius, leader of the marauding patrol, fingered the gold seal and serpentine clasp taken from the young woman's bicep and the royal ring removed from her forefinger. Holding the jewelry he keenly eyed the toned blonde. An enemy actually taller than he, the short leather tunic she wore doing little to disguise its owner's curves.

He almost absently said to his sergeant, “And the others?”

“Ambushed and shot by our archers. This one ran and then mightily fought our men until we overcame and brought her here.”

“These,” he said holding up the bejeweled belongings, “show you to be a princess. What is your name?” She fought the ropes binding wrists behind her back. Greenish eyes regarded her captor and with a voice devoid of any courtesy said, “Cyyerha, princess of Mannurs”.

Invaders had uncourageously killed her younger cousin, two of her best guards and trespassed on her territory. “As I suspected. Your people will soon know of your late return and send out parties in search.”

To his subordinate Tsunacius said, “Make preparations to leave immediately. Take her with us. We can return later with greater forces…Oh, and make sure that our princess here,” a smile sneered his bearded face, “is comfortable for the journey back. Pack her well!”

Bare knees pressed up against the leather bodice. The wooden walls barely held room for her. Sunlight extinguished with the closing of the lid, pressing her head further down. A pounding heart made the loudest noise as Cyyerha jostled for any purchase within the crate atop the cart. The land journey began.

Heat from exertion and the boxy confinement quickly increased. Were it but for small cracks in the lid blackness would prevail. Scant air prevented suffocation. Teeth gnashed. Clearly in bad, bad company…

Scant light from the cracks in the lid dimmed as one evening arrived. The air inside somewhat cooled. A sleepless night was spent in futile attempts to find any give in the walls. The motion of the crate stopped. Cyyerha sensed that her captors and she were stopped at camp.

For the next several days the motion of waves rocked underneath. A cool salt air proved relief from the muggy stale air of before. The confines remained claustrophobic. A sense of direction no longer mattered.

The rocking motion got heavier and the air cooler. Fatigue enveloped. All became dark and still.

To be continued…

Bad, Bad Company

“Let's see what cargo we have here, “ Tsunacius said as he and other men collected around the wooden box containing Cyyerha. Two of the men pried open the lid to reveal the unconscious woman inside. “See? She slumbers. Lift her out and revive the prisoner!” Hands reached in then lifted up and out of the crate their limp package. One of the soldiers fetched a bucket of water. He upended the contents onto the prostrate female who coughed and struggled to rise as the water splashed.

“This one is strong, as well as comely. Get her a cell. Standard rations, but run her everyday. Also test her mettle during the gladiators' workouts.” Tsunacius turned away and smiled. Privately he said, “Entertainment value for the coming games now has a new twist.”

Days of solitary confinement fueled by rancid portions mixed with running and training at the gladiator school ironically gave Cyyerha renewed energy. Iron bars of the cell at night steeled her resolve, and the daily diet alone was enough to make anyone wish to escape. From what she could see of the sun's position and the foreign-looking land, Mannursian search parties would never find her. If she was to escape alive, she would have to do it on her own. Each morning, before the day's heat and tribulations of the school, she would be run between the same two horse-mounted guards along a bridle path, the topography of which remained a mystery,

The filthy leather toga flapped and muscles ripped as each morning's run brought more and more awareness of her new position.

Seeing her chance on one early run caught the horse-riders off-guard. The one on the right was easiest. With a sudden twist, she cupped both hands under the nearest boot and lifted. Off balance, the enemy guard clattered off his saddle and the horse. As the other reached down to grab her in response, she pulled him forward by the wrist. Both riders thudded to the earth. Rapidly mounting the horse on her right, Cyyerha did not see the first guard who had clamored to his feet and now savagely gripped the bridle with one hand, drawn sword pointed at her in the other.

“You will find that disobedience here does have its consequences,” Tsunacius said later. Cyyerha tried to clear her head following the blow. Chains locked her wrists to her ankles. The gloom reminded her of the cell atmosphere except that a caldron nearby glowed with fiery light. She flinched as fingers lifted up the short leather skirt, narrowed her scarlet silk undergarment. Goose-flesh pimpled her otherwise blemish free right buttock.

“You had better bite down on this, for the sake of all of our ears.” Others joined his chortle. From a corner of one eye, Cyyerha saw a heated metal rod lift from out of the cauldron, biting harder on the wood between her teeth as she saw its glowing tip approach closer.

Eyes waterering and heart racing, her body jerked as the heated metal touched. Cyyerha tried to gag. She endured the rod slowly trace a line from the top of her right hip downward.

Knees buckled, but locked. Aside from the dull ache and throbbing sensation that traveled down her entire leg, she stood and hobbled as she was led back up and into daylight.

Nagging pain from the burn and foiled escape kept Cyyerha off of her usual gladiatorial game. A pronounced limp persisted. For the most part, trainees used wooden swords, practiced tumbles in the sand, and generally followed shouted instructions. That afternoon, she was to wrestle two men: one an older prisoner with a flabby body and grayish beard; and the other, a younger native man.

Cyyerha saw the younger as her most threatening opponent.

She feigned a pronounced limp and general weakness. The younger lunged first. Slipping past his bulk, Cyyerha forgot her earlier burn and kicked up at the older opponent. Her sandaled foot caught his left knee, easily dropping him. Spinning, she grabbed the native boy and flung him into the crumbled old man. Picking up a wooden sword, she swung mightily, hitting his temple. He lay on the ground bleeding and unconscious.

Others approached the whirling female with lustful curiosity. Her unwashed hair whipped around. Sweat drenched. Cyyerha threw down the sword, rolled and grabbed a nearby staff. The staff arched as the first newcomer came forward, wounding his thigh. Jumping on a cart, she gripped the rod harder and knocked a blade from another's hand. Leaping to the other side, Cyyerha lunged with the staff at one of the instructors, smacking him between the legs. Dirt sprayed as his feet came out from under him and he too fell, writhing as he clutched his groin, bellowing in pain.

“It has become apparent that you are slow to learn,” said Tsunacius. The remoteness of his voice and the coolness of an underground darkness so disturbingly familiar again brought shivers.

Realizing that once more she was bent forward and chained, Cyyerha fought the restraints as the fuzziness between her temples cleared. The same cauldron with its horrid glow flickered in the corner of an eye, although her bent position seemed new.

“To make sure you do learn, this time you will get two brands. Two on the other side.”

To be continued…

Bad, Bad Company

A feminine voice beckoned. “You are to come with me…” Eyelids parted. A pleasant-looking woman stood on the other side of the bars, the two guards flanking her offered the only apparent threat. Cyyerha stiffly got to her feet, shook off remnants of stale straw, and shuffled to where the other woman and guards waited. The cell door swung open, and she followed voluntarily.

They entered a room in which Cyyerha never had been. Tall marble walls splashed across with multi-colored murals sweated, yet the room temperature was the pleasant. Caryatids near the ceiling separated opened windows. Scented air delicately filled the interior. Dominating the center of the large room was a sunken tub. Around it, three other women dressed in wraps around their tops and hips worked over heated water in a bath. Clean towels lay atop a padded table. The male guards left.

The woman Cyyerha followed turned and began removing her dirty leathers. At first Cyyerha flinched, but then seeing that the woman meant no harm allowed her to continue. The other women came over to help, one unlacing straps on her calves and removing dirt encrusted sandals. The trio soon lifted off Cyyerha's silk undergarment.

Tentatively, she tested the bath water with her toe. Smiling on either side, two of the women helped her down into the water. Cyyerha at last relaxed as the soapy water covered her up to her neck. Exotic scents wafted all around. She easily forgot about her plight, and even the still painful burns.

Cyyerha lowered her guard this time. Oils and creams were gently massaged into her tired body. Razors so sharp and expertly wielded did their work without any nicks in places Cyyerha never before imagined.

Her triangle of light-brown curly hairs floated away to reveal denuded lips. They looked pale, darkened only by the reddish slit separating the two.

From the bath, she was led to the table. Face down, delicate fingers worked into her taut frame. Honey, avocado, and cucumber wafted forth. While others massaged her legs and back, another shampooed her hair. Still another manicured and then pedicured. Small hands rolled her onto her back. Cyyerha's opened eyes looked up to see the first woman, the one who awoke her in her cell. She also smiled, but not at Cyyerha's face. “You have lovely ones,” she said. Cyyerha lifted up her head and looked down her chin. The woman's pale hand drifted over Cyyerha's right breast, the tip of the stranger's nail lightly trailing around the enlarged pink aureole and then flicking the budding nipple.

Cyyerha lay her head back, and closed her eyes again. All pleasures were to be savored however they were found.

Oiled and perfumed, skin and hair dabbed dry, Cyyerha was taken off of the table. A full-length robe made of light, translucent beauty was draped on her. A slightly thicker belt, made of the same exotic material was cinched around her pinched waist. She was led to a wall where a shiny rectangle stood. A mirror. Cyyerha looked at her own reflection and saw that the weightless robe concealed little, yet somehow she was proud of what she saw.

Golden curls framed a pretty face: sea-foam green eyes, slender nose, high cheekbones and voluptuous lips, all leading to a narrow chin and long neck. The sheerness of the gown also displayed breasts that were to be envied and more…

Cyyerha was led to yet another room she had yet to see. Marble floors and walls here, as well. Yet, geometric patterns decorated this marble. Opulent rugs and other furnishings filled the room.

“Welcome.” Cyyerha froze at the sound she recognized. Until this point, she had almost forgotten about all of the horrors. With just one spoken word, those dark memories flooded back. Tsunacius stood in one corner. A clean shave did little to lessen his evilness. She instinctively covered her arms over her chest. Tsunacius smirked and stood relaxed in a robe of shiny midnight-blue with silver trim. “You look wonderful, but must be famished. Unfortunately, certain precautions left us no choice but to remove all eating utensils. Feel free, though,” he said with a grand sweep of his hand, “to help yourself. It is all prepared for you.”

Platters of meats and fishes simmered on a low table. Cyyerha slowly lowered herself to its level. Resting a hip on one of the rugs next to the table, Cyyerha suspiciously eyed the food, drink, and Tsunacius. She timidly tested a dish. Convinced of no trickery, she then rapidly began to devour the meal.

Sated, she leaned her back against the sofa just as Tsunacius lifted her by her hand. “Now's hardly the time to rest. Plus, I have something else for you…” The base of her neck chilled as she felt the coldness of thin metal. Again peering down, she saw the necklace consisted of a large emerald pendant. “Turn around, I wish to see more of you,” he said. “And allow me to help part this robe of yours.”

The candlelit marble geometric patterned walls, plush furnishings, sumptuous dinner, all swam before Cyyerha. Her mind clouded. One vision remained abundantly clear: Tsunacius stood before her opening up her gauzy robe. Fury vanquished all else. Cyyerha threw her knee at the grinning Tsunacius. At the same time swung her arm. Her nails scratched his cheek, Blood spurted. She pushed Tsunacius backward. He crashed, tumbling over the sofa. Grabbing a small end table, she threw it at him as he fell. Pieces of wood splintered over him and the floor. Powerful legs leaped over the upended furniture and stomped his melon belly. Her landing foot caused a great gasp. Tsunacius rolled on the floor away from Cyyerha. Four guards burst into the room, swords drawn and pointed at her. Her attack ceased. Panting, she saw that she was unarmed and out-numbered.

Tsunacius groaned. Holding one side of his face with bloodied fingers, he rose. Regaining dignity remained he said, “I'll take those,” and ripped the emerald necklace from Cyyerha. “And the robe, as well.” She struggled at first, but he easily tore off the flimsy fabric. Cyyerha stood naked. She wore only the sandals she had been given. To the men he said, “This one attacked me! She deserves death on the cross tomorrow. But for now, take her away. Enjoy at your pleasure.” His slimy voice intoned and shiny robe rustled. “Oh, and torture this one tonight. Just enough…” Tsunacius leered and slapped Cyyerha, rocking her head from side to side. “I shall supervise…”

To Be Continued…

This FICTIONAL story is intended for personal, ADULT use only, and only where local community standards permit. If you are personally offended by extreme themes of violence, do not read any further.

This work is intended for your personal use only. Please do not attempt to repost, sell, etc. without first getting the author's express permission.

Thank you.

Faibhar

Bad, Bad Company

Perspective from close to the center gave an improved sense of dimension. The arena was not massive. From the high wall circumventing the floor climbed tiers crowded with raucous spectators, maybe around three-hundred and shaded by a sort of circular awning. Clearly those in the stands were protected, and those on the arena floor exposed.

Panting near exhaustion, Cyyerha eyed her surroundings. Resting on her knees actually provided relief. The beam on her back so heavy and awkward at first now seemed a part of her. Protest was out of the question as hands eased her and the attached wood to the ground.

Shadowy shapes loomed partially blocking the slate-colored sky above. Cyyerha inhaled deeply. The sack scratched with the rise and fall of her wetness. Hair and head in sand mattered little – it simply felt good to lay back for a moment's rest. Half-way along her outstretched right arm ran the tattered weave. Hands from one of the shadows untied the rope around her wrist. The pale wrist and palm were turned upward. Horns and cheers in the distance blared.

A dark shape swiftly arced overhead. Explosion shot the length of her arm, shattering an almost restful universe. Cyyerha's head jerked in the direction of the upturned wrist. Many other hands pressed her down as she fought to react.

Another scream choked her throat with the second blow. She wanted to twist away, legs thrashed, the teeth smashing fire in her right arm begged for freedom and yet she was stuck. Cyyerha gulped for air. Instinct forced her to see what she already knew too well. A spike rose from her upturned wrist, its gnarled iron shaft pinning her to the wood. Tributaries of blood bubbled and flooded at its base.

Earlier…

The escort of guards from Tsunacius's place made room between the collected others. Uniforms and armor rattled as bodies impatiently rustled. The original four securing his bedroom had swollen to at least twenty. Masculine noises murmured approvals at her entrance. Knives sliced through straps attached to her sandals. Cyyerha tried to stand calmly, nude and surrounded as she was.

The spit and crackle of the fiery coals were unmistakable and yet the room had changed. The gloom had grown in size. More were present, too. Torches added flickering light that danced amongst rocky walls and threatening enemy. Smells of pitch mingled with sweat and worn uniforms.

“Release her.”

“Here….allow me.” Tsunacius took the lead rope leading from one corner ceiling, fondled her left breast and then tied a noose snugly between its softness and the boniness of her ribs. He did the same with the other. “Now you may take the rope, and let us see just how mighty your really are.”

Cyyerha gasped. Instinctively, she grabbed the angled ropes. She lifted. Only her toes touched the floor. She grappled more rope to lessen the massive pressure. Inching upwards, Cyyerha clutched for more. Her feet sought in vain any purchase with the floor.

Legs kicked out, then merely hung. Knuckles whitened, muscles strained. Already pink aureolae disappeared into the clouding hue of ballooning surrounding tissue. Veins seemed to pop. Teeth clenched. Once admired facial features contorted. Sweat rained down from her hairline.

“Pretty good,” he said. “so far…” She grunted in reply. Her audience grew more restless. Circulation virtually cut off, her chest turned an unhealthy shade. Nipples, once pink, now jutted as two black points. Flat seas of deep purple surrounded them. Reddish-purple balloons seemed to burst as they thrust upward. Cyyerha's sweaty face and neck roared with the effort. Biceps shook as they, too, seemed ready to explode.

“However, let's see how you do with this…” Tsunacius swung the snaking leather whip. Cyyerha recoiled and cried out. Her tight-grip slipped. Thick coils already darkened by too much sweat, shook over her shoulders. A welt reddened across her stretched mid-section. Sweating hands desperately shifted for grip. Trickles of blood seeped from between clenched fingers.

Another lash encircled her hips. The second strike caused Cyyerha to cry out, and again slip on what had become two lifelines. Her breasts pointed impossibly upward. Beads of moisture merged and coursed down curves and ridges forming sparkling rivers and streams.

Tsunacius stepped behind the hanging figure. He aimed for the shiny vertebrae at the small of her back. The whip hit, and again Cyyerha's hands slid. This time, her head remained lowered, rocking from side to side, trying to shake away the inevitable and concentrate all energy to her supporting arms. Upper shoulder muscles vertically shifted beneath taut skin.

They attracted Tsunacius's interest, but he aimed his next blow at the softer backs of her thighs. All present heard more of a yell than the previous cries. This time arms so courageous, conceded. Too heavily taxed, they draped helplessly alongside Cyyerha's burned hips.

Tsunacius returned to face the limply hanging princess. Her face now downcast, shrouded by soaked hair, head barely moving. Large breasts pointed still higher, now uniformly black globes. Glistening crimson rose and fell over sweat. “Take her down. Over to the table…And let there be no doubt just who is to be first.”

”Or is it ‘whom'..? I can never seem to remember.”

Wrists manacled behind her and chained to the wooden legs below, Cyyerha's head hung over one end her bent neck dividing pinioned arms. Hips proffered themselves at the opposite end. Tsunacius parted the long thighs, grazed fingertips over the shaven lips, and then, plunged his erect cock into the slit, forging through the tight canal, rupturing Nature's barrier. Cyyerha spat screams, rattled in her bondage, and tried to fight away what was not to be denied.

Tsunacius plunged deeper, raping Cyyerha of her virginity. He dipped the tip of an index finger in the spatter of blood issuing from between the thighs. Using the same finger, he swiped it across mumbling lips. With the same hand, he then patted the churning mid-riff, gazed briefly at mottled breasts gradually returning more to their natural color and said, “You have now been deflowered my princess.” Tsunacius glanced around at the men energetically crowding and said, “Just a taste of what is yet to come…”

“Make sure she gets at least a few hours rest,” Tsunacius said mockingly as he left the chamber. “She'll need every bit tomorrow.”

Grogginess brought on by shock eased. Detail gradually returned as Cyyerha hung from the cross. Gladiators resumed what they were doing before. Draped in animal pelts they scurried about in armed combat. Metal clanged. Cyyerha's head had never before ached or felt so heavy. On slightly raising her chin she saw Tsunacius cheering with others. Below soldiers used staffs to rip off what little she still wore. Cyyerha hung naked, clothed in little more than pain, concentrating on the simple act of breathing, in itself, so laborious. Any panic of being nailed to the cross became history.

But Before…

As their superior exited several worked without hesitation on Cyyerha's restrained head. A pipe end of a funnel was inserted between lips and into her mouth. One pinched her nose. Several began to masturbate into the wide round opening leading into her gullet.

At the other end of the table, Cyyerha's long legs were elevated, calves held on the shoulders of the second in command. Despite advanced age most there approved of his muscled virility. His stout piston vigorously pumped into Cyyerha.

One of the first with the funnel began to ejaculate. Sperm flew into the opening and down the shaft. Other white streams followed. Cyyerha made unintelligible noises of protest, attempting to free herself from the lodged pipe and its awful contents. The gargled protests went unheeded.

Her throat slid up and down as Cyyerha was forced to swallow.

Later Cyyerha was moved. Her position changed. She remained on the table, but no longer on her back. Sickened by previous tortures weakened. She offered little resistance and repeatedly taken from behind. Eventually, there no longer became any need for restraints. Cyyerha docilely allowed herself to be man-handled throughout the night.

To Be Continued

This FICTIONAL story is intended for personal, ADULT use only, and only where local community standards permit. If you are personally offended by extreme themes of violence, do not read any further.

This work is intended for your personal use only. Please do not attempt to repost, sell, etc. without first getting the author's express permission.

Thank you.

Faibhar

Bad, Bad Company

Ringing the top of the arena wall ran a sculptured stone barrier builders designed for more than mere cosmetics. The barrier prevented wayward spectators from falling down from atop the wall. Three ruffians ran to a portion atop the wall they knew to be in disrepair.

The shabby figure making a tortuous round of the arena floor hardly prompted the youthful haste. Instead, theirs was a project to further loosen stone atop the wall before the beam-bearing condemned arrived underneath. Keeping an eye on her approach, the teens feverishly kicked away at the barrier until a large section broke free. All hefted the piece just as their intended target passed below. Their swift actions proved timely.

Tsunacius cursed the servants, the gods, his company – anyone in earshot. Obviously clear by their boos and cat-calls, the need for instant gratification for this crowd was boisterously announcing itself. The demand to see female flesh displayed overwhelmed all else. Who among them considered that his men were at this moment shredding away and that very soon their lustful appetite was to be fulfilled? But nooo, they demanded it now and not later.

Swearing his toga kept tangling, Tsunacius frustratingly broke free. Standing and weaving around to placate the horde, he gestured for patience. The complaints continued. For a moment, Tsunacius doubted his own magisterial visage, wondered if the spectators did not obey because the muggy weather had made his makeup run showing the scratches on his cheek and the developing bruise, and somehow all this diminished his authority.

Where the nearest retreat with the most dignity became more and more relevant as his further exhortations went ignored when suddenly, the boos changed to cheers. Tsunacius spun around. He could not fool even himself into thinking that the cheers were for him. Tsunacius steadied himself and looked back just in time to see the remaining remnants of Cyyerha's rags cut free.

It was she and not he they were cheering! Crowd control concerned no longer. His jaw dropped. A stunned Tsunacius sat back down.

Yes the darkening overcast blended the contours, contrast was nil. Sky or no sky, Tsunacius vividly recalled each and every curve. Only he perceived each valley, slope, ridge of her. All of the others could not possibly see what he saw. The nude below had succumbed to him. He was her first. Too bad the creature could not be saved…How lovely she had looked in his bedroom. How exquisite she felt. A pity all of that beauty must be so cruelly lost. And his men! Tsunacius knew well that those brutes knew nothing of tenderness. Signs of their relentless abuse proved that much.

The jagged stone dropped and hit. Cyyerha fell forward, sprawling under the rough-cut beam, face half-buried in the sand. The defacto stone masons above scattered. Luckily for her, the rock had struck just slightly off its intended mark. The unfinished wood absorbed most of the blow. Two guards bent and lifted her up by the ends of the cross-beam. She spat out sand, tried to blink her eyes free of its grit. Bark smashed by the stone scattered around where the three struggled to reassemble.

Cyyerha bent under the weight of the log despite aid in regaining her feet. Her arms remained extended out and behind the wood. The carpenter who prepared the beam planed only the side pressing against her neck and into her shoulders. The rest of the bark remained, except for where the falling stone had hit. The coarse garb she wore, fashioned of the same material usually used for hauling supplies, proved to be nothing more than a rectangle, a slash in the middle for her head. A short length of rope pinched her waist. Uneven sides flapped apart. Rounded profiles immodestly flashed. Tops of thighs began where rag ended. Helped to her feet, she resumed staggering the outer perimeter in and under strain. One of the guards mercilessly prodded with the swing of leather as with a common pack animal.

Despite all, shouts for more filled the stadium.

Fighting in the center resumed the clank of swords and armor barely heard above the crowd noise. The lone female, however, distracted most. Special delight reigned when she struggled just beneath a particular section in the stadium. Stains in browns and grays darkened the crude apparel. The unruly hair atop her head no longer held the color of sunlight. With arms and legs she fought for balance. Skin that did show flexed dully under the overcast skies. Stumbling and falling, she was helped by the men away from the wall toward the center of the arena where a longer timber lay.

Soldiers untied arms and lifted off the cumbersome weight. Tufts of sand kicked out as bare knees and hands tried to brace the fall. A failed attempt. She sprawled on the ground.

Cyyerha mentally challenged image of the encroaching cave. She was not prepared to be devoured by its perceived menace. The blinding pain as nails pierced her arms and feet and nailed her to the wood were distant memories. How long it had been, she did not know. All that mattered was not to be swallowed by the cavern's abyss. To live she would once more try to allow air into her lungs. To do so meant relying on already impossibly strained arms and legs. The pressure she knew. She must repeat the process. In order to sip life-giving air she must raise her body up. Muscles woodenly shook and ached in protest. The agony of shifting weight from her wrists to the nails in her feet was too unbearable to contemplate. Cyyerha screamed again. The abyss came closer. Its black interior beckoned. Cyyerha's body slumped. Her chin slumped to her chest. Limbs loosened their determination. Eyes closed in a weary invitation to eternity.

A cool plop slid off the top of one breast. Another her head. More fell. Cyyerha stirred. Weary eyelids parted. Rain hit everywhere. The shower drenched the arena, her body and the bemused gladiators. Water! Renewed life infused Cyyerha. She needed drink. Tilting her head back, the rain wet her face, but the back of her head knocked against wood. The upright prevented rain from falling directly between her parched lips. Angling her neck to the side, the back of her head slid. Ignoring the smear of hair matted to her cheek Cyyerha gulped as the fresh rain poured in.

The cross shuddered. Peering between glistening breasts and thighs, Cyyerha saw a fallen gladiator, his animal pelt soaked as she. He hit the cross's base, shaking the wood. His fall splashed sand and mud up her shins. Hygiene represented the least of her worries at present, but…she could not feel the coolness on her legs. They were numb.

Feelings in her limbs or no feelings at all, the need to take another quick breath urgently made itself apparent. This time, Cyyerha gritted her moistened teeth, tightly clenched her jaw, and poised her leadened muscles to help her make the shift upward. Perhaps because of the renewed energy, Cyyerha wailed louder than before. She raised herself up and stayed up longer. She took three, not one, fast gasps for air before sliding back down.

Refreshed, the threatening “cave” with its gaping maw now seemed smaller, and less inviting. Pleased, Cyyerha turned skyward and let the falling rain wash away much.

Later that same afternoon, the downpour departed as soon as it arrived. A rainbow appeared in the distance. Sultry winds gusted. The circular cover high above the top tier provided shade for those in the stands but for years weathered an increasing amount of leaks. Barely a third of the spectators milled about. They fortunately had not sat where rain had dripped down, but since arena fighting ceased because of wet conditions, they too were exiting.