The war-slaves began to laugh as well.
Low.
Hoarse.
Flecked with blood.
The nobles in the stands finally began to pale.
The young noble in red silk dropped the gold coins in his hand.
One by one, they rolled across the platinum floor.
No one picked them up.
Only then did the control booth react.
The shield pillars around the Bloody Sand Arena flared with blue-white light.
Turrets flipped out from the walls.
The beast gates began to rise.
The High Rider’s machinery started to restore order.
Some of the nobles breathed a sigh of relief.
The shields were up.
The turrets were armed.
The personal guards were ready.
Slaves running out of their cages were still just slaves.
The young noble in red silk forced a laugh, his voice sounding dry.
“I’m changing my bet.” “I bet the suppression team clears the floor within ten minutes.” This time, no one chimed in.
The next instant, three spinebeasts charged out of the beast gate.
Spiked metal armor draped over their shoulders, tubes feeding stimulants into the corners of their mouths, and their arched backs resembled siege engines wrapped in living flesh.
As the liquid stims pumped into their veins, their eyes burned crimson.
The first spinebeast crashed toward the war-slaves’ battle line.
Angron stepped out to meet it.
He didn’t wait for it to reach his people.
The giant beast lowered its head, charging with horns aimed straight at his abdomen.
Angron reached out and seized its horns.
*Boom!* The bloody sand collapsed under his feet.
The behemoth continued to push forward, its four hooves digging deep trenches into the sand.
It couldn’t budge him.
Angron looked down at it.
“You think you’re worthy of opening the show?” Raising both arms— The entire spinebeast was lifted bodily into the air.
The first genuine scream erupted from the stands.
Not of excitement.
But of pure terror.
Angron swung around, using the spinebeast like a massive hammer to slam it into the second one.
*Boom!* The two behemoths collided with a sickening crack of splintering bones that drowned out the hum of the activating turrets.
The third tried to flank them.
Angron grabbed the half-dead spinebeast in his hands and hurled it over.
The creature flew halfway across the Bloody Sand Arena, smashing the third beast back into the beast gate.
Half the gate collapsed.
Iron frames and masonry came crashing down together.
Three monsters that should have torn the pit-slaves to shreds had all fallen into the bloody sand in a matter of heartbeats.
This time, even the old noble stood up.
The turrets opened fire.
The first salvo rained down upon the war-slaves.
Angron ripped up a fallen iron plate from the beast gate, holding it up at the very front of the line.
Explosive shells slammed against the iron plate, detonating into a storm of sparks.
A few projectiles pierced through the cracks, tearing into his shoulder and flank.
Wounds tore open.
Fresh flesh burst forth to replace it.
Shrapnel was forced out by bulging muscle, clinking as it rained down onto the bloody sand.
He pressed forward directly into the barrage.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
Every step sank heavily into the bloody sand.
The war-slaves followed close behind him.
Iron plate ahead.
Guns behind.
Chainaxes covering the flanks.
They were not orderly.
They were still coughing up blood.
Some had hands that shook uncontrollably.
But they did not scatter.
Karrus raised his shock-spear, his voice roaring until it cracked.
“Stay behind him!” “Stick close!” “Don’t let those bastards up there stuff us back into cages!” Carbines and shock-spears began to fire back.
The war-slaves couldn’t hit the armored core of the turrets, so they aimed for the exposed conduits.
They shot the wall-mounted pivots.
They aimed for the exposed joints beneath the shield pillars that hadn’t fully sealed.
They were not an army.
Not yet.
But they already knew which way to point their blades.
Angron charged beneath the first row of turrets.
He swung the heavy iron gate-plate.
*Boom!* Three turrets collapsed along with a section of the wall.
The second row of turrets pivoted to target him.
He seized a collapsed support beam, ripped it out by its roots, and hurled it like a spear.
The support beam streaked across the Bloody Sand Arena, impaling two turrets clean through.
Sparks rained down like a waterfall.
In the back rows of the noble stands, people began shoving toward the exits.
But in the front rows, someone still shouted in desperate denial: “Where are the personal guards?” “Where are the High Rider’s bodyguards?” As if in response to their cries, the heavy doors at the four corners of the Bloody Sand Arena swung open simultaneously.
The Platinum Guard marched in formation into the arena.
Heavy battle-servitors followed closely behind, their mechanical legs stomping into the bloody sand as stub-cannons mounted on their chests began to spin up and warm up.
Standing behind the protective shield, the old noble forced himself to hold his ground.
“Enough,” he muttered to the aide beside him.
“Purge these malfunctioning assets.” Angron heard him.
He raised his head, glaring through the translucent barrier at the old noble.
The next instant, he snatched up a severed horn from a spinebeast and whipped it forward.
The horn spun whistling across the Bloody Sand Arena, grazing the shield and slamming into the barrier directly in front of the noble box.
The blue-white curtain of light shuddered violently.
The wine glass before the old noble shattered into dust.
Wine and glass shards splattered across his face.
He froze on the spot.
Angron raised a hand, pointing first to the shield.
Then to the bloody sand beneath his feet.
The message was clear.
*You will come down here, too.* This time, the old noble finally took a half-step back.
Seeing this, Karrus laughed, the sound raspy as if he were swallowing blades.
“They’re afraid!” The war-slaves saw it too.
The noble boxes were falling back.
The stands were falling into chaos.
Those who usually sat high above, deciding who lived and died with a toss of a gold coin, were showing fear before them for the very first time.
This was far more potent than slaughtering a hundred guards.
A dual-blade slave who had just been released stood at the edge of the floor.
He was supposed to have been today’s entertainment.
He was supposed to be torn apart by the three spinebeasts.
Now he stared at the beast carcasses on the ground, then looked up at the noble stands.
A few breaths later, he picked up his blades and walked toward the war-slaves’ battle line.
More pit-slaves stepped forward to join them.
The Bloody Sand Arena was no longer swallowing people down.
It was spewing out blades.
High above, the High Rider who had fled from the operating room finally spoke.
His voice resounded through the vox-speakers across the arena, thick with barely suppressed rage.
“Lock down the audience stands.” “Raise the inner arena shields to maximum output.” “Deploy the bodyguards.” “Separate Angron from the rest of the assets.” The inner arena shields began to descend.
The High Rider intended to trap Angron up front while walling off the war-slaves behind to be slaughtered at leisure.
Angron cast a glance at the shield pillars.
Then looked back up at the noble stands.
Good.
Then he would shatter the very thing they believed was safest.
He discarded the heavy iron gate-plate onto the ground.
He gripped a broken turret support beam with both hands.
Fury surged into his arms.
Not driving him to lose control.
But making him more precise.
Fiercer.
Faster.
He charged toward the first shield pillar.
A platinum guard tried to block his path.
The first had his cuirass shattered instantly upon impact.
The second was grabbed by his waist armor and hoisted into the air, hurled bodily against the base of the shield pillar.
*Boom!* The shield pillar shuddered violently.
Blue-white arcs of lightning crackled across Angron’s entire body.
Skin was scorched.
Then regenerated just as quickly.
Wrapping both arms around the column, he lowered his shoulders and braced his back.
“Come down!” A low growl tore from his throat.
The foundation shattered.
Bolts sheared off and flew out like bullets.
He uprooted the entire shield pillar right out of the earth.
The light barrier flickered wildly.
The protective shield over the noble stands lurched along with it.
The young noble in red silk finally broke, whirling around to flee.
But the rear exits were already closing.
The panicked crowd dissolved into a desperate scrum.
Angron swung the massive shield pillar.
He slammed it into the load-bearing guardrails beneath the noble stands.
*Boom!* A web of cracks exploded across the blue-white energy curtain.
Half of the guardrail splintered into ruin.
The shockwave knocked several nobles in the front row off their feet.
The young noble in red silk stumbled right into the fractured railing, screaming as his hands scrambled for a grip on the broken edge.
His hands were pale.
Immaculate.
His fingernails were dusted with gold powder.
He looked down and saw the bloody sand below.
Saw Angron.
Saw hundreds of war-slaves staring up at him.
“No—!” His fingers slipped.
He plummeted straight down from the noble stand.
*Thump!* His red silk robes crashed into the bloody sand.
Gold coins spilled out from his robes.
Rolling out one by one, landing in the pool of blood.
The entire arena fell silent, watching him.
The noble who had been placing bets moments ago now sprawled at Angron’s feet, trembling like a flayed hound.
Angron looked down at him.
He didn’t crush him right away.
He raised his head to survey the entire arena stands.
The nobles huddled pale-faced behind their remaining shields.
The war-slaves stood in the bloody sand, breathing heavily, eyes burning red.
Angron bared his teeth in a savage grin.
His voice was deep and resonant, rising above the gunfire, the screams, and the echoing roar of the entire Bloody Sand Arena: “Keep watching.” “The show isn’t over yet.”