I don’t know which team ends up winning because they don’t come back in the same door they went out of. Or maybe they all died, who gives a shit. Everyone with a green bandana goes next and from the sounds of things upstairs, I’d guess they were fighting a really pissed off pack of shrieking bloodbaboons. Those things will rip your face clean off if you get within maiming distance. Glad I’m sitting this one out.

  Next up is orange. Six unlucky bastards that go up against something big that flies and takes them out in less than two minutes. Then in goes purple. No idea what those guys were fighting but it sounded gooey. And now all that’s left is red.

  I introduced myself to my teammates to pass the time during the slaughter upstairs. ‘Team Redheads,’ as no one but me calls us. I also sized each man up and ranked us all in order of least to most likely to die in the first thirty seconds—1: Me (obviously), 2: Garrick, 3: Trent, 4: Saiyin, and 5: Matt. That last guy is hopeless. In fact, I might just kill him myself and offer him as a snack to whatever it is we’re fighting against to appease it.

  The guard at the door yells out our color despite us being the only losers with bandanas left in the room. The five of us line up. Then before it’s game time, I ask my teammates, “So, any idea what they actually have us fighting in there?” They all just stand like a bunch of gawking dummies. “…No? Okay thanks.”

  The drum strikes and the doors swing open. The announcer is already in the middle of shouting about the mighty Gargantua and how thoroughly Team Redheads is about to get our asses handed to us. We run out and ignore the noise because it’s either this or get porcupined with crossbow bolts—and I don’t feel like giving these dickhead guards the satisfaction.

  Their arena is impressive, I’ll give them that. We sure don’t have anything like this back home. Standing in the center, I can actually feel the roar of the crowd. The seating area is horseshoe-shaped to allow room at the far end for a truly massive gate. About halfway up the seating area on my right is a big walled off section jutting out in the middle. I assume this must be the royalty box. It’s got a bunch of hoity-toity types milling about while they sip out of dainty, long-stemmed glasses with real upper crust energy.

  Seated in the big chair in the middle of the royalty box is a woman wearing a blood-red dress with black shit coming out of her head in all directions like antlers. The antler-things look like they might be shifting around, like maybe they’re not quite solid. I scan across the rest of the box until I see that sack of shit, Prince Travis. He’s got a bright teal suit on this time, holding onto the banister with one hand as he swirls a wine glass around in the other. He’s got one foot propped up on the bottom railing, leaning over to get a better look as he talks to a woman in a black dress who's standing next to him with her arms crossed. The way she’s dressed, you’d think she was here for a funeral. I guess maybe she is. Not far from those two is a man in a familiar red cloak, standing alone like a creep, looking sort of like a vampire. Hell, Ulric might actually be a vampire. It would honestly explain a lot.

  A rumble from the gate shakes the arena and informs everyone that the fucker behind it is ready to tango. Then one of my idiot teammates says, “Blimey, you think Gargantua's the one making all that ruckus back there?”

  “Shut up, Matt.” I’ve got Hellstorm in one hand and the shit sword in the other. No armor. Just this stupid bandana, a pair of boots, and the pants I rolled in with. The drumroll starts and I tell the rest of Team Redheads, “Everyone split up. Spread out as far as you can and stay away from the walls. If you get a shot at this thing’s back, take it. Just whatever you do, don’t get cornered.” My teammates nod and we all get some distance from one another. Then we wait. Ten seconds that feel like ten years. Then the drumroll stops, the gate plummets through the floor, and a two-story tall, purple lumbering monstrosity comes charging out at us.

  This thing looks so fucked up. Its arms are twice as long as its legs and it’s bounding on all fours across the arena like some giant demonic gorilla. It’s got two horns coming out of its forehead that point down at an angle and someone’s bolted a huge golden ring through the center of its nose. Probably why it’s so pissed off. The ring bounces up and down as it leaps from its feet to its knuckles and back to its feet again.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  As soon as it spots us, it lowers its head and goes straight for my number two, Garrick. Poor guy takes one swipe at the air before getting skewered through the chest by one of Gargantua’s horns. For a second, he looks like a human shush kebab. That is, until Gargantua stops to shake its head and Garrick’s torso splatters apart like spilled noodles.

  Trent bolts in my direction and the thing sets its sights on us next. I’m sprinting away from him as fast as I can while Trent gets stomped into oblivion under the monster’s knuckles. Looks like I really fucked that list of mine up.

  After watching two reasonably capable fighters get instantly pulverized, I’ve decided to take a stand against this giant purple asshole and go down swinging. Maybe someone will write an ode to me one day, who knows. I stop in the middle of the arena and push the button to let the chain on Hellstorm loose. Then I stare Gargantua down. It stares back, scraping the arena floor with one of its tree trunk-sized fists before shaking its head in a vicious, full-bodied roar. Then it barrels toward me. I’ve got a mind to go out in a blaze of glory so I charge right the fuck back. It ducks its head down to give me the Garrick-treatment and when I’m just about to get nailed by its horn, I throw the shit sword at its face and hold Hellstorm at my side with both hands. The monster reflexively ducks to the left to avoid the thrown sword as I lean back to let myself fall and slide under the right side of its chin. As I do it, I swing Hellstorm up with everything I’ve got. The ball soars in an arc and collides with Gargantua’s big veiny neck while I’m passing underneath. The spikes slice right through its skin and drag out a big chunk of purple flesh when it swings back down to the ground, bringing a cascade of blood along with it.

  Well, fuck me running. Turns out Ulric might not be such a dickless wonder after all. This thing must have some wicked enchantments on it. Shredded through Gargantua’s veins like tissue paper. Hell, this might even have the Kingsblade beat.

  Looks like that shut everyone up. Blood is forming a literal stream along the coliseum floor and now the crowd is in stunned silence. And that’s not even the best part. The brief quiet allows a single voice to cut through the arena. One I was convinced up til now I would never hear again. For just a second, before the entire place erupts like a volcano, the sound of my name being screamed out of the royalty box is all I can hear. I can’t make out any of the faces at this distance, but from the voice I can tell that the woman in the black dress jumping up and down cheering like a maniac is Piper.

  This thing isn’t through with me yet. It might bleed out eventually but before that happens I’m pretty sure it’s hell-bent on taking me down with it. I don’t know where my two surviving teammates ended up but it looks like I’m gonna have to do this a second time.

  It’s rearing back to charge at me again, doing the thing where it scrapes its front hand-paw-things against the ground while it roars like a goddamn hurricane. And then it’s off. It’s the twenty foot-tall raging bull from Hell and I’m the dumbass matador with a red bandana tied around my head.

  Thud.

  Pound.

  Thud.

  The entire arena shakes every time it goes from its feet to its hands. I run sideways, convinced it’s not gonna fall for the same trick twice. And then, in what might be the best stroke of luck I’ve had in my entire goddamn life, the monster slips on its own blood and goes careening through the arena on its side. The moment it’s off its feet, I double back to put it out of its misery. I run with Hellstorm in both hands and pull it back over one shoulder. Then in one last desperate attempt to make it out of this shitheap of a situation alive, I leap onto the thing’s front paw and catapult myself onto its shoulder and up over its head. As I’m passing over its big stupid purple face, I swing Hellstorm down and the mace goes right into the fucker’s eye. It splashes straight through and then yanks a big chunk of meat and eyeball and who-the-hell-knows-what out of the monster’s skull as it swings back around again.

  I roll down the front of Gargantua’s face and tumble along the arena floor while everyone in the arena goes completely fucking insane. Gotta admit, it would have been nice to have had this kind of reaction with some of the other monstrosities I’ve dealt with over the years. All I usually get is a satchel of gold and a pat on the back from the world’s drunkest king.

  I clamber to my feet, drenched in skull juice, panting like I just did three triathlons, and see none other than that hopeless fuck Matt sloshing through the filth toward me. He yells with a big dumb grin, “Looks like it’s just you and me standing now! Well done, chap! Good show!”

  I glance all around the arena. “What the fuck happened to Saiyin?”

  “Oh, he slipped on the monster’s blood and fell on his axe. He’s dead.”

  Yep, that sounds about right.