Perhaps it is the noise in the Colosseum that attracts the beast. Perhaps it is the smell of blood. 

Either way, a monster comes knocking. A monster comes out of the darkness of a moonless night, just hours from daybreak. The far edge of the world seems sanguine; the wine-red light of a tentative, peeking sun spills out across the desert but is not yet bold enough to stretch beyond the Colosseum’s abandoned walls. Not like this creature, drawn in as if searching for carrion. 

He drops down into the abandoned sands of the arena. He inhales the scent of blood already going stale, and sweat that has gone staler. There are no strong scents, no pull to suggest bodies and this distresses the beast. In the old days, when he had fought, there had always been bodies—

Now, in the arena, the memories flood him. Yes. There used to be food, always. And now there is nothing. The beast laments it, scuffling forward through the sand, dropping his three heads to search. Perhaps a scrap of flesh…

He jerks up his three heads at a distant clang. It comes from within the iron gates, where they had… they had once kept him, stuffed into a cage, drawn out bloodied to fight, and fight, and fight. 

Yet the old beast’s lips draw back into a trio of grisly smiles. He had… had he not been made for the purpose? And besides, the noise means—flesh.

He enters the tunnels past the arena through the gate left ajar. 

The manticore blinks away the torch-light that illuminates them, and his shape. It glints off his body; that of a lion, but impossibly larger. He has a stallion’s head yet it bursts, over-full, with canine teeth and split, cracked lips. The manticore’s tongue lolls out as he snuffs around another corner, twitching his scorpion’s tail. 

He begins to follow the freshest scent; it sweats, still, Solterra’s endless heat. Good. Good. The manticore does not know why a man visits his old haunts; there is more clanging. 

By now, Rufio might realise something is amiss. The crickets are silent. Although the blacksmith had been hired to come in during the early mornings to repair and sharpen weapons, he had yet to be disturbed in this task. The manticore comes around another corner of the elaborate tunnel-and-cage system, one designed for imprisoned slaves and beasts. Oh, he remembers it well, in the belly of the Colosseum. Yes, he had fought here, had lived here, during Zolin’s reign. 

“C-come out, aziz-am. You must be so alone—come out, come out, wherever you are—“ The manticore's voice is thick, and wet, and muffled by so many teeth. But it booms through the abandoned, fire-lit tunnels. He shambles deeper along, searching, seeking, nostrils flared and wide eyes glancing. 

@Rufio 

The day was hot and sticky, for though fall had come to Novus, Solterra didn’t seem to have gotten the message.  He hated this place – every inch of it.  He hated the sand, he hated the heat, and most of all, he hated the pious who prayed to a god that genuinely didn’t seem to give two licks about them.  They were blind, Rufio decided – blind to reality and blind to what was truly a god’s curse, being trapped in this desert.  Maybe they just didn’t know that life could offer so much more.  Neverland had been more – it had been perfect… but Neverland was gone, leaving nothing but the salt of bitterness on his tongue.

He sharpened the tools of war, finding peace in the mundane task of rubbing iron against flint, letting the chip on his shoulder fall as he worked.  Nearby, his hyena companion snoozed atop of some dusty blankets, chortling a bit in her sleep, and causing the blacksmith to smile briefly to himself (for no one was here to see).  At least he’d found her again.  He would have been lost without Asha by his side… it would have been too much to lose his home and his only companion too.

So lost in his thoughts is the boy that he nearly misses the hiss of an opening gate.  Curious.  Today, there wasn’t meant to be a fight in the Colosseum.  Laying down the sword which he sharpened, he moved quietly toward Asha, nudging her awake with a quiet hush.  Do you hear something?  He asks her telepathically, noting her hackles beginning to raise.

And that was all the warning he got.

The manticore turned the corner, its voice tinny and eerily cheery as it locks eyes with Rufio.  There is hunger within them, so he immediately knows that danger is eminent.  "What the fuck?”  Rufio’s exclamation is exasperated, even as he reaches to gather a handful of hot coals, flinging it at the creature’s face as he pushes past it toward the narrow door.  Asha, run!  

He could only hope that the singe of coals against its skin would give enough distraction for Rufio to escape the confines of his workroom, but the boy doesn’t wait to see.  Instead, he slings the newly sharpened blade against him, racing the clock as he slams the door closed to trap the manticore inside, knowing it would only buy him a short time.

For he knows this place is a trap, hopelessly tangled webs of basement halls beneath the stadium stage… and he knows too there was only one way out.  

Fight, or be destroyed.

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| "speaks" | @Official Day Account