NOVEL FROG Chapter 10: The Critical Mass
The crowd erupts.
In Munera’s ever-changing colosseum, another new and thrilling spectacle unfolds as seven formidable gladiators, each representing one of the seven prominent races - human, elf of both types, dwarf, orc, fairy, and vildt - prepare to engage in a free-for-all battle to the death. The arena has undergone a staggering transformation once again, with its landscape now resembling a volcanic hellscape, with fire and brimstone providing a dramatic backdrop for this high-stakes confrontation.
The tension in the air is palpable as the gladiators steel themselves for combat once again, aware that today’s show matters in a very significant way. Today is the first time, in theory, that someone can finally win enough points to leave the arena forever. The fairy champion, Frejwald, who has become a crowd favorite for his sterile cruelty, has breached ninety-five champion points.
— The arena rumbles, quaking. Magma spews out in all directions, roaring just as loudly as the cheers of the crowd that erupt with the same violence.
As the signal for battle is given, all fighters spring into action.
The human warrior, a man with a large shield he has had since day one, charges forward with an air of determination etched on his face. He deftly navigates through plumes of scorching steam erupting from fissures in the ground while pressing forward with expert footwork like a riot-control soldier stepping over burning rubble, closing the gap toward his first opponent.
Meanwhile, the elf archer, Vilalae, displays her agility by leaping between volcanic rocks jutting out of the molten terrain. With each graceful bound, she unleashes a barrage of deadly arrows aimed at her opponent, the man with the shield. Arrows thud against his barrier, which seems like a useless gesture at first, until the crowd realizes that she isn’t trying so much to shoot the man as she is trying to make him lose his footing. Each impact sways the barrier somewhat, causing him to slip dangerously near the magma pits.
Thick boots slap against the stones nearby as the dwarf fighter remains unfazed by the searing heat as he swings his enchanted warhammer, bought with ten champion-points, through billowing flames. He’s allowed to use the weapon for as long as he wants and in every fight and contest from here on out, for his investment, rather than having to rely on the caches of low quality weapons and arrows spread around the arena. A roar comes from across from him. “Get out of my way!” barks a loud voice, barreling his way.
In contrast to his smaller counterpart, the colossal orc berserker embraces chaos in all its forms. He barrels headlong through torrents of lava without hesitation or fear, straight toward the substantially smaller dwarf that had started straight across from him. The two of them arc their weapons back, preparing to meet in the middle.
— A volcanic spout erupts next to them, obscuring their silhouettes from the crowd, which has gone wild already, leaning over the edge of the arena and hollering. Slimes and skeletons work their way through the feverish crowd, selling and cleaning messes at the same time.
Hovering above this fiery mayhem is the fairy mage Frejwald, who effortlessly weaves intricate spells to manipulate his surroundings while evading incoming spells flying his way. At this point, people have learned that Frejvald likes to stay out of group fights, only to swoop in at the last minute and claim victory like a buzzard. This has made him deeply unpopular among many of the champions he has stolen victories from at the last minute. It’s reached a point where people will go out of their way to target him, even if it isn’t convenient. His nimble fingers dance through arcane gestures aimed at tipping the scales in his favor. Ice and water crackle and crystallize, manifesting high above the burning arena, near the distant ceiling of the underground chamber, as he works on his plan for victory.
Simultaneously stalking him in silence is the enigmatic vildt assassin, whose camouflaged form allows her to blend into the ashen landscape. The half-human, half-black cat member of the wild species stalks the fairy, darting from shadow to ashen shadow and picking up the scattered weapons that the dungeon-core has placed here for them. She patiently bides her time, watching for the perfect opportunity to strike with lethal precision using her twin daggers, occasionally throwing a few odd knives at that damn fairy. She can’t stand him. Because of him, she got fourth place last time instead of third. That cost her a good amount of points that she needed.
As the battle rages on, these six gladiators violently vie for supremacy. With each clash of steel against steel and spell against spell, there is no room for error or hesitation if they wish to survive this perilous contest. Magma flies across the arena as an enchanted arrow flies up past Frejwald, striking into the massive ice-crystal that he is building up in the air over the arena, next to the dangling cages for special seating. A chunk of the ice breaks off as a crack runs through it where the arrow hit, the off piece falling into a magma pool below, causing a violent spout of smoldering magma that splashes down into the seating area, horrifically burning dozens of viewers to death.
— The crowd all around the arena cheers even louder, going wild.
Munera watches in awkward silence as the viewers die their gruesome deaths and then sends the skeletons over to clean up the mess before it hardens.
“I’ll just resurrect them… no big deal…” mutters the dungeon-core awkwardly to itself.
The colosseum’s audience watches with bated breath as this titanic struggle unfolds before their eyes, fully engrossed in the raw intensity and heart-stopping suspense brought forth by this fiery battle. Every clash echoes with a deafening roar, shaking the fragile arena, which exemplifies the sheer force of will possessed by each participant. Pieces of rock break apart as sections of the floor start to drift over the magma below, creating several islands throughout the arena. The transformed arena, already burning hot, has become a veritable inferno as the destruction wears on, its landscape now twisted into a nightmarish hellscape that the contestants love.
— Munera watches as the screaming orc flops around in the magma that he has fallen into, burning alive in a horrific spectacle as he sinks below the molten rock, his flesh melting from his bones, which also melt.
This is what love looks like, right? Yeah, this seems fine. Munera observes contentedly.
Magma churns and bubbles beneath the cracked ground, with rivulets of molten rock snaking their way across the battlefield like ravenous serpents eager to consume anything in their path. Fiery eruptions sporadically explode from hidden vents, showering participants with fragments of burning rock that hiss and sizzle as they rain down upon their beleaguered forms. The air is thick with acrid smoke that sears the lungs and stings the eyes, an unrelenting miasma that threatens to suffocate those who dare enter this treacherous domain.
The dwarf, who had managed to trick the orc, knocking him into the magna, falls over himself as a spout of burning, poison gas erupts in his face. His eyes liquidate, followed by his tongue. The gargling mess of a man with a smoldering beard clutches his face, unable to scream because of the odd liquid in his throat, as he falls over, choking and dying.
— An arrow cracks through his skull from above, putting an end to him. A thin shadow jumps from one crumbling wall to another, dodging ice crystals that are flying after her. The crowd goes wild.
Above this scorching crucible, seething plumes of blackened ash coil upwards towards a ceiling stained crimson and black by the flames below. The very atmosphere itself shimmers with heat, distorting reality as it warps and bends in response to this elemental onslaught, as the underground chamber itself becomes an oven. Sweat pours down every face and appendage as people are soaked to the bone both inside and outside of the arena.
This makes for excellent drink sales.
Munera pushes several more skeletons into the seating area, carrying containers of cooled drinks. It has learned from the merchants that, while water would be the responsible thing to sell, ale is the wise thing to sell.
People are thirsty, so they’ll buy it to quench themselves. The inebriation will make them wilder, which not only enhances the mood in the arena but also makes them spend even more on more drinks and food!
Although it does also lead to some unfortunate behavior in the public seating area from people soaring high on adrenaline, violence, and alcohol, but that’s just a part of the show, it supposes. What happens underground stays underground. Humans just seem to be wired this way. It had forgotten.
In contrast to that debauchery, moments of haunting beauty emerge within the arena itself. Streams of ruby lava cascade down jagged embankments before crashing into incandescent pools that ripple and dance like liquid rubies beneath a blood-red sun. Geysers of steam burst forth from hidden crevices in a frothy, poisonous mist, catching stray beams of firelight to create shimmering prismatic displays that are as mesmerizing as they are deadly. Despite the undeniable danger posed by this volatile environment, there is no denying the sheer spectacle it provides for those watching from afar.
The crowd goes wild as two figures tumble over one another. The assassin and the archer have inadvertently run into one another. The two gladiators, both surprised, have grappled with one another and are now tumbling, punching, scratching, and biting at one another, which the crowd loves watching, given the droning of their swarm cries audible in the resonating chamber.
“Get off me!” yells the assassin, trying to reach back with an arm that has a knife in it. The archer grabs her wrist as the two of them roll around a pile of black rock, her legs wrapped around the assassin’s back as the two of them fight over the blade. The assassin’s other knife has flown off, landing in the magma.
Nearby, within a series of roofless ruins, the human warrior and dark-elf crusader race towards one another, the ground beneath their feet trembling like a wild beast desperate to break free of its confines. The dark-elf’s blade flashes with each step, reflecting the infernal glow of molten earth as he closes in on his target. The human shieldswain’s eyes narrow, his keen gaze locked onto the rapidly approaching figure before himself as the two of them collide. An enchanted glow cuts through the air, sending a holy-imbued sword smashing into the tower shield, which at this point has become nearly super-heated. Sparks violently fly out in all directions like a rain of fireflies borne upon an oppressive wind; light and heat dance together as rivals born from the same flame.
Shockwaves ripple through their bones and down into the ground below the ruins, which cracks and breaks. The loosening stone breaks apart, crumbling the ruins as more islands emerge. The two fighters begin to drift apart, both of them jumping from island to island to reach one another, more determined to knock each other into the magma than kill the other outright, as it seems easier.
Above all of this, the fairy mage Frejwald hovers over the deadly tangle of limbs and steel; his fingers weave elaborate patterns in the air while he chants arcane incantations barely audible over the cacophony below. A burst of ice erupts from his palm as he works on his device to end the fight in one shot.
“Idiots,” he mutters, shaking his head. It’s like always. They’re all too busy down there with each other. Even if they remembered him at the start of the fight, they’re so deep into their fights and their bloodrush that he has completely fallen out of their minds. This is perfect. He only needs a minute longer, and this will be over; his spell will be ready.
Meanwhile, down below, the elf archer and the vildt assassin are still grappling with one another. Displaying a mastery of stealth and deception, Haschasch finally slips behind her graceful opponent and strikes with the dagger aimed at the vulnerable space between the elf’s thin armor. The elf archer cries out in pain as the blade bites into flesh. It looks like it’s over for her.
— A second later, two bodies fly through the air. The assassin is knocked off of the archer’s back as a full grown man is flung right at her face, leaving the dagger inside of the strongly muscled back of the elf.
The dark-elf crusader had been flung through the air by a shield-charge used by the human fighter with the tower-shield. Unfortunately for the assassin, she was right where the dark-elf flew toward. She rolls, her head sharply cracking against a rock.
She moves no more.
The crusader tumbles a few more steps, clawing at the ground as he rolls dangerously close toward the edge, tumbling off of it and toward the pit below. The crowd yells in fervor, cheers erupting around the arena.
Vilalie, the archer, struggles to rise to her feet with a knife in her back. Stones crunch as the last man down below approaches her at a slow, unbothered pace.
“Second place, or third?” he asks, looking down at her.
The elf looks up at him. She’s wounded and doesn’t stand a chance anymore.
Wood clatters as her bow and quiver are dropped in front of her by the man. The arena around them rumbles, shaking violently as something begins to move.
The two of them turn their heads, looking up toward the ceiling, toward the massive, giant chunk of ice that is hovering in the air. Tons of magical ice hover above the massive magma pools in the center of the arena, and just below it is a maniacally cackling fairy who throws his hands down.
“Second,” she says, grabbing the bow and an arrow and arching her arm back as the man stands behind her, lifting her to her feet.
The ice above their heads, having reached critical mass, finally drops.
Like the moon crashing down to the world below, it hurdles at terrifying speed, the shadow of it swallowing them in an instant.
The arrow flies perfectly through the air, whistling as it shoots through a black vapor of rising smoke and protrusions of molten stone. Bubbled magma flows past its trajectory as a second later, the head of the arrow rips straight through the fairy, Frejwald, who had been too busy admiring his own genius master-plan to pay attention to the fact that he was being aimed at. The arrow, sized to strike human sized targets, simply rips right through his core, grotesquely severing his legs from his upper body, both halves that hurtle down into the magma below, below the falling ice boulder.
The elf sighs. Second place isn’t so bad.
The man pulls the knife from her back, pressing it down sideways into her neck, just above her shoulder. The light in her eyes dies instantly.
Whistles and trumpets blow all around, declaring a winner in today’s challenge.
— Magma splashes everywhere as the ice splashes into the core pool of the volcano arena. A second later, a violent reaction spews an unimaginable amount of smoldering magma out in all directions. The false-volcano erupts at once from the hissing steam and change of pressure. A tidal wave of magma spews up into the air, crashing against the ceiling of the arena.
The dungeon-core, Munera, watches quietly as the crowd and everyone else lift their heads, looking up toward the red mass towering above them.
The surviving champion down in the arena quietly lifts his shield, holding it over himself.
A second later, the entire arena, seating and all, is swallowed by a wave of magma that burns thousands of people to death in an instant. Smoldering magma flows down the stonework, burning everything indiscriminately. Red drips down the faces of statues and down the walls, pooling back very slowly into the arena core.
What fun! This was a good game today! Everyone was really in a fighting spirit. Munera ponders giving today’s competitors a little bonus after their resurrection, if only because they put on such a great show.
Slowly, the edges of it begin to harden into rock.
“Hey,” snaps Munera, looking at a skeleton that is floating in the magma, its bones blackening and breaking away from the incredible heat. A second later, a broom manifests in the air, the bristles catching fire immediately. “Clean this up,” orders the dungeon core, dropping the broom.
It lands on the screaming skull, both of them sinking away into molten rock as the magma solidifies.