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Hatred wasn't quite the word to describe the rampant emotions raging through the white stallion's mind.

'Hatred' over simplified the situation, making it seem almost civil.

Afterall, rival herds 'hated' each other, kalona and wind soquili hated each other... petty.. all of it. Just like the word 'hate' itself.

No, Crousader wanted more then to just 'hate' the cheering crowds.

He wanted them to suffer, to spend years in small confined cells... bereft of any social contact other then a fight to the death they could not refuse. He wanted them to have wings, so that he could tear them from their backs... He wanted them to rage, to scream, and to pound their tiny malformed fleshy hooves against the walls of their stone lockers in frustration while he laughed at them, and poked spears into their flesh.

He wanted them to bleed, long and slow afterwards, from wounds so terrible even sleep was an agony, so they could linger in a half death that would last a lifetime... only to be healed at the last moment and the terrors repeated. Again. And again....

And again.

He wanted to bring them to the breaking point over and over again until he might be satisfied... then he would continue.

Fantasies, all of it.... Death was all that awaited him here, and it was by sheer virtue of his years in the wild that had allowed him to survive this long.




And waiting now, with the red haired witch sitting firmly in his saddle... the dragging forward chains tight and binding against his flesh so he could not scrape her off on the sides of the gate... he wondered if maybe this opponent would be the end of him. Often he pondered whether he would welcome that death to end the agony, or fight it to the last, in defense of his precious life. Ironically, his agony was made ever the more painful by his pride, which had become all that was left of his former self. Pride would not allow him to die is such a place as this...

But pride was not alleviating the every day pain... nor the barbed bit in his mouth that the witch-woman used to control him once they entered the ring.


Now though, the iron gate was grating open, the rising portcullis a veritable giant's mouth of sharp spikes.

But the Ring was surprisingly empty.


A twist.


Was he alone with the woman, could this possibly be his chance to be rid of her? Every other time he had entered the arena, his adversary awaited, if only for a moment before launching into a charge. He had never before had the chance to put all of his might into throwing the dreadful human from his back.. bit.. saddle... and magic aside.

Cautiously, he paced forward before the chains could bite into him... seemingly obedient.. at least until he was clear in the open.

Slowly, he spread his wings... trying not to seem too impatient to be airborn... for that was when he had the advantage. The woman, as powerful as she was, had no help in the air that he had ever encountered... aside from the very real threat his previous adversaries had presented. Long ago he had figured that she relied on that distraction, and the certain knowledge that the stone dome would keep him inside even if he did escape.

Realistically, he also wondered if he could escape through the thick stone... but he would try anyway.


Sparing a glance back at his rider, he noted that she was very pale... appearing almost frightened.. and he wondered. She was not looking at him... instead her glance was shifting from the opposing portcullis to the viewing platform above it, where three lavishly robed figures always rested.

They must be her superiors....

But before he could complete the thought, the other gate gave a near silent click, and rose.. revealing a beast the white stallion had never before encountered.

Involuntarily, he took a step back, nostrils flared as he took in the alien scent... and was still unable to place it.

What the?