AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maybe his time in stasis wiped out all that rage. Maybe when he lost his memories, some of that anger drifted away, too. It's fascinating, though. To see the man I know so well and to realize that he's had this entire violent life before he came here.
"Crulden the Ruiner," cries the announcer.
Oh, yikes. I’d forgotten he was called the Ruiner. I know it's common amongst wrestlers and boxers to give themselves tough names back on Earth, but I'm still a little shocked to hear “Ruiner” when someone mentions my lover. I think of the man that holds me tenderly every night in my sleep. The man that oh-so-carefully licked me and wanted to learn the words for my body because he wanted to know how to please me.
I don't see him in this angry, hulking monster that wears his face.
His opponent comes out, waving to the crowd, and he's one of an insect-like race that reminds me of caterpillars. His skin is a sickly yellow-green, but his segmented body is long and probably very strong. Arm after arm flexes, his long body undulating, and then he takes a fighting stance as he moves opposite Crulden, who remains utterly motionless.
There's a chime, and then Crulden is on the other guy before I can blink. It goes so fast that at first I think the vid has been sped up. Crulden's on the guy in a flash, leaping onto his back. He digs long, nasty talons—long and familiar—into the caterpillar guy's back. I recoil in horror as he rips a segment free from the middle of the caterpillar's back, dismembering him. Blood gushes all over the sands and the crowd roars as Crulden neatly hops back down to the ground and circles around, a cruel smile on his face like he's toying with his opponent, who lies broken and bleeding on the sand after just a breath.
As I watch, Crulden makes a taunting gesture, indicating he wants his opponent to get up. The crowd at the arena is screaming wildly, and when the caterpillar guy doesn't get up, Crulden stalks toward him and rips an arm off one of his segments even as the alien tries to fight back. He's so clearly not ready for anything Crulden does that it doesn't even feel like a match. It's just…brutality. After a few more arms are carelessly ripped off of his opponent, Crulden bares his fangs and slices another segment off, as if trying to destroy as much of his enemy as possible.
The ruiner. I get it now.
I turn the match off before he goes in for the kill, because I don't want to see it. His opponent was so clearly outclassed that it feels like a snuff film. The vid stops, thankfully, and then the screen displays a long list of other files—presumably more vids that have been cued up for me to watch. I pick another in the middle of the list and watch another fight, this time with a mesakkah gladiator who looks tough and nasty, his blue skin covered in old scars. He's got a spiked club in his hands, and as Crulden steps out into the ring, I'm worried for my guy.
I shouldn't be. He dispatches this other opponent as messily and brutally as the other. He doesn't go for a quick win, or a neat one. He takes them apart, limb by limb, spraying blood everywhere. It's done just to be cruel and evil, and I can't line it up with the man I know. My soul feels like it's shriveling as I watch the match end, when Crulden rips the other guy's head off and then shoves his cock into his opponent's mouth. Jesus.
I think of how I touched his cock, and how he acted so gentle, so careful not to touch me. How he groaned my name as if he'd never felt anything so good or sweet before.
I'm about to turn the vid off when the roar of the crowd gets louder. A sick knot twists in my stomach as a female slave—wearing nothing but a slinky loincloth—is brought out. The prize. Oh no. The vid shows Crulden's face light up, his eyes flaring a dark, familiar red, and he tosses aside the severed head, his cock still hanging free, and stalks toward the female. She's being brought out by a guard, and it's clear she doesn't want to be there. An alien race that looks delicate and birdlike, she's covered in a fine greenish-blue down that must be feathers. She twists at the decorative lead chain on her throat, the one the guard is holding to keep her prisoner. Shocks move up and down the chain and she still fights desperately, dying to get away. She doesn't want to be anywhere near Crulden, who's still spattered with the blood of his kill, and I don't blame her. She screams in terror, and I know I'm going to hear that sound in my nightmares as Crulden stalks toward her.
