SBB 2015 ENTRY #2: CAGED (3/4)
Title: Caged
Pairing: none
Rating: R
Warnings: sexual & psychological abuse of a child, rape, violence, slavery
Final Word Count: 30,203 words
Sanghoon continued to lead Kibum through the feel each other’s emotions thing every time they met. Kibum still had no idea why he felt an instinctive revulsion at the touch of Sanghoon’s mind, but at least the urge to recoil was fading each time, as if acclimatizing to the reality of Kibum’s submission.
The rest of Kibum was acclimatizing to Sanghoon as well, as the bond deepened. He became hyperaware of Sanghoon’s every move, every breath, every flick of his eyes. Emotions would sometimes spill through the bond even when their hands weren’t touching.
And each time the bond deepened, there came with it the sense of a great demand: mine, mine, mine, you are mine, give yourself to me.
It was not Sanghoon saying that, Kibum knew. Sanghoon had explained it to him. It was the bond, an ordinary soul bond melded with chains of magic enslavement. The bond couldn’t deepen unless Kibum gave it his consent, not like a normal enslavement spell which didn’t care what the slaves bound by it wanted.
And the more Kibum submitted to the bond, the more of himself he gave to Sanghoon, the deeper the bond dug into his soul.
Sometimes, it was scary. Kibum would sit in arithmetic, taking notes and doing calculations, and Sanghoon wouldn’t even be looking at him as a wave of surrender swept over Kibum’s everything. I’m yours, he would chant silently, gazing up at his master through his eyelashes. I give everything to you. And the bond would curl lazily about him and make him intensely aware of how much he belonged to Sanghoon. The hands curled around Kibum’s chalk and the slate were Sanghoon’s. Kibum’s body was Sanghoon’s, his hair was Sanghoon’s, his smile and emotions and affections were all Sanghoon’s.
Sometimes, Sanghoon would catch him in one of these moods, and smile at him. And it took everything Kibum had to keep from running to him and clinging to him and demanding Sanghoon bury himself in him, because it was such torture to be away from the one who owned him so.
When the bond finalized, Kibum knew, he would feel that frighteningly intense submission all the time. He didn’t know how he would ever be able to manage life in that state of utter surrender. But the bond hadn’t finalized yet and wouldn’t for some years, according to Sanghoon. Kibum had time to get used to it.
~~~
A little over a year since Taemin and Minseo’s escape, Kibum finally felt ready to go on the sands. Sanghoon agreed.
“You’ve been training hard for about a year now,” Sanghoon said one night as they lay together, recovering from a round of fucking that had been far rougher than either had expected at the outset. The bond got to them in odd ways sometimes and made them react in strangely to each other.
“Mm,” Kibum agreed. He was playing with Sanghoon’s fingers, occasionally winding his tongue about them.
Sanghoon scritched the roof of Kibum’s mouth, eyes crinkling into a grin.
“I can feel how eager you are to go to the arena,” he said, and teased Kibum by dipping his fingers towards Kibum’s throat. “You think you can do it?”
Kibum could neither nod nor speak while deep-throating several of Sanghoon’s fingers, but his master felt his answer through the bond anyway.
“Then you have my permission to ask,” Sanghoon said, and Kibum nearly choked as he gave an excited squeal of glee.
~~~
Everyone was incredulous at Kibum’s request. They couldn’t deny it, of course, but they could exclaim.
You’re only nine! Only a third-year! Only in the intermediate fighting class! Only, only, only...
Kibum paid no attention. Sanghoon’s opinion was the only one that mattered, and Kibum’s master had given him permission.
The next gladiator tournament was two weeks after Kibum’s official request was filed. Kibum spent those two weeks trying desperately not to freak himself out with nerves. It helped that he could feel Sanghoon through the bond. He had only to relax and remind himself why he was doing this for his fear and anxiety and stage fright to ease.
The day itself dawned bright and clear, which was unfortunate. Kibum had been hoping for cloud cover too keep the sun out of his eyes. But he supposed it was at least good that it wasn’t raining. Fighting in wet sand did not sound appealing.
Of course, dry sand was little better, but he had no choice about that.
Sunyoung, one of the fighting masters for the advanced classes, escorted him in a magicked horseless carriage to the arena. She didn’t try to talk to him, for which Kibum was glad. He spent the entire ride trying not to throw up.
The inside of the arena was a lot less glamorous than the outside. It was full of large, smelly hallways and bustling, grumpy people. Most of the people were large and hairy and terrifying. Many of them had bruises and missing teeth and cuts and scrapes and scars. Kibum shivered in his standard-issue slave boots and hoped he wouldn’t get that mutilated. He didn’t think Sanghoon would still want him if he got himself disfigured.
Sunyoung brought him to one of the arena masters, a huge man with muscles the size of large rocks.
“This is our contender,” Sunyoung told the master. “His name is Kibum and he’ll be fighting for the right to leave the Sanctuary. You know the deal.”
The arena master nodded, eyes skimming dubiously over Kibum. “Bit of a shrimp, eh?” he said, short and choppy, spitting his words around missing teeth. “They don’t usually come in ‘til fifteen or so.”
“Or older,” Sunyoung agreed. “This one’s nine.”
The man looked incredulous. “Nine? No young’un that age’s ever won anything here. He’ll get diced to bits.”
Sunyoung shrugged. “It’s his choice.” She placed her hand on Kibum’s chin and tilted his face up to look at her. Kibum resisted the urge to jerk his head away; he didn’t like people who were not Sanghoon touching him.
“Kibum,” Sunyoung said quietly, firmly. “This is Biter. He was a champion gladiator in his youth before his master retired him to help staff the behind-the-scenes in the arena. He’ll be in charge of you for today.” Her eyes bored into him. “If you survive.”
She looked like she very much doubted his ability to survive. Kibum felt defiance flare.
“I’ll survive,” he said, and stepped backwards. “You’ll see.”
She shook her head, and left him there.
“Nine,” repeated Biter once she was gone. “Motherfucking son of a goat’s ass. Nine.”
Kibum blinked up at him. “Am I supposed to do something now, master?”
Biter jumped and stared at him. Then he shook his head. “No need to call me ‘master’, young’un. ‘Biter’ll do just fine. C’mon.”
Kibum followed him down more large smelly hallways, and through cramped, smaller smelly hallways. They finally reached a long room piled high with stacks of clothing and sandals.
Biter rummaged around and tossed a tunic, some short leggings, a belt and a pair of sandals at Kibum.
“Might be a bit big, eh?” Biter said apologetically. “No one your size ever fights ‘ere. No fun in watching babies get slaughtered.”
“I’m not a baby, sir,” said Kibum, using that honorific in lieu of ‘master’. He shimmied out of his old clothes, concealing his distaste at being naked in front of anyone other than Sanghoon or the children he shared the Sanctuary’s communal baths with. Then he began putting on the gladiator outfit.
It really was much too big. Even the belt around his waist didn’t help matters. The tunic came down past his knees and the leggings fell almost to his ankles. His feet swam miserably in the sandals. The end of the belt stuck out into the air, having been pulled to the tightest hole, and still there was slack in it.
Biter sighed. “This’ll never do,” he moaned. “We can’t send you out like this.”
“Can’t I just wear my Sanctuary clothes?” Kibum asked, tugging the side of the tunic up over his shoulder again from where it had slipped down.
Biter flung his hands in the air. “I s’pose. Not usual, no, not usual, but you’re a bit too tiny for this lot. Can’t have you swimming in this shit out there.”
So Kibum climbed out of the too-big uniform and back into his Sanctuary outfit. Biter refused to let him wear boots, however, claiming they would be worse than useless on the sands. He did a quick job paring down the smallest pair of sandals so they weren’t quite so big, however, though Kibum still felt like a waddling duck in them.
Kibum was also forced to wear the overlarge belt, which Biter had to poke another few holes into and cut some excess off. This was because it had pre-made loops and clasps where Biter hung the smallest gladiator sheath and sword.
Then he led Kibum out to the waiting area, explaining as he went.
“You’re gonna fight six matches. Six ‘cause it’ll be quick, you not being a regular. First three’ll be other slaves. Mostly easy matches. Next two probably beasts. Not difficult beasts. Don’t wanna waste manticores on a baby. Then who knows. A mid-rank lookin’ to boost their kill count, probably.”
Kibum nodded as if he understood what all this meant and didn’t bother pointing out again that he wasn’t a baby. Mostly he just figured it’d be easy. He’d go out onto the sands when they told him to, fight something, win, and come back.
Simple.
~~~
Kibum got to watch from a mage viewer along with the rest of the waiting gladiators. The ones being forced to fight either cried or stared blankly at the walls. The ones who did this regularly laughed and bragged and joked. All of them were older than Kibum- the very youngest looked maybe fourteen or so.
Kibum went through calming breathing exercises, tucked away in his corner next to Biter, and tried not to panic.
That was harder than he’d thought. The carnage was worse than he remembered, or maybe it just seemed worse, because he was now a fighter on the sands rather than a spectator. The urge to throw up came back.
Biter noticed and thumped him on the back, making him gag. “Go let it out, young’un,” the hulking man advised. “You’ll feel better.”
Kibum duly went over to the gutter where several of the forced fighters and one of the teenagers had been heaving their guts, and promptly heaved his. After he was done, he cupped his hands under the water faucet magicked to flow from the walls, and rinsed his mouth out, spitting into the gutter. Then he drank deeply.
He did feel better afterwards, and smiled a shy thanks up at Biter, who just shook his head back, resigned.
I’m not gonna die, Kibum told himself. I’m not.
He touched the bond briefly and relaxed. As long as Sanghoon believed in him, he could do anything.
~~~
It was finally his turn.
Biter led him to the appropriate door, whispering a doleful try not to get killed too fast, young’un as he did so. Kibum nodded and strode out from under the rising rusty metal gate and out onto the sands.
He understood immediately why gladiators had a specific uniform. It was hot out here, the loose sand spilling over his sandaled feet almost scorching him. Kibum began to sweat through his Sanctuary clothing and licked his lips to moisten them.
He ignored the loud boos from on high. He knew they didn’t expect much from him. That was all right. He was in this to survive, not win the crowd’s approval.
It was only Sanghoon’s approval that mattered.
Kibum then spotted his opponent. She was a thin slave who had drawn her sword and clearly did not know how to use it. She brandished it, sobbing, at Kibum.
She was being forced to fight, then. Kibum swallowed sickness down. He remembered Sanghoon asking: can you execute someone, Kibum-ah?
He could. He had to. It was her or him; if both of them refused to fight, the arena masters would probably just set a beast on them both.
Kibum drew his sword and ran forward.
The sands were not easy to run on, especially with too-large sandals, and he tripped several times. He rolled neatly back to his feet each time, to the chorus of raucous laughter from the above crowd. The woman just looked at him and wept. As Kibum came closer, panting from running across the huge open space, he finally made out what she was saying.
just a child, such a sweet child, like my Hyunwoo, poor baby, how could I possibly hurt him? I can’t, I can’t, I can’t...
It made Kibum want to throw up again. He grimly refocused, and didn’t. He forced himself to narrow his vision and his concentration onto one goal: killing his opponent. It didn’t matter that she was an innocent. It didn’t matter that she didn’t want to hurt him. Nothing mattered but his determination not to die so that he could really, finally belong to Sanghoon and be safe and happy.
The woman dropped her sword as he approached and opened her arms, falling to her knees. She called out to him, but Kibum tuned out whatever she was saying. It wasn’t important. He didn’t need to feel worse than he already did about this.
She finally flinched and tried to turn aside just as he reached her and lunged, realizing too late that he was serious about this. But she wasn’t fast enough. Kibum’s blade sliced cleanly across her throat, sending a thick gush of blood spraying everywhere.
Kibum stepped gracefully backwards and wiped blood off his face with one sweaty sleeve. The crowd gave a half-hearted cheer.
Then he threw up.
~~~
“I’m impressed,” said Biter once Kibum was back in the waiting area, the other fighters giving him wary looks of interest. “Didn’t think you had in you, young’un.”
Kibum didn’t answer. He felt that if he spoke, he would most likely cry. The woman’s face was blazoned in his mind, tear-streaked, pleading. She hadn’t deserved to die. Kibum shouldn’t have killed her.
Biter draped a thick arm about Kibum’s shoulders and awkwardly squeezed him in a one armed hug. The shrieking inside Kibum’s head of no, don’t touch me, you’re not my master seemed insignificant beside the sick numbness that had gripped him.
“First kills’re hard, eh?” Biter said quietly. “’Specially when you’re not facing a real fighter. She was gonna die anyway, young’un. It was her or you, or both. They’d’ve sent the bears out next.”
Kibum, finally, sniffled. “I know that.”
“Good.” Biter gave him another one-armed squeeze. “You can grieve later, young’un. Right now you’ll just get killed if you get distracted. Focus.”
Kibum breathed in, breathed out, and nodded. It was good advice. He’d take it.
~~~
Kibum’s second opponent was another forced fighter, but one that seemed all too willing to take Kibum out before Kibum took him.
He was a tall man who didn’t seem as awkward with the sword as the woman had been. Kibum was still better, though, and knew it.
It was a moment’s short work to dodge the flailing thrusts of the man’s sword and end his bellowing screams with a short jab into the throat.
Kibum didn’t throw up this time. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or bad.
~~~
His third opponent was yet another forced fighter. She was a slim, fit girl perhaps eighteen or so, with a cloud of wavy dyed hair. She didn’t bother to use her sword, but engaged Kibum in hand-to-hand instead. She fought dirty, the way Sanghoon had taught Kibum that streetfighters fought dirty, but Kibum knew her tricks.
Once he managed to snatch his sword back from where she’d thrown it, he made short work of her.
~~~
“It’ll get harder from now on,” Biter warned him. “There’ll be beasts and shit.”
Kibum couldn’t find the energy to nod. He couldn’t find the energy to feel anything at all, really, not even the bond.
Then it was time.
~~~
His fourth opponent was a bear. Bears were common animals, a frequent sacrifice to the gladiator arena.
Bears were also larger, faster and stronger than any human. They had more stamina. They had fangs and powerful jaws and teeth and claws. They could crush a human skull between their two front paws, and they could climb things like the posts sometimes left in the arena for more interesting matches.
There were no posts now, so that piece of information wasn’t relevant. Kibum discarded it.
The one thing that would save him from a bear, he remembered, was that bears- particularly this type- weren’t used to the arid heat of the arena. Their thick fur would cause them to overheat, slow and sometimes pass out.
Kibum felt sweat gather underneath his slave collar. He wished he could take it off. He’d fare better as a kitten than a human against the bear, but he was to fight these matches in human form. Sunyoung and Biter both had said so. Kibum didn’t want to find out what the consequences would be if he disobeyed that instruction.
Okay, then. Plan B.
The bear, pain-maddened by the spells the mages had on it, ran straight at him, jaws slavering. Kibum waited until it was close enough, then dodged and ran sideways around it in a tight circle. He didn’t bother trying to jump over it; if it stood on its hind legs, it would easily be nine feet tall. He would never make it over.
The bear whirled with him, but Kibum was smaller and at this distance, faster. He leapt up and got ahold of a handful of the bear’s coarse fur. Then he hauled himself upwards, climbing onto the bear’s back.
The bear roared with fury and plummeted around the arena, sand flying everywhere. Kibum squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t need sight for this, or sand scratching his eyeballs out.
The bear finally tired of its mad racing around in circles and stopped, panting. Then it reared up on its hind legs. Kibum clung on for dear life. The bear lunged back down and Kibum nearly fell off, stomach doing flips at the sudden drop.
Then the bear did what it probably would have done from the beginning if it hadn’t been crazed by pain spells; it rolled over.
This was what Kibum had been waiting for. As soon as he felt the bear start to roll, he scrambled sideways to avoid getting crushed and dragged his sword out. He had one shot at this; if he mistimed it or missed, the bear would strike him with its paws and claws and kill him.
Just as he reached the bear’s stomach, he flung the sword forward with all his might. It landed in the bear’s throat and lodged there, quivering.
It didn’t kill the bear, but it did distract it from Kibum’s spot on its stomach. The bear arched its back reflexively backwards, howling with pain and pawing at the thing in its neck. Kibum wished he had another sword; he could’ve filleted the bear right now if he had.
Instead, he rolled away from the bear and came up in a fighting crouch. He whistled, and the bear, agonized as it was, noticed. It got painfully to its feet and charged him.
Kibum performed the same quick maneuver he had the first time, and jumped onto the bear’s back again. He scrambled up over the bear’s shoulders while the bear hesitated, clearly trying to decide between running- which had done nothing last time- or rolling, which had somehow actively hurt it.
Then Kibum wrapped his legs around the bear’s neck, lowered himself upside down, grasped the sword with both hands and twisted.
The bear screamed and began running again, bucking and jerking as it went. Kibum squeezed his thighs together for dear life, hanging upside down and working the sword through the thick pads of fat and flesh around the bear’s jugular vein. He wondered if it might not be easier just to stab the creature in the eye, but given how bumpy the ride was, if he tried that, he might accidentally stab himself instead.
Finally, finally, the bear started bleeding. The blood gushed out in greater and greater volumes until the bear collapsed, still screaming rattling, gasping screams. Kibum would have felt bad, except that all his emotions seemed to have disengaged themselves somehow.
He let himself fall off the bear, tucking his legs in and rotating so that he landed in a crouch. Then he put his entire weight behind the sword, and heaved forward.
The bear finally died.
Kibum gasped with exhaustion and crumpled to the sands as the mages fired bright green victory smoke into the air to signal the fighter’s win over the beast. The crowd was on their feet, screaming madly.
Kibum limped back to the waiting area. He wasn’t sure he could take on another bear.
~~~
The waiting room was full of praise.
“Good job, young’un!” Biter exclaimed, and punched his arm in a friendly manner. Kibum was too tired to wince. “You’re doing better than I ever thought you could! Four rounds! That bear!”
“Very imaginative technique,” agreed one of the regulars, a large woman with chubby cheeks and shiny armor. “You’ll have quite the career ahead of you if you survive your next two matches.”
Kibum let the praise wash over him. He didn’t listen to it. He felt a dull terror burn him. That bear had been hard. He was no longer certain he would live through this, whatever the rest of the waiting room thought.
~~~
His fifth opponent was a tiger.
It was a huge, huge tiger and had to weigh at least seven hundred pounds. It stalked out onto the sands, tail lashing and mouth curved into a snarl.
Kibum swallowed. The tiger wasn’t quite as big as the bear, but in a way, Kibum preferred the bear. The tiger didn’t have enough fur or girth to try the same riding trick. Cats were also much more flexible than bears were.
Kibum had two advantages. For one, the tiger was even more a creature of snow than the bear, and would overheat quicker. For another, Kibum himself was in a way a cat, even if he couldn’t transform. That should give him insight as to the tiger’s movement and thought patterns.
Should, anyway.
The tiger, which looked like it was hungry, the poor thing, ran straight at Kibum in an easy, outstretched lope. Tigers usually stalked their prey first, but Kibum supposed this one didn’t think it worth it, in this wide open space.
Kibum couldn’t run. He couldn’t hide. It would be suicide to engage the tiger in close combat or try to ride it, the way he had the bear. He therefore had one option, and only one.
He was lucky Sanghoon had made him practice throwing knives with badly weighted daggers. Kibum could not have done this otherwise.
He set his feet firmly in the ground as the tiger approached and drew his sword. He weighed it in his hand for a moment. The balance was decent, but it wasn’t meant for throwing. Kibum had been lucky with the bear.
He had to be lucky now.
Kibum waited and waited, way past when any person with sense would have screamed and fled. Kibum didn’t see the point. If he missed this chance, he’d be torn to pieces long before he’d get another.
He lifted the sword.
The tiger came into range.
Kibum hurled the sword forward with calculated might.
It wasn’t quite calculated enough. The sword did hit the tiger, which was excellent, seeing as how the tiger was a very slender moving target that Kibum hadn’t been at all sure he’d be able to strike. Unfortunately, the sword’s hilt connected with the tiger’s face rather than the blade.
Kibum wasted no time. The tiger staggered to a halt, stunned, and Kibum’s sword fell to the ground. Kibum needed that sword. He ran forward, risking death. The tiger was still shaking its head, probably dazed and mildly concussed, as he got there. Kibum lifted the sword and frantically jammed it through the tiger’s neck, too panicked to think of a better place to put it.
The tiger jerked reflexively, gurgling, and Kibum was knocked sideways into the sands. The tiger bled, stumbled, and fell.
It still wasn’t dead, though.
Kibum got back to his feet, wincing a little. He was fairly sure he’d sprained his ankle in that fall, which was not good news for next round.
Worry about that later, he ordered himself, and limped towards the tiger.
It gurgled yet more and weakly pawed at him. Kibum dodged its claws and kicked the sword deeper and deeper into the tiger’s neck, sawing at vital organs.
And then, finally, it died.
The crowd was screaming again. Kibum ignored it as he knelt down and tried in vain to tug the sword out of the tiger’s body. It wouldn’t come loose. It seemed to have gotten stuck on some vertebra or something.
“You’ll have to do without it,” said one of the cleanup mages, alighting next to him on a cloud of magefire. She gave him a sympathetic look and snapped her fingers. The tiger’s body, and Kibum’s sword with it, went up in mage flame.
“It wasn’t mine,” Kibum said weakly, choking out the words from a sand-scratched throat.
The mage shrugged. “So? The arena blacksmiths will make another. Gives them something to do to earn their pay.”
And then she was soaring off again, leaving Kibum to trudge back across the sands to the waiting room, pain jabbing through him on his injured ankle as he went.
~~~
“I’m worried,” Biter announced, after complaining about asshole mages who had no sense of how to keep track of other people’s property. “You’ve been doin’ good, young’un, but now you’ve got no sword, and your hardest opponent’s yet to come. And you’re ankle’s swelling,” he added unnecessarily.
Kibum didn’t answer. He stared desperately down at his ankle and thought heal, heal, heal, please heal at it. It didn’t help. His usual quick werecat healing times didn’t seem to be working. Maybe the arena had anti-healing spells laced into it. That would make sense.
He hobbled across the room to drink some water. It was better than doing nothing.
~~~
Kibum’s sixth and last opponent was a regular gladiator fighter. He was every bit as enormous as Biter and moved with the same quick grace. He was wearing his own polished gladiator armour and wielding his own polished gladiator sword, clearly one of the successful career fighters.
Kibum felt small and young and dirty. The other fighter’s eyes flicked across the sands to him without pity or hesitation. This was a man long-used to killing, no matter whom.
They ran at each other. Or rather, the man ran, and Kibum trotted at a limp, favouring his injured ankle. He felt nakedly light without his sword.
The man came right at him once in range, sword held easily out in front of him. His grip on the pommel was practiced and confident. Kibum felt a surge of fear.
Kibum then had to use all his concentration and skills to dodge and weave away from the sword. He got nicked several times and was soon bleeding all over from numerous small cuts. The man used his feet and spare hand as well, dealing Kibum punches, kicks and blows.
His ankle felt like it was on fire. That really did not help.
He needed a strategy. That strategy needed to involve getting the sword away from his opponent. Kibum thought of Biter, and acted.
It was easy enough to duck close enough to the man to jump at him, wrapping his legs around the man’s waist and one hand clutching the back of the man’s tunic. The man staggered, but didn’t fall. He slammed his sword-free fist at Kibum, who barely caught it with his own free hand. A test of physical strength began, which Kibum knew he’d lose.
That didn’t matter. As the man took advantage of what he thought was Kibum’s distraction, he shifted his short sword around in his other hand and brought it down at Kibum’s shoulderblades.
Kibum let go of the man’s fist and back at that moment, arching out of the way of the momentum-propelled punch. He barely arched out of the way of the sword, but succeeded in digging his teeth into the man’s sword hand.
He bit down as hard as he could, tasting blood. The man screamed and his hand spasmed.
He dropped the sword.
Kibum used his stomach muscles to haul himself upright again. He spread his arms out just in time to grab the man’s wrists before his fists slammed into either side of Kibum’s skull. The man’s hands dipped lower and flexed. Kibum’s arms began to ache with the effort of keeping them away. The man clearly meant to choke him, or maybe snap his neck.
Then Kibum leaned forward and bit the man’s throat.
Blood sprayed everywhere, its coppery-warm tang flooding Kibum’s mouth. Kibum swallowed it rather than waste time spitting and bit down again. The man began flailing at him, staggering around with Kibum still clinging to his midsection, trying to detach him.
Kibum ignored the occasional punches. He ignored what he was sure was his ribs breaking under the onslaught, his kneecap shattering, a fist-induced concussion. He focused entirely on chewing his way up the man’s jugular and windpipe.
And finally he managed it. The man collapsed to the ground, taking Kibum with him. Kibum cried out with pain as his injured body slammed into the sand. Then he reached forward and dug his bare fingers into the gaping, bloody bite wounds on the man’s throat, and pulled.
More blood. Kibum was covered in it. It was absolutely disgusting.
But he’d won.
~~~
Kibum spent the rest of the tournament getting patched up in a dingy healer’s room in one of the rooms beneath the arena. His final fight had taken place near the halfway point of the day, as Kibum was hardly one of the top-rank fighters whom people actually enjoyed watching. Even Kibum’s last opponent had, as Biter had suspected, been only a mid-rank fighter, fairly successful but nowhere near a hero of the arena.
Which was probably a good thing, or else Kibum knew he would never have survived. He was still in shock that he was still alive. And that he had killed a bear, and a tiger, and people.
It was hard to be glad about his victory when all he felt like doing was crying.
After the healer finished with him, Kibum was sent to wait in a small room alone. The room looked fairly nice, with a wooden oval table and many well-carved chairs. There was a block at the front of the room with a hook and a chain attached to it. The person who’d brought Kibum here attached the end of the chain to Kibum’s collar and left him.
This must be where the auction took place, he realized.
He sat on the stone floor for several hours before people began filing in, masters in beautiful, well-tailored clothing. Then the Duchess herself strode in.
“On your knees, boy,” she ordered Kibum. He quickly shifted into a kneeling position.
“We will conduct the auction for this slave, who has won free of the Sanctuary,” the Duchess said. She sounded bored. “He has proven his worth through six victories on the sands. Who will make the starting offer?”
“Ahem,” said someone from the doorway.
Kibum turned his head and saw Sanghoon standing there, dressed better than he usually was, and smiling apologetically. Some of the shocked horror still freezing Kibum’s emotions lifted at the sight.
The Duchess frowned. “And you are...?”
“Kim Sanghoon, my lady,” said Sanghoon, bowing. “Master of arithmetic at the Sanctuary.”
“You cannot seriously hope to bid for the boy,” said the Duchess. “You have hardly the wealth to do so. Nor are the Sanctuary staff permitted to own personal slaves.”
“I have a standing offer from the city college of mathematics for a teaching position,” Sanghoon said mildly. “I assure you that I do not intend to violate the Sanctuary’s policies on owning personal slaves. Nor is wealth an issue. I implore you to consider the situation from a different perspective. The boy cannot possibly go to anyone except me; we are bonded.”
One of the people at the table snorted. “Bonded?” he said incredulously, leaning forward onto his elbows. “By which bond? No one but a fool bonds with a slave.”
“It was not intentional,” Sanghoon said. Kibum admired the smoothness of the lie. Sanghoon spread his hands out, palms up. “But what am I to do? The soul bond is deeply woven and has festered into the enslavement chains around the boy’s aura. It would be beyond cruel to separate what is mine from me.”
The Duchess raised a bejeweled hand, stilling protest from the bidders. She stared hard, first at Sanghoon then at Kibum. Then she spoke.
“You are correct about the state of the bonds,” she said. “However unusual it may be for such a thing to happen at all, let alone to a child this young, I cannot question reality.”
Sanghoon bowed deeply. “Thank you, my lady.”
“However,” she went on, and Sanghoon’s face paled. Kibum swallowed back fear. “The bond is not yet complete. Given its apparent nature, it will not be complete until consummated.” Her voice was sharply disapproving. “I am therefore inclined to let the auction continue.”
Kibum stifled a cry. Sanghoon’s mouth worked like a fish as he struggled to come up with a courteous protest.
Then he found one.
“My lady, I understand I lack current wealth. If you take my bid on credit, would that satisfy the requirements for my participation in the auction?”
She stared at him, cold. “The position of college professor does not pay enough for me to accept your credit.”
Sanghoon stared back, a daring move. “Of course, my lady. But the master of a prize-winning gladiator certainly reaps its rewards.”
The Duchess cast another glance at Kibum. “You intend to continue his career in the arena?”
No, thought Kibum, gazing pleadingly up at Sanghoon, sending his pleas through the bond. Please, no, no, no, I can’t stand it, I hated fighting, please, anything but that!
“Yes,” said Sanghoon, ignoring him. “I intend to do just that.”
The Duchess nodded. “Then very well, I accept your participation. Should you fail to pay the monies owed by the end of four years, I will sell you into slavery as compensation.”
Sanghoon swallowed. Then he nodded. “Yes, my lady.”
“Good.” She gestured at the table. “Sit down, and we will begin.”
Kibum, once more, found it hard to keep from crying. He began to hate his tear ducts. One day, he thought, he would be able to face life stone-faced and dry-eyed. One day.
~~~
Somehow, Sanghoon managed to win the auction. He took Kibum back to the Sanctuary, but rather than going back to the dormitory, Kibum spent the night in Sanghoon’s rooms.
“I know you’re upset, baby,” murmured Sanghoon once they were finally alone. “But this was the only way I could keep you. And you have such talent. You’ll win me the money I need to pay off the Duchess in no time.”
Kibum yawned sleepily and let Sanghoon peel his sweat and bloodstained clothes off.
“Then can I not fight?” he asked hopefully.
Sanghoon chuckled and kissed him. “Of course,” he said, and the bond pulsed oddly. “Come, you need a bath.”
Kibum fell asleep in the bathtub and dreamt nightmares of fur and sand and murder.
~~~
Sanghoon moved them out of his Sanctuary quarters that week and into a small apartment on the college campus. Kibum spent the week cooped up in Sanghoon’s rooms. He slept a lot, though it was never a comfortable sleep.
“Get your rest while you can, my sweet,” Sanghoon would say, petting him. “Soon you’ll have to start training again.”
Kibum would nod and hold his arms out to be kissed at these words. It distracted Sanghoon from going on about the arena. Kibum didn’t want to think about that place ever again, even though he knew he’d have to.
~~~
Since Kibum could no longer train at the Sanctuary, Sanghoon made a deal with a noble named Sungki who ran a gladiator training stable. Kibum could train there, and in return, the noble would receive a slice of the profits from Kibum’s winnings.
Kibum didn’t like this; it meant he’d have to keep fighting even longer, because it would take Sanghoon even more time to earn the money to pay off his debt to the Duchess. But it was do or die, and Kibum also had no intention of dying.
He vowed to get through the training as fast as possible so that Sanghoon wouldn’t have to split the earnings for long.
Kibum’s first day at the training stable only hardened this resolve.
Sungki’s training master was a man by the name of Younghwan. Younghwan was of the opinion that Kibum’s victory in the tournament was a result of luck only. He therefore insisted on starting Kibum off with very basic exercises.
This did not at all coincide with Kibum’s opinion of his own skills, or his plans to be done with this nonsense as soon as possible. Kibum therefore began to show off during practices, being as flashy and eye-catching as he could whilst still winning at everything and outshining all his training partners.
They hated him, of course. He was an outsider, and appeared arrogant, and trounced them at everything. Kibum didn’t give a fuck.
Younghwan eventually realized that Kibum was good enough to practice with the actual gladiators rather than the trainees, and that beating him for being flashy did not work. The first time he’d tried, Kibum had complained to Sanghoon, who had made sharp comments to Sungki, who had ordered Younghwan not to do it again.
Being rebuked by his own master did not incline Younghwan to like Kibum any more.
Before permitting Kibum to join the regulars at practice, Younghwan insisted he go through the ritual that all aspiring career gladiators were subjected to before they entered the sands. This consisted of driving the point home to them that they were not just fighters, but killers, and sometimes killers of innocents in cold blood.
Thus, whilst the trainees watched, Younghwan held out a soft, fluffy white rabbit kit and ordered Kibum to kill it.
Kibum stared at the baby rabbit disdainfully. “I already killed people, sir,” he said insolently. “Do I really have to do this? It’s pointless.”
“It is tradition,” said Younghwan through gritted teeth. “If you’re so confident, then do it already.”
Kibum sighed. The other trainees stared at him with taunting eyes, as if they thought he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Kibum doubted any of them could, because they were all soft and useless. Then again, after his trial by fire in the arena, Kibum had begun to feel that most people were soft and useless.
He walked forward, grasped the kit’s neck and gave a sharp twist. There was a cracking noise and the rabbit dangled lifeless in his hands.
This shut the trainees up. One of them began to cry. Kibum raised an eyebrow at Younghwan.
The training master just snarled at him.
~~~
Kibum continued to fight in the arena and continued to win. His matches got more and more difficult, and he became reluctantly grateful for Younghwan’s intense, brutal training regimen. The killing became easier with practice, however, and after a few months Kibum’s nightmares began to fade along with the detached numbness that had frozen his soul yet again.
As he recovered from the horror of gladiator life, the bond started deepening again. Kibum was grateful for it. The time he spent losing himself to Sanghoon’s will was free of fear and guilt and frustration. Most of Kibum’s life had become an endless cycle of learning to kill, and then practicing the art of death, and then actually committing what still sometimes felt like murder.
When Kibum surrendered himself to Sanghoon’s touch, he could forget all that, and become himself again.
And the pleasure of Sanghoon’s touch was becoming greater and greater as the chains of the bond tightened. When they were together, and especially when Sanghoon touched him, Kibum’s sense of self became nonexistent. He felt himself only as an extension of Sanghoon’s possessiveness, an object of desire and an object only. He was what Sanghoon wanted of him, and no more.
It was a beautiful, indescribable feeling, to lose himself so deeply in someone else. Kibum longed for the bond to squeeze tighter, to strip the rest of his own soul out so that he could become Sanghoon’s absolutely.
But the bond wasn’t quite there yet.
~~~
A year after Kibum’s first win, he had made more than a name for himself. He was the youngest gladiator to last so long, and was one of the arena’s main attractions on tournament days.
It was something of a tradition for gladiators to take a new name after managing to survive the arena for a year. Younghwan began pressuring Kibum to think of a name to adopt. It was annoying, because Kibum liked his own name just fine.
In the end, he asked Sanghoon about it.
Sanghoon raised an eyebrow at him when he brought it up. “Aren’t you supposed to choose your name yourself?” he asked, amused. “Are you really that stuck, little one?”
Kibum, kneeling at Sanghoon’s feet while Sanghoon sat and graded homework, pouted.
“I’m a little stuck, master,” he admitted. “I like ‘Kibum’ and I can’t think of anything. But I don’t want to choose anything without your permission, either.”
“Mm,” said Sanghoon, and stroked his hair approvingly. Kibum closed his eyes, soul singing happily at the touch. “Do you want me to choose one for you?”
“Yes,” breathed Kibum eagerly. It was only right that Sanghoon should select the name of his own possession. “Please, master.”
Sanghoon put down the essay and considered the matter thoughtfully. Kibum waited impatiently. He knew, of course, that Sanghoon’s choice would be perfect. How could it not be?
“Key,” said Sanghoon finally. “Your new name will be Key. You are, after all, the key to my ambitions and the key to my success. You open the locked doors of opportunities for me.” He drew Kibum up into his lap, smiling. “You open other things for me as well,” he teased, rubbing the inside of Kibum’s thigh. “Like your soul and your heart, and your body and your mind.”
Kibum sighed happily. It really was perfect. He felt as if he were a serpent, shedding skins. He would cast off Kibum and become Key, Sanghoon’s key. The fact that even his name belonged to his master symbolized how deeply Kibum had become his.
“Thank you, master,” he whispered, and hammered his new name, the affirmation of his identity as Sanghoon’s slave, into his mind. Key, Key, Key.
I am Key.
~~~
Key, of course, knew better than to explain to anyone else why he’d decided to adopt the name he had. No one could possibly understand his relationship with Sanghoon. Sanghoon himself had told Key so.
So Key just shrugged and said I liked it when people asked. Eventually, they stopped asking.
<< Part Two | Part Four >>
Pairing: none
Rating: R
Warnings: sexual & psychological abuse of a child, rape, violence, slavery
Final Word Count: 30,203 words
Sanghoon continued to lead Kibum through the feel each other’s emotions thing every time they met. Kibum still had no idea why he felt an instinctive revulsion at the touch of Sanghoon’s mind, but at least the urge to recoil was fading each time, as if acclimatizing to the reality of Kibum’s submission.
The rest of Kibum was acclimatizing to Sanghoon as well, as the bond deepened. He became hyperaware of Sanghoon’s every move, every breath, every flick of his eyes. Emotions would sometimes spill through the bond even when their hands weren’t touching.
And each time the bond deepened, there came with it the sense of a great demand: mine, mine, mine, you are mine, give yourself to me.
It was not Sanghoon saying that, Kibum knew. Sanghoon had explained it to him. It was the bond, an ordinary soul bond melded with chains of magic enslavement. The bond couldn’t deepen unless Kibum gave it his consent, not like a normal enslavement spell which didn’t care what the slaves bound by it wanted.
And the more Kibum submitted to the bond, the more of himself he gave to Sanghoon, the deeper the bond dug into his soul.
Sometimes, it was scary. Kibum would sit in arithmetic, taking notes and doing calculations, and Sanghoon wouldn’t even be looking at him as a wave of surrender swept over Kibum’s everything. I’m yours, he would chant silently, gazing up at his master through his eyelashes. I give everything to you. And the bond would curl lazily about him and make him intensely aware of how much he belonged to Sanghoon. The hands curled around Kibum’s chalk and the slate were Sanghoon’s. Kibum’s body was Sanghoon’s, his hair was Sanghoon’s, his smile and emotions and affections were all Sanghoon’s.
Sometimes, Sanghoon would catch him in one of these moods, and smile at him. And it took everything Kibum had to keep from running to him and clinging to him and demanding Sanghoon bury himself in him, because it was such torture to be away from the one who owned him so.
When the bond finalized, Kibum knew, he would feel that frighteningly intense submission all the time. He didn’t know how he would ever be able to manage life in that state of utter surrender. But the bond hadn’t finalized yet and wouldn’t for some years, according to Sanghoon. Kibum had time to get used to it.
~~~
A little over a year since Taemin and Minseo’s escape, Kibum finally felt ready to go on the sands. Sanghoon agreed.
“You’ve been training hard for about a year now,” Sanghoon said one night as they lay together, recovering from a round of fucking that had been far rougher than either had expected at the outset. The bond got to them in odd ways sometimes and made them react in strangely to each other.
“Mm,” Kibum agreed. He was playing with Sanghoon’s fingers, occasionally winding his tongue about them.
Sanghoon scritched the roof of Kibum’s mouth, eyes crinkling into a grin.
“I can feel how eager you are to go to the arena,” he said, and teased Kibum by dipping his fingers towards Kibum’s throat. “You think you can do it?”
Kibum could neither nod nor speak while deep-throating several of Sanghoon’s fingers, but his master felt his answer through the bond anyway.
“Then you have my permission to ask,” Sanghoon said, and Kibum nearly choked as he gave an excited squeal of glee.
~~~
Everyone was incredulous at Kibum’s request. They couldn’t deny it, of course, but they could exclaim.
You’re only nine! Only a third-year! Only in the intermediate fighting class! Only, only, only...
Kibum paid no attention. Sanghoon’s opinion was the only one that mattered, and Kibum’s master had given him permission.
The next gladiator tournament was two weeks after Kibum’s official request was filed. Kibum spent those two weeks trying desperately not to freak himself out with nerves. It helped that he could feel Sanghoon through the bond. He had only to relax and remind himself why he was doing this for his fear and anxiety and stage fright to ease.
The day itself dawned bright and clear, which was unfortunate. Kibum had been hoping for cloud cover too keep the sun out of his eyes. But he supposed it was at least good that it wasn’t raining. Fighting in wet sand did not sound appealing.
Of course, dry sand was little better, but he had no choice about that.
Sunyoung, one of the fighting masters for the advanced classes, escorted him in a magicked horseless carriage to the arena. She didn’t try to talk to him, for which Kibum was glad. He spent the entire ride trying not to throw up.
The inside of the arena was a lot less glamorous than the outside. It was full of large, smelly hallways and bustling, grumpy people. Most of the people were large and hairy and terrifying. Many of them had bruises and missing teeth and cuts and scrapes and scars. Kibum shivered in his standard-issue slave boots and hoped he wouldn’t get that mutilated. He didn’t think Sanghoon would still want him if he got himself disfigured.
Sunyoung brought him to one of the arena masters, a huge man with muscles the size of large rocks.
“This is our contender,” Sunyoung told the master. “His name is Kibum and he’ll be fighting for the right to leave the Sanctuary. You know the deal.”
The arena master nodded, eyes skimming dubiously over Kibum. “Bit of a shrimp, eh?” he said, short and choppy, spitting his words around missing teeth. “They don’t usually come in ‘til fifteen or so.”
“Or older,” Sunyoung agreed. “This one’s nine.”
The man looked incredulous. “Nine? No young’un that age’s ever won anything here. He’ll get diced to bits.”
Sunyoung shrugged. “It’s his choice.” She placed her hand on Kibum’s chin and tilted his face up to look at her. Kibum resisted the urge to jerk his head away; he didn’t like people who were not Sanghoon touching him.
“Kibum,” Sunyoung said quietly, firmly. “This is Biter. He was a champion gladiator in his youth before his master retired him to help staff the behind-the-scenes in the arena. He’ll be in charge of you for today.” Her eyes bored into him. “If you survive.”
She looked like she very much doubted his ability to survive. Kibum felt defiance flare.
“I’ll survive,” he said, and stepped backwards. “You’ll see.”
She shook her head, and left him there.
“Nine,” repeated Biter once she was gone. “Motherfucking son of a goat’s ass. Nine.”
Kibum blinked up at him. “Am I supposed to do something now, master?”
Biter jumped and stared at him. Then he shook his head. “No need to call me ‘master’, young’un. ‘Biter’ll do just fine. C’mon.”
Kibum followed him down more large smelly hallways, and through cramped, smaller smelly hallways. They finally reached a long room piled high with stacks of clothing and sandals.
Biter rummaged around and tossed a tunic, some short leggings, a belt and a pair of sandals at Kibum.
“Might be a bit big, eh?” Biter said apologetically. “No one your size ever fights ‘ere. No fun in watching babies get slaughtered.”
“I’m not a baby, sir,” said Kibum, using that honorific in lieu of ‘master’. He shimmied out of his old clothes, concealing his distaste at being naked in front of anyone other than Sanghoon or the children he shared the Sanctuary’s communal baths with. Then he began putting on the gladiator outfit.
It really was much too big. Even the belt around his waist didn’t help matters. The tunic came down past his knees and the leggings fell almost to his ankles. His feet swam miserably in the sandals. The end of the belt stuck out into the air, having been pulled to the tightest hole, and still there was slack in it.
Biter sighed. “This’ll never do,” he moaned. “We can’t send you out like this.”
“Can’t I just wear my Sanctuary clothes?” Kibum asked, tugging the side of the tunic up over his shoulder again from where it had slipped down.
Biter flung his hands in the air. “I s’pose. Not usual, no, not usual, but you’re a bit too tiny for this lot. Can’t have you swimming in this shit out there.”
So Kibum climbed out of the too-big uniform and back into his Sanctuary outfit. Biter refused to let him wear boots, however, claiming they would be worse than useless on the sands. He did a quick job paring down the smallest pair of sandals so they weren’t quite so big, however, though Kibum still felt like a waddling duck in them.
Kibum was also forced to wear the overlarge belt, which Biter had to poke another few holes into and cut some excess off. This was because it had pre-made loops and clasps where Biter hung the smallest gladiator sheath and sword.
Then he led Kibum out to the waiting area, explaining as he went.
“You’re gonna fight six matches. Six ‘cause it’ll be quick, you not being a regular. First three’ll be other slaves. Mostly easy matches. Next two probably beasts. Not difficult beasts. Don’t wanna waste manticores on a baby. Then who knows. A mid-rank lookin’ to boost their kill count, probably.”
Kibum nodded as if he understood what all this meant and didn’t bother pointing out again that he wasn’t a baby. Mostly he just figured it’d be easy. He’d go out onto the sands when they told him to, fight something, win, and come back.
Simple.
~~~
Kibum got to watch from a mage viewer along with the rest of the waiting gladiators. The ones being forced to fight either cried or stared blankly at the walls. The ones who did this regularly laughed and bragged and joked. All of them were older than Kibum- the very youngest looked maybe fourteen or so.
Kibum went through calming breathing exercises, tucked away in his corner next to Biter, and tried not to panic.
That was harder than he’d thought. The carnage was worse than he remembered, or maybe it just seemed worse, because he was now a fighter on the sands rather than a spectator. The urge to throw up came back.
Biter noticed and thumped him on the back, making him gag. “Go let it out, young’un,” the hulking man advised. “You’ll feel better.”
Kibum duly went over to the gutter where several of the forced fighters and one of the teenagers had been heaving their guts, and promptly heaved his. After he was done, he cupped his hands under the water faucet magicked to flow from the walls, and rinsed his mouth out, spitting into the gutter. Then he drank deeply.
He did feel better afterwards, and smiled a shy thanks up at Biter, who just shook his head back, resigned.
I’m not gonna die, Kibum told himself. I’m not.
He touched the bond briefly and relaxed. As long as Sanghoon believed in him, he could do anything.
~~~
It was finally his turn.
Biter led him to the appropriate door, whispering a doleful try not to get killed too fast, young’un as he did so. Kibum nodded and strode out from under the rising rusty metal gate and out onto the sands.
He understood immediately why gladiators had a specific uniform. It was hot out here, the loose sand spilling over his sandaled feet almost scorching him. Kibum began to sweat through his Sanctuary clothing and licked his lips to moisten them.
He ignored the loud boos from on high. He knew they didn’t expect much from him. That was all right. He was in this to survive, not win the crowd’s approval.
It was only Sanghoon’s approval that mattered.
Kibum then spotted his opponent. She was a thin slave who had drawn her sword and clearly did not know how to use it. She brandished it, sobbing, at Kibum.
She was being forced to fight, then. Kibum swallowed sickness down. He remembered Sanghoon asking: can you execute someone, Kibum-ah?
He could. He had to. It was her or him; if both of them refused to fight, the arena masters would probably just set a beast on them both.
Kibum drew his sword and ran forward.
The sands were not easy to run on, especially with too-large sandals, and he tripped several times. He rolled neatly back to his feet each time, to the chorus of raucous laughter from the above crowd. The woman just looked at him and wept. As Kibum came closer, panting from running across the huge open space, he finally made out what she was saying.
just a child, such a sweet child, like my Hyunwoo, poor baby, how could I possibly hurt him? I can’t, I can’t, I can’t...
It made Kibum want to throw up again. He grimly refocused, and didn’t. He forced himself to narrow his vision and his concentration onto one goal: killing his opponent. It didn’t matter that she was an innocent. It didn’t matter that she didn’t want to hurt him. Nothing mattered but his determination not to die so that he could really, finally belong to Sanghoon and be safe and happy.
The woman dropped her sword as he approached and opened her arms, falling to her knees. She called out to him, but Kibum tuned out whatever she was saying. It wasn’t important. He didn’t need to feel worse than he already did about this.
She finally flinched and tried to turn aside just as he reached her and lunged, realizing too late that he was serious about this. But she wasn’t fast enough. Kibum’s blade sliced cleanly across her throat, sending a thick gush of blood spraying everywhere.
Kibum stepped gracefully backwards and wiped blood off his face with one sweaty sleeve. The crowd gave a half-hearted cheer.
Then he threw up.
~~~
“I’m impressed,” said Biter once Kibum was back in the waiting area, the other fighters giving him wary looks of interest. “Didn’t think you had in you, young’un.”
Kibum didn’t answer. He felt that if he spoke, he would most likely cry. The woman’s face was blazoned in his mind, tear-streaked, pleading. She hadn’t deserved to die. Kibum shouldn’t have killed her.
Biter draped a thick arm about Kibum’s shoulders and awkwardly squeezed him in a one armed hug. The shrieking inside Kibum’s head of no, don’t touch me, you’re not my master seemed insignificant beside the sick numbness that had gripped him.
“First kills’re hard, eh?” Biter said quietly. “’Specially when you’re not facing a real fighter. She was gonna die anyway, young’un. It was her or you, or both. They’d’ve sent the bears out next.”
Kibum, finally, sniffled. “I know that.”
“Good.” Biter gave him another one-armed squeeze. “You can grieve later, young’un. Right now you’ll just get killed if you get distracted. Focus.”
Kibum breathed in, breathed out, and nodded. It was good advice. He’d take it.
~~~
Kibum’s second opponent was another forced fighter, but one that seemed all too willing to take Kibum out before Kibum took him.
He was a tall man who didn’t seem as awkward with the sword as the woman had been. Kibum was still better, though, and knew it.
It was a moment’s short work to dodge the flailing thrusts of the man’s sword and end his bellowing screams with a short jab into the throat.
Kibum didn’t throw up this time. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or bad.
~~~
His third opponent was yet another forced fighter. She was a slim, fit girl perhaps eighteen or so, with a cloud of wavy dyed hair. She didn’t bother to use her sword, but engaged Kibum in hand-to-hand instead. She fought dirty, the way Sanghoon had taught Kibum that streetfighters fought dirty, but Kibum knew her tricks.
Once he managed to snatch his sword back from where she’d thrown it, he made short work of her.
~~~
“It’ll get harder from now on,” Biter warned him. “There’ll be beasts and shit.”
Kibum couldn’t find the energy to nod. He couldn’t find the energy to feel anything at all, really, not even the bond.
Then it was time.
~~~
His fourth opponent was a bear. Bears were common animals, a frequent sacrifice to the gladiator arena.
Bears were also larger, faster and stronger than any human. They had more stamina. They had fangs and powerful jaws and teeth and claws. They could crush a human skull between their two front paws, and they could climb things like the posts sometimes left in the arena for more interesting matches.
There were no posts now, so that piece of information wasn’t relevant. Kibum discarded it.
The one thing that would save him from a bear, he remembered, was that bears- particularly this type- weren’t used to the arid heat of the arena. Their thick fur would cause them to overheat, slow and sometimes pass out.
Kibum felt sweat gather underneath his slave collar. He wished he could take it off. He’d fare better as a kitten than a human against the bear, but he was to fight these matches in human form. Sunyoung and Biter both had said so. Kibum didn’t want to find out what the consequences would be if he disobeyed that instruction.
Okay, then. Plan B.
The bear, pain-maddened by the spells the mages had on it, ran straight at him, jaws slavering. Kibum waited until it was close enough, then dodged and ran sideways around it in a tight circle. He didn’t bother trying to jump over it; if it stood on its hind legs, it would easily be nine feet tall. He would never make it over.
The bear whirled with him, but Kibum was smaller and at this distance, faster. He leapt up and got ahold of a handful of the bear’s coarse fur. Then he hauled himself upwards, climbing onto the bear’s back.
The bear roared with fury and plummeted around the arena, sand flying everywhere. Kibum squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t need sight for this, or sand scratching his eyeballs out.
The bear finally tired of its mad racing around in circles and stopped, panting. Then it reared up on its hind legs. Kibum clung on for dear life. The bear lunged back down and Kibum nearly fell off, stomach doing flips at the sudden drop.
Then the bear did what it probably would have done from the beginning if it hadn’t been crazed by pain spells; it rolled over.
This was what Kibum had been waiting for. As soon as he felt the bear start to roll, he scrambled sideways to avoid getting crushed and dragged his sword out. He had one shot at this; if he mistimed it or missed, the bear would strike him with its paws and claws and kill him.
Just as he reached the bear’s stomach, he flung the sword forward with all his might. It landed in the bear’s throat and lodged there, quivering.
It didn’t kill the bear, but it did distract it from Kibum’s spot on its stomach. The bear arched its back reflexively backwards, howling with pain and pawing at the thing in its neck. Kibum wished he had another sword; he could’ve filleted the bear right now if he had.
Instead, he rolled away from the bear and came up in a fighting crouch. He whistled, and the bear, agonized as it was, noticed. It got painfully to its feet and charged him.
Kibum performed the same quick maneuver he had the first time, and jumped onto the bear’s back again. He scrambled up over the bear’s shoulders while the bear hesitated, clearly trying to decide between running- which had done nothing last time- or rolling, which had somehow actively hurt it.
Then Kibum wrapped his legs around the bear’s neck, lowered himself upside down, grasped the sword with both hands and twisted.
The bear screamed and began running again, bucking and jerking as it went. Kibum squeezed his thighs together for dear life, hanging upside down and working the sword through the thick pads of fat and flesh around the bear’s jugular vein. He wondered if it might not be easier just to stab the creature in the eye, but given how bumpy the ride was, if he tried that, he might accidentally stab himself instead.
Finally, finally, the bear started bleeding. The blood gushed out in greater and greater volumes until the bear collapsed, still screaming rattling, gasping screams. Kibum would have felt bad, except that all his emotions seemed to have disengaged themselves somehow.
He let himself fall off the bear, tucking his legs in and rotating so that he landed in a crouch. Then he put his entire weight behind the sword, and heaved forward.
The bear finally died.
Kibum gasped with exhaustion and crumpled to the sands as the mages fired bright green victory smoke into the air to signal the fighter’s win over the beast. The crowd was on their feet, screaming madly.
Kibum limped back to the waiting area. He wasn’t sure he could take on another bear.
~~~
The waiting room was full of praise.
“Good job, young’un!” Biter exclaimed, and punched his arm in a friendly manner. Kibum was too tired to wince. “You’re doing better than I ever thought you could! Four rounds! That bear!”
“Very imaginative technique,” agreed one of the regulars, a large woman with chubby cheeks and shiny armor. “You’ll have quite the career ahead of you if you survive your next two matches.”
Kibum let the praise wash over him. He didn’t listen to it. He felt a dull terror burn him. That bear had been hard. He was no longer certain he would live through this, whatever the rest of the waiting room thought.
~~~
His fifth opponent was a tiger.
It was a huge, huge tiger and had to weigh at least seven hundred pounds. It stalked out onto the sands, tail lashing and mouth curved into a snarl.
Kibum swallowed. The tiger wasn’t quite as big as the bear, but in a way, Kibum preferred the bear. The tiger didn’t have enough fur or girth to try the same riding trick. Cats were also much more flexible than bears were.
Kibum had two advantages. For one, the tiger was even more a creature of snow than the bear, and would overheat quicker. For another, Kibum himself was in a way a cat, even if he couldn’t transform. That should give him insight as to the tiger’s movement and thought patterns.
Should, anyway.
The tiger, which looked like it was hungry, the poor thing, ran straight at Kibum in an easy, outstretched lope. Tigers usually stalked their prey first, but Kibum supposed this one didn’t think it worth it, in this wide open space.
Kibum couldn’t run. He couldn’t hide. It would be suicide to engage the tiger in close combat or try to ride it, the way he had the bear. He therefore had one option, and only one.
He was lucky Sanghoon had made him practice throwing knives with badly weighted daggers. Kibum could not have done this otherwise.
He set his feet firmly in the ground as the tiger approached and drew his sword. He weighed it in his hand for a moment. The balance was decent, but it wasn’t meant for throwing. Kibum had been lucky with the bear.
He had to be lucky now.
Kibum waited and waited, way past when any person with sense would have screamed and fled. Kibum didn’t see the point. If he missed this chance, he’d be torn to pieces long before he’d get another.
He lifted the sword.
The tiger came into range.
Kibum hurled the sword forward with calculated might.
It wasn’t quite calculated enough. The sword did hit the tiger, which was excellent, seeing as how the tiger was a very slender moving target that Kibum hadn’t been at all sure he’d be able to strike. Unfortunately, the sword’s hilt connected with the tiger’s face rather than the blade.
Kibum wasted no time. The tiger staggered to a halt, stunned, and Kibum’s sword fell to the ground. Kibum needed that sword. He ran forward, risking death. The tiger was still shaking its head, probably dazed and mildly concussed, as he got there. Kibum lifted the sword and frantically jammed it through the tiger’s neck, too panicked to think of a better place to put it.
The tiger jerked reflexively, gurgling, and Kibum was knocked sideways into the sands. The tiger bled, stumbled, and fell.
It still wasn’t dead, though.
Kibum got back to his feet, wincing a little. He was fairly sure he’d sprained his ankle in that fall, which was not good news for next round.
Worry about that later, he ordered himself, and limped towards the tiger.
It gurgled yet more and weakly pawed at him. Kibum dodged its claws and kicked the sword deeper and deeper into the tiger’s neck, sawing at vital organs.
And then, finally, it died.
The crowd was screaming again. Kibum ignored it as he knelt down and tried in vain to tug the sword out of the tiger’s body. It wouldn’t come loose. It seemed to have gotten stuck on some vertebra or something.
“You’ll have to do without it,” said one of the cleanup mages, alighting next to him on a cloud of magefire. She gave him a sympathetic look and snapped her fingers. The tiger’s body, and Kibum’s sword with it, went up in mage flame.
“It wasn’t mine,” Kibum said weakly, choking out the words from a sand-scratched throat.
The mage shrugged. “So? The arena blacksmiths will make another. Gives them something to do to earn their pay.”
And then she was soaring off again, leaving Kibum to trudge back across the sands to the waiting room, pain jabbing through him on his injured ankle as he went.
~~~
“I’m worried,” Biter announced, after complaining about asshole mages who had no sense of how to keep track of other people’s property. “You’ve been doin’ good, young’un, but now you’ve got no sword, and your hardest opponent’s yet to come. And you’re ankle’s swelling,” he added unnecessarily.
Kibum didn’t answer. He stared desperately down at his ankle and thought heal, heal, heal, please heal at it. It didn’t help. His usual quick werecat healing times didn’t seem to be working. Maybe the arena had anti-healing spells laced into it. That would make sense.
He hobbled across the room to drink some water. It was better than doing nothing.
~~~
Kibum’s sixth and last opponent was a regular gladiator fighter. He was every bit as enormous as Biter and moved with the same quick grace. He was wearing his own polished gladiator armour and wielding his own polished gladiator sword, clearly one of the successful career fighters.
Kibum felt small and young and dirty. The other fighter’s eyes flicked across the sands to him without pity or hesitation. This was a man long-used to killing, no matter whom.
They ran at each other. Or rather, the man ran, and Kibum trotted at a limp, favouring his injured ankle. He felt nakedly light without his sword.
The man came right at him once in range, sword held easily out in front of him. His grip on the pommel was practiced and confident. Kibum felt a surge of fear.
Kibum then had to use all his concentration and skills to dodge and weave away from the sword. He got nicked several times and was soon bleeding all over from numerous small cuts. The man used his feet and spare hand as well, dealing Kibum punches, kicks and blows.
His ankle felt like it was on fire. That really did not help.
He needed a strategy. That strategy needed to involve getting the sword away from his opponent. Kibum thought of Biter, and acted.
It was easy enough to duck close enough to the man to jump at him, wrapping his legs around the man’s waist and one hand clutching the back of the man’s tunic. The man staggered, but didn’t fall. He slammed his sword-free fist at Kibum, who barely caught it with his own free hand. A test of physical strength began, which Kibum knew he’d lose.
That didn’t matter. As the man took advantage of what he thought was Kibum’s distraction, he shifted his short sword around in his other hand and brought it down at Kibum’s shoulderblades.
Kibum let go of the man’s fist and back at that moment, arching out of the way of the momentum-propelled punch. He barely arched out of the way of the sword, but succeeded in digging his teeth into the man’s sword hand.
He bit down as hard as he could, tasting blood. The man screamed and his hand spasmed.
He dropped the sword.
Kibum used his stomach muscles to haul himself upright again. He spread his arms out just in time to grab the man’s wrists before his fists slammed into either side of Kibum’s skull. The man’s hands dipped lower and flexed. Kibum’s arms began to ache with the effort of keeping them away. The man clearly meant to choke him, or maybe snap his neck.
Then Kibum leaned forward and bit the man’s throat.
Blood sprayed everywhere, its coppery-warm tang flooding Kibum’s mouth. Kibum swallowed it rather than waste time spitting and bit down again. The man began flailing at him, staggering around with Kibum still clinging to his midsection, trying to detach him.
Kibum ignored the occasional punches. He ignored what he was sure was his ribs breaking under the onslaught, his kneecap shattering, a fist-induced concussion. He focused entirely on chewing his way up the man’s jugular and windpipe.
And finally he managed it. The man collapsed to the ground, taking Kibum with him. Kibum cried out with pain as his injured body slammed into the sand. Then he reached forward and dug his bare fingers into the gaping, bloody bite wounds on the man’s throat, and pulled.
More blood. Kibum was covered in it. It was absolutely disgusting.
But he’d won.
~~~
Kibum spent the rest of the tournament getting patched up in a dingy healer’s room in one of the rooms beneath the arena. His final fight had taken place near the halfway point of the day, as Kibum was hardly one of the top-rank fighters whom people actually enjoyed watching. Even Kibum’s last opponent had, as Biter had suspected, been only a mid-rank fighter, fairly successful but nowhere near a hero of the arena.
Which was probably a good thing, or else Kibum knew he would never have survived. He was still in shock that he was still alive. And that he had killed a bear, and a tiger, and people.
It was hard to be glad about his victory when all he felt like doing was crying.
After the healer finished with him, Kibum was sent to wait in a small room alone. The room looked fairly nice, with a wooden oval table and many well-carved chairs. There was a block at the front of the room with a hook and a chain attached to it. The person who’d brought Kibum here attached the end of the chain to Kibum’s collar and left him.
This must be where the auction took place, he realized.
He sat on the stone floor for several hours before people began filing in, masters in beautiful, well-tailored clothing. Then the Duchess herself strode in.
“On your knees, boy,” she ordered Kibum. He quickly shifted into a kneeling position.
“We will conduct the auction for this slave, who has won free of the Sanctuary,” the Duchess said. She sounded bored. “He has proven his worth through six victories on the sands. Who will make the starting offer?”
“Ahem,” said someone from the doorway.
Kibum turned his head and saw Sanghoon standing there, dressed better than he usually was, and smiling apologetically. Some of the shocked horror still freezing Kibum’s emotions lifted at the sight.
The Duchess frowned. “And you are...?”
“Kim Sanghoon, my lady,” said Sanghoon, bowing. “Master of arithmetic at the Sanctuary.”
“You cannot seriously hope to bid for the boy,” said the Duchess. “You have hardly the wealth to do so. Nor are the Sanctuary staff permitted to own personal slaves.”
“I have a standing offer from the city college of mathematics for a teaching position,” Sanghoon said mildly. “I assure you that I do not intend to violate the Sanctuary’s policies on owning personal slaves. Nor is wealth an issue. I implore you to consider the situation from a different perspective. The boy cannot possibly go to anyone except me; we are bonded.”
One of the people at the table snorted. “Bonded?” he said incredulously, leaning forward onto his elbows. “By which bond? No one but a fool bonds with a slave.”
“It was not intentional,” Sanghoon said. Kibum admired the smoothness of the lie. Sanghoon spread his hands out, palms up. “But what am I to do? The soul bond is deeply woven and has festered into the enslavement chains around the boy’s aura. It would be beyond cruel to separate what is mine from me.”
The Duchess raised a bejeweled hand, stilling protest from the bidders. She stared hard, first at Sanghoon then at Kibum. Then she spoke.
“You are correct about the state of the bonds,” she said. “However unusual it may be for such a thing to happen at all, let alone to a child this young, I cannot question reality.”
Sanghoon bowed deeply. “Thank you, my lady.”
“However,” she went on, and Sanghoon’s face paled. Kibum swallowed back fear. “The bond is not yet complete. Given its apparent nature, it will not be complete until consummated.” Her voice was sharply disapproving. “I am therefore inclined to let the auction continue.”
Kibum stifled a cry. Sanghoon’s mouth worked like a fish as he struggled to come up with a courteous protest.
Then he found one.
“My lady, I understand I lack current wealth. If you take my bid on credit, would that satisfy the requirements for my participation in the auction?”
She stared at him, cold. “The position of college professor does not pay enough for me to accept your credit.”
Sanghoon stared back, a daring move. “Of course, my lady. But the master of a prize-winning gladiator certainly reaps its rewards.”
The Duchess cast another glance at Kibum. “You intend to continue his career in the arena?”
No, thought Kibum, gazing pleadingly up at Sanghoon, sending his pleas through the bond. Please, no, no, no, I can’t stand it, I hated fighting, please, anything but that!
“Yes,” said Sanghoon, ignoring him. “I intend to do just that.”
The Duchess nodded. “Then very well, I accept your participation. Should you fail to pay the monies owed by the end of four years, I will sell you into slavery as compensation.”
Sanghoon swallowed. Then he nodded. “Yes, my lady.”
“Good.” She gestured at the table. “Sit down, and we will begin.”
Kibum, once more, found it hard to keep from crying. He began to hate his tear ducts. One day, he thought, he would be able to face life stone-faced and dry-eyed. One day.
~~~
Somehow, Sanghoon managed to win the auction. He took Kibum back to the Sanctuary, but rather than going back to the dormitory, Kibum spent the night in Sanghoon’s rooms.
“I know you’re upset, baby,” murmured Sanghoon once they were finally alone. “But this was the only way I could keep you. And you have such talent. You’ll win me the money I need to pay off the Duchess in no time.”
Kibum yawned sleepily and let Sanghoon peel his sweat and bloodstained clothes off.
“Then can I not fight?” he asked hopefully.
Sanghoon chuckled and kissed him. “Of course,” he said, and the bond pulsed oddly. “Come, you need a bath.”
Kibum fell asleep in the bathtub and dreamt nightmares of fur and sand and murder.
~~~
Sanghoon moved them out of his Sanctuary quarters that week and into a small apartment on the college campus. Kibum spent the week cooped up in Sanghoon’s rooms. He slept a lot, though it was never a comfortable sleep.
“Get your rest while you can, my sweet,” Sanghoon would say, petting him. “Soon you’ll have to start training again.”
Kibum would nod and hold his arms out to be kissed at these words. It distracted Sanghoon from going on about the arena. Kibum didn’t want to think about that place ever again, even though he knew he’d have to.
~~~
Since Kibum could no longer train at the Sanctuary, Sanghoon made a deal with a noble named Sungki who ran a gladiator training stable. Kibum could train there, and in return, the noble would receive a slice of the profits from Kibum’s winnings.
Kibum didn’t like this; it meant he’d have to keep fighting even longer, because it would take Sanghoon even more time to earn the money to pay off his debt to the Duchess. But it was do or die, and Kibum also had no intention of dying.
He vowed to get through the training as fast as possible so that Sanghoon wouldn’t have to split the earnings for long.
Kibum’s first day at the training stable only hardened this resolve.
Sungki’s training master was a man by the name of Younghwan. Younghwan was of the opinion that Kibum’s victory in the tournament was a result of luck only. He therefore insisted on starting Kibum off with very basic exercises.
This did not at all coincide with Kibum’s opinion of his own skills, or his plans to be done with this nonsense as soon as possible. Kibum therefore began to show off during practices, being as flashy and eye-catching as he could whilst still winning at everything and outshining all his training partners.
They hated him, of course. He was an outsider, and appeared arrogant, and trounced them at everything. Kibum didn’t give a fuck.
Younghwan eventually realized that Kibum was good enough to practice with the actual gladiators rather than the trainees, and that beating him for being flashy did not work. The first time he’d tried, Kibum had complained to Sanghoon, who had made sharp comments to Sungki, who had ordered Younghwan not to do it again.
Being rebuked by his own master did not incline Younghwan to like Kibum any more.
Before permitting Kibum to join the regulars at practice, Younghwan insisted he go through the ritual that all aspiring career gladiators were subjected to before they entered the sands. This consisted of driving the point home to them that they were not just fighters, but killers, and sometimes killers of innocents in cold blood.
Thus, whilst the trainees watched, Younghwan held out a soft, fluffy white rabbit kit and ordered Kibum to kill it.
Kibum stared at the baby rabbit disdainfully. “I already killed people, sir,” he said insolently. “Do I really have to do this? It’s pointless.”
“It is tradition,” said Younghwan through gritted teeth. “If you’re so confident, then do it already.”
Kibum sighed. The other trainees stared at him with taunting eyes, as if they thought he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Kibum doubted any of them could, because they were all soft and useless. Then again, after his trial by fire in the arena, Kibum had begun to feel that most people were soft and useless.
He walked forward, grasped the kit’s neck and gave a sharp twist. There was a cracking noise and the rabbit dangled lifeless in his hands.
This shut the trainees up. One of them began to cry. Kibum raised an eyebrow at Younghwan.
The training master just snarled at him.
~~~
Kibum continued to fight in the arena and continued to win. His matches got more and more difficult, and he became reluctantly grateful for Younghwan’s intense, brutal training regimen. The killing became easier with practice, however, and after a few months Kibum’s nightmares began to fade along with the detached numbness that had frozen his soul yet again.
As he recovered from the horror of gladiator life, the bond started deepening again. Kibum was grateful for it. The time he spent losing himself to Sanghoon’s will was free of fear and guilt and frustration. Most of Kibum’s life had become an endless cycle of learning to kill, and then practicing the art of death, and then actually committing what still sometimes felt like murder.
When Kibum surrendered himself to Sanghoon’s touch, he could forget all that, and become himself again.
And the pleasure of Sanghoon’s touch was becoming greater and greater as the chains of the bond tightened. When they were together, and especially when Sanghoon touched him, Kibum’s sense of self became nonexistent. He felt himself only as an extension of Sanghoon’s possessiveness, an object of desire and an object only. He was what Sanghoon wanted of him, and no more.
It was a beautiful, indescribable feeling, to lose himself so deeply in someone else. Kibum longed for the bond to squeeze tighter, to strip the rest of his own soul out so that he could become Sanghoon’s absolutely.
But the bond wasn’t quite there yet.
~~~
A year after Kibum’s first win, he had made more than a name for himself. He was the youngest gladiator to last so long, and was one of the arena’s main attractions on tournament days.
It was something of a tradition for gladiators to take a new name after managing to survive the arena for a year. Younghwan began pressuring Kibum to think of a name to adopt. It was annoying, because Kibum liked his own name just fine.
In the end, he asked Sanghoon about it.
Sanghoon raised an eyebrow at him when he brought it up. “Aren’t you supposed to choose your name yourself?” he asked, amused. “Are you really that stuck, little one?”
Kibum, kneeling at Sanghoon’s feet while Sanghoon sat and graded homework, pouted.
“I’m a little stuck, master,” he admitted. “I like ‘Kibum’ and I can’t think of anything. But I don’t want to choose anything without your permission, either.”
“Mm,” said Sanghoon, and stroked his hair approvingly. Kibum closed his eyes, soul singing happily at the touch. “Do you want me to choose one for you?”
“Yes,” breathed Kibum eagerly. It was only right that Sanghoon should select the name of his own possession. “Please, master.”
Sanghoon put down the essay and considered the matter thoughtfully. Kibum waited impatiently. He knew, of course, that Sanghoon’s choice would be perfect. How could it not be?
“Key,” said Sanghoon finally. “Your new name will be Key. You are, after all, the key to my ambitions and the key to my success. You open the locked doors of opportunities for me.” He drew Kibum up into his lap, smiling. “You open other things for me as well,” he teased, rubbing the inside of Kibum’s thigh. “Like your soul and your heart, and your body and your mind.”
Kibum sighed happily. It really was perfect. He felt as if he were a serpent, shedding skins. He would cast off Kibum and become Key, Sanghoon’s key. The fact that even his name belonged to his master symbolized how deeply Kibum had become his.
“Thank you, master,” he whispered, and hammered his new name, the affirmation of his identity as Sanghoon’s slave, into his mind. Key, Key, Key.
I am Key.
~~~
Key, of course, knew better than to explain to anyone else why he’d decided to adopt the name he had. No one could possibly understand his relationship with Sanghoon. Sanghoon himself had told Key so.
So Key just shrugged and said I liked it when people asked. Eventually, they stopped asking.
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