The match began instantly.
No hesitation.
No testing of reflexes.
Just raw, unfiltered violence.
The two gladiators closed the gap, their footsteps pounding against the blood-soaked sand of the arena floor.
The scent of oil, rust, and old death filled the air as the bloodthirsty crowd screamed for carnage.
At exactly ten meters apart, the arena announcer's voice thundered through the coliseum.
"BEGIN!"
Grox lunged first, a cybernetic titan of muscle and metal. Despite his hulking frame, he moved with terrifying speed, servo-motors whirring as he closed the gap in an instant.
His bladed arms lashed out, cutting the air in a wicked arc.
Heavy Hammer didn't dodge.
Instead—
He offered his left arm.
The monomolecular edge sliced through flesh, severing it at the elbow in a single fluid motion.
The crowd roared.
But it had been a trap.
As Grox's blades followed through, his right leg was suddenly caught—
A massive pincer clamped down, locking onto it with hydraulic force.
Before Grox could react, Heavy Hammer's rotary servo-drill spun to maximum power—
And tore his leg from his body.
The shriek of rending metal and ruptured flesh drowned out even the roaring spectators.
Grox fell, his massive frame crashing onto the bloodstained arena floor.
....
The two combatants disengaged, staggering back from each other.
Grox dragged himself up, balancing on his remaining leg, viscera and metallic fluids leaking onto the sands.
Meanwhile Heavy Hammer, without a word, retrieved his severed arm, stuffing it into the bolted storage compartment on his back—
As if this was routine.
The crowd's frenzy intensified.
The second round began.
....
"DIE!"
Grox's distorted vox-grille voice screamed through the coliseum.
Despite his crippled stance, he lunged forward, his dual blades poised to eviscerate Heavy Hammer.
But Heavy Hammer did not retreat.
Instead—
He charged forward as well.
At first slow—
Then faster.
Faster.
His thundering footsteps shook the ground.
His roar drowned out the crowd's cheers.
"THE BLESSINGS OF THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD ARE UPON ME!"
The moment of impact was an execution.
Grox didn't stand a chance.
Heavy Hammer collided with him at full force, slamming him to the ground.
The pincer-arm rose high—
And came crashing down into Grox's skull.
The first blow caved Grox's face inward.
The second shattered his skull.
The third split bone, metal, and brain matter across the arena floor.
Silence—
Then, a tidal wave of deafening applause.
....
Heavy Hammer stood amidst the carnage, lifting Grox's mangled corpse high.
"FOR THE CHAMPION OF BLOOD!"
The crowd screamed in rapture.
The hive's filthiest, most forsaken souls howled for the spectacle.
Blood. Violence. Victory.
This was their faith.
....
Heavy Hammer did not immediately leave the arena.
Instead, he dragged Grox's corpse along the outer edge, marching past the iron bars that separated the gladiators from the spectators.
He paraded his kill, basking in the adulation of the hive's depraved elite.
....
Up in the VIP viewing deck, Klein leaned back in amusement.
"That bastard is insane."
He clapped, entertained.
"Trading an arm just to secure a win—he's completely ruthless."
But Grey wasn't watching the fight anymore.
His gaze was fixed on Grot.
He had expected Grot to enjoy the spectacle—
But the hulking warrior wasn't celebrating.
He was trembling.
His expression frozen in shock.
Then—
A single, booming word thundered across the coliseum.
"ANTARA!"
Grot's voice boomed across the coliseum.
"IT'S ME!"
Heavy Hammer froze.
His massive cybernetic head turned, scanning the crowd.
His eyes locked onto a military officer standing beside two towering warriors clad in power armor.
Then—
Grot tore off his helmet, rushing to the edge of the platform, waving frantically.
Heavy Hammer stared in disbelief.
He threw aside Grox's corpse and waved back with equal intensity.
The two bellowed across the arena, their voices drowned beneath the deafening crowd.
Grot pointed toward the gladiator entrance, where Heavy Hammer had first emerged.
And with a quick series of hand signals, he sent a message only the two of them would understand.
"Meet me there."
Heavy Hammer's exuberance faded.
His expression darkened.
Then, without another word—
He turned and disappeared.
....
Backstage
As a reward for his victory, the arena tech-priests replaced Heavy Hammer's missing limb.
A crude electro-sword was grafted into place.
The augmetic was functional—but it was not a hand.
It was a weapon, crude but a deadly one.
As the procedure was being completed, the door opened.
A familiar figure entered, led by the cybernetic escort from earlier.
Heavy Hammer stood abruptly, the half-attached augmetic dangling uselessly from his shoulder.
He dropped to one knee.
"Mentor."
The cybernetic woman nodded, then gestured toward Grot.
"This is an elite bodyguard of the First Legion's commander.
He wished to meet our esteemed gladiator."
Heavy Hammer pressed his forehead to the ground.
"Honored Lord, I offer you my respect."
"Antara… I… I…"
Grot's voice shook.
His entire massive frame trembled.
For the first time in his life, he struggled to find words.
Finally, he turned to the escort, jaw clenched.
"I need to speak with him. Alone."
....
The escort gave a curt nod, and the room cleared.
The moment they were alone—
Heavy Hammer rose to his feet—
And embraced Grot.
"Brother… my brother…"
Grot clutched him tightly, his hands shaking.
He felt the cold steel of Heavy Hammer's augmetic torso, the harsh reality of what had been done to him.
Crude ceramite plating rattled loosely over exposed cabling, a patchwork of second-hand bionics scavenged from a dozen fallen slaves. Beneath the plating, the flesh-to-metal grafts were rough and unclean, the telltale burns of unholy flesh-fusion visible at the seams.
It was not a warrior's augmentation. It was not even an PDF's standard bionic replacement.
It was cheap.
Brutal.
A mockery of wholeness, meant only to keep him fighting for a few more miserable years.
Grot could feel the tremors in his brother's frame—not just from emotion, but from the erratic power surges that coursed through his unshielded circuits.
Even now, Heavy Hammer's fingers twitched involuntarily, the crude augmetics failing to sync properly with his nervous system.
Grot's throat tightened.
"What… what happened to you?"
His voice was barely a whisper.
Heavy Hammer didn't answer immediately.
The two simply held each other, their massive frames shaking with silent sobs.
For the first time in years, their family was whole—
Yet broken.
Finally, Heavy Hammer spoke.
"The day after you went to the Underhive… they came for us.
They said you defected to the traitors.
Because we were 'kin to a heretic,' we had to pay a 'redemption tithe'—500 Thrones.
But a soldier's wage is barely 20 Thrones a month."
Grot's stomach twisted in rage.
"We had no way to pay. So they turned our debt into chains.
They took our sister.
They sold me.
She disappeared. I was sent to the manufactorums.
I became a Deep Pit Slave."
Grot closed his eyes, fists clenched in rage.
"A week ago, I killed my overseer and escaped.
I was forced into the arena. Given only two days of training before my first match.
A veteran pit fighter taught me to embrace the Champion of Blood."
Heavy Hammer reached into his vest, pulling out a small figurine.
A gladiator holding a chain of severed skulls, a broken prisoner in the other.
Grot recoiled. The blood drained from his face.
"No… you can't forsake the Emperor…
I fought beside His chosen! I saw His miracles!"
Heavy Hammer met his gaze, his expression cold as the steel grafted into his flesh.
"When they called you a traitor—where was the Emperor?
When they sold our sister—where was the Emperor?
When they turned me into a slave and made me a beast for their amusement—where was the Emperor?"
Grot had no answer.
Heavy Hammer gripped his shoulder.
"We will find our sister.
But first—"
A shadow passed over his ruined face.
"We make the bastards pay."