Hybrid Theory (Gladiator Pone)

>A great commotion can be heard echoing through the halls of the sunken Dragon temple as Bomber leads his merry band of thugs through the ruins, favoring his left side as he always did.
>He leans ever so slightly to counter the weight of his right wing, given that his left wing is no longer attached.
>Anything was up for grabs, Bomber was only here for one thing: an artifact. /the/ artifact.
>Each of his thugs and fellow slavers have heard the tale, he made sure of it.
>An ancient dragon tyrant: Green Wing, hellbent to bring all of Equestria under the banner of dragon kind, endowed a trinket with the ability to turn others into dragons through some long forgotten black magics.
>It was precisely the kind of magic mumbo jumbo that could bring life back to his business, that business being "entertainment." Slaves. Gladiators.
>He stops once he reaches a large circular room with a pedestal in the center, and the henchmen flanking him do the same.
>He uses his good wing to fan the dust off of his gray fur and black scruffy beard, no doubt it was kicked up by all of his underlings scrambling for their loot.
>Feeling content, he straightens up and opens his mouth to speak for the first time since they entered the temple, his voice rough and hoarse.
"This is it boys, this is what we're here for!"
>A chorus of shouts and cheers erupts as Bomber walks to the pedestal and claims his prize: a simple looking staff with the head of a dragon punctuating the end.
>Bomber grabs it in his wing, and the blue jewels in the staff's head begin glowing.
"Now...bring me Swift! The Pegasus!"
>The clattering of metal rings throughout the room as a few of the henchmen drop their treasures to tend to the will of their boss.
>Soon enough, a Pegasus by the name of Swift is carted in front of Bomber by a small gang of thugs.

"W-what is this, boss?!"
>Swift stumbles over his words as Bomber eyes him intensely.
>Bomber spits out his response, venom soaking his words.
"I know you've been stealing from me! I thought it only fair that you pay for your transgressions by being my test subject!"
>Swift whimpers and squirms in the grasp of the thugs as Bomber points the head of the staff toward him.
>The blue light of the jewels intensifies, and Swift is engulfed by a magic aura.
>The thugs let him go and he drops to the floor, writhing and groaning in agony.
>The sickening sounds of bones breaking and skin tearing reverberate off of the walls as Swift's body is ravaged by the staff's magic.
>Within minutes, the screaming stops and Swift lays dead on the floor of the ruins, his body now appearing to be a strange hybrid between pony and dragon.
>Bomber shakes his head solemnly.
"So the legends are true. The staff is less than friendly toward fully grown adults, looks like we need to procure ourselves a new slave, one who's much...younger..."
>He trails off and smiles widely, his mouth consisting more of gold than actual teeth.

>Years later, the silence that was once synonymous with the sunken temple is seemingly gone for good.
>Bomber saw fit to turn the ancient ruins into his new base of operations. As such, the halls are now constantly filled with the sounds of rattling chains, shuffling hooves, the despondent moans of slaves, and the hoots and hollers of drunken thugs.
>The location was great. It was deep within the dragon lands, away from the vigilant eyes of the law, and forgotten by the lethargic hierarchy of the dragon elders.
>More importantly, the upper levels of the temple that haven't yet dipped below the sand dunes once served as a proving ground for dragons.
>These proving grounds were easily modified into a stadium with which Bomber and his like-minded colleagues stages gladiatorial duels.
>Today is a special day, today was game day. Once a week, a myriad of races come together from all around to sit in the stadium seats and watch battles unfold as well as partake in the revelry.
>The stadium is overtaken by thunderous applause and deafening cheers as two opponents square off in the center of the arena.
>One fighter, an earth pony named Maul, gave himself to the life of a gladiator in return for his rescue from royal prison.
>It was a small price to pay to not spend another day rotting in a cell, but now he has a new problem, his current opponent.
>He sizes her up, trying to assess her abilities, as she's wearing no armor and carries no weapons.
>He's never seen anything like her before, she's some strange hybrid between pony and dragon, he didn't think that was possible!
>She has the general appearance of a pony, albeit larger than average, but she bears a few dangerous dragon traits.
>Her front legs end in dragon claws, some of the teeth that he can see are sharp and serrated, and her glowing green reptilian eyes pierce right through him.

>her body is primarily a dark blue, made up of mostly scales, save for patches of fur on her head and legs. She has a fleshy tan underbelly common amongst most dragons, and a pair of horns that stick out of the top of her head and curve behind her ears. A plume of wavy black hair separates her twin horns and runs all the way down her back to the end of her longer reptilian tail.
>If this were any other circumstance, he would consider her quite attractive, but this is war. Nothing personal, just him versus her.
>He has to assume that she's inherited quite the arsenal of dragon abilities if she's going to square off with him and bring no weapons or armor.
>How should he proceed? Overwhelm her, make her desperate and hope she makes a mistake? Go on the defensive and find a weak point in her attack?
>He widens his stance. He'll let her make the first move, then decide his course of action.
>Across from him, the Pony-Dragon hybrid was much more calm and collected.
>She regards the muscular yellow pony with a sharp eye, picking apart his defenses.
>'He relies on brute force, he's never had to learn proper agility. He fights smart, but his strategy is reliant on the assumption that he's always going to be stronger than his opponent...not this time.'
>She coaches herself through each step of the fight, a habit that she formed from countless fights.
>Her "uncle" Bomber taught her everything she knew about fighting.
>He's always been a fan of bold strategies, and it shows, given the number of scars and stories he has. Not to mention his missing wing. The story behind Bomber's left wing changed every time he told it.
>His tactics never seemed to harm her though. By nature she was a juggernaut, and her adaptation of his fighting style made her a perfect duelist.
>Maul widened his stance and planted his hooves firmly on the ground while she was strategizing. It's clear that he's waiting for her to make the first move.

>'He's smarter than most. He doesn't want to underestimate me so he's waiting for an opportunity.'
>The crowd begins chanting, and for a split second, Maul's eyes focus on the audience.
>The hybrid chooses this as her moment, she roars and charges her enemy.
>His attention returns to her and he tenses up, but she's already putting her plan into motion.
>She breathes a small fireball toward his face, and he turns his head to the left to shrug off the flames. She sees this and darts to his right, kicking off with her powerful back legs and slamming into his side.
>She stands over him and delivers a few strong punches to his face with her balled up fist.
>He quickly shakes it off, rage building in his face. His hind legs coil up and kick her back and away from him.
>The hybrid slowly stands. She wasn't expecting him to recover so quickly. She tries to re-evaluate, but she's interrupted by Maul's primal growl as he takes a large hammer into his mouth and performs a broad sweep.
>She ducks and rolls to avoid being hit, but this leaves her lying on the ground and exposed.
>He raises the hammer and quickly brings it down on her, a blow that would surely crush even a dragon's skull, had the hybrid not used her secret weapon...
>Her twin horns glow, and Maul's maul crushes the ground next to her head as she magically corrects its course.
>With a grunt, she turns over on the ground and kicks the handle of the hammer out of Maul's mouth.
>Keeping her momentum, she spins to her feet and fires another ball of flames at his face. This time, he's not prepared, and she scores a direct hit on his face.
>He screams and shuts his eyes tight, but the hybrid can't let him recover. She charges him again and head butts him with her solid horns, knocking him out cold.
>The deafening spectators somehow get even louder as she walks over to his sprawled out form and places a claw to his neck.

>She looks to the crowd for approval, and receives mixed messages. Some want blood, others want her to let him stand again so the fight may continue.
>An older looking unicorn in an area of special seating speaks up, using his magic to amplify his voice.
"Leave him. Now he knows of your skill, perhaps a rematch is in order!"
>He's a frequent attendee of the stadium, and a very powerful pony. The sycophants in the crowd praise his idea and promote mercy.
"Good, I didn't want to kill you anyway."
>She says to him, unsure of wether he can hear her or not.
>She retracts her claws and walks triumphantly back to her cage, the crowd chanting her name.
"Ikra, Ikra, Ikra!"

>Meanwhile, below the arena, the the sounds of the revelry above are muffled. The only other sounds are that of the rest of the slaves bantering with one another.
>They bet and wager with currency they don't have, they boast and challenge one another, but some just sit silently until it is their turn to be called upon.
>One such slave is Garrison. Formerly Captain Garrison of the royal army, he is now reduced to nothing more than a pit fighter.
>He rests his head against one of the bars of his cage and sighs deeply.
>His career was so prestigious, he was climbing the ladder and improving his skills every day! All of his accomplishments made better by he fact that he was an earth pony, doing so much without wings or a horn, all for it to go so wrong!
>He had been chasing a group of known slavers to the border of the dragon lands, and he got overzealous. He chased them too far and they turned on him and his squad with reinforcements.
>His squad was quickly overcome, but he fought on. Ironically, that was his downfall, as they captured him because of how good of a gladiator he could be.
>He looks down at himself in disgust. His orange fur and brown mane now faded with the layers of dust that cover him constantly. His cutie mark, that of a battlement, now desecrated by the crossbones brand of the slavers.
>He's no longer unable to tell which scars came from protecting innocents, or protecting himself.
>He should never have chased the slavers so far for personal glory, he should have given himself up to save his men, he should have died with them at least!
>The sounds of cheering from above suddenly get much louder, and Garrison is wrenched from his thoughts.
>'That must be Ikra.' He thinks, looking up at the ceiling as if he could somehow see her through it.
>He hopes she's ok. She's very strong, and a talented fighter, but she has the hardiness of her Uncle Bomber...that prick.

>Garrison remembers the first day he arrived at the stadium.
>After he realized that his shouts fell on deaf ears, and his seething was getting him nowhere, he plopped to the ground with a huff and looked around at his fellow prisoners.
>He hadn't known it at the time, but Bomber was quite the collector of strange slaves, it's what made his business so lucrative.
>He acquired exotic species and used strange techniques to make his fighters as unique and entertaining as possible. Garrison is the most mundane gladiator of the bunch
>There were two rabid kobolds in a cage together, a very strange crystal dragon in a specialized cell, and in the corner was a younger Ikra.
>Despite there being a /crystal dragon/ in the room, he had been most taken aback by the hybrid.
>He heard the legends as a young colt, but always thought of them as such.
>The race of hybrid pony-dragons, born when a crazed tyrant wanted to turn the world over to the Scale. They were the Naga, the elite front line force of the dragon army once upon a time.
>She wasn't much younger than him, but she was still a kid, and she just paced in her cell...smiling.
>It didn't take him long to meet Bomber, the mastermind behind the whole operation. Ikra always regarded him with a smile whenever he showed his aging gray face.
>Garrison wasn't sure about his relation to her. She called him "Uncle," but it really wasn't clear. Either way, it was an obvious case of Buckholm syndrome if he ever saw one.
>Family or not, you don't love someone who throws you into a cage and makes you into a pit fighter.
>He contemplated talking to her, but the choice was out of his hands, because Ikra bombarded him with questions about his past as soon as the guards were gone.
>Before long, they became friends, and he tried to impart the wisdom he learned onto her so that she might survive and one day be free.

>Garrison also tried his best to break Ikra's affection for the slave master. She knows that he's not a good person, she knows about his exploits, but she can't help but feel something for the pony that raised her. It frustrates Garrison to no end, but at least he's loosened the grip a little.
>The sound of a metal door slamming shut reverberates through the prison, and Garrison prepares to see Ikra entering the room any second.
>He can always tell when it's her from the combination of hoof print and scratching claw sounds that herald her presence.
>He wonders what shape she'll be in this time. Cuts, bruises, black eyes, limping, it always worries him when it's her turn to fight.
>She appears in the door way, and amazingly, she looks immaculate aside from some dirt.
>He eyes her in shock, and she raises an eyebrow at him.
"I thought you were fighting Maul. Everyone's been talking about him all week, how did you get off without a scratch?!"
>His voice cracks as he emphasizes the last part.
>She smiles smugly.
"Don't you know by now that I'm the best?"
>Now it's his turn to raise an eyebrow.
"Ok fine, I.../may/ have almost died, but I improvised!"
>A door slams again, but this time the sound comes from the other side of the room.
"That's my girl, bringing down the toughest foes like it's nothing!"
>Bomber walks toward Ikra, his gray fur making it seem like he materialized from the shadows, and it would hardly surprise Garrison if that was indeed the case.
>A wide smile stretches across Ikra's face.
"Did you see how I disarmed him?! I took your advice on that one!"
>Bomber let's out a boisterous laugh and hugs her.
"He didn't stand a chance, we're gonna make one hell of a profit off of this!"
>Ikra glances at Garrison nervously, but quickly looks away when she sees his glare, she knows how he feels about Uncle Bomber.

>Garrison keeps staring daggers at the two of them despite Ikra looking away. The way she sheepishly shrinks away from confrontation whenever Garrison brings up the subject of Bomber infuriates him.
>Does she not understand how little she means to Bomber?!
>Garrison mentally chastises himself. She's broken, being a slave and a side show attraction is all she's ever known.
>In her mind, there's nothing wrong with it. Bomber has always taken care of her, and she's rarely ever seen any other children.
>She's in denial, and talking to her about it is like talking to a brick wall.
>Garrison's upper lip curls into a sneer as they continue to prattle on about the fight and how "proud" Bomber is, until the slaver finally turns away from Ikra and looks to Garrison.
"Looks like you're up next Mr. Crew Cut..."
>He grins, a glint of gold showing in his parted lips.
>He opens Garrison's cage and gestures toward the hallway that Ikra came from minutes earlier. He begins to walk toward it and addresses Garrison without turning his head back.
"Meet me upstairs /Sir Gary/, I need to talk with you before your fight."
>Bomber leaves the room and Garrison leans in to Ikra and speaks with a hushed tone.
"You're nothing but a slave to him, you remember that right?"
>Her eyes narrow and her lips form a thin line before she retorts, mirroring his quiet tone.
"He can be a bit sketchy, but he's way better than all of the other thugs around here! He raised me! He made sure that you stayed alive when you were carried here half dead!"
>Garrison feels rage flare up in his core, and he tries his hardest to keep his volume under control.
"Raised you?! I don't know how he got you, but it wasn't anything legitimate! He enslaved you, threw you in a cage, makes you fight monsters for coin, coin that you never see! And me?!"

>He gestures to his branded flank.
"He took everything from me! My men, my career, and he damn near took my sanity! He'll throw me out the second I'm no longer profitable."
>Apprehension shows on her face. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. When she speaks, she only addresses Garrison's last point, seemingly ignoring everything that was said before.
"He...he wouldn't do that. He's good to all of his employees, he makes sure they're well taken care of!"
>Garrison rolls his eyes at the mention of "employees."
"Is that what he tells you? I suppose everyone who's ever left his "employ" left for a harmless reason then. How many were removed for being "sick," or "earning their freedom?" You're smarter than this..."
>Ikra bites her lower lip with sharpened teeth as he trails off and giver her a cold stare.
>The moment is short-lived as Bombers voice calls out from the hall.
"Garrison! I'm waiting...!"
>They share a final glance as Garrison turns to leave and two guards enter to escort Ikra to her cage.
>She chokes out a "good luck" before he's completely out of the room, he doesn't look back.
>Bomber waits for him down the narrow hallway, the metal door at the end leading to a cage in the arena and guarded by two thugs.
"Discussing battle strategies with Ikra I take it?"
>Bomber asks, eyeing Garrison curiously.
>Garrison grumbles out a response.
"Yeah, something like that, what did you want to talk about?"
>Bomber begins to pace back and forth as he answers. Garrison follows him with his eyes.
"The single matches are good money makers, but we could do better. I've got a fine roster of fighters in my corner, and I believe I could enter you guys into the team fights."

>Garrison's jaw hangs low. The team fights were even more dangerous than the regular single duels with gladiators or monsters, they pitted teams against other teams...or even bigger monsters!
>Bomber continues, ignoring Garrison's shock.
"You'd make a good leader for the team. I hear you sometimes, giving tactical advice to your fellow slaves. You've taken quite a shine to my little girl Ikra, I take it you fancy her as a mate?"
>A slight blush strikes Garrison, he didn't expect such an accusation.
"It's not like that..."
>Bomber raises his eyebrows. He's surprised at Garrison's answer. Ikra is exotic and beautiful, that's part of the reason she's such a fan favorite, it's odd to find a pony who doesn't see her in such a way.
>Bomber hums in amusement.
"Well, that's good, because you may find yourself in a position where you'll have to sacrifice her to save yourself."
>Garrisons face hardens, and he stares intensely.
"A good leader puts his troops before himself."
>Bomber laughs and puts an arm around his shoulder.
"Good answer boy, I-"
>Garrison interrupts him and shrugs off Bomber's arm.
"And I seem to be more concerned with Ikra's well-being than you've ever been!"
>Bomber's eye twitches as his face becomes deadly calm.
>The guards by the door take a step forward and ready their spears, but Bomber raises a hoof to stop them.
>Bomber speaks in a low but cold voice, his crazy, twitchy eyes staring holes through him.
"Despite what you may think, Ikra means a lot to me."
>Garrison feels the fire in his belly again, and he involuntarily spits out a retort.
"Yeah, she means a lot of money to you!"
>Bomber's mouth bends into a frown, and he growls.
"I'm going to ignore this little outburst because you have a fight to win. You won't get another warning..."

>Ikra's nostrils flare in annoyance as Garrison's footsteps grow further away, their argument still fresh in her head.
>The guards approach her and lead her to the cage that she's called home for years, and for the first time, she actually resists them.
>The two ponies get on either side of her and grab her by the back of the neck, pushing her toward the opening in the cage.
>Ikra flails her head and lets loose a feral hiss, prompting them to let go and step away from her, obviously surprised at her sudden and uncharacteristic aggression toward them.
>She mutters curses under her breath as she begrudgingly escorts herself behind the metal bars.
>Once inside, the guards quickly lock her in and take off. Ikra plants her flank on the floor of the cage and hangs her head.
>"You're nothing but a slave." Garrison's words ring in her ears, cutting her deep.
>He's been telling her this for a long time, but only now has she listened.
>Bomber is family. He raised her, he taught her how to take care of herself, he's built an empire and provided for her. It's only fair that she fights in his tournaments to repay him.
>That's what she's been telling herself, that's what /Bomber's/ been telling her, but there's a bigger picture that Ikra has been blind to her whole life.
>The bigger picture only became known to her when Garrison showed up, and she hadn't even believed him, not until today. The pain in his eyes when he mentioned his men haunts her.
>A vision of Uncle Bomber enters her head. Broad, strong, eccentric, and confident. He always knew how to make her smile, he's always known just what to say in every situation, he's her role model!
>For her to suddenly think of him as a slaver, a murderer of innocents, a ruthless tyrant...
"Are you okay?"
>Garrison's voice speaks up from the cage to her left. Ikra tenses up, expecting to look over and see the former soldier, but when she turns her head she feels foolish.

>With all of the gears turning in her head, she had all but forgotten that she wasn't alone in the room. Sitting in the corner of their own specialized cage is the crystal dragon, Vista.
>Another one of Bomber's fan favorite attractions, Vista the "one and only crystal dragon" is probably the most intimidating fighter at the stadium.
>His lethality is so assured, so absolute, that fights against him are timed survival challenges rather than death matches.
>There aren't many fights that Ikra would shy away from, but she wouldn't take him on even if she had Dragonlord Torch backing her up.
>Luckily, she doesn't have to. Both of them belong to Bomber, so he spares them the dangers of fighting one another.
>"No money to be made if both of my best fighters are dead!" Bomber would say. Though now, Ikra would bet that he'd probably sacrifice them both for a good enough price.
>Vista hasn't always been like this though, Ikra remembers a time when he was just a regular dragon, a blue one if she recalls correctly.
>Ikra was younger when Vista was hauled into the stadium for the first time. He was beyond angry, and he took it out on his opponents.
>After a while though, he succumbed to a strange illness brought on by a very rare breed of magic symbiotic crystal.
>Bomber had told Ikra that Vista must have picked it up before they brought him in, But she now suspects that the crystal was introduced to him purposely.
>She watched in horror day after day, night after night, as the living rock spread up his legs and slowly encompassed his body in a quite painful display.
>She would be apprehensive to back to her cage, lest she bare witness to his suffering any longer.
>He spent the better part of a week curled into a ball, moaning in agony as the crystal enveloped his body.

>When it was finally over, Ikra couldn't tell how much of him was still organic. To this day she still isn't sure if the crystal is just an armor, or if it's actually part of him now.
>The usually iridescent crystal seems to favor a certain color based on his perceived emotion, and his red eyes are the only untouched hint of his previous self.
>Much of his dexterity has been replaced by invulnerability, and some of the crystal likes to occasionally break off and spread its influence, hence his special enchanted cage.
>Perhaps the most curious of his new traits is his method of communicating. With the majority of his body being stiff and statuesque, he is no longer able to talk like he used to.
>Instead, through some strange properties of the crystal, he is able to capture sound vibrations and subsequently use them to speak in other ponies' voices.
>The only downside is that he can only replicate things that ponies have already said, resulting in his vocabulary being limited, and his speech being an amalgamation of different voices.
>Vista's chosen question to Ikra just now happens to be one previously stolen from Garrison, resulting in her confusion.
>Vista stares at her from the corner of his cell, the softness in his eyes betraying his intimidating exterior.
"Are you okay?"
>He repeats the question perfectly. Same voice, same tone.
>Ikra shakes herself free of her thoughts.
"I don't know Vista...I think Garrison might be right about Uncle Bomber."
>If Vista could sigh in exasperation, he would. He opts instead to roll his eyes.
"You...think?"
>He says both words in different voices, and it didn't quite take on the sarcastic tone he was going for, but she gets what he means.

>The hybrid hangs her head once more. How could she have been so blind to what everyone else could see?
>Bomber always said that he rescued her as a filly, but does she even believe that anymore?
>He raised her to have a trusting slave totally in his thrall, not because he wanted to rescue an abandoned filly!
>He taught her how to fight so he could use her, not because he wanted his daughter to be able to take care of herself!
>He kept up the facade so no one could tell her otherwise, and it worked for so long.
>She can feel her blood start to boil. He doesn't care about her, he never did!
>She feels rage at Bomber's life long betrayal, and also the greatest shame she's ever felt for being a willing tool.
>Her eyes start to burn as she holds back tears. What do Vista and Garrison think of her? She had always defended Bomber vehemently, they must think of her as a naive filly!
>She thinks that she should feel more sad than she does, given that her role model has been using her her entire life, but she feels anger over everything else.
>She wants to slice him open so he'll feel just as gutted as she does!
>Ikra seethes for a few more moments before the door to her right opens again, and in walk the guards from before with two buckets of anomalous meat.
>Such is the food around here. Garrison tells her that even the vegetarian stuff that they give him is disgusting, but that's the beauty of having dragon tastebuds.
>Thankfully, the questionable meat isn't for Ikra. Rather, it's for the two kobolds in the cell across from her and next to Garrison's.
>The sibling kobolds, Tooth and Nail are also old friends of Ikra's, if you could call them that. It would be more accurate to call them her cultists...
>The kobolds of old were always servants of the dragons, though over time their numbers dwindled significantly as they were constantly on the front lines of any and every conflict.

>What little kobolds remain still follow the the dragon blooded fervently. Tooth and Nail took an immediate liking to Ikra when they were first brought in, and ever since have treated her like some kind of demigoddess.
>The two bronze kobolds lay sleeping on the floor of their cell, exhausted by their fight earlier today.
>One of the guards, a unicorn, levitates both buckets of disconcerting chum and dumps it onto the kobolds' sleeping forms.
>Naturally, the near-dragons spring awake and begin noisily eating the meat off of each other.
>The female, Nail, even goes so far as to bite her brother's arm as she excitedly devours the pungent food. This prompts Tooth to yip and deliver a swift punch to Nail's face, knocking her head back and sending her sprawling onto her back.
>The two guards look at each other with disturbed faces as the questionably sentient lizards scuffle, trying to get the most of the slop off of the floor, and they make their way out of the room.
>It isn't long before all of the meat is consumed. Ikra almost forgets about her anger as she observes the rabid duo licking up the remnants of their meal off of the floor with forked tongues and manic eyes.
>Ikra thinks about the guards. Each time a new rotation is brought in to feed the kobolds, they react the same way: with those signature looks of disgust and apprehension.
>She chuckles at the thought, and the two siblings snap their heads up at the sound of her voice and begin shouting in their shrill voices.
>Nail is the first to speak, jumping up and bouncing around excitedly.
"Tooth! She's back! The mighty Ikra is back from her fight with the brute!"
>Tooth gives a primal scream and gesticulates wildly.
"Was there any doubt?! Facing a foe twice her size, the indomitable Ikra never falters! She could fight a hundred Mauls!"
>Nail grips the bars of her cell and tries to squeeze her head through the gaps, gazing at Ikra excitedly.
"Teach us your ways! Help us ascend to the level of dragon!"

>She begins rocking back and forth, still gripping the bars as if to try and bend them out of place, but they only rattle in response.
>Ikra scratches the back of her neck.
"I keep telling you guys, I don't know what that means..."
>She doesn't know what they're always going on about, probably some esoteric kobold religion.
>Teach them her ways? They've won more fights than she has! Help them ascend? What does that even mean?!
>Their commotion is quieted by the sound of the door to Ikra's right opening yet again.
>She glances over to see who it is this time, and she immediately scowls.
>A Pegasus strides into the room, his tan fur free of dirt, and his red hair styled to perfection.
>That pompous, self inflicted smile belongs to none other than Zenith: one of Bomber's lieutenants, and perpetual thorn in Ikra's side.
>Really, their roles should be reversed, as Zenith probably hates Ikra more. She thinks it's because of his sycophantic nature.
>'He's just mad because Uncle Bomber always paid more attention to me.' She thinks.
>Regardless of the reason, Zenith and Ikra have been enemies ever since they first met.
>Zenith had just been starting out as a new lieutenant. Being ever eager to prove his usefulness, he pointed out that Ikra didn't have to be a fighter, that she could be much more profitable as a courtesan.
>Bomber almost had Zenith's head for suggesting it. Ikra /tried/ having his head for suggesting it.
>After that day, they loathed each other. Zenith couldn't touch her because of Bomber, but Ikra couldn't touch him because she was a slave.

>The air is knocked right out of Garrison's chest as he hits the ground with an audible "oof!"
>His vision goes blurry from the hit, and for a moment, the only things he can register are the deafening cheers of the crowd and the burning sand floor he's sprawled out on.
>His senses return to him as he feels the vibration from his opponent landing on the ground near him.
>Garrison snaps his head up and stands as quickly as he can. His opponent grants him no time to regain balance, and lunges at him again.
>The former captain's enemy, a female gryphon, has been quite literally flying circles around him, unleashing an unrelenting assault by flying into him while he remains helpless on the ground.
>Her current attempt at putting him back on the ground fails as Garrison shoves her away with a powerful hoof.
>She didn't have enough momentum to knock him down again, but she circles in the air, eager to try once more and finish him off.
>He growls in frustration as he tries to track her in the air, the bright desert sun leaving his eyes full of spots.
>'Just calm down.' Garrison thinks to himself, 'remember: you're an earth pony. Not being naturally talented means you have to think better than your opponent.'
>Garrison recalls his training. The gryphon dive-bombs him and he jumps out of the way at the last second. She sticks the landing and skids to a stop on all fours while her adversary runs to the edge of the arena, effectively cornering himself.
>'There,' he thinks, 'She can't fly around me anymore. She'll be forced to take me head-on.'

>The feathered gladiator grunts as she wheels around to face Garrison.
"Just give it up /earth pony/, your misbegotten kind has always been the weakest race!"
>She flings taunts at him as she lowers her head, preparing for a final charge.
>'She thinks I'm weak. Good.' Garrison knows the greatest advantage he can have  is his opponent's underestimation.
>He widens his stance, preparing for the coming impact.
>His enemy doesn't disappoint. She kicks off into the air, leaving a cloud of sand in her wake, and charging right toward him at top speed.
>No jumping out of the way this time, she'll see it coming for sure. Sometimes tactics require sacrifice, not every victory can be achieved flawlessly.
>Within seconds, he closes his eyes as the gryphon plows into him, slamming him into the painfully solid stone wall behind him. His whole world vibrates, and little pebbles fall on both of them as they're shaken free from the stone.
>He's paid the price, but he won't count the cost. The thing that other races don't consider about earth ponies is that even though they don't have tough scales, wings, talons, or magic, they've always been stronger physically.
>Garrison grunts as he hits the wall, but it sounds more like a hearty laugh, causing his opponent to raise her eyebrows.
>It hurt. It hurt like Tartarus, but he can shake it off. She however, cannot.
>He grits his teeth in something reminiscent of a smile, and wraps his front legs around her. His back legs take root in the sand, and he spins her around, slamming her into the wall.
>'Gryphons are part bird. Their bones are less dense than most creatures so they can take flight more easily.'

>She makes hard impact, sending the breath out of her lungs and leaving her dazed.
>With her still against the wall seeing stars, Garrison steps back and takes a running start, ramming her into the wall.
>He almost vomits then and there as he hears the audible crunch of his challenger's bones, and the subsequent scream she lets out.
>Sweet Celestia, seeing her crumpled form in the now bloodied sand is almost too much.
>He is again reminded of the crowd as they erupt into a frenzy. They call for blood.
>He backs away again slowly, not wanting to look at the pain he's caused. She was just a slave, just like him. He had to save himself, but she didn't deserve this...
>The crowd starts chanting, calling for her death, but he can't bring himself to even move.
>It's only then that he feels a specific pair of eyes on him. Bomber's eyes. Garrison hears his voice so clearly despite the cacophony of shouting around him.
"Do it, boy!"
>Garrison picks up a large rock nearby and makes his way toward the gryphon's broken, writhing, and moaning form.
>'It's the right thing to do.' He tells himself, 'if I leave her alive, she won't receive adequate medical treatment. She'll suffer...'
>The gryphon tries to look at him, but her eyes keep shutting tight from the pain of her broken ribs, probably puncturing a few organs.
>He doesn't shut his eyes. He needs to see what he's about to do, what he's become.
"I'm sorry!"
>He shouts as he brings the massive rock down onto her head.

>The bright sun, oppressive heat, and burning grit beneath Garrison's hooves suddenly become bearable as he looks inward to himself.
>He feels almost numb as he walks away from his fresh kill and toward Bomber, who is only a dark outline thanks to the sun, an accurate depiction of who Bomber really is: just a shadow that's taken form.
>Truth be told, Garrison feels little to nothing for the life he's taken. He has to mentally punish himself, /force/ himself to feel remorse, lest he become the monster that haunts any reflective surface he comes across.
>The soldier has been at war with himself, debating if he should keep track of the lives he's ended. Does he keep track, whipping himself daily with that knowledge driving him further into insanity, or does he stop counting and become more cold blooded by the day?
>That's really his life now. Day by day, he has to choose between holding onto his morality, or becoming numb to the bloodshed.
>'How far am I willing to go to survive? How far can I sink before I loose that spark of virtue?' He thinks to himself, practically collapsing against the wall as he enters the passage leading back to his prison.
>The stone is cool against the pony's body. It feels nice to to relax everything, Garrison wishes he could just remain there against the wall for hours, but Bomber's rough sand paper voice causes him to tense up once more.
"You've survived far worse than that Crew Cut, shake it off!"
>He punctuates his statement with a playful but hard pat on the back, causing the gladiator to slump further against the wall with a grunt.
>Garrison grits his teeth and attempts to stand once more. It's only now that he realizes how much of a toll his fight has taken.

>He pushes off from the wall, but not before a lightning bolt of pain shoots down his back. 'That's gonna hurt in the morning.'
>Garrison voluntarily begins his walk back to his cage, and Bomber follows close behind. A headache starts to form as his 'master's' wheezing laughter echoes down the hall.
"I was /this/ close to betting my last wing on that fight! If I'd just go with my gut on these things, I'd have 3 pairs of wings by now!"
>Much to Garrison's relief, Bomber's laughter stops as they enter the room housing the slave cages.
>He's not, however, relieved to see the tan pegasus staring daggers at Ikra just inside.
>Zenith. Garrison seldom sees him, but he doesn't need a reason to hate him, he hates just about everyone here. Ikra gives a different reason to hate Zenith every time he asks.
>Bomber greets him dismissively and keeps walking.
"Zenith. Go ahead and start the next round without me, I have some business to attend to."
>With that, the slave master leaves the room, and Zenith and the Naga go back to their apparent showdown.
"What are /you/ doing down here, Zenith? Won't the sand damage the polish on your hooves?!"
>The pegasus' lip starts to quiver into a sneer, but he instead lifts his chin and looks away snidely.
"Well I'm certainly not here to speak to a half breed monster like you..."
>Ikra huffs and examines her claws dismissively.
"Harsh words. You sure do stare at me a lot despite me being a 'monster'."

>Zenith falters, but continues as if she hadn't spoken.
"I came here to congratulate Garrison here on a job well done."
>He gestures to Garrison, but keeps his eyes locked on Ikra's.
"Garrison is exactly the type of gladiator we need to be promoting, not /side-show attractions/ like you and the pile of rocks over there. He keeps this sport pure and skillful, you would only turn this stadium into a carnival!"
>He flashes Garrison a smile as he locks him inside his cage, then he turns back to his Hybrid nemesis.
"Soon enough, Bomber will be gone, and then I'll be able to seal the holes on this sinking ship!"
>Ikra narrows her eyes.
"'Soon enough?' What's that supposed to mean?"
>Zenith walks slowly to her cage and leans his head in, only inches away from hers.
"It means that the only person keeping me from you doesn't have long for this world. Think about that!"
>Zenith then yelps and whips his head back as Ikra swipes a claw at him through the cell bars with a ferocious hiss.
>He backs away with a wide eyed expression, panting heavily. His eyes drift upward to see a few strands of hair sliced free from his styled mane, gliding slowly to the ground.
>His shocked countenance quickly falls away and is replaced by one of fury.
>He calls for the guards, who enter the room hurriedly, ready to receive their orders.
"Take the crystal dragon out of his cage again, it looks like there's been an encore..."
>He growls in frustration and stomps away to whatever hole he crawled out of.