It was the 25th round of the arena, and the beast stood tall, holding up the head of a large elephant that he had ripped off, and letting its blood flow freely into his maw. He swallowed greedily, and dropped the head, turning around to make his way out of the arena grounds and back to his cage.
"Good job. You saved me, with that punch. That tiger was about to bite my head off."
The beast nodded, catching up with Syrian to walk beside him so they could talk. He had been learning more and more language, and the two of them could somewhat understand each other, albeit they had to stick to simple phrases.
"Yes. Well. Kill beast. I kill for Syrian…"
The beast nodded as the two of them made their way through the gates. Once they entered, they were greeted by two men standing by large buckets filled with weapons. Syrian stopped, depositing his sword into the bucket, and stripping down of his armor. The arena had begun giving him more gear as of late, likely since they thought of Syrian as an asset, due to his newfound favor with the crowd.
"Well do. Love tasty food. No hunger now."
The beast spoke. He naturally did not deposit any weapons, as he had not been given any.
He followed Syrian back into the caged area of the arena. Surprisingly, there was barely any security within the area that the weaker fighters and slaves lived in. This was probably since none of them were deemed a threat, and they would be beat anyways if they stepped out of line.
They made their way to their assigned cages, each sitting down opposite each other cross-legged. This was how they always sat, now.
"You ever been, er… Outside?"
Syrian asked, not sure on how to phrase his words so the beast could understand, so he made a gesture to the door that led out of the arena grounds and to the world outside.
The beast nodded.
"Yes… I made outside. But come here. When taken by man."
Syrian looked a little curious now. After all, the beast wasn't like any creature he had ever seen. His fur was coarse and much different than any animal, and his eyes were different colors, as if they were struck by some visual affliction. But the Beast had incredible eye sight. Not only that, but he could speak. Syrian had never seen a monster that could speak.
"Where did you come from, outside?"
Syrian asked, leaning his chin into his hand.
"Um… Big. Er…"
The beast lacked the proper vocabulary to describe the forests that he had came from, so he searched around to find something he could describe it with.
His large claws swiftly grasped onto a weed that had been growing in between the poorly made brick flooring, and he showed it to Syrian.
"Colour?"
He asked, pointing with a long claw to the weed.
"Green."
Syrian often did this with the beast. He would teach him new words, based off of items around their cages.
"Yes… Lots of green colour. And large, tall wood… But first darkness. Lots of darkness. And cold stone. But then freedom and green and wood."
Syrian nodded slowly.
"I think you mean a forest. That's the word for places with lots of green. And large things made of wood. Those are called trees. And a dark place with stone is called a cave."
The beast looked a little proud of himself for being able to communicate properly with Syrian, and for learning the new words. He had not forgotten even a single word that Syrian had taught him yet, surprisingly.
However as the two of them spoke, they were interrupted by a man walking down the aisle their cage was on. He wore fine clothes, adorned with gold jewelry, and he had olive skin. All around him, was an entourage of guards. These types of men sparely walked through the weaker slave area. But when they did, it meant someone was going to get promoted.
"Ah! Syrian The Black Star! How great it is to finally meet you. I watched your last fight. It was truly remarkable."
The man stopped at their cage, looking to Syrian. He paid no attention to the beast.
"Fuck off."
This only made the man grin, and he squatted down so he was at eye level with Syrian who sat cross legged.
"My name is Tycule. I am your new owner. Do you want to know what happened to the last man who owned you?"
Syrian glared up at Tycule. He seemed particularly spiteful of the man, and he didn't answer his question.
"Now, now. Don't be so angry. I am going to be moving you to somewhere more comfortable. Open his cage, please."
Tycule gestured for his guards to unlock Syrian's cage. But Syrian refused to move.
"No. Fuck off."
Tycule sighed, standing to his feet with a rather amused look on his face.
"Now, now. You need to move."
Syrian stood to his feet.
"Fuck y-"
BAM!
The butt of a spear was smashed into his face, and Syrian fell to his knees, cradling his now bleeding nose. He groaned, and the flat end of the spear was smacked into the side of his head.
"Take the beast, too. It's well-liked within the crowds."
Syrian was grabbed by his armpits and hauled away.