人妻武侠另类卡通动漫

And had been that way for countless decades, since the founding of the ocean cities themselves.

It had gotten so heated that the all-powerful Justicars spent almost all of their time quashing dissent, and often with astonishing, unmitigated violence.

And if Lacroseth City was the center of Imperial political power, then Sangoleth City was the center of Imperial cultural power.

Almost all other cities on the planet held their vices below the water, but not this one. Sangoleth proudly displayed all of the best and most potent vices the empire had to offer, everywhere possible. It allowed the Drogar to thoroughly bathe themselves in everything entertainment and escapism.

Every corner of the city, above or below, was soaked in the best and most lavish foods and intoxicants. It was also home to luxurious hotels, getaways, and gambling dens. Numerous museums and theaters and shops all glorified the wonders and greatness of the Drogar people.

The largest of them was the war museum, which displayed the potency of their military might, all throughout the species’ long history.

The entire city acted as a living testament to the Drogar themselves, and was one giant ego-stroking endeavor. Which the people very clearly loved – they came from every corner of the Empire simply to partake in overt adulation.

.....

Sangoleth was, in essence, a vast tourist town founded on the glorification and superiority of their species.

In the very center of the city was a massive arena built atop a vast bright red reef, as though the arena itself was on a pedestal. It was far larger than the Viper Pit back in Lacroseth, except for the fact that the floor in the center was much smaller. In fact, its dueling circle was only slightly larger than a standard one.

Despite that, the stands around it were absolutely vast, and seated over a hundred thousand Drogar. All of whom were cheering madly for the two combatants in the center. Both of which were older than the usual combatants found at these arenas.

More important than that, neither wore power armor. Or really, any armor at all. Instead, they appeared to be draped in ritualistic rags that did less to protect them than bare scales. Both of their bodies were marred with numerous light cuts, and blood seeped out of the thin wounds.

“Your foolish game with Imperial profits is about to end, Empress,” said Retholis.

He glared at his opponent with a cold derision, even as he leveled his beltknife into a more aggressive position. And as he spoke, the drogar empress circled him slowly.

She was about his age, and had clearly seen numerous decades in service of the Empire. Despite the aches and pains that their bodies held, both were taut, muscular, and lithe. Equally as important, both of them moved around each other with precision and grace, a clear sign of their combat prowess and training.

While Retholis stood in a specialized Imperial Naval Close Quarters stance, the Empress was light on her feet. She clearly moved very much like classical bladedancers, but held her beltknife with a reverse grip.

“Do you honestly think you understand the realities of empire?” countered the Empress. “That what you think and believe about what it is, and what it should be elevates you above everyone else? That what you see is all there is to it? And yet somehow you have the answers? I would say that you’re the fool here.”

Retholis was about to retort when the Empress suddenly launched into a spinning attack.

He was astounded at her sudden burst of speed, and took a half step backwards defensively. He was barely able to raise his own beltknife in time, even as she stepped to his left and slashed across his neck.

And before he could steady his balance and launch a counterattack, she stepped in front of him and spun to his right flank. At the same time, she drove her blade point-first towards his ribs with lethal speed and precision.

Retholis quickly hopped back to avoid her strike, then sliced at the air defensively to suppress any further attacks. He then solidified his footing, regrouped, and adjusted his stance.

Then, he harrumphed.

“No-one can know everything,” he retorted. “But what I do see is that you’ve clearly sided with the Sanguine Fundamentalists, and that’s all I need to know about your reign. Anyone who sides with violent terrorists have no place in the Empire.”

The Empress narrowed her eyes at Retholis and readjusted her stance. She easily saw him telegraph his moves before he performed them, and readied herself to evade.

As predicted, he lunged at her with a wide slash, then thrust his beltknife straight towards her face. She wove and ducked and evaded his attacks with ease, but didn’t realize that both were feints. When she moved to evade his thrust, he had also swung upwards with his offhand and struck her squarely in her ribs.

His blow was just strong enough to knock some of the wind out of her lungs and cause her to stumble backwards defensively. As she tried to recover her balance and her breath, Retholis pressed his attack, spun decisively, and swept the Empress with a tail swat.

Her legs were thrown out from under her, and she fell to the ground in a daze.

Although the world around her was merely a blur, she had enough sense to grab a fistful of the fine black sand all around her, and threw it in the blurry form that was Retholis. It allowed her to roll away as Retholis shielded himself from the sand itself.

With breaths hot and heavy, the Empress leapt back to her feet, readjusted her stance, and leveled her blade. She then caught her breath as she gave her reply.

“As I already said, you don’t know anything about power,” she said. “Just because you don’t agree with them doesn’t mean they don’t have a say.”

“They’re a minority voice!” Retholis yelled in response. “And somehow they have far more say than even the most rooted Clans in the Empire! Tell me how that makes sense!”

“You’re clearly mistaking the Empire for some weak republic. We don’t rule by some arbitrary majority – we rule by the powerful. Those with the coin speak the loudest. That’s how the Empire runs, and has been running for centuries!”

Retholis raised his blade as the Empress leapt forward again. She slashed at him again with unerring precision and explosive speed, but this time he was ready and parried her expertly.

Although he swung at her with his other fist, she easily ducked backwards to evade it. And in that moment where he was just off-balance, she lunged forward and kicked him squarely in the chest.

He was thrown back by the force of her blow, and the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

And of course, as he stumbled backwards to recover his balance, she charged forward to press her attack.

The Empress spun left, then right, then sliced her blade across his neck yet again. She launched into a flurry of attacks from both sides over and over, which overwhelmed Retholis with each passing moment.

He stumbled back further and further as he parried and evaded and fought to stay in the fight.

She was far more vicious than he had anticipated, and he felt his defenses fall further and further. Her blade slipped through moment by moment, and felt it cut his scales more and more. His arms and his legs and his ribs were marred by too many cuts, and his blood began to flow freely as a result.

He was utterly staggered by the end of her attack, and was on the verge of defeat. Pain wracked his body from the multitude of vicious cuts.

It took everything he had just to keep himself upright.

Then, just as she leapt at him one more time, he focused on himself and drew everything to a fine point. He stepped aside just enough to evade the edge of her blade, then grabbed her wrist even as she was in the middle of her attack.

With an incredible amount of force and discipline, Retholis twisted her wrist and threw the surprised Empress into the sand.

While she ate the ground, he quickly thrust his beltknife straight into her ribs. He buried it down to the hilt, then gave it a hard twist.

The pain of it caused her to scream resoundingly, which prompted the crowd around them to cheer even louder.

Retholis then yanked his blade out of her, and allowed her blood to come pouring out of her gaping wound. It leaked out and soaked the black sand underneath her.

He flipped her over on her back, so she could die looking at the sky above them.

“I won’t deny that the Empire is ruled by coin,” he told the dying Empress. “But there’s a difference between profiting and profiteering. Only fools engage in wars believing it to be the only means of profit.”

Seeing that Retholis’ victory was at hand, many in the crowd stood in their seats and chanted his name over and over. But those chanting his name were soon overshadowed by the ones chanting ‘Emperor’.

That word took over the entire arena in the course of a few seconds, and surrounded the two duelists.

But all the Empress could do in her dying moments was laugh. It was soft enough that no-one but Retholis heard. Her breaths became shorter and shorter as she lay there on the sand, as her blood poured out of her side.

“Thank you,” she said after a moment. “Thank you for freeing me.”

Then, the Empress died.

Retholis was thrown completely off by her reaction, her dying moments. He couldn’t make heads or tails as to why she seemed so happy and relieved by her own loss. As though she wanted it.

He was expecting her to be angry or surprised or even forlorn. After all, she hadn’t just lost her life, but also her entire Empire.

But he quickly threw all those thoughts aside as the Imperial Praetorian Guard marched into the dueling ring. They were adorned in gleaming red power armor, and wielded decorated lightning spears. Each also held thick shields, which only added to their air of impenetrability.

While one group of Praetorians encircled the ring, another group collected the Empress’ body and belongings. They carefully picked her up, placed her into a beautiful casket hovering alongside, then marched solemnly out of the ring.

Once they were gone, the Captain of the Guard turned towards Retholis, saluted him, then bent down on one knee. Then, she reached forward and offered Retholis an intricately carved obsidian laurel, the symbol of Imperial power.

Retholis took the laurel into his hands, placed it carefully on his head, then grinned in triumph.