Your Human and You: Warbringer

by Chewed Pencil

Rating: mature
Tags: Alternate Universe, Human, Dark
Length: 2234

Mike is transported to a version of Equestria where Humans are little more than animal... or are they?

Mike was coming home from his MMA practice when it happened. A bright flash of light and the feeling of falling. When he awakes, he finds himself in an underground fighting ring that looks like it came straight out of Ancient Rome. Now, as a gladiator, he must fight to survive and hopefully find a way to escape before his captors catch on that he is more than he appears…

What horrifying experiences await our poor human as he fights for his life, and the lives of all Humans….

A non canon tale inspired by MadMaxtheBlack's Your Human and You

[img]http://i.imgur.com/lkCcSyM.png[/img]

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-05-24 02:13:45 UTC

The Beginning of the Story

Your Human and You

Warbringer

Many say the beginning is the most important part of any story, and I would be inclined to agree. In the beginning, the plot, characters, and world are introduced. It is this crucial chapter that must captivate your audience if you want them to continue reading. If they don't like it, they won't read anymore, but if they do, you have gained someone who will hang onto every word you write as if it were ambrosia from the gods themselves...

"Wooooaaaaah!" Mike roared as he tossed the man many times larger than he over his shoulder in a rather basic Judo throw. His attacker hit the padded training mat with a whump, knocking the air out of him. Both combatants were panting heavily, each with their own share of bruises that were only just starting to appear. Mike kept his eyes on the man who groaned on the mat.

"Enough!" An old, balding man exclaimed. His accent was unmistakably Russian. The old man had broad shoulders and the square head that many cartoons had always painted a Russian as, it gave him a menacing look, even when he smiled. Which he was, and it was undeniably creepy. Mike let loose a breath he didn't know he was holding and wiped away the sweat from his forehead. He held out his hand to his downed opponent, who took it without complaint, except the groan from the newly created headache that pulsed in his head.

"Da, you got me good..." Tobias groaned, chuckling slightly. "Seems the little mouse has his own claws..." Mike laughed alongside him. Mike wasn't small by any means, he was actually quite fit and muscular, but when compared to the hulking Ruskies, he was indeed small.

"You were begging for an ass kicking with that charge of yours." Mike said, reaching up to pat the man on the shoulder. "Maybe next time you won't take my Skittles." This only brought a grin to Tobias' face.

"I make no promises, da?" They both shared a hearty laugh as the older man spoke up.

"Da, that was a good fight. A fight without a cause is not a fight at all." He said sagely. "Without a cause, you will always lose, no matter the outcome."

They both turned to the man and replied like we had for almost 3 years now. "Yes uchitel'."  The old man smiled and turned away.

"Perhaps we should celebrate Comrade Michael's victory over my son with a drink?" They both grinned. The old man had some amazing vodka he imported straight from the Motherland itself.

"Sure, just let me take a quick shower first." Mike waved and headed back to the shower room. He quickly stripped out of his tight shorts and underpants and stepped into the warm water, just letting it wash away the sweat and grime out of his short, black crew cut.

Almost suddenly, Mike saw a bright flash of light emanate from beneath him and a feeling of falling through a tube. He tried to take a step back, but only succeeded in hitting the back of his head on the tile as he slipped into the hole, rendering him unto the blackness of unconsciousness.

Mike awoke in pain, there was a steady throbbing in his skull that felt like he was being hit upside the head with a jackhammer from the inside. Slowly, so as to not hurt his eyes, he looked around the room. The first thing he noticed was that he was strapped down to an old, wooden table in a dark room whose walls looked to be made of stone. Not like solid concrete, but large pieces of stone stacked together and bricked together with mortar. The only source of light in the room was from a small firepit with several metal rods sticking haphazardly out of it. Not to mention a wicked looking set of crimson gauntlets glinting in the firelight.

They were wicked things, tips of the fingers were pointed and sharpened like a dragon's claw, it even had spikes protruding from each knuckle. Mike felt that by looking at them, he would cut himself on them. They had a sigil on the tops of the hands, a laurel wreath shaped in a U with what looked like a gladius behind it pointed down. There was a sound coming from the old looking door bound in iron, it sounded like a pair of footsteps making their way towards the room. As the steps were at their loudest, a golden glow enveloped the ring handle and unlatched the door. Mike was unprepared for what stepped into the room.

It was a literal, honest to god, deep red unicorn with piercing ice blue eyes and a mane of spun gold. Mike can't say he was an expert in Equine Anatomy or anything, but it's thin build and the way it walked probably meant it was a female. She had a mark on her ass that was pretty much a colored version of the one on the gauntlets. She strutted over towards the fire pit and lit up her horn, a similar gold around the of the metal rods and pulled it out of the flames, the end glowing white hot was the same sigil on the gauntlets. She inspected the brand, for there was nothing else it could be, and strutted in the same way over to him, running a hoof over his sweating chest. He struggled and tried to protest, only to find out he could only make a strange gurgling sound.

"Oh don't worry, my new pet, struggling will only allow me to make a mistake." She drew in close to his face, her breath heavy with the smell of mint. "And we wouldn't want to break such a great toy before we get a chance to play with it." She slowly brought the brand closer to my chest and he screamed in protest, but despite his strength he couldn't break his leather bonds. His screams of protest quickly became roars of pain as the red hot brand seared his flesh, the smell of burning skin filled his nostrils. He could feel his flesh bubble and pop, blackening beneath the heat. Satisfied that the brand had left it's mark upon his chest, the laurel and blade, she smiled and returned the rod back to it's home in the fire.

She took a damp rag and mopped up a bit around the blackened flesh, purring to herself. "See now, my pet? It didn't hurt all that bad now, did it? Just a little burn." Mike could only pant, his breath came in ragged and hoarse, his strength sapped. She stepped over to the table with the gauntlets. "Now comes the fun part..." She undid the straps of his right arm, gripping his arm in that strange glow of hers. He tried to pull away, but it was like an iron vice conformed to his arm and wouldn't let go. She kissed the top of his hand and the gauntlet before slipping it on and strapping it back down. She did the same for the other and smiled at him. Mike was now trying to panic, but his restraints were too tight and he was still exhausted from screaming.

She turned back to the fire and lit up her horn. "Now, I won't lie my pet, this will be the most excruciating pain of your short life." In her glow were two, white hot nails that looked like they would fit fabulously into the holes in the arm of the gauntlets. His eyes opened wide as she scraped the top of the gauntlets before setting them above the holes. No matter how hard he struggled he could not free himself. He whimpered and fidgeted as she brought the nails down closer so the heat was burning the hairs off his arms. "Now now, if you move too much, I might miss and you will be useless to me without your arms." She giggled. She fucking giggled as she plunged the nails through my flesh and out the other side of the gauntlet. My screams echoed in the chamber as the wounds were flash cauterized. His hands were clenched in tight fists and he spasmed violently as she made her way out the door to call in a coal black stallion with an iron grey mane. Mike was not really paying attention to this new horse, but the newcomer had no horn and twisted his arms sharply so that the pointed end of the spike was facing up. This got Mike's attention as he roared in agony. The unicorn only giggled with her sultry grin as the stallion brought the massive hammer he brought with him down upon the nail. Mike screamed with each strike of the hammer flattening the spike to the gauntlet. With each strike, the world faded to black...

Hammerfist wasn't his real name, not really, but it was the name the crowd chose for him. It was based on the gauntlets his mistress riveted to his arms. The hefty minotaur swung the heavy weapons at a straw human, easily snapping the support stick in two. His gauntlets were massive, at least 2 inches of pure steel around the arm and 1.5 around the hand. They were scarred and nicked by blades during his fights, useful as both a weapon and armor. The three large, round, steel plates that adorned his knuckles were like mini warhammers attached to a larger hammer that was attached to a muscled minotaur. He didn't much mind them anymore, in fact, he would have be dead four years ago without them.

He, and all of his mistress' slaves, wore the gauntlets. Each set was custom made and no two sets were the same. Normally, a slave in the arena was simply given a choice between weapons, but his mistress welded the weapons to the slaves. She would always say that it was quicker to hit something with your fists than to draw a blade. He had heard rumors that she was almost banned from the games because of the gauntlets, but as she only gave her slaves the one weapon, it was allowed. Every fighter is only allowed one weapon in the arena, but they can kill or disarm their foe to gain their weapon for the rest of the fight. Normally, the slave would keep the weapon as a trophy or to use, but his mistress was not allowed to let them keep their trophies.

Hammerfist took a break from breaking things to wipe the sweat from his brow and refresh himself from the communal water barrel when he saw the massive doors open and a contingent of arena guards enter with an unconscious human dragging behind them. He watched them drag the human and his new crimson claws towards his team's barrack. This was great, just fantastic. Humans made horrible allies in the ring as they were prone to attack you as they were their targets. Wild beasts with an insatiable bloodlust. Anyone who saw one fight would tell you the same, but he had heard of ponies who kept them as pets. As far as his people were concerned, humans were vermin to be exterminated or sold to those who would pay for them. So when he saw that the replacement on his team was human, he groaned. He would have to train the creature not to attack him or his other teammate, Steel Feather.

It seems that his thoughts had summoned the wiry griffon to his side, the bird's gauntlets were little more than enhancements on his own claws. Simple things with a hidden, spring loaded blade inside. The griffon had feathers that matched his namesake, grey trimmed with black. The feline end was black along with his beak and markings. His gauntlets were a grey blue, much like the minotaur's own coat.

"A human? Really?" Steel said. "Now I KNOW they are trying to kill us. I mean, did you see the size of that bastard?! A monster!"

"If you know what is good for you, you won't complain. Knowing Mistress Laurel, she would give us another just to spite us." Fist replied. "So hold your tongue and watch my back." Steel only grabbed his tongue and began to stare intently at his friend's back. Fist only ignore the snarky griffon as he made his way back to the barracks, the guards already leaving, the ones who carried the monster of a human were panting from exhaustion. They were both earth ponies.

Fist stepped inside the red team communal barracks, scanning the room to find the human laying slack upon a cot a tad bit too small for him. He was barely breathing, having only just gotten done with his branding and fitting. The human had muscles most minotaurs would kill for. Either he was a career gladiator, or he simply was naturally athletic. Fist was thinking the former, but that did not explain the lack of scarring. Most humans in the fights had a massive collection  of scars, or were dead. So seeing an obvious fighting build on a human with no scars probably meant he was trained, but had yet to be blooded. And it looked like Fist would be there to see it.