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The sun beat down on the bare stone arena, as unfeeling and harsh as the furs that stood amidst the blowing sands of the arena floor. They stood resolute, unafraid, and hungry for battle.

"We who are about to die, salute you!" came the shout; each warrior lifted their weapon and spoke in unison. The crowd, a motley assembly of paupers, nobles and merchants, shouted back.

There were twenty fighters in all, their shapes and sizes as varied as the clothing and armor they had selected for this bout. Some stood nude, their cocks erect and as hard as the weapons they held in their paws. Others wore simple loincloths, barely concealing their own aching shafts. The fight was to the death and as the assembled warriors turned to face each other, each knew that only one of them would leave the arena alive. Around the circular battlefield hung the heads of defeated gladiators, their tongues lolling and eyes closed in eternal repose; soon, nineteen more would grace the walls of the arena, a fitting end for a disgraced combatant.

The horse stood taller than most, his short black fur only highlighting the lean curves of his muscles in the noon-day sun. Each muscle had been earned with blood and sweat, the boy a statue carved by the arena and each nick and scar in his hide was worn with honour. He had forgotten his own name long ago, however, the years slaying his memories like a sharpened blade.

"Vindicem! Vindicem! Vindicem!"

_ _ The crowd chanted their name for him as he readied himself, bending to mutter a soft prayer to the gods before standing tall once more. The others had spread out, forming a ring with their backs to their walls and their eyes on each other. Tails swayed in anticipation and breaths were held as they all waited for the word that would start the match.

"Macto"

The single word threw the whole building into a frenzy. The gladiators began to move immediately. The stink of fear was rich in the stallion's nostrils as he eyed his opponents, most of them avoiding his gaze in fear that he would choose them as his first target. It was a young looking otter who threw the first swing, however. The boy, perhaps nineteen years of age, wore only a short silken loincloth which hung delicately between his legs. His gladius was short, not unlike the boy's legs, but as he lunged towards a nude caracal the horse was surprised to see he wielded it with skill. Others began their fights in short order; the crash of steel on steel was dwarfed only by the roar of the crowd. The horse had learned to use the audience to his advantage; they had a clearer view than he did, and their reactions were all he needed to know the flow of the battle, when blood was spilled, and when a fighter fell.

It wasn't long before the bloodlust of the crowd drew a deafening roar as the first gladiator fell. A stalwart panther, nude save for the pair of hatchets he wielded, feinted around the guard of an inexperienced raccoon. The canine's hatchet struck true, landing with a meaty thud into the gut of the horrified warrior. The raccoon's scream filled the air, barely a whisper to the ears of any but the closest fighters as the crowd thrilled at the sight. The panther grinned at the sound, basking in both the scream and the crowd's response, though he didn't pause to appreciate his kill. A strike with the second hatchet silenced the boy as it landed in his neck, throwing him down into the dust of the arena with wide eyes and a raspy hacking cough which soon trailed off into silence. The arena sands had tasted their first blood of the match, and it wanted more.

The horse had already found his first target. A Bengal feline who had decided to stay off to the side drew the equine's gaze.

"Coward" the equine thought as he moved purposefully towards the smaller male, the greatsword the large horse held glistening, as though anticipating the blood it would bathe in shortly. The Bengal saw him coming, his prick jostling as his stumbled backwards, eyes wide and fear clear in his features. "Come, boy!" the horse shouted, "Come and test your mettle!" He knew the Bengal had no choice but to fight him now, nobody would save him. The horse's greatsword tore through the air horizontally towards the cowering feline as the boy lifted his own blade in an effort to parry it. The simple move saved the bengal's life, but did little to keep him from being taken off his feet by the power of the champion's swing. The boy landed on his ass, cock thrust up and the breath taken from his lungs as he struggled to get back to his feet before-- too late-- The horse's weapon plunged down into the downed feline's unprotected belly. Metal tore through flesh and hot pain threw the bengal's head back, a scream erupting from his throat even as thick cum erupted from his dick; the sudden sensation had been too much.

As his victim painted his own hips and thighs with his final excruciating orgasm, the horse withdrew his blade and brought it down once more. The bengal's head rolled off of his body, thrown several feet by the strength of the swing which had severed it. The boy's eyes were wide, but dim already, and his tongue hung from his slack-jawed muzzle as he stared blankly at the sky above. His body shuddered as it collapsed, more blood soiling the arena sands as the horse stood tall over the vanquished combatant.

More fighters fell as the weakest were culled from the herd. A purple-furred fox, slim and serious, downed a cheetah even as the Bengal was ended by the horse. The svelte vulpine's quickness brought him inside the feline's guard with ease where the short blades the boy wielded made quick work of the cocky cheetah. Blood splashed as the cheetah fell to his knees, his dick dripping pre-cum into his cotton loincloth as his dazed mind tried to understand what had just happened. The fox gave the boy only a second to contemplate this before those blades flashed again, slicing open the cheetah's throat and sending him tumbling onto his back to choke out his final few seconds of life in the dust. The fox lifted his blades to the crowd and the crowd showed its appreciation through a raucous cheer filled with stomping feet; their favour would last as long as the fox gave them blood, whether it was his or his opponents' was of little consequence to the mob.

A green dragon met a similar fate. Smaller than his opponent-- a hulking lion-- the boy had been thrown onto his back and pinned as though he were a prey-animal. The lion showed little mercy, but like the other victorious fighters, made up for it with showmanship. The dragon could only struggle beneath the larger male stood above him. The lion's footpaw came down on his chest at last, crushing his ribs and leaving him writhing in the dirt. The boy could see the final blow coming, breath coming in painful fits as he tried not to scream when the lion's large axe came down and removed his head. Another vanquished fighter, the dragon's body spasmed in the dust of the arena, his cock staining his belly with a load of cum that sprayed even as the boy died; another head for the spikes.

Bodies littered the arena floor as the horse strode through the battlefield, looking for an opponent who wasn't already engaged. Nearly a quarter of the fighters had already been defeated, and more were falling quickly. Even as the horse made his way through the melee he saw the small otter who had thrown the first strike go down on his knees. The boy's brown fur was splashed with blood, a series of green rings around his thighs and forearms almost obscured because of it. Another otter stood before him, cock gleaming with pre-cum as he looked down at the fallen boy. The horse couldn't hear their words, but he could see the look in the kneeling otter's face, Spare Me it screamed silently. There would be no quarter given, the crowd demanding the defeated warrior pay with his life. The other otter, taller than his diminutive counterpart, made his opponent's end quick. His gladius thrust down, piercing through the collarbone of the pleading otter and ending him cleanly as the blade cleaved his heart. The small otter was dead before he knew it, a simple gasp punctuating his life. When the blade was removed, the boy fell forward and landed face down in the dirt.

The other otter wasted no time, turning to find a new opponent and finding the horse waiting for him with a grin. There was no room for indecision, and knowing his chances the boy threw himself at the horse. The champion couldn't help but admire the attitude. Much like the otter who had just perished, this one bore a series of tribal tattoos on his shoulder and tail, no doubt meaning something to those of his clan but of little consequence to the horse.

"I'll kill you cleanly" the horse assured as he brought his sword up to turn aside the furious strike of his new foe.

"I'll fondle your corpse" the otter shot back quickly, grunting as he tried to keep himself from simply being thrown away by the larger male as they locked blades. The struggle was short, but intense, and even the horse had to admit this boy was stronger than he looked. Seriousness flooded the equine's mind as he admitted to himself this one would not be easy. When their clinch broke, it was the otter who leapt forward to continue the assault. His blade snuck through the horse's guard and nicked the male's side, drawing a whickering snarl from the champion as he fell back a step to regain his composure. It was only the horse's longer reach which saved him, holding the unrelenting otter at bay as they moved carefully through the blood and body strewn sands of the arena floor.

As the two fought, a scream filled their ears, "Aiiiiie!" the purple fox had fought hard against the lion but his speed had been no match for the large male's strength and hunter's discipline. He sat on his knees, staring in disbelief at his own dagger jutting from his belly, the weapon seeming to mimic the hard dick thrusting up from the nude male's hips; he was finished, and he knew it! The lion was panting for breath as he stood behind the kneeling fighter, relishing the victory he had earned with great effort and giving his latest victim a moment to realize what was coming next. The fox simply sat there, clutching the blade that protruded from him and listening to the screams of the crowd; this time they were for his death, his blood. He didn't see the strike coming, the dazed boy not even feeling the axe as it decapitated him from behind. His body bucked up, tensing suddenly as his head flew threw the air and landed in the dust nearly ten feet away. Cum pulsed in thick arches from his cocktip, shimmering in the sunlit air even as his body toppled to the side to lie still, cream still oozing from his shaft as he perished.

How many were left? The horse couldn't tell, but the fallen bodies greatly outnumbered those still standing now. The horse could see the otter tiring, the large male's defensive approach to the duel seeming to work as the otter continued to throw himself at the backpedalling equine. There. The horse saw his opening at last; the otter's guard was lowering, blade unable to pull back as quickly after each strike as it had only moments earlier. The equine had taken several hits in the fight already, blood dripping from a number of minor cuts caused by the otter's blade, but it was only the final hit that mattered and it would be his! When the otter lunged again, the equine side-stepped it deftly and brought his weapon up in a dangerous stab that left him wide-open, his chest and belly laid bare by the attack should he miss. The otter didn't stand a chance as he tried to bring his blade back only to find the horse's enormous blade punching through his belly and out his back. The sword was pushed to the hilt before the horse relented, lifting the otter from the ground as he shrieked out in pain and horror.

"So much for a clean kill" the horse thought absently as he relished in the horrified expression on his victim's face. He simply grinned, holding the otter in place as he planted a rough kiss on the boy's face. "I guess that's one way to fondle me, fatue!" the horse scoffed as the otter simply hung limply on his blade, not dead but in shock and dying. When the horse withdrew his weapon in a brutal yank that sent the otter tumbling to the ground, he brought it down once more and removed the boy's head in a final humiliation for the defeated warrior; he could respect the otter's attitude, but he was not here to make friends, he was here to win the match AND the crowd.

There were only four combatants still standing when the horse turned away from the twitching body of the otter. The panther, the lion, himself, and a wolf who was struggling to hold off the panther. The horse, drained from the bout, remained where he was and rested as the lion considered his chances of taking the male; unlike the others, the horse was roughly the same size as the feline. Even as the two stared, the wolf perished. A low strike from the panther's blade, paired with a dagger from the fallen fox, threw the wolf off balance with a strike to his knee and sent him to a half-kneeling position. He couldn't stand, the horse could see it in how he struggled to move, and the panther came down on him like the predator he was. His dagger drove itself into the male's chest and drew a scream that was amplified by the relative silence of the other fighters, even as his long-blade cut open the lupine's gut. Either would have been enough to end the wolf but both together drove him into the dirt immediately. He fell with a crash as his iron pauldrons collided with the dirt of the arena, his loincloth falling to uncover his dick as he perished so unceremoniously and lay still like the others.

Bodies lay about haphazardly, a few laying atop another as though they had been slain immediately after felling the fighter who lay beneath them. Many were missing heads, though they were never far away. Many of those heads were still wide-eyed, while a few looked quite peaceful, as though they were simply sleeping; for the living however, there was no rest. The lion moved on the panther quickly after the wolf expired, clearly deciding he was an easier target than the horse. It worked in the champion's favour, however, and he allowed the lion his fun. The panther, for all his strength and cunning, stood no chance as the lion brought the haft of his axe over the feline's head and down in front of his throat, pulling it tight and cutting off the panther's breath. His toned body writhed against the lion's as he tried to push the axe-haft from his throat, but he was fatigued from the fight with the wolf and his muscles were already burning. It was only a matter of time before his struggles began to slow, his body wracked with pain from his lack of oxygen. The lion could feel it, his grip tightening as he roared out over another fallen opponent! The crowd, undeterred by the dishonourable manoeuvre which had put an end to the panther, roared back even as the panther's vision exploded with stars and dark colours. His cheeks were blue beneath his fur, tongue hanging out and swelling lewdly as his paws scrabbled in a futile gesture of defiance towards the lion.

When he finally went limp, the lion released him and let him fall atop the wolf he had slain only moments earlier. The feline's body twitched, his toes curling of their own accord and the sight of cum dribbling down the wolf's side was impossible to miss for any who thought to look; neither the lion or horse were thinking of the panther now, however, both looking at each other. They were the final two standing, and one of them would earn another day of life by the other's death.

The horse struck first this time, relatively well-rested by the break he'd taken as the lion had disposed of that panther. His blood-stained sword no longer glistened as he struck, but its edge was no less sharp. The great blade slid past the defense of the surprised lion and clipped the feline's shoulder, drawing a thick line of crimson amidst his golden fur. The lion's axe pulled back, that wounded shoulder pulled back as well as the lion tried to centre himself for the next attack. When it came, a great downwards slash, the feline lifted his axe and parried the blow with its haft.

"They're going to need two spikes to mount that head" snarled the lion as he held the horse's weapon in place, the simple mockery ignored by the horse as he pushed down on the other's weapon. The horse was too good, too experienced, too determined to fall for such a simple ruse and as the lion snarled, the horse acted. A strong kick caught the feline off guard, the horse's foot striking right inside the other male's thigh. The champion could feel the lion's guard falter with the blow and kicked again; with his arms raised as they were the lion was helpless to do anything save kick back, several strikes hitting the horse's hips and balls. Each winced when they were struck, but neither was willing to break the clinch of their weapons lest momentum give their opponent an advantage. Finally, the horse moved. With a final kick square to the already bruised cock of his rival, the equine ducked to the side. The sudden lack of pressure against his axe haft caused the feline to bring his weapon down hard on empty air even as the horse's elbow drove itself up into the shocked feline's gut. He could hear the breath being forced from the lion's muzzle as he dropped to one knee as though he were kneeling; this time, however, he was kneeling before the headsman. The horse moved with practiced ease, flowing back onto his feet from his own ducking crouch as his sword raised high above his head. The lion could only look up in disbelief as the weapon came down, taking his head clean from his shoulders in mid-scream.

The large body thrust itself forward as though it had been pushed, crumpling onto its side before spasming itself onto its back. The lion's hips thrust up as his nerves danced, freed from the oppressive yoke of his brain by firing randomly and causing his muscles to spasm and jerk. His cock exploded with his seed and coated his belly and lower chest in the fragrant cream even as the horse looked on, exhausted. The crowd rose to its feet and the sound it made was enough to draw the horse's gaze away from the vanquished feline.

He was the only one still moving on the arena floor, standing amongst the bodies of his weaker opponents, their heads destined for display on spikes. It took him hours to turn and head for the arena exit, though it was only once he'd reached it that he'd realized it had been only minutes; the lion's body had not yet stopped twitching.

Attendants moved from smaller entrances interspersed amongst the stone walls of the arena. They would collect the bodies and drag them below to be fed to the wild animals they held in the lower depths of the Colosseum. Their heads would be mounted and the next batch of gladiators would be brought out. There were always more slaves to replace the fallen, and as the horse vanished into the cool darkness of the building's interior, he relished the thought that his blade would never go thirsty.