Just then a shrill bugle call rang out, ordering the chariots, musicians, and slaves to hurry back through the Gates of Life. As the tension in the coliseum mounted, the massive gates closed for a moment. When they opened again, the crowd came to its feet, and its thunderous roar could be heard in the farthest reaches of Ellistium.

The first group of one hundred male skeens was being prodded into the arena by Imperial centurions holding brightly lit torches. If a skeen hesitated he was immediately burned. To the crowd’s delight, this happened dozens of times. The smell of burned flesh started drifting its way up into the stands, to the spectators’ uproarious approval.

The skeens wore only white loincloths, and their skin was oiled to highlight their bodies for the crowd. Just as Vespasian had ordered, they were armed; some held short swords and shields, others brandished tridents and nets. As they neared the center of the arena they huddled together and stared in wide-eyed terror at the towering stands.

Their jobs done, the centurions retreated through the Gates of Life and locked the iron doors behind them. As the crowd stamped and shouted, the privileged few who were able to command the craft to augment their hearing soon heard the sounds of clanking chains.

An iron trap door in the arena floor slowly opened, revealing stone steps leading into the darkness of the coliseum’s subterranean workings. Then, one by one, fifty of the Blood Stalkers attached to the Twenty-third Legion walked up the steps and into the light. Like the skeens, they had never been in the arena before, so they too looked around in bewilderment.

When all the stalkers had surfaced, the trap door closed. Leaning forward on her throne, Persephone regarded the stalkers. She had to admit that they were the most gruesome beings she had ever seen.