The Butchering

His eyes followed Carmilla as she took her seat, a hidden anger in them. Then they turned to Swain.
"I'm sorry for the interruption, Grand General. It won't happen again."

The Blood Lord turned and went and sat in his seat, he flashed Carmilla a look. She would be getting punished for this. Then his gaze returned to Renekton as he ravaged the slaves to pieces.

As another quartet of slave gladiators fell to pieces by Renekton's wicked blade, the reptilian demigod sensed a shift in the battlefield, a subtle nuance that had not been present before. By his bloodthirsty reckoning, at least half of the mob had been rent asunder by his blade, teeth, and claws, but the remainder seemed to be...rallying? Yes, there they were, scampering about to reform ranks. There appeared to be a number of individuals coordinating efforts to reorganize into a more competent fighting force.

The General had noted the inclusion of a certain Darkwill's soldiers, Renekton mentally noted as a straggler all but vanished beneath his foot. At last, some potential for challenge.

Giving another deafening roar, Renekton lunged forward with a horizontal sweep of his blade, fully intending to scatter the opposition where they stood. To his slight dismay, the group coordinated away from his mighty swing, though several soldiers nonetheless were rent in half. Aggravated by the lesser bloodshed, Renekton took another bounding jump forward and brought his blade down in a flurry of swipes. A fresh bout of screams resounded through the arena as the Butcher's rage grew exponentially. To be cleansing a world of the human filth the defiled its surface, to go at the wicked like cattle in a slaughterhouse, this was what it meant to live. They were as helpless as rabbits before his might, they were without hope against his unstoppable onslaught, they were...

...surrounding him, it seemed. Yes, small pockets of the main group had been breaking of and attempting to corral him, jabbing with pikes that served only to somewhat annoy. A flick of his gargantuan blade severed pike tips and limbs from those in the immediate vicinity, but an unexpected impact landed upon his back as the thicket of pikemen fell back. Quickly reaching back, the horrible shriek that followed his squeezing grasp confirmed that he had been leaped upon. But with his attention occupied with dislodging the current straggler, more and more of the prisoner gladiators dashed forward in attempt to restrain the mighty demigod through sheer numbers. The sight of a man's torso being rent apart by Renekton's vast jaws did not deter them, nor did the cacophony of breaking bones as an armored tail shattered a bundle of warriors. Instead, their efforts were being met with some amount of success, coming in too many for Renekton to hack apart before they reached him.

Fury like little else boiled within Renekton as the gladiators pressed down upon him; if the savage peoples of Noxus had come anticipating a grandiose display, it likely wasn't far.

Vladimir continued to watch the beast slaughter the men as he gave out a light yawn. This was dull, to be blunt. It would have been more entertaining to watch his apprentice go against the five hundred. The bloodshed did not excite him in the least. He re positioned in his chair, about to get up and announce his leave, when suddenly it looked like Renekton was being overwhelmed. Sitting back down in his original spot, he spoke lightly.
"Newest champion? Perhaps he should have stayed within the institute..."

That he had been drawn into such a position by the simple gladiators was irritating. That they had the presence of mind to attempt to humiliate him was aggravating. That they appeared to be succeeding was indescribable. For ever slave-warrior that Renekton tore to pieces, at least two more attempted to replace them. Renekton did not fear them, just as a lion did not fear ants, but they were actively endangering his chances of maintaining the General's favor. His chances of returning to his homeworld near literally lay within the decrepit man's hands, and should they be tempted to close around his sole escape from this plane...

A solitary thrum of force seemed to echo throughout the arena, shaking it to its foundations. The careful observer may have noted the dusty ground of the field seeming to churn, motes of debris being drawn inexorably towards the shifting mass of limbs. Few, if any, of the audience may have noted a change that made several of the gladiators' blood run cold: the sparse patches of scales still exposed underneath Renekton's armor and attackers turned a grim ashen grey. Then without further warning, the tangle of bodies exploded.

The shrieks of surprise and horror from the gladiators were almost instantly blotted out by a deafening howl of inhuman fury, one that could likely be heard for miles around. In the center of the field stood Renekton, but drastically different than the demigod that had once been nearly smothered. Standing at nearly twice his original height, the mighty form of the Dominus roared in impossible rage as a veritable sandstorm surged around his terrible form. The very armor that Renekton was clad in had been shifted and molded by the energies infusing him; the plates of armor had become a dark obsidian, while the large crest of the helmet had all but vanished, replaced by a spire of hateful power. But the demigod's eyes were the worst of all, a searing hellish crimson; to look into the eyes of the Dominus was to peer into an unspeakable hatred, to be smothered with a malefic will to dominate all life on all worlds. To look upon the Dominus was to look upon a god.

Hefting the even grander, even crueler blade with no visible effort, Renekton roared once more before surging forward faster than should have been possible for a being his size. Gladiators were not simply slain in his wake, they were destroyed. Lives were not ended, they were utterly erased. There would be no mercy for any of those who had unleashed this power, for they had tempted the god of wrath.

The wrath of the Dominus could not be equaled by the wretched mobs before him; the countless dead littered the arena floor in heaps, and the earth was choked with a veritable sea of gore. As Renekton carved his way through the paltry survivors with a disturbing efficiency, he vaguely noted that the crowds of the stadium had fallen silent. All the better to enjoy this massacre in his own way, then. Cheering and shouts of amusement had no place on the battlefield; such positions were reserved for the howls of the wounded and the din of clashing blades.

Sparing a glance at the spectators as he threw a kicking and screaming gladiator into the air, he saw raw fear in more than a few of those watching. When his scythe like teeth closed around the falling warrior, the emotions were almost redoubled, just as they were when those who had the gall to advance upon his godly form had attempted to strike at him. Blades had shattered upon his armored hide, some weapons even corroding away in the raging storm around his being. But one individual caught Renekton's fell glance above any of the common rabble: the Grand General. All through the slaughter, he had exuded an aura of serene calm, save for spikes of amusement. Even with the Dominus destroying all around him, a wicked pleasure seemed to ebb from the General's being.

At last, only a small knot of gladiators remained, the apparent leader of the band among them. The distance between Renekton and the squad vanished in a number of brisk steps, the final two steps leading to the subsequent vanishing of a couple of the soldiers themselves. A flick of his blade saw one gladiator fall in half, a swipe of a claw reduced another to ribbons. Alone with his prey, Renekton lunged forward and seized hold of the would-be commander, lifting him bodily into the air. To the man's credit, he at least succeeded in repeatedly plunging his sword into Renekton's scaly hand, the blade chipping and denting at every blow. A quick shake disarmed the man, and then the demigod's claws closed around his upper body.

Hefting his still living prize into the air, Renekton surveyed the crowd with a savage grin, the storm beginning to subside at his will. Something more suitable would be needed to close out this massacre, something with...'flair'. None would question his power after this day, and this final act would do to assert his power in this city-state. Smirking widely, Renekton roared in a voice like thunder:

"BLOOD FOR NOXUS!"

With a sickening crunch, Renekton's fist clenched around his victim.