Sean E. Britten

All There in the (Monster) Manual are stories based on creatures from the Dungeons & Dragons Monster Manual. Over 2022 I released a different story fitting the theme every single week and I’ve now expanded to Dungeons & Dragons’ Monsters of the Multiverse and even the Pathfinder Bestiary. Could be fantasy, science fiction, horror, or something else entirely! Check them out on the main page of the website.

This Week’s Inspiration: Dilophosaurus

After an attempted escape, Marcus and his fellow gladiators are slated to die in front of the bloodthirsty crowd of the coliseum. But they’ll never guess the method of execution.

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Passing through the stone tunnel, Marcus heard the thunder of the crowd growing overhead. Getting louder and hungrier, like some kind of bloodthirsty beast. He and the other gladiators shuffled forward as quickly as their shackles would allow. At torchlit junctions, armoured guards glared with short swords and shields ready. Iron gates slammed closed and locked behind them.

The passage stretched from the grounds and dormitories where the slave fighters were normally kept to the coliseum where they went to do what they were trained for. Their training grounds even contained a half-sized replica of the coliseum’s arena floor. In the dormitories, they were kept under close guard, watched constantly, and their lives strictly regimented. In a strange way, the coliseum, watched by thousands and forced to fight in weekly bouts, potentially dying, was the closest Marcus and the others came to freedom. Buried in the earth, they passed directly under the stands filled with the thousands who would soon be baying for their blood.

“Keep moving! Keep it moving!”

A great many gladiator matches did not end in death. They would battle only until the submission of their opponents, or they found themselves faced with dangerous beasts that could nonetheless be slain by a man with armour and a spear if he kept his head about him. But for Marcus and the others, that was only true until the escape attempt. Following a melee bout several weeks ago, he and the men around him had used their weapons to take three guards hostage and then tried to force their way free. The plan hadn’t been Marcus’ doing, it had been a spur of the moment thing, but he’d gone along with it. It had failed, the hostages sacrificed by the other guards and the gladiators trapped inside the same tunnel they now travelled, in the lightless dark, with no food or water, until they gave up their weapons and were imprisoned again. Since the attempt they’d been kept locked in their cells and fed on scraps, saved for what would clearly be a special event. Today, death was a very real possibility. He couldn’t be sure how it might come but he and the men surrounding him knew chances were good that this day would be their last. The guards were especially vigilant about making sure none of them tried to break free, shoving and jeering at their backs.

The last gate slammed closed and the men shuffled into the catacombs beneath the coliseum. Magnificent stone arches upheld the floor of the arena above. Two stories of labyrinthian passages, looming corridors, and a warren of cages and rooms and alcoves. In spite of the torches that lined the walls, the air was damp and chilly. More guards looped through the maze along with dozens of workers. From deep within the complex came snarls and animal screams, a whinnying horse that sounded blind with panic crying out again and again and again. A hundred different smells competed for attention. Hay and rotting meat, animal waste, mould, the stink of so many busy and unwashed bodies pressed together. The iron stench of blood, of fear, of predators.

“This way, you lot!” one of the guards yelled. “The show must go on!”

Overhead, trapdoors led into the arena of the coliseum itself. A series of doors led down the roof of the central corridor for moving large props into the arena. Marcus saw islands of rocks and fake trees waiting on pallets of wood to be delivered to the world above. So, a beast hunt. He could tell from the set dressing that they were going to be pitted against some sort of animal or animals. Other trapdoors were set throughout the rest of the complex above a variety of platforms and ramps. A vast array of pulleys and ropes stretched between the doors, the ramps, the platforms, in a complex web. All to make the games work smoothly, to move props and people and animals around hidden from spectators’ eyes.

A caged lion met Marcus’ gaze through the bars of its temporary enclosure beneath one of the trapdoors. He held the dark eyed stare for several seconds before the lion broke away. He wondered if the two of them would soon be called to kill each other in the arena above. The animal looked old and half-starved. Ribs brushed against the creature’s scarred sides, its fur patchy and its mane turning stringy. Its best days were behind it, hardly the stuff of an exhibition match. Marcus’ best days were behind him as well, he supposed, but still he expected better if he was going to his death today. The lion curled up on the floor of its cage, its back to the bars.

Something must have happened above. The crowd roared with hunger. Carefully, the guards struck off the gladiators’ shackles.

“Weapons, come and get your weapons,” another guard said. “Don’t try anything! You can die a hero up there, or you can die a dog down here, right now.”

Weapons were only given to the slaves right before they went into the arena for obvious reasons. Given this group’s previous escape attempt, the guards were even more cautious than normal. A wall of gleaming chest plates and frilled helmets, round shields and bristling swords, surrounded the ten gladiators.

The armoury was kept behind another cage. Spears and swords and shields, scores of them, along with stacks of axes, maces, tridents, and more esoteric weaponry. The men didn’t get to choose what they were given. A man shoved a small shield into Marcus’ hands as he filed past along with a spiked flail. The weapon consisted of a heavy ball not much larger than a fist and covered in sharp protrusions, attached to a wooden handle by a length of chain. He would have preferred a simple short sword, as some of the others were given, but he moved on without comment.

“This way! Come on, this way, you lot!”

The gladiators were pushed toward one of the ramps. Most of the men, there were ten in all, were tall and muscled with scarred and sun bronzed skin, dark hair, and features similar to the guards and to Marcus himself. A couple were much darker skinned. Two others were pale and reddened in the sun rather than tanning, their hair blondish and their eyes blue.

“This is it, Marcus.” Another man jostled beside him. “This is it, isn’t it? We’re going to die.”

“Calm yourself, Cassian,” Marcus said. “We’ve survived when all looked hopeless before. Just stay close to me when we get up there.”

Marcus’ eyes scanned over everything. While the escape attempt hadn’t been his idea, he’d been planning and hoping for an opportunity to escape for months. None of the gladiators knew the extent of the underworld beneath the coliseum but he knew it better than most. Every time he’d been forced to make the trip, he’d looked for something, anything, that might help him escape if given the chance. Back in his cell in the dormitories, he’d sketched a map of the coliseum’s underground in the dirt again and again until he had it memorised. He knew its ins and outs, where they kept the weapons, props, carriages, and the animals. But as they were steered to the base of one of the ramps leading up to the arena the guards were too watchful and their confines too tight for him to break free.

Below, Marcus could look down and see parts of the lower level were flooded. Presumably there were drains down there somewhere but the storms of the last few days had overwhelmed them. Bits of the arena had never been the same since half a year ago when the emperor insisted the entire floor of the coliseum be flooded to reenact a series of naval battles. Spectacular to be sure, but costly. Some of the animals caged on the lower level splashed around in water that would have risen to Marcus’ shins, unable to properly rest. Lions, wild boars, and other creatures.

There was a lull above and Marcus heard a strange, almost birdlike shrieking from the cages below. It was loud enough to echo through the stone halls. Something answered in a whistling trill. The sounds irritated the other animals and a couple of big cats roared in response, circling their cages.

Marcus was puzzling over the sounds when the crowd thundered again. Guards bristled and the men surrounding him breathed heavily. A minute later, a trapdoor attached to a ramp directly opposite them, across the gap of the central corridor, clattered open. Several gladiators retreated down the ramp dragging a pair of bodies. The gladiators weren’t dressed in leather armour, battered greaves and other cobbled bits and pieces of plating, in the fashion of Marcus and the others. Instead, they wore robes and sashes in the style of the upper class. One man had a white mask, bearded and godly, pushed back from his face. All of them, however, carried bloody weapons. The bodies they dragged were dressed similarly and had been badly mutilated. Both decapitated, one missing both arms just below the elbows and the other disembowelled. Ropes of intestine dragged behind the gutted man, collecting sand and filth off the ground. Victims of a morality play no doubt, where the actors were a mix of favoured gladiators and criminals condemned to execution. During the course of the play, the criminals would be genuinely maimed and then killed live in the arena. The man with the godly mask pushed to the top of his head carried both of the criminals’ heads. He paused at the bottom of the ramp.

“Here, for your lunch, beasties! Remember me if we face each other in the arena someday!”

With that, the costumed gladiator lobbed both heads, one after the other, down to the flooded portion of the coliseum below. They splashed and sank quickly amidst the caged animals. One of the guards yelled at the gladiator and moved them on.

“Alright, move it!” another guard said. “Up top, keep moving!”

Ropes attached to a counterweight unravelled and the trapdoor at the top of their ramp clattered open. Atop turning pillars, the islands of rock and fake trees were pushed up and into place. A wall of guards pressed in behind the gladiators, weapons at their backs to force them up the ramp if necessary.

The sky wasn’t bright as Marcus, Cassian, and the others were forced above ground, and yet after the tunnels they still had to shield their eyes. Sunlight peeked through streamers of grey but a bank of black storm clouds was closing in from the south. Even as Marcus’ eyes adjusted, he saw lightning crackle above the lip of the coliseum’s upper levels. Its accompanying roll of thunder, however, was lost in the baying of the crowd. A wall twice as tall as a man circled the arena floor. Above the wall, thousands of spectators filled ranks and ranks of seating. The threat of rain hadn’t done anything to drive them away. A roar from twenty thousand throats filled the space like a living thing. Up in his box, the emperor and his retinue were shaded by sails of red cloth. Marcus caught glimpses of gold and glitter. Knowing what was expected, he led a salute toward the box.

“Those who are about to die, salute you!” Marcus and the others shouted.

Set pieces apparently belonging to the morality play that went on before them retreated into the ground. Those fake islands appeared instead from the trapdoors down the central spine of the coliseum floor. The only way in and out of the space were the trapdoors and a couple of massive but heavily barred gates. Marcus split off from the others, heading toward the centre, and Cassian followed. The spiked head of his flail hung heavily from his hand. Blood stained the sand carpeting the floor of the arena.

“What do we do?” Cassian asked.

“Just stay close to me, stay together,” Marcus said.

Gladiators spread out and steeled themselves in anticipation. Ever since they were captured rather than killed after their escape attempt, they’d known they were being kept for a bloodletting. Something that would serve as the main event one week in the coliseum. Now it only remained to be seen what form their slaughter would take. Marcus anticipated a beast hunt, where they’d be pitted against a pack of lions or giggling hyenas, or something worse. If one of the big gates opened, however, it would be chariots to run them down. They may even be simply forced into battle with some better armed and armoured, more favoured gladiators, filling in the role of some historical allegory.

The trapdoor through which they’d entered the arena closed again. Another clattered open and a platform rose into place. On it was the lion Marcus had seen below. In the daylight, even without bars between them, the animal looked an even more pathetic sight. Marcus felt a swell of sympathy in spite of himself.

Laughter rippled around the coliseum, along with a few jeering shouts. Even separated by distance, the onlookers could see the old lion was no contest for ten armed gladiators. Once, it would have been a magnificent animal. Black maned, tall as a man’s ribs at the shoulder, paws the size of cooking pots. Its face hosted a scaffold of scar tissue from a hundred battles for dominance fought and won, but those prime days were long behind it. Ribs and shoulder bones stuck out against its loose skin. Raw, bald patches marred the tawny fur on its flanks. The creature, like most of the arena’s animals, had been starved and abused but the result hadn’t left it vicious. Instead it looked weak and unsteady on its feet. It stumbled a few paces in the direction of the gladiators but made no effort to charge them.

“What’s the idea of this?” Marcus turned to keep an eye on the other trapdoors, sensing trickery.

Across the arena, diagonally separated from where the gladiators had emerged, a trapdoor opened. Marcus’ breath caught. Around the coliseum, it was almost as if thousands more people held their breath as one. From beneath the sand of the arena came a strange, birdlike trill. A head began to emerge, topped by a pair of bony crests. It was followed by a second, jostling it out of place. Two creatures as alien as any Marcus had ever laid eyes on.

“By all the gods, what are those?” Cassian said.

“They must be animals from the savage south,” Marcus said. “I’ve seen some similar to their like, lizards of great size, but not ones like these precisely.”

Fully emerged, the animals were head and shoulders taller than a man. With their tails included, they were as long as two horses end to end. But instead of being heavy and plodding, the pair of them were sparse, sinewy, absolutely stripped of excess flesh. Knifelike frames sheathed in hard, rubbery muscle, encased in dark green scales with brown striations to help pattern them with camouflage. The two crests on top of each creatures’ head was a handspan in height and flushed a bloody red like a mating display, or a warning. Yellow eyes like those of a hawk, set forward, scanned the coliseum and fixed on the gladiators. Both let out chirping calls. Their faces angled down to narrow muzzles, big, flaring nostrils. Mouths fell open lined with dozens of hooked fangs.

Marcus retreated toward the other men along with Cassian. “Group together, stay together!”

Once they’d gotten over their initial shock, the crowd began to roar their approval. The pair of crested lizards ignored them. It occurred to Marcus that their pared down frames might be due to being starved and mistreated just like the other animals. They were hungry. The two of them moved in quick, darting motions then, when they came to a stop, they stopped so completely they became as still as trees or statues. Their legs were long and powerful, balanced on splayed and taloned feet. Their forward heavy bodies were balanced by stiff tails. Arms ending in claws like scythes dangled from their chests.

The old lion lay between the men and the two lizards. It swung on them, snarling. In its prime, the male lion might have weighed almost as much as one of the lizards even though they were taller and longer. But it was no longer in fighting shape, and there were two of them. The lizards split up, darting, to come at the big cat from both sides. The lion’s attention was divided and its head swung from side to side, teeth bared. The lizards trilled and chirped as if communicating with one another.

Claws cleaving at the air, the lion launched itself at one of the crested lizards as it drew too close. The animal howled, throat reverberating with a growl that grew into a roar. The lizard sprung back with the speed of a striking snake, contorting, its feet leaving the ground. The lion’s claws missed and its jaws snapped shut on empty air. The second lizard used the distraction to launch itself at the lion’s hindquarters but the big cat’s reaction times were none too poor either. Perhaps not what they once were but not completely shot. The lion flung its rear end free of the second lizard’s jaws before they closed. It took a swipe at the lizard’s nose, claws narrowly missing as the lizard’s neck jerked back.

“Should we help it?” Cassian said, pressed shoulder to shoulder with the other men alongside Marcus.

“Why would we do that?” Marcus said.

Cassian slumped. “I don’t know.”

Looking back, Marcus understood the momentary impulse that must have passed through Cassian’s head. Some sense of fealty between mammals in the face of the uncanny appearance and movements of the two lizards. But Marcus stayed where he was and watched along with the other gladiators.

Energised, looking years younger, the lion launched itself at both crested lizards in a whirling dervish. The crowd cheered as claws hissed through the air and the old lion let out a rippling roar. The lizards divided its attention though and easily avoided the blows. When the lion fixed on one of the lizards, the other shot forward and seized it around the flanks. Fur tore and a bright smatter of blood stained the sand.

The lion swung on its attacker only to be pounced on by the first lizard. With its powerful jaws, the crested lizard got hold of one of the lion’s back legs. It lifted the lion’s hindquarters off the ground. The lion roared and tried to kick free. The lizard shook its head and bore down. Even across the arena floor, Marcus heard crackling ankle bones as the joint gave way.

The crowd’s allegiance changed in the blink of an eye. A moment ago they seemed to be applauding the old lion’s spirit, but after seeing it maimed they cheered for the lizards. The lizard released the leg but it was bleeding and broken. The lion tried to limp away but the lizards pressed him. Taking turns, they lunged and snapped to inflict a shallow wound then pulled back. The lion was driven toward one of the islands of rock and fake trees. The coliseum thrummed with bloodlust. Marcus searched for some kind of strategy he could use against the pair of foreign creatures.

Finally, one of the lizards buried its pointed snout in the old lion’s mane. Hooked teeth dug for purchase through the thick hair. Thrashing, the lion tried to get away before the lizard inflicted a fatal bite. The second lizard slammed its crested head into the lion’s underbelly. Lifting the lion’s rear paws off the ground again, it snapped at the big cat’s vulnerable stomach. After a few attempts, the fishhook fangs found their target. Wrenching its head backward, the lizard tore open the lion’s belly like cheap cloth. Blood gushed from the rent. The lizard buried its snout deeper and returned with fat ropes of intestine. Pulling and pulling, the contents of the creature’s midsection appeared endless, a horrible magic trick, as they were spread across the sand. The lion weakened rapidly. The other lizard redoubled its efforts on the lion’s maned neck. With a sustained crack, the vertebrae broke. Piece by piece, in stages, the lion went limp and settled to the arena floor.

Rain began to mist over the coliseum and quickly thickened to a drenching downpour. Lightning fractured the black clouds and the accompanying clap of thunder rocked the arena. It didn’t bother the spectators. Swiping rain off their faces, they cheered the slaughter of the lion and called out for more. Marcus and the others remained where they were, clustered together, as the storm beat down on their backs. The crested lizards weren’t fussed either. The two of them became engrossed with the lion’s body, tearing off chunks of fur and meat and gulping them down. Going off the speed with which they did so, Marcus’ guess about how hungry they were must have been correct.

“We should attack them now, while they’re eating,” Marcus said.

“Who put you in charge, Marcus?” another man, named Nonus, said.

“Do you want to die here or not?” Marcus snarled at him. “Focus! You five on that one, we five on the other. Don’t let them distract you and divide your attention, stay on your own lizard.”

Begrudgingly, Nonus split off with four other men holding swords and axes at the ready. He’d been one of the leaders of the aborted escape attempt that got them all into this position. Marcus, Cassian, and three others moved in the other direction. He weighed the flail in his hand. The lizards stayed with their feast and the gladiators approached them from the sides.

Sand crunched underfoot. One of the lizards straightened, muzzle bloody, and fixed on the gladiators. Marcus froze for a moment and he heard a sharp intake of breath from Cassian.

“It’s looking at us,” Cassian said.

“Kill it!” another man, Servius, said.

The crested lizard lifted to its full height. A wattle of loose skin hung under its neck. It inflated for a moment, like a croaking frog. The lizard’s jaws hinged open and from the back of its throat it vomited a dark yellow substance. The vile liquid slashed through the rain and smacked Servius in the face like a stone from a sling. He fell backward, dropping his shield and sword, and started screaming.

Marcus had seen snakes from the far east that could be coaxed into dancing motions by men with flute-like instruments. The snakes grew longer than a man was tall, as thick as a man’s arm, and were distinguished by the fleshy hoods of patterned scales that framed their awful faces. They could also accurately spit streams of venom over considerable distances. It appeared the crested lizards, wherever they were from, could do the same.

The dark liquid coated Servius’ eyes. In spite of the pouring rain, the venom didn’t wash off. Servius swiped at it and strings stuck to his hand. The second lizard straightened and fired a stream at one of the men in the other group. The venom hit him in the face, knocking him backward with a surprised scream. The crowd bellowed its approval.

Cassian went to help Servius. Red boils began to break out on Servius’ face at the edges of the lizard’s venom. More boils formed on his hand where he’d touched it. Given how sticky the substance seemed to be, it was hard to say if Cassian could get it off his hands again if he touched it.

“Stop, don’t touch him!” Marcus said. “Leave him, at least until we’re done!”

The first lizard gagged and spat another stream of venom. Marcus and the other men ducked in time and the venom sizzled over their heads. Puddles started to gather on the sand. Marcus could see a rivulet draining into the border of a nearby trapdoor.

The pair of crested lizards abandoned the corpse of the lion. They were incredibly fast at moving from a complete stop, like a pair of arrows leaving their bows. Taloned feet struck the wet sand and launched them forward. Marcus shrank into a defensive posture but both lizards split off toward Nonus’ group. He felt a wave of relief, immediately cancelled out by the realisation that the two lizards would find the four men to be little contest. And once they killed those four, the pair would be free to turn on Marcus and his men and work together to wipe them out as well.

“Quick, help them!” Marcus said.

Servius collapsed on the sand, foaming at the mouth. Leaving him to suffer, Marcus and the others ran toward Nonus and his men.

One of the crested lizards seized a gladiator by the shoulder with its mouth, deftly avoiding the man’s weapon. One of the darker skinned gladiators, he was the tallest fighter among the men on the field and heavily muscled. The lizard’s powerful neck whipped the man off his feet and tossed him around like a doll. Blood sheeted down the man’s side. Dropping his axe, he beat against the side of the lizard’s skull with his bare hand.

The creature would have kept savaging the man but it was forced to toss him aside to avoid the other gladiators’ weapons. One of the pale northerner men, carrying a spear, lanced at the lizard’s neck. It dodged and retreated as Nonus and the remaining men attacked. The second lizard took advantage and lunged while their backs were turned. Jaws wide, it came down on top of Nonus and caught the sides of his head between its teeth. It heaved him off his feet and shook him like a dog who’d caught a rat. Nonus’ neck couldn’t take the strain and splintered with a sickening snap. He went limp and the lizard kept shaking for several long seconds. With a final toss, it threw Nonus’ body to the sand. His head looked deformed. The crowd renewed its cheers beneath the peal of another round of thunder.

“Use your spear, hold it back!” Marcus told one of the men. “We’ll move in and attack.”

The spearman didn’t look happy but he led with his weapon as the first crested lizard started to turn. Marcus spun the spiked flail. It was a nasty sort of tool, likely to inflict a bloody but not immediately fatal wound. The chain clicked and straightened, the flail’s head blurring. Cassian crowded close to him, holding his short sword.

The crested lizard saw the four new gladiators massing toward it and drew itself even taller, hissing. The spearman lanced at its throat but the lizard weaved sideways. The creature gagged and Marcus could see it was about to spit another stream of venom. It searched for a preferred target. Marcus stepped in, gesturing with the flail, to draw its attention. Yellow eyes fixed on him over its snout.

The lizard’s jaws hinged open and dark yellow venom brewed at the back of its throat. At the last second, Marcus ducked and raised his shield to protect his face. The force with which the venom hit the shield was enough to send a hammer blow through his arm. Some of the liquid splattered his bare skin and down the front of his armour. A sticky glob of it melted on the shield. He unlimbered it and threw it aside. The drops on his arm began to burn but he managed to scrub them off onto the side of his armour. The crested lizard drew back, inhaling. Marcus flung the head of his spinning flail around into the beastie’s face. Scales tore. The force of the blow knocked its head sideways. Marcus stumbled as the head of the flail rebounded.

Both Marcus and the lizard recovered as thunder rolled overhead. The lizard fixed him with an insulted glare. Blood ran from the gash on its snout as it bared its fangs and readied itself to lunge. The spearman, however, used its distraction to leap in and skewer the lizard in the breast. Catching it between the ribs, the spear disappeared a handspan into the green flesh before the shaft bent.

The lizard drew back with an angry hiss, pulling the spear out of the gladiator’s hands. The shaft waggled in its chest. Bending at the neck, the lizard bit down on the spear until the wood creaked and splintered, snapping in two. Most of the shaft fell away. Getting another grip, the lizard pulled the rest of the spear out of the wound and spat it on the ground.

“Yah!” Cassian yelled.

With an attempted war cry, Cassian dove inward swinging his short sword. The blade slashed the side of the lizard’s belly. Hissing, it twisted and slapped Cassian with its tail. He spilled into the wet sand.

Weapons from the gladiators who’d already fallen littered the ground. Marcus’ flail was almost useless. Swinging it around, he threw it at the lizard’s face. The metal head, chain, and wooden handle collected it in the snout, distracting and angering it. Marcus ducked and rolled, grabbing a battleaxe off the sand before rising back to his feet.

The spearman had done the same, grabbing a sword off the sand once his spear was broken. He ran at the lizard front on, swinging the sword at the same spot on its breast where he’d already stabbed it. The lizard weaved away from the slash and then lunged. Its jaws came down on the crux between the man’s neck and shoulder. Hooked fangs sank deep, tearing open the artery running down that side of his throat. The gladiator dropped his sword and spasmed as he was lifted into the air.

Marcus didn’t waste any effort trying to rescue the man, even if his use of the spear had saved Marcus moments before. He used the distraction to race around the lizard’s side. The ridge of the creature’s spine was roughly level with his eyeline. Moving to the lizard’s hips, he raised the heavy axe. He held it above his head for a moment and then brought it down with all his strength. The blade was chipped and worn, but sharp. It bit through flesh and into bone. The creature’s spine buckled. It dropped the other gladiator and let out a pained squawk.

Quickly as he could, Marcus raised the axe and hit it again. Something snapped and the creature’s legs buckled again but didn’t go completely limp. It started to spin on the gladiator.

“Marcus!” Cassian shouted.

Cassian and the other remaining gladiator who’d split off with Marcus, a tall, blonde northerner named Gorm, attacked. Weapons swinging at the lizard’s face, they drove it backward. Its legs were unsteady. Marcus saw its throat start to inflate. He used its distraction again, pouncing and cleaving with the axe. The weapon glanced off the animal’s shoulder and hit it in the neck. The fresh gash spurted blood. It turned on him but Cassian and Gorm used the opening as well, skewering it from two different directions.

Whining, the wounded lizard fell to all fours, propping itself up on the claws of its ropey arms. Marcus lifted the axe over his head a final time and dropped it with all the force he could muster. It connected with the back of the creature’s neck and the bone let out a loud snap. Venom vomited out of its mouth as its throat folded. The axe didn’t go all the way through but most of the spinal column was severed. Light died from the lizard’s eyes and it fell to the ground with a crash.

Marcus pulled the axe out of the lizard’s neck. As he straightened, however, he saw the second lizard staring right at him. Rain almost drowned out the cheering crowd. Lightning forked directly overhead. The light caught the crested lizard’s eyes and made them blaze with inner fire. Around its taloned feet, the other gladiators, the ones who’d gone with Nonus, were scattered and mangled.

Marcus backed away holding his dripping axe. His sandalled feet knocked into something. The end of the spear that the dead lizard had pulled out of its breast, the head and section of shattered shaft. On impulse, he bent over and fetched it, stuffing it into his belt.

Gorm bellowed one of his foreign words. “Valhalla!”

The northerner leapt forward, rushing the second lizard. A gust of wind sheeted rain across the arena. The lizard jerked its head forward and more venom left its mouth. Gorm tried to dodge but wasn’t fast enough. Venom sprayed his eyes and knocked his head backward. He fell to his knees and started screaming, clawing at his eyes. As the lizard ran up on him, Marcus and Cassian retreated toward the other side of the arena.

“Get back, back!” Marcus said.

Cassian followed Marcus’ lead. Marcus held onto his axe, the broken spear in his belt. Crashing into Gorm, the crested lizard knocked him fully to the ground. After a moment’s consideration, it attacked the man’s midsection. Gorm was wearing an old and battered breastplate. It caught the side of the armour in its teeth and ripped upward, breaking the straps. Dropping the armour, it attacked his belly again and tore it open. More bright red blood and coils of gut married the greyness of the storm.

“What do we do?” Cassian said. “It’s just the two of us left!”

“Run,” Marcus said. “We can’t beat it in a straight fight.”

“Run?” Cassian looked around at the expanse of the arena, the walls, the bloodthirsty crowd and guards. “Run to where?”

Marcus reached the edge of a trapdoor and stopped. The same trapdoor through which they’d entered the arena. He bent over and swept some wet sand away from the edge. Rain ran into the gaps around the trapdoor. All the doors in the floor of the arena were latched shut when not in use with planks heavy enough that they wouldn’t collapse under the weight of a man or animal moving across them. Finding the point where the latch crossed between the trapdoor and its frame, Marcus slid his fingers through the gap then straightened and gripped his axe in both hands.

“We can’t go back down there, they’ll kill us!” Cassian said.

“That thing will kill us up here,” Marcus said.

The crested lizard tore and gulped lumps of meat out of Gorm’s belly. Marcus wondered how long feeding might keep the creature busy. He brought the blade of his borrowed axe down as hard as he could. It rebounded off the edge of the gap, taking most of the power out of the swing before it hit the latch. He raised it again, aimed, and brought it down. This time, he hewed some splinters off the portion of latch visible through the gap. Seeing what was happening, some of the crowd began booing and jeering. They demanded action. Bowmen ran around the lower rung of the coliseum’s seats.

“Watch out for me,” Marcus said.

Marcus hacked at the edge of the trapdoor while Cassian stood over him. Bodies were scattered half the length of the arena and yet the crowd wasn’t satisfied. Between swells of thunder and rain, they cried out for more. The lizard finished with Gorm’s sweetmeats and went to inspect the body of its companion, nudging the dead lizard with its snout.

“Arrows, arrows!” Cassian said.

Marcus looked up to see half a dozen archers taking aim. The stubby bows the coliseum bowmen carried weren’t terribly powerful, but they didn’t need to be. Marcus ducked to make himself as small a target as possible. Cassian squatted in front of him, raising his shield over both of them even though it was clearly too small for the job. Luckily, the first round of arrows turned out to be a warning. They cut through the rain over the men’s heads and buried themselves in the wet sand behind them. Some of the crowd called for better aim but most didn’t care to see anything as pedestrian as men being riddled by arrows. They came to the coliseum for something novel. Even after the deaths so far, they still wanted to see the last two men torn apart by the creature.

Marcus got to his feet and hacked at the gap again. With each blow, he put all of his strength into the swing. Tremors ran up his arms. If he didn’t get through they were going to die, he put that knowledge into every hit. The latch was solid wood but a little more disappeared under the blade each time he made contact. Eventually, the cut looked deep enough that he thought the latch might snap.

“Marcus!” Cassian said.

Another half a dozen arrows flew out of the stormy sky. Marcus couldn’t be sure if they were another warning or if the men hadn’t found their range yet but they missed, although they landed much closer the second time. Arrows peppered the sand to either side of them. The crested lizard straightened over the body of its companion. Lips peeled back from hooked fangs. It seemed to connect Marcus and the axe to the death wounds and looked enraged.

“Marcus!” Cassian repeated.

Marcus hammered the axe one final time into the latch, burying it deep and leaving it there. Standing above the latch, he jumped and drove his feet into the surface of the trapdoor. The crowd jeered. Cassian crowded onto the door and started jumping as well. The remaining lizard charged, closing the distance between them. Marcus jumped and stomped, feeling the trapdoor quiver.

“Come on!”

The lizard’s talons tore up the sand. It loomed, jaws and claws wide. Marcus jumped and heard a crack. The trapdoor buckled, and both Marcus and Cassian felt the ground drop out from under them. They disappeared suddenly through the opening.

Marcus felt himself hit the ramp beneath the coliseum, one leg twisting. Cassian fell beside him along with the axe he’d used to chop at the latch. Knowing the lizard was right behind them, Marcus let himself roll down the wet, wooden ramp to get away.

“Halt, hold it right there!” someone yelled.

Several coliseum guards ringed the bottom of the ramp, swords drawn. Marcus wasn’t sure if they’d been warned about the slave fighters trying to escape or if they’d just heard the trapdoor shatter open. Marcus and Cassian rolled to the base while rain poured through the opening above. Moments later, the crested lizard smashed its way through the trapdoor opening as well. Its talons scarred the ramp as it hammered down on top of them.

“No!” a guard shouted.

“Look out!”

Marcus and Cassian were trapped between the swords of the guards and the rampaging lizard. The axe Marcus had lost somewhere in the fall down the ramp. Fortunately, one of the guards foolishly stepped forward. He raised his sword at the crested lizard, shouting some kind of command. The lizard regarded him for a second and then lanced forward, butting the sword aside. Fangs snatched the face right off the front of the man’s skull. Streaming blood, his body was thrown back into another pair of guards.

“Kill it!”

Venom exploded out of the lizard’s mouth, striking another guard in the eyes. The man stumbled, for a moment only surprised, and then started shrieking. The lizard lashed around, catching a guard with its tail. Marcus and Cassian were trapped against the wall as the lizard mowed into the guards. Behind them was the drop to the coliseum’s lowest level.

“Come on, this way!” Marcus said.

Marcus grabbed the top of the low wall and heaved himself over it. Below, the storm had caused the water filling the lower level to rise but it wasn’t flooded enough to soften the fall. The water swilling around the cages and machinery was only about knee high. Marcus went limp, letting his legs take the impact of landing and then flipping forward. He splashed and sat up, already soaked from the rain but now covered in the hay and filth that was floating in the floodwater as well.

Cassian hesitated but followed Marcus’ lead. Leaving behind his sword and shield, he jumped over the low wall and dropped. He failed to land as smoothly as Marcus. There was a snap as his feet landed in the shallow water. He collapsed forward and then forced himself back out of the water, spluttering and screaming. He turned and grasped for the limb. Even at a glance in the dimly lit chamber, Marcus could see the broken bulge above Cassian’s left ankle.

“Stop, stop! Stop screaming!” Marcus said.

Around them, the animals were alert and agitated. Another lion and several lionesses roared and pawed at the bars of their cage. Hyenas, sodden in the rising water, giggled at Cassian’s pain. If Marcus listened, he could hear the crowd above voicing their disapproval. He grabbed Cassian and hauled him to his feet. Together, they limped deeper into the flooded underground. The guards, at least, were more concerned with the crested lizard on the level above them than with the two escaped fighters. The coliseum workers fled.

Drawn to the noise, the lizard’s head appeared overhead. Its flushed crests looked bright in the darkness. Suddenly, it leapt from the overhang and dropped to the flooded lower level with a tremendous splash. It stalked after Marcus and Cassian, wanting revenge for killing the first lizard.

“It’s behind us!” Cassian yelled in warning.

Marcus already knew they were being followed but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Cassian’s weight leaned heavily into his shoulder, his companion only able to use one leg. Reaching for his belt, he felt the broken shaft attached to the spearhead that he’d stashed there. It was the only weapon they had left.

Sloshing down the corridor, Marcus found the floodwater getting deeper. Rainwater trickled from overhead. An idea occurred to Marcus but before he could act on it the crested lizard was on them. Arm slung across Marcus’ shoulder, Cassian lagged behind. The lizard pounced on him first, seizing him with its teeth and claws.

“Marcus!” Cassian yelled as he was yanked off his feet, clear of the water.

Marcus spun, pulling the spearhead. The lizard’s teeth sank deep into Cassian’s shoulder. Blood welled through his soaked clothing as he weakly tried to fight. Within the confines of the flooded corridor, it began to thrash him against the bars of the surrounding cages. Limbs crashed off the metal. The animals inside the cages became frenzied, muzzles pressing against the bars and claws swiping at the gaps. Cassian screamed helplessly.

Facing the beast, Marcus knew Cassian was already dead. Bones broke and blood began to spray from the bite, an artery tearing open and showering the flooded corridor. Spearhead in hand, Marcus dove suddenly beneath the water at the lizard’s feet.

Cassian’s broken body went limp and the crested lizard dropped him with a splash. Blood covering its mouth, it scanned for the second human. Frenzied, angry, half-drowned animals snarled and roared in their cages. From the upper levels, the voices of the coliseum guards echoed as they cried out for archers and physicians.

Water rippled down the hallway. The lizard twisted and turned but it couldn’t see the other human anywhere. The water’s movement was constant and its surface was covered in a scum of hay and fur and animal shit, and now blood. It was as if the second human, the one most responsible for killing its companion, had disappeared.

Marcus rose suddenly from the water right under the lizard’s tail, squatting, dripping with filth. Clenching the spearhead in his right fist, he ran it into the nearest of the lizard’s legs. Men had a tendon that ran from the heel to the calf muscle and slicing it disabled the whole leg, it stood to reason that the lizard might have the same. The spearhead cut deep but Marcus didn’t feel anything snap. He only had a second to strike though before the lizard swung on him. Marcus dove down, disappearing under the water again.

Hissing and spitting, the lizard hunted the corridor. It limped a little but both legs worked as it drove its talons into the water.

Straightening with his feet under him, Marcus rose on the lizard’s other side. As rapidly as he could, he rammed the spearhead several times into the side of the lizard’s stomach. Blood flew and the creature spun, insulted and in pain. The gladiator threw himself backward into the water again.

Under the floodwater, Marcus attempted to kick and crawl without disturbing the surface too much. Blind, he had to do it all by feel. He brushed against the rough stone floor and cold, metal bars. Behind him, the lizard’s jaws crashed down and closed a handspan from his heels. The creature stomped and thrashed, kicking up waves of motion, but Marcus managed to swim free.

Twice more, Marcus shot out of the water just shy of the lizard and lashed out. The creature was injured, blood leaking into the water, but none of the wounds were fatal. Diving back under the water, he knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, the lizard would catch him by luck or design. The water was just chaotic enough to allow him to slip it so far.

On his knees, Marcus lifted his head above the surface for a moment. The lizard’s backside was pointed toward him. He could hear the guards shouting but they hadn’t gotten any closer. After the massacre upstairs, they weren’t in any hurry to confront the lizard again. Suddenly, something roared right next to his ear. So loud it was more a physical force than a sound and it left him half-deafened, head ringing, after it stopped. A male lion pressed its face almost against the bars, baring fangs as long as his fingers.

Glancing across the face of the cage, Marcus realised the animal cages didn’t lock like the gladiators’ cells back at the dormitory. The door to the lion’s cage simply latched closed with a bolt that the animals couldn’t operate. With a sudden impulse, Marcus lunged forward and unlatched it. The cage door swung toward him, pushing through the water, and he shrank down behind it.

The crested lizard wheeled and its gaze fixed on Marcus. Before it could act, the male lion and three lionesses escaped their flooded cage. The lizard blocked their path to freedom. Snarling, the lion’s muzzle drew back from its fangs. The lizard leaned in, jaws wide, claws spread, in some kind of threat display.

While the lizard and lions squared off, Marcus retreated backward and unlatched the next cage without even looking. A pack of hyenas paddled out, giggling, eyes wild and jaws salivating. A couple stared at Marcus but their attention was stolen as two of the lionesses launched themselves at the crested lizard. With wild shrieks, they tackled and climbed the lizard with their claws, trying to sink their fangs into the creature’s flexing neck. The lizard staggered under their weight then hurled itself against one of the cage walls, catching a lioness between the bars and its body hard enough to knock it off.

Rising to his feet, Marcus stumbled toward a third cage. A huge, dark, furry shape lurked half-unseen at the rear of the cage. He grabbed the door and unlatched it, swinging it open. The hulking shape, a massive brown bear, plodded forward. Looking at Marcus, it snorted as if not particularly impressed then turned on the growing pack of animals surrounding the lizard.

Screaming like alley cats, lionesses pounced and clawed at the crested lizard. Rearing up on its hind legs, the male lion roared and batted with its huge paws. The sound reverberated through the flooded underground chamber. Labouring under the weight of a lioness on its back, the lizard bullied its way forward and shoved the lion into the water. Hyenas, excited by all the commotion, began lunging and snapping at the lizard’s legs and bleeding belly. Briefly, Marcus thought of the fleeting impulse they’d had to help the old lion against the lizards in the arena. Mammals united against a common enemy.

The battling animals sat between Marcus and the exit. If he got past them, he’d probably be killed by one of the guards anyway. The smartest thing he could probably do was lock himself in one of the empty cages and wait, hoping to be recovered and peacefully recaptured once the situation cooled. Instead, Marcus searched the water flowing around his knees. It was filled with crisscrossing ripples but he hunted for a sense of a current.

Following a pull in the water to the end of the corridor, Marcus reached beneath the surface and felt bars inset in the stone wall. A drain, clearly overwhelmed by the storm but with a sense of flow to it. He’d never gotten this deep into the coliseum’s underpinnings before but he’d considered the possibility there might be drainage tunnels that he could use as an escape route. There was no way of knowing where the drain might lead or how far it might be flooded, but Marcus didn’t have much of an alternative. He felt out the dimensions of the drain. It would be just large enough to accommodate his frame, just, assuming it remained the same width the whole way through. The bars covering the mouth of it were old and corroded.

Pulling off his armour, Marcus kicked and beat at the bars. He used his spearhead to chip away at the edges until it broke into several pieces. Animal noises screamed up the corridor behind him. Finally, gripping the bars and bracing his feet against the wall to either side, he pulled until, with a crunch, the grid came loose.

Behind Marcus, the lizard was disappearing beneath a pile of furious fur and teeth and claws. Choking, it spat a stream of dark yellow venom that missed its intended target and splattered uselessly against one of the cages. With a final burst of effort, the lizard tried to straighten to its full height one last time. In front of it, however, the brown bear lumbered to a stop. Rearing onto its back legs, it loomed over the lizard. With a paw the size of a man’s head, it swung and batted the lizard across the face. The lizard’s neck snapped and it collapsed under the mountain of furious mammals.

Marcus hyperventilated, sucking air deep into his lungs, forcing it out, and repeating that process several times. On his last breath, he pulled in air until his chest felt swollen and taunt and then he dove into the drain. His shoulders immediately jammed against the edges. Pulling them in, he yanked himself forward. There was no light whatsoever, no matter how many times he blinked or strained his eyes. Clawing his way desperately down the tunnel, he tore the pads of his fingers. Stone scraped against his shoulders and hips as he kicked.

Marcus couldn’t say how long he swam through that suffocating black. Twice, his shoulders wedged so firmly he didn’t think he could wiggle free. Letting some of the air out of his chest, he felt bubbles tickle his face until he found enough room to keep going. Muscles tore in his shoulders. His lungs began to cramp and burn. First warmth, and then fire, and then it felt like his chest had been cut open by some mad experimenting physician and hot coals shovelled into his lungs. His body pleaded then screamed at him to take a breath, mindless of the consequences. Desperately, with every length he inched forward, he felt his way along the roof of the tunnel to search for air.

Suddenly, Marcus’ reaching fingers found open space. He sat up so quickly, he smashed the top of his skull into the tunnel roof. He gulped air without thinking. Foetid, reeking, full of mould spores, he gratefully pulled it into his lungs. He swallowed water and swallowed air and nearly made himself sick but strength returned to his limbs.

Inching forward some more, Marcus eventually found himself in a space, still utterly lightless, where he could stand. Arms outstretched he could brush the tunnel walls but the water only rose as high as his chest. Over the sound of running water, he heard a high pitched shrieking. The tunnel was filled with rats, swimming to try to escape the running water. Soon they discovered Marcus, the highest point in the tunnel, and began clawing and climbing him. He tossed them off but more kept returning. After everything he’d just been through, he decided he could tolerate them. Under the weight of a squirming, living blanket, he kept staggering down the tunnel.

Eventually, Marcus spotted a glimmer of light ahead of him. A vertical tunnel leading to another drain at ground level, rain sheeting down its sides. Shaking off the rats as best he could, Marcus started to climb the sides of the drain. Wet as they were, there were plenty of hand and foot holds for him to use. The grate at the top was loose and he easily knocked it out of place.

Crawling through the drainage tunnel and then wandering in the blackness filled with rodents, Marcus felt like he must have crossed half the city. He was surprised then, as he emerged, to see the walls of the coliseum were still plainly in sight. The drain he’d climbed was in the middle of the markets outside the great amphitheatre, waiting to prey on all the amped up and drunken spectators of the gladiator games as they poured out the exits. Thankfully, most of the stalls had been temporarily abandoned due to the storm and nobody saw him rising from the sewers.

Marcus slid the drainage gate back into place. With all the confusion back in the coliseum, he couldn’t know how long it might take before his escape was discovered. Stealing a cloak from one of the stalls, he slid it over his shoulders. Marcus took a deep breath of free air before tossing the hood over his head and vanishing into the easing rain.

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Sean: Shout out to reader Kate, who very kindly commented on my story Bogeyman that she finds things get particularly terrifying when I take things underground. That comment was definitely on my mind as I thought about writing something that involved the underside of the coliseum and when conceiving of the ending, so thank you for this one, Kate!

Man, I don’t even care how accurate it is, I love the Jurassic Park dilophosaurus! The frill, the spitting, they are a fantastic creature design. The only issue I have with the films is they never show a presumably fully grown example. Like, there’s a suggestion that the dilophosaurus in the first film is a young one but then with that expectation kind of set in the audience’s mind they keep them at the same size when they finally reappear. Would love to see a fully grown example like these guys here. I lost the frill but kept the spitting because I thought it would be more fun to write that way, and it was!

If you’ve never read the Jurassic Park novel, I really enjoy how the spitting dilophosauruses make an appearance there. They’re basically given as the first example of how the park really doesn’t have everything under control. If you’re a bit more of a purist and you don’t like that at all, you should know the book version of The Lost World gets even wackier with carnotauruses that have such perfect camouflage ability they literally turn invisible. Was amazed to see them rock up in one of the latest from a YouTube creator who does awesome Jurassic Park stuff, Ali Awada. If you enjoyed this story I’d recommend checking him out!

I’ve been on a bit of a dinosaur kick at the moment, I do love dinosaurs and I’ve been wanting to write more featuring them for ages. Something finally just clicked. Keep your eyes open for more in the near future!

And if you haven’t started it already, the fourth chapter of Out of the Storm will be out shortly! I’m trying something a bit different and releasing a novel chapter by chapter on Royal Road, full of creature feature goodness. Would love you to give it a read!