Part 1 - The Arena
The crowd called for him. It did not matter who he was to fight. They called for blood. They called for him to spill that blood.
Entering the arena, the ghastly white glow of a hundred lamps barely reached him from the stands. Not that it mattered. He did not need to see to kill. His opponent entered, with a delighted cheer of surprise coming from all sides. What a shame. Kraal was a beast of a man, none could deny. But he had no fear of beasts. Beasts could be tamed. Beasts could be put down.
He smirked as Kraal raised his club and roared, the crowd matching in turn.
The fight began. He raised his spear as he stood his ground, forcing his larger opponent to fight on his terms.
He waited until the last possible moment before making his move, avoiding a sweeping blow that would have ended a less agile man.
He answered with a quick jab to the right thigh. It wouldn't be enough to so much as slow Kraal, but it was a start.
A brutish overhead swing, easily dodged. Crowd-favorites were always eager to show off.
With precision only trained through battle, he added two deeper gashes to the same thigh. The larger man fell to a knee, lashing out with his club.
He lowered his spear and stepped back, taunting Kraal as the crowd's cheers died out before being renewed.
A jab to the shoulder.
A slash across the chest.
He stood back again.
Who was he to deny the crowd?
Part 2 - Darkness
He awoke to darkness. Silence, but for his own breath and the eerie dripping of water. He could barely remember what had happened to him, let alone where he was. Feeling the stone walls, he could discern no door or other form of entrance. He measured the room - no, his cell - to be roughly 4 paces across in either direction. A puddle gathered in the middle of the dirt floor.
"So you're awake. Good." The voice came from all around him. "I am Uraa. I have been given the task of breaking you so that we might build you stronger."
He scoffed. "Break me? You cannot break me. I am-"
Pain coursed throughout his being, leaving him writing on the ground.
"You are no one," Uraa thundered. "Not yet."
His attempts to stand were met with only added agony.
"Good. Fight. You will learn to cherish your anguish, to use it to temper your rage."
With a growl, he planted a foot down. He came to a knee. His every breath brought on torment unimaginable. With a hand on the wall, he began to rise.
"I... will not be broken," he spat.
His vision flashed red as he felt himself fade from consciousness.
Part 3 - Initiate
But for the chains, he would kill them all.
He counted ten robes, each soaking more of his blood with every blow he endured. They thought to beat him into submission? A dark grin shone through the vital fluid pouring down his face. On the contrary, this only served to remind him what he lived for.
The attacks ceased, and Uraa spoke to him. "You're resilient, I'll give you that. Most begin to cower after the first day, but for you to have lasted three months is a feat to be proud of."
He growled and spat blood. "Proud? Proud of being the training bag for cowards learning to throw their first punch? You think that of me? I'm insulted."
Uraa laughed, a rolling sound like a storm at sea. "As you should be. You'll be pleased, I think, to know that this was the last of these sessions. You've made it clear that your submission will have to be earned." Uraa stepped forward, and removed the shackles restricting him.
Without a second of delay, he lunged toward the robed men. He tore through the first's throat with a clawed hand, renewing his coating of blood with that other than his own. The remaining nine circled him, but it was of no use. One by one they fell, until only Uraa was left.
The planet Myura is known to host deathgames, in which gladiators fight to prove themselves through the spilling of blood. When a gladiator has shown himself to be particularly capable in the art of combat, the Deathslayers take him from the wastelands and begin the initiation process. If the recruit is deemed to be unworthy during initiation, he is killed.
The Deathslayers gene-seed is known to cause mental instability, with hyperaggression being a common trait throughout the chapter. Some more severe instances have included loss of identity and psychosis. If not for their fierce and unwavering devotion to the Emperor, the Deathslayers would have likely been eradicated long ago by the Inquisition.