The Blood of a Warrior

Chapter Ten

Recovery lasted forever.

But, finally, breathing stopped hurting and I was allowed to fight again.

Two days after my recovery ended, I had a fight scheduled. One opponent, lower ranking, someone easy.

It would be bloody. Something to make up for the weeks going cold turkey.

The day of, Ariana and I were out at my usual spot by the fence, with Spartacus romping about and trying - failing - to catch crickets.

Ariana snuggled closer to me, resting her head against my shoulder where we sat.

My fight would be before dinner, with others before me. The crowds were already arriving, even though the first fight wasn't for an hour. Among the people trickling towards the entrance were the two Hispanics from the day I was put in the infirmary. They seemed more excited than when last I saw them, talking low and fast, with gestures towards Ariana.

I tensed. Many of the crowd members seemed to think we were just toys, that they could with us what they wanted. A few had tried to 'play' with Izolda, but quickly realized she didn't need a knife to kill you. Only one was actually killed, but the others probably wished they had been. well, one of the survivors has been hospitalized permanently, barely able to remember his own name. It's amazing that the human brain can still function without most of the frontal lobe.

If those men tried that with Ariana, I would rip out their intestines and choke them with them. I would slam their heads into a wall until their skull shattered and their brains and blood dripped between my fingers and-

"Isaac?" Ariana shook my shoulder, knocking me out of my wonderfully bloody fantasies. "It's time to head back inside. C'mon."

She stood, attempting to pull me up with her. I stood up on my own and called to Spartacus before heading inside to prepare for my fight.

Ariana would be sitting in the bleachers, with one of The Ringmaster's guards next to her.

"I promise, I won't move. You'll be able to find me easily," she reassured me before climbing the stairs to her seat. When she sat down, she waved to me, grinning her Cheshire Cat grin.

I waved back and walked over to await my fight in the cell. I couldn't see Ariana from there, but I knew she wouldn't move.

When my turn finally came, I walked out confidently, watching for my opponent. He emerged, slowly, shakily accepting the blade handed to him.

I grinned. He knew his fate.

A blade was pressed into my hand, which I gladly accepted.

I breathed deep, closing my eyes. This was my element. The murmur of the crowd, the dirt beneath my feet, a knife in my hand, and blood to be spilled.

I opened my eyes to examine my partner more closely.

He was short, overweight. A scraggly, greasy black beard adorned his face, unkempt and filthy. His hair was once a ridiculous shade of pink, now faded grey-red. Thick-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, speckled with dirt and sweat.

He disgusted me. I would enjoy his death.

The Ringmaster did the usual introductions, and raised the stark-white handkerchief, and released.

I sprung forward, flicking my blade as I flew by him, 1-2-3. Arm-cheek-stomach. He cried out, stumbling, but regained his posture.

This one showed promise. He would provide a fine toy.

I repeated this, over and over, slashing different limbs, never once being touched by his blade.

It was pure ecstasy, the blood, the cries, the crowd. I wanted this to last.