The Blood of a Warrior

Chapter Five

We spent the entire day watching LOTR, and we only got to The battle at Pelennor Fields before lights out.

I woke early the next morning, "accidentally" tripped over Ariana, and got halfway through breakfast before I realized what day it was.

The last Friday of the month.

I grinned from ear to ear.

On the last Friday of every month, the crowd chooses who will fight. Lists are handed out to certain members, and they choose (judging by our fighting names) who will "represent" them in the fight. Bets are made, and a percentage of them are given to The Ringmaster.

Different levels are on different lists.

My name appears alone on one list, and it never goes to the same person twice.

But here's the twist.

We use swords and shields instead of daggers. On Halloween, we dress up in full armour for a week, but it's expensive to get enough for all of us, so only the top two levels - and me - get to.

I wolf down the rest of my meal, the smile never falling off my face.

Ariana wakes up just as I return from dropping my dishes off at the kitchen.

"Well you look chipper today," she grumbles, attempting to tug her wild hair into some sort of order. The bruises seem to have faded from where I tossed her into a wall.

"Of course I'm chipper. It's the last Friday of the month. Why wouldn't I be?"

Her brow crinkles and her mouths forms into a sneer. "Whats so special about the last Friday of the month? More slaughtering?"

I flashed her a glare. "One; it's not slaughtering. It's kill or be killed," at her snort of disbelief, I raise an eyebrow. "The Ringmaster will have us shot if we don't fight. And he does do it. Anyway, second; we get to fight like true gladiators today." I filled her in on the details.

I hear her mutter something, but thought nothing of it.

She looks down at her clothes and sighs. "I really need a change of clothes. These are starting to reek."

"Just tell the helper when he comes through. He goes around asking if we need anything every two weeks. He'll be here around noon. You'll have to give him your sizes" I quickly make a mental list of what I need. Artist's pens, ink pots, erasers... that was it. Oh, and my army boots were starting to split at the seams, I would need new ones.

I needed slightly bigger clothes every year. I never stopped growing. The Ringmaster had me looked over by hundreds of doctors, and they all said the same thing; that I would eventually stop. I haven't. It's slowed down, but hasn't stopped. I was growing two inches every year when I was a teenager, but now only one. Officially, I'm seven feet, six and a half inches.

By next year, I should be at least seven feet, seven inches.

Most people would kill to be taller, but I would prefer to be at least short enough that I wouldn't have to bend over all the time. Most of the prison has very high ceilings, but the cells don't. I either lie down or sit when in my cell, so it's just a nuisance.

Once everyone was awake, we finished Lord of the Rings. By that time, the helper had come to take our requests. You wouldn't always get everything you asked for, but it depended on how many people were brought to your fights.

I retreated to my cell to read until we went outside.

People were already gathering to watch the fight, and some had come up to the fence, asking what people's names were.

One even had the guts to come up to me.

"You there," he called, "What's your name?"

"Isaac" I replied, trying to throw him off.

"No, no. The name you fight with! That one!"

I turned to look at him, flaunting my tattered eye socket. He jumped but quickly regained his previous posture.

"My name is alone on one list. There's a small chance you'll get it. No use telling you." I turned away, and I could hear him grumbling as he left.

It was fairly calm after that, and no one else asked me my name.

We went inside, and soon after that, we were sent to be fitted with proper swords and shields.

And we waited for our names to be called.

Izolda was called quickly, although hers was The Raven.

She won quickly and easily, having more experience with her weapons than her opponent.

I was called soon after.

As I heard the opponent's name being called, I realized that the name was literal.

I forgot to mention that some of the names are actual animals and not fighters.

Cougars were taken off when I had my chest ripped open, but dogs and wolves are still on there.

And gators.

And, for some reason, black bears.

And guess who I was going against.

Mr. Bear.

Fuck.

I walked out, and heard multiple bets being placed against my opponent

A gate on the other end rose upward, and I came face to face with a very angry Mr. Bear. Probably from the string tied around his balls, but most likely he'd been poked and prodded all morning.

Over his roar, I heard many bets now being placed against me.

Mr. Bear charged, as I was the only thing around to take his anger out on.

I mean, I would too if I had a string wrapped so tightly around my balls I couldn't feel them anymore.

Any guy would.

I stood my ground as he charged, and at the last moment, I sidestepped, but kept my sword there.

I drove it into his chest, but it was ripped out of my hand as he kept running, only stumbling from the impact.

And now I was weaponless.

FUCK.

He turned and came back at me, slowed by the sword that was hilt deep in his chest. I must have missed his heart. This time I dropped and hooked my fingers through the fur on his chest and wrapped my legs around his stomach. I managed to get the sword out of his chest, but I lost my grip and fell, almost getting trampled by his back feet. I felt claws dig into my side, but ignored it.

I scrambled to my feet, turning to face a wounded Mr. Bear. My sword was slippery from the blood that soaked it from hilt to blade.

He stumbled toward me, struggling for each breath. The sword must have punctured his lungs.

I felt no pity for him. I don't think I was capable of any.

I let him get close, then drove the blade into his head.

He let out one final moan, and dropped.

There was silence, and then an ear-splitting roar.

From the crowd, not Mr. Bear.

I pulled the sword from the now-dead bear, and was splattered with blood and brain matter in the process.

I would surely need a shower after this.

I let my eyes wander through the crowd, and nearly fell over.

Ariana was sitting in the front row, a strange look in her eyes.

Not fear.

Not horror.

Something else. Fascination, maybe?

And it hit me.

She loved it. Just like me.