ARISTOS ACHAION // Awesamdude X Reader

9

Your group was scheduled to enter the ring two days from the last training session with Sam. You would be fighting Diana - one of the newer champions of the ring, the mistress of knives, as they called her.

You had seen her fight before once, during mealtime one night. She moved like an animal, using her knives as claws, slashing and killing and making a mess. The crowd loved it - cheering her on every time a new prisoner would enter the ring. By the time she was finished, the arena was littered with corpses and splattered with blood - she was by no means a clean killer. It was about putting on a show, after all.

You wouldn't stand a chance against her. It didn't matter though - you were nowhere near ready to fight, but you were more then ready to die.

The hard part was watching the members of your cell block that were entering the ring before you get torn to shreds.

The vestibule between the prison and the colosseum was small - really just a stone hallway that led from the cell block into the arena. It only held a few people at a time - and the line of prisoners entering the ring stretched out into the rest of the prison. Even though Diana was moving through the line quickly - killing without hesitation - it had taken you quite a while to even make it into the vestibule.

You watched as Diana slashed through of your cellmates in the ring, completely ripping the man apart with her knives. Hunks of flesh, cut off from the rest of the body, launched into the air as the man crumpled to the ground, his sword clattering in the sand.

It was no wonder that the practice swords were in such bad shape - sand didn't really keep the blades in peak condition, and there was no doubt in your mind that the sword in your hand now had been in the hands of many other unfortunate prisoners before you. With how tight things were, why would they bother with new weapons for prisoners that were just going to die?

You watched as the next person in line stepped into the ring, sword shaking in their hands.

You turned your gaze away, preferring to look at the blank stone beside you than watch another now-familiar face get destroyed in the white sand of the colosseum. The crowd roared as the next contender entered the ring, and you heard the telltale rasp of metal - Diana was wiping the last person's blood off her knives again.

The line moved forward. Only five people until you would be entering the ring now.

A flash of bronze near the entrance to the arena caught your attention. Sam - waiting by the front of the line, dressed in his military best (just a little more elaborate and well-kept than his usual warden's gear). He was holding his trident at his side, the powerful aura extended over him as well. He seemed a little solemn, his eyes directed out into the arena.

Your own attention turned to your hand, wrapped around the hilt of a broadsword. It wouldn't be long before your grip went slack as you slumped to the ground, the life bleeding out of you into the sand. You flexed your fingers around the worn leather, watching the bones shift and move under your skin.

A loud cheer from the crowd went up, and the line moved forward. Four people between you and the end.

You were closer to Sam now - you could feel that gravity that emanated from the trident, what you knew now to be the blessing from his patron. You would have to thank him for his small kindness that day - you wouldn't have expected him to be so lenient, though you supposed it was sort of one of your last wishes.

A shriek pierced through your skull, only to be covered up by the roar of the crowd a moment later. Ahead of you, Sam put his hand on the person in front's shoulder, pushing them into the arena.

Three people between you and the gates of the underworld.

Strangely, your heart began to speed up, pumping blood faster through your veins.

You looked back down to the sword in your hand, trying to remember what Sam had said during those lessons. You didn't really want to have to fight - but the crowd always liked it better when the prisoners at least tried to fend the champions off. Made for a better show.

The memory of Sam's hand on your stomach replayed in your head.

Another cheer went up from the crowd. The person in the front of the line this time didn't need Sam to push them into the ring.

Two people left.

It seemed like only a moment had passed before Sam was guiding the next one in as well.

One more. Only one person stood between you and the beginning of the end.

You watched as Sam guided them into the arena, and your own feet stepped up to take their place at the front of the line. Green eyes met yours, and Sam smiled thinly.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

"Thank you." You said, breaking the silence. "For not punishing me after I slipped out of the dining hall that day."

"It was the least I could do." Sam returned. "I'm not one for watching these kinds of things and trying to eat at the same time either."

Another stretch of silence spread across you.

"Good luck, out there." Sam said. "Remember to keep moving, and keep your center of gravity low."

"Right." You said, even though you had no intention of actually actually trying to fight for your life. Not when there wasn't even the slightest chance you would win against Diana.

You averted your eyes as the man currently in the ring was sliced to shreds.

The crowd sent up another roar.

Sam put his hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you into the arena.