ARISTOS ACHAION // Awesamdude X Reader

16

And so it went. You spent your days between the dining hall and the training ring, observing the fights when Sam was working and training with him when he was not. Every few days you would drop into the infirmary again, just for the healers to check on the wounds. Everything had scabbed up nicely, they said, and you could almost move your arm fully again. You were glad for it - without the soreness and injury, you could put your full attention into becoming proficient with the spear.

Defeating Prosperine had almost become an obsession.

He had become the motivation for you to get out of your cell in the morning, the emptiness left behind by those who hadn't made it only slightly bothersome. The resignation to death that had permeated your mind had dissolved into something else - a combination of desire to take revenge on the caesar for what he'd done to you, and that survival instinct that had taken over during your fight with Diana.

You wanted to kill him. You wanted to win. It was slowly becoming the only thing you thought about, even in your spare time.

You were thinking about it now, as you ate your dinner. The dining hall was one of the only times in your days that you were really around other people. There were only a few times in the day when the room wasn't completely crowded with incoming prisoners (a group you had been a part of, only a few days ago), and it was those times that you found yourself taking your meals - and watching the champions eat as well.

It was strange, to see them all in the same place at the same time, and not trying to kill each other. Watching war-calloused hands pass around chipped plates full of meats and vegetables and knock back drinks with each other. You had known, of course, that most of the theatrics in the pit was just that, theatrics, but how could they eat together after fighting each other, or watching each other kill hundreds at once?

Perhaps they had grown numb to it, after all this time.

They didn't bother talking to you as you ate - they didn't even bother looking at you, really. No doubt they already considered you dead meat (you would have yourself if you weren't so determined to take something from the caesar). You didn't mind that much - if you were being honest, you wouldn't have wanted to be included in their dinner shenanigans anyway.

Watching them gorge themselves and laugh over menial conversation was uncomfortable enough.

You watched as Ceres stabbed through a steak with a forth, bringing the slab of meat up to their mouth and tearing a chunk off with their teeth. Now that they weren't wearing their armor, they seemed not as large as they had when you had watched them fight in the ring, and their curls fell more evenly across their shoulders. Mirrored eyes darted down the table as they laughed at something another one of the champions had said.

You would have to fight them, if you wanted to make it out of this alive. The champion of champions - some called Ceres undefeatable.

You would cross that bridge if you got there.

You stabbed a fork into your own meal, cutting off a piece of the meat that had been shoveled onto your plate by the woman serving the food. If there was one good thing about this hell you had gotten yourself into, it was that you were fed. You hadn't eaten this well since you were a child, and before the city had been overfilled and underpaid.

The food was also worth fighting for, in your opinion.

Your eyes drifted down the champion's table, finding Prosperine near the end, his head leaned on one of the other champion's shoulders as they fed him snippets of the meal in front of him. Pompous ass. The woman feeding him grinned as he burped, sending out a little plume of flame as he did, causing the table to laugh.

You still didn't have a strong idea about how you were going to kill him. And you were running out of time.

In two days time, you would be entering the ring again.

Sure, you were getting better with your spear, Prosperine had only had to open his mouth to kill hundreds of people in seconds. You would try your best to goad him into not relying on his ability - just watching him at mealtimes had proven Sam correct when he'd said that Prosperine was the kind of man who took insults very personally - but still, you knew you had to rely on more than shock and luck this time.

This would not be another Diana. This time, he would be expecting a fight, and since you had killed Diana, would not hesitate to take your life. At least, if you died to Prosperine, it would be in a burst of flame. No one would miss you, but it would be something to look at-

A hand on your back startled you out of your thoughts, and made you jump, eyes whipping up behind you to see Sam standing there, slightly amused. "I apologise for startling you." He said. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm about to herd this lot out and back to bed."

"Right." You said, looking down at your mostly empty plate. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Sam said, withdrawing his hand. "I take it I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning for our last day of spear practice?"

"Of course." You said.

Sam smiled thinly at you - a smile you hadn't seen on him before - before moving over to the long table where the champions were gathered, beginning to herd them to finish their meals and head back to their dorms. No doubt there was a group of prisoners that needed to use this room.

You stuffed one more bite into your mouth before taking your plate back up to the counter.