Holy Gladiator

Chapter 3; training

I stare at a portcullis, through its grating. All those I arrived with gathered into a mass behind it, the vast expanse of sand displayed before them, the long walls expanding upward, crafted with brick's coated yellow. At the very end stands a large pile of sticks.

These walls had blood on them. I remorse, cupping my hands together. I close my eyes, giving a silent prayer for a peaceful rest to those fallen. I feel myself be pushed forward, a hand gripping my own as I barely have my eyes re-opened. I feel the blood pulsing through me rapidly as I'm brought to the side as everyone makes their way into the desert field. Matilda holds onto me, a smile on her face.

"Careful now darlin'! The last thing ya want is to get a face full o' sunny dirt!" Matilda pushes me back out, leaving me stumbling forward as she waves goodbye.

"What are--" I'm cut off by the gruff man from before, Mattilda pointing me in his direction.

"Alright, fresh bloods! Today you will be sparring with one of your fellows. You will fight three different people, and every time someone is defeated, they are to go to the side to sit out. We will position you on any of those sides depending on the round. Blah blah, if you were listening to any of this, then congratulations, you have proven that you can listen." The gruff man informed, "volunteers?"

"I!" A bold man exclaims, his hand flying high, "I volunteer!" He walks up, hand still high. He faces the crowd, his muscles showing through a tattered muscle shirt, his brown hair short and stubby. "I am Jo-"

"No one cares farmer boy. Don't volunteer for anything here. Heroic's are just someone you throw at the enemy to evaluate them," he slaps the heroic on the back of the head, "pick your opponent, if you hold them off I'll put in a good word for you."

"R-right, um... any volunteers?" The crowd was silent, no one speaking a word. "Then... um..." he wags his worked fingers around.

"Taking too long. You." He points into the crowd, confusing everyone, "shove someone forward we only have today."

At that command, the crowd becomes a wild mess, people shoving each other all around, people falling and grunting.

"Fucks sake..." he steps forward, nabbing someone by the arm and hauling them forward, "here's your opponent. Now demonstrate to the rest of the class what we're doing today!" Matilda tosses out two sticks from the large pile behind the gruff man.

Rhine sighs as he picks up a small stick, while the heroic carefully heroically hoists up a large stick that resembles a branch, its twigs are crudely broken off. The bark digs into his skin.

"Well, isn't this unfortunate." Rhine readies himself as best he can with what little experience he has.

"This doesn't seem very far." The heroic states with a look of disturbance.

"Tut tut tut!" Matilda comes over, waving her fingers, "don't estimate your opponent by the size of their weapon!"

He pauses, sighing. He holds out the stick, the bark not phasing him as he squeezes it. He raises the stick above his head, making a heavy swing downward. Rhine dodges clumsily, almost tripping over from it. A plum of sand puffs into the air from the impact. Rhine straightens himself out, only to leap and nearly fall backwards as the heroic sweeps toward his legs, knocking himself off balance. Some bark snaps off. He almost tumbles over, the branch slamming into the ground again. He pants from exhilaration, straightening out as fast as he can with a yell.

He feels a tap on his chest as Rhine's stick touches there for the first moment, Rhine holding the bottom, his palm pressed against the bottom as the pressure increases. The pressure turns into more of a stabbing as he applies constant pressure. The heroic moves to the side, moving his hand slowly up to the stabbed region, rubbing it.