The archive of the forgotten

The last fight

I look at the ceiling and spit out the blood. I feel my heart slowing down and I slowly put my hand on my chest. I feel a shock going through my body and quickly flutter my eyes. I cough and shake my head. I stand up and pop my shoulder back into it's socket by throwing myself against a wall. I take a deep breath and look at the door, wishing I had taught myself how to escape before teaching myself to fight.

I smile as I touch my own bloody knuckles, I look at my hand and see it's rough elegance. I smile as I remember that I wanted to become a ballerina when I was young. How many years have I danced the violent alternative of this dance. The elegance is still present in my kicks and my spells. I stand up and close my eyes, the sand on the floor of my cel tickles my feet as I fround them and I look slightly up and wonder if I'll ever get to dance in front of people or if I'll forever be a gladiator. I feel my body dance but it still feels disconnected, it is no longer my soul. Do I even have a soul? I stop instantly and look at my bloody hands.
Your fate has been decided long ago, I smile as a magical dagger appears in my hand. 

I slow my breathing and close my eyes while humming a song to concentrate and get ready to count. I feel my energy slowly flowing away as I concentrate on my heart as it slows and I smile as I slowly cut my throat. I don't feel any pain as the blood slowly streams down m throat and warms my soul. I count, slowly, no haste, patience  is key.... this is the last time that I can practice it. It need to be perfect, it probably needs to be at least two minutes. It is vital that I can keep it up as long as possible.
Three minutes have passed and I feel the pain setting in, I immediately open my eyes and say a healing spell. The forgotten magic my mother used to call it. I take a deep breath, and sit down o the only chair in the dusty room.

Other Gladiators have beautiful rooms, the money they earn by winning is theirs and even though they're still captive they can use it. They can even sometimes go to the city. I envy them, no matter how much I win, no matter how good I am my room will never change and I will never see one cent of the money that is mine. And now, it is time to retire. Today is my last fight, it's till the death, and the one who wins is restected and get to retire. Meaning their master slashes their throat in front of all their fans as they cheer for my demise. The ending is death, however much you want to deny it. You cannot, it's the brutal truth of the magical gladiotars. We are only objects that people can bet on, we are not humans to them.

My team enters the room.
"Well, Irimias, the last time...." My stylist says. I smile and nod, he chuckles
"This is the only job I would hate to retire from." I smile, but don't say anything. "For what it's worth, I'll miss you."
"For what it's worth....I forgive you." He looks at me with his dark eyes and shakes his head.
"You are strange Irimias."
"As are you Acturus. " I say with a chuckle as I put on the toquoise coat that is my signature.
"I remember when you were new here." he says. I nod and chuckle. "You were fourteen, it was so long ago."
"Do you know how long I've been here?"
"You are 28 now.... so.....fourteen years. Exactely the same amount of time that you lived in your homeland."
I am twenty eight already? I look at my face and realise how much I've grown. I look like my brother, or maybe even older. I comb through my long red hair as I think.
"What's on your mind Irimias?" He asks, putting some gold blush on his own dark skin before putting some on my freckles.
"My death." I say with a smile. "And the strange need to play a game of chess."

They put the anti magic shackles on my hands and feet while Arcturus tries to arrange the cross top in the right position.
"It'll be ruined anyway Arcturus. It's fine." He nods.
"I'm sorry that it always ends like this."
"There's no use rewriting fate is there?" I say with a smile. He shrugs and sighs.
I take a deep breath as the door opens and my master enters the cell. The gold on his robe makes me angry and envious, he has bought it with my money. I feed him, I clothe him, my labour creates his life. His stupid priviliged life. But maybe he'll lose his money with his loss of me.