Tales of the Travellers

3

Years passed, but having no sense of time I would never be able to tell you how many exactly.

All I know is I was sent to several more of those fights, the first not being my last, and my last not even being within my near future.

I still had no clue where I went, how many people attended or ever seen the outside world. I've never seen the stars, the sun or the moon. Just the inside of a dirty old bag my Master is forced to put over my head, the basement I dwelled in and the arena I fought in.

Toothy was dead, obviously.

I don't actually understand what had happened.

I still to this day don't know what happens, but what happened with Toothy was only the first of many.

After that happened I didn't want to hurt anybody else and almost refused to fight in the next one my Master placed me in, only for something to overcome my wishes and kill my opponent. At first it frightened me, what I did and what resulted of it, but after a while I became content with whatever happened in my blackouts, and once even managed to remember the power I had when I had an episode.

But as a result, this made me a cold person.

I no longer talked to the other creatures in the pens, as I would inevitably be fighting them, so I found no point. I withdrew from most contact with my Master, and just did whatever he placed in front of me.

I was cold-hearted towards what I had to do and started to enjoy it.

The power I felt, the feeling I had afterwards from overpowering and the cheers I got from onlookers.

Soon fighting was just easy, I could rip people apart with my odd animalistic ability or with my own strength alone.

I felt all-powerful.

But I never showed it to anyone.

Squeak remained my companion as I sat in the basement once more. I had become quite the illusionist to my stupid Master, I could make things as small as Squeak disappear by a mere movement of my hand. Squeak continued to scuttle under, in and around my bed in an attempt to cure his boredom.

When you stare at a ceiling sometimes it can become quite interesting, but the whole time I stared my fingers were twitching.

The door opened again, and my Master came down with my food. Squeak subtly scurried away before my Master saw him.

I sat on the bed playing with an odd rock, watching it disappear and reappear with my intentions.

"Dinnertime Jesse," were his words. I had managed to pick up some of the language to some degree, and looked to my Master with a disinterest. He placed the bowl on the ground and took a step back. I plonked myself on the ground, picked up the bowl and started eating.

My Master looked around my room, I had started sharpening my nails on my own, sending the walls of the room into criss-cross mazes of scratches and dents.

When I was done with my food my Master took the bowl from me and scratched my ear. I reacted somewhat to it, but I could tell straight away what he wanted me to do.

He took the bag out from behind him. "You know the drill buddy," he said holding the bag out to me.

I glared at it for a few moments, then at him, and swiped the bag from him to slip it on myself.

Master never told me but I guessed it was so if I ever ran away, if I ever got out of my pen at this place I fought in, I would have no idea where the hell I was going. I wouldn't have known anyway, so I found the whole experience pointless for us to go through every few days.