Fight to Die (Harry Styles)

One

Chapter 1

(Harry's POV)

I stare down at the dead body of a boy I knew never stood a chance. Blood pools around his lifeless body, coming from the only wound inflicted upon either of us. We fought briefly; he was skilled, I must say, but no match for me. The slit in his throat ended his life quickly and as close to painlessly as the games allow.

Sadness fills me as I look down on the life I have just taken. seeing the dead never is an easy thing, but it becomes even harder when that death is caused by you. Some nights, though rare, I go to bed in tears. I may be a man, but that does not make me heartless. I cry. But wouldn't you cry if your job was to brutally murder man after man until freedom is earned? Wouldn't you cry if you saw the light of life leave the eyes of a man who previously stood living and breathing in front of you? Wouldn't you cry if you remember every face of every man you have ever killed like it is permanently engraved into your mind forever? Wouldn't you cry if you were me?

They say a man's emotions are expressed through violence or abuse, but I find myself completely incapable of either. My grief and anger is caused by both of those things; there is no way I could ever solve those problems by the problem itself. It is impractical.

Given that, I would venture to say that I am not like most gladiators. I do not love all the crowds; I do not love the luxurious parties thrown on the eve of a fight. I hate the attention and glory I receive for enacting the evil of murder. Some love it; some love the mobs, but those are the men who experience the greatest disappointment when the strike of death is delivered by the very people he thought loved him. A man can win the crowd over, completely entice it and make it love him; that is when he is at his most powerful. But it is when he forgets that he is there to be slaughtered in front of them and when he falls in love with the mob, that is when he is most vulnerable. The mob will build you so high up for the sole purpose to watch you fall.

I have seen it far too many times; I have learned from others' fatal mistakes. I do not win the crowd; they do not love me; they never have. But from the moment I took that first step into the sandy arena, the mob feared me. I see it in each of their eyes when I make my kill and turn to walk away. They stand frozen when my eyes meet theirs, in complete awe and terror. I hate that people fear me so much; that is not what I want. I want a normal life and that is what I have always strived for.

Freedom.

That is what lies ahead of me. It taunts me, but I know that once I reach it, all those times facing death will have been worth it. Once I reach freedom, the possibility of a normal life is returned to me. That is, if I do not die first.

I often contemplate just letting myself be killed in the arena, but my will to live is too strong. My instincts are to survive and I cannot ignore them.

The crowd screams louder at me as I stare down at the dead man, lying in front of me. His eyes are open, but the life has been drained from them. No man deserves that as his fate. My knee falls to the ground before kneeling over his fallen body. I reach out my hand, at which the screams of the crowd turn into a still loud murmur of confusion. they have never seen anything like what I am about to do. My fingers gently pull his eyelids closed and I bow my head. How many must die before freedom is given to me?

The Roman mob before me is near silent as I raise my head and stand from the ground. Every crowd, in front of which I had ever done the same act before, has always found themselves speechless. No one expects such compassion from such a monster. No one expects for those who kill to care about the honor of a man, but they are wrong. When a man dies, his honor is all he has left and it is in my interest to make sure that a man's honor is not destroyed because of me.

I turn to face the iron gates and walk towards them. They open as I approach them and again, I am in the privacy of the cold, dark tunnels. The sound of the iron gates falling shut echo against the stone walls. Immediately. at the shutting of the gates, the roaring of the crowd erupts into something far greater than before. One clear word is chanted by the over-excited mob of Romans; one word I make out as "Celt." At the echoing of that word, I know that the cheering is meant for me.

Do I like it? Do I like the praise and glory? Well, what man wouldn't? Of course I like to receive praises, but when those praises are in result of my murder, I can not stand it. I am disgusted with both myself and with the people who praise my horrendous actions.

Two guards join me, one on either side. They do not chain me; they do not even give me so much as a second look. One of the guards I recognize as a man named Maximus; the other I know as Marcus.

They were new guards to me, compared to my eight years with this particular owner. He is a kind man, believe it or not. His name is Galerius and he used to be a gladiator like me, but there is a difference: he was the best. He served seven years as a slave and five years as a gladiator. At the age of thirty-five, he was freed. To me, he acts a guide and mentor. He gives me advise and special training sessions. Although I know that it is probably just to keep me alive for the money earned, he is like a father to me. He often treats me as a son; well, as close as you can get to that while being enslaved.

I remember when I first met Galerius; I was only thirteen years old. Both of my eyes were nearly swollen shut; wounds covered my body. They were the effects of war, and to this day those scars still exist. I was taken from my family; abducted, sold, then trained to kill. Galerius saw potential in me, despite my nearly destroyed body. I consider it a blessing that I was purchased by him and not another man. Rumors of other gladiator owners circulate quickly through the empire, so far that the lowest of the slaves here it as well.

There are trainers who are harsher and far more cruel than anything I have experienced. However, that is not to say that what I have been through is easy, only to say that that I am extremely lucky compared to many unfortunate slaves, damned to a fate far worse than my own.

Galerius looks at me when I enter the room, a saddened expression on his aging face, "please tell me he was at least a little challenging for you."

I look down to my calloused hands and see the blood on them. Cringing at the sight, I look up again, "I'm sorry, but no. He was all over the place and not very strong."

Galerius sighs and sits down on the couch against the wall, "you're ready to go to Rome. I wish you weren't, but there's no one left for you here. You're too good for these districts."

"You wish I wasn't?" I ask him, confused.

"Yes," he rakes his hands through his gray, thinning hair. "You've never been cocky and that is your strength, but you have to know Rome is going to be different. The gladiators there are the best and it won't be easy to survive; it won't be as easy as it is here. I wish you weren't ready to go because I fear you will die there."

"Death is waiting for me every time I go out there. It won't be any different," I reason. It has always be that way. Death is always a possibility. One mistake and I no longer fight for freedom. One mistake and I have more freedom than I actually wanted. Death is the ultimate personal freedom, but that is not what I desire.

"Yes, it will," Galerius tells me grimly. "You will be in the presence of the greatest, most important men of Rome. The pressure is far greater than you could ever imagine. You will face much worse than men in Rome, Celt. It will be your downfall if you fail to realize that."

A heavy silence lingers in the room for several minutes. I don't know what to say after that; to be honest, I am absolutely terrified of what awaits me in Rome. I've never feared death, but being told this extreme reality sends shivers down my spine and makes me nervous. It makes it so much more real for me to hear the reality from someone who lived it.

"When?" I ask, looking up at Galerius.

He shuts his eyes for a few minutes before answering me, "I'm going into the city tomorrow. You and Julius are coming with me."

Tomorrow.

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Ok, so here's the first chapter of Fight to Die. I'm really excited about this so I hope you like it! Please vote and comment! Give suggestions on how to make it more realistic (:

Thank you so much for reading! I love you all <3

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