Blood and glory

The "chosen" one

"Romulus! You're next!" shouted my slaver, Marius, with a sinister voice. I snickered at him and walked down to the armouries to prepare for battle. You probably know already that slavers aren't the greatest Santa clauses, all of the slaves wear thin linen vests with a loin cloth. As for the armour in the arena, it's no praetorian outfit, I'll give you that. All we get is a helmet and our own loin cloth. As for the other equipment, the swords aren't the sharpest, and the shields were somewhat worn.

But overall I've been recognized as the best gladiator of the slaves, although I've only been fighting slaves. I have not yet had the honour of being scouted by or the privilege to fight higher ranked fighters. My model, the man who motivates me to keep fighting is nicknamed Man o' war; otherwise known as the greatest fighter in the grand Colosseum of Rome.

I stood behind the portcullis, listening to the announcer, and eyeing down my opponent on the opposite side of the arena. He was a lot bigger than me, stood maybe... Six foot nine, and he was a body builder. Horns blew and the announcer introduced the gladiators.

"On the east wing, we have Argos; A brute who has crushed his enemies rather than stab and slice. And his opponent, on the west wing, is Romulus; the finest bladesman in the arenas." When the announcer said that, it filled me with more confidence than I already had. "Let them fight!" He shouted in conclusion, triggering everybody to scream and shout. The bars dropped and Argos and I approached the centre of the arena. We clashed our weapons together in wishing each other 'good luck'. To me; There is no luck when it comes to battle, only talent and skill.

I took a step back and taunted Argos to attack. He gave me a sinister laugh as he rushed at me with his hammer raised above his head and he roared as he did so. I ran towards him and with the speed that I had built up, I slid between his legs, sticking my sword out, and slicing his leg right open. The audience roared. The wound was deep and wide. Argos roared in pain and anger at the open flesh wound that I had given him. He spun around so he could face me. I charged at him fiercely, he raised his hammer again, this time striking lower. Jumping his attack, I quickly pulled back my sword arm, and stabbed him in the neck. Leaving him noiseless, he held the wound in attempt to stop the bleeding, but the wound was too deep and he collapsed to the ground.

The crowd lost it, screaming and making as much noise as possible at the victory.

I entered back into the armouries and everyone cheered. Everyone as in fifteen, maybe seventeen slaves. Marius approached me with a grin on his face, he put his hand on my shoulder and said: "Well done lad, sounds like you put on quite the show out there! Without a scratch on you! Get cleaned up, first drink is on you!" This was the happiest he's ever been, and the nicest. He was treating me as if I were a soldier, who lead a great victory on the battlefront. "I must be dreaming. Kelt, hit me." Kelt is one of our biggest men, but not as big as the man I had just slain. Kelt walked up to me and punched me with all his might in the head. Holy shit, Did I ever get what I asked for. He knocked me off my feet, leaving me half-conscious on the ground!

He helped me up, and stood there with me to help support me, for I was really dizzy. "Okay, now that I know this isn't a dream... What's the occasion master?" I asked Marius.

"Well, it seems to be your fiftieth consecutive victory in the arena!" He replied. "Fifty more and you advance to the next stage of being a gladiator." He added.

This is very strange to me, ever since my parents were killed, and Marius found me alone in the woods and made me one of his slaves, he's treated me as one of his own. Bah, what am I thinking, I think it's time to feast.