Snippets

Bloody Knuckles

Sand filled the air as a strong breeze swept through, obscuring everything from the knee down for a brief moment. The wind, however, was not enough to obscure any other sensations. Like a hammer to an anvil the sun beat down on all those who would dare stand in its sight. The roars of a bloodthirsty audience filled the ears of everyone who neared or entered the colosseum. Sweat clogged the gladiator's nose, and liquid iron coated his tongue. With a hack, he spat out a glob of blood and saliva towards his opponent as the wind died down and the sand settled. It landed just beside the man's sword, which lay on the ground coated in any number of things from blood to sand.

"Pick it up, Athernius." The gladiator clenched his empty, torn fists. He didn't move from his spot; instead he glared down at the much heavier armored coward's kneeling form. "Y'ain't done with this fuckin' fight. Neither of us're 'til the blood stops flowin'." 

There was no response. Athernius had been holding that pose with his head down for what felt like days, still and silent. Something in the warrior had broken. That something was the most important thing anyone worth his weight could have: His will. 

"I said pick it up!" 

Athernius clenched his fists and began to shake, almost imperceptibly. 

"I'm not goin' to put ya down! Get up an' fuckin' fight me. Either kill me or die standin'!" A scowl tore through the gladiator's face behind his mask. The pressure he was creating in his fists tearing the wounds he'd created on his own hands much more to the point of it being more than a stinging pain. He sucked in a deep breath and let out one last shout. "Prove yer th' man ya claim ta' be and strike me down so you can go 'ome already!"

Crack. Raw, primal screaming filled the air as Athernius grabbed his sword and launched himself, and the weapon, at the gladiator's abdomen. Just as the tip pressed against his breastplate, he wrapped a hand around blade and managed to stop it, but audibly grunt as it sliced his hands open even more.

From his hunched form, Athernius looked up to the gladiator, his eyes alight with fury. He looked as if he were to speak, but a fist connected with his jaw before he even knew it. Athernius stumbled and the blade was released, blood splashing the sand covered earth. One step forwards. The gladiator reached out and grabbed Athernius's wrist and pulled him towards himself. He moved like water as his other hand came up towards Athernius's elbow and pushed with a mighty force. Again, Athernius screamed. The sword was dropped and he attempted to step back, but the gladiator stayed right on top of him.

"This is what I wanted!" The gladiator laughs as he slams his bloodied fist into his opponent's abdomen with enough force to double him over. As his head comes down, the gladiator's free fist comes up to meet with his chin. A gasp and grunt was all Athernius could give before he was sent onto his back, squirming and clutching his now broken arm. "A true, bloody fight. One where one o' us ain't comin' out."

Clearly exhausted, Athernius could do nothing but groan as the gladiator flipped him over. One hand gripped the back of his plate at the collar while the other wraps around the top of his faulds. With a great heave, the gladiator lifts his opponent over his head, smirking. He looks over the crowd, who has begun to give a cacophony of approval at what they expect to happen. A grunt of his own escapes the gladiator's lips as he brings the man down onto his knee, bending the metal and pressing into his spine. Screaming leaves the man as his spine is snapped and he's thrown to the ground.

The victor throws his arms wide, drinking in the adoration from the crowds as their cheers begin to reach their climax. He laughs a little, even, a smug, sadistic laugh. As his violet eyes sparkle, he throws his back and lets the laugh go into the air, joining the mess of noise until it suddenly dies. His celebration is the only sound, but quickly it is snuffed as he turns his attention around in an attempt to learn the source of this change.

Standing at attention in his oh so majestic booth that is draped with filigrees and purple curtains, stands the gamemaster. An aged man with graying hairs and a war torn visage. No armor is adorned upon his body aside from a scarred breastplate loosely strapped to chest over his loose fabrics. When the gladiator's gaze falls upon him, he begins to clap, slowly. "Excellent!" He calls, his voice carrying easily throughout. "Excellent. Kill him or leave him maimed; you have earned your reward and ended his career."

The gladiator nods and looks down at his opponent. Slowly, his leather boot is brought up and placed against his neck, pressing down hard enough to block his breathing. The man's eyes were already wide, but they lacked focus. With that change, they then bore a hole into the gladiator's skull. Not of rage or any such similar emotion but rather fear. He was going to die there, back on the dirt and looking his killer in the eyes and he knew not how to accept it. 

A grimace crossed the winner's face as he finalized it, leaving his victim without any time to learn how to do so.