His Other Half (KiriBaku)

Seven and a Day

        "Let's see this prized show dog you've been bragging about, Tomura."

        He raised his head curiously at the new voice outside his cell, chains clinking with the movement. New voices were rare, and sometimes they brought pain. Even pain was rare, now. He felt little to nothing, long since accustomed to the cold, dark, damp place he called home.

        Home. This was not home. He'd had a home, long ago, but he'd forgotten.

        "I don't have to prove anything to you, you two bit schemer," another voice sneered as the old wooden door creaked open. Light flooded the small space, backlighting two men at the entrance to his cell. Master.

        "Alright, alright," the newcomer soothed. "I kid. Surely he must be something though, for you to live as you do."

        Master scratched pensively at his throat as he glared. His usually unkept pale hair had been washed and braided down the back of his head, so he must have had to make an appearance at the arena. Usually he would make Himiko or Kurogiri go, but Himiko had stabbed a mediator last time when the guy shorted her on her bets, and Kurogiri had been present, so they had both been banned from the fights for a while. Master had been very upset, but his look was a nice change from the severed human hands that tended to hang around him.

        He resisted the urge to growl at the newcomer, knowing it would get him punished. He'd been trained to be silent and obedient, so he stayed, still, his head cocked slightly to the side. He avoided Master's piercing red gaze, observing the moss covered stone floor with practiced respect.

        "Shit," the newcomer breathed. His voice was light and airy, but filled with a sudden nervousness that hadn't been there before. "He's enormous. How long have you had him? Does he speak English?"

        Even enormous was an understatement. His hulking form sat silently in the darkness of his cell, broad shoulders and strong arms outlined in the light. It was very rare that he met a person bigger than him, in either height or mass, and this stranger was neither of those things.

        "Seven years, now," Master grinned. "He wasn't always this big. If anything, his size when we got him caused his opponents to underestimate his capabilities. It was quite a shock the first time he snapped a neck without a thought, even to us. And not anymore. He hasn't spoken in years."

        Seven years. Had it really been that long? Seven years felt like forever--then again, these seven years were all he knew. Something was wrong with his head--he didn't remember what had been home. He hardly remembered anything. Only the fights. Only being a prisoner here in this darkness.

        "Seven years, you said?" The stranger seemed to hesitate. "How long have you been here in the citadel?"

        The Citadel of Andoris. 'Home.'

        "Five years, eight months. He climbed the ranks fast--I think he nearly broke a record, but he was far too defiant for far too long," Tomura sighed. "He clung to pesky ideals, like morality and true love. Utter garbage. Useless rat."

        He perked at his name. Rat. Not his name, really, but they never called him anything else. He wondered if they even knew his name.

        He felt a hand at his face, urging him to raise his head with two fingers cupped under his chin. He kept his eyes lowered as this stranger inspected him, resisting the urge to bite. The newcomer paused, tapping a spot on the side of his chin. "What's this?"

        Master grinned. "Probably blood. He ripped out his opponent's throat during his match today."

        "Gladiators," the stranger shuddered. "What a violent lot. Ripped it out, you say?"