I feel the coarse, still wet sand against my knees. The metal greaves are rough, and ill-fitting, as the roar of the crowd washes over me. The violence of the arena permeates the air. I rise to one knee, my hand with a firm grip on my alloyed sword. It's lighter then I remember from training, that worries me. The caretakers drag the dead carcasses of the former fighters out, leaving only a bloody trail, a path that they were too weak to walk. I see my opponent. He steps into the arena, he's big. Huge in fact. A massive two handed maul in his hands, his burnished silver armor, molded in form of muscles. This is my home. The only life I remember. I tell myself that one more time, then I stand up, and roll the sword handle in my hand.
There's no love in this world. Not in it's soil, not in it's air, no plant life, no animals. Only death, rage, hatred, and fire. There's no love in this world for people like me. Not any more. We killed it.
A roar. He's charging me. I let my