It was wildly exhilarating.
This giddy feeling, where nothing matters except the dance of death between their blades.
A false move would invite death. An unsure footing would bring about self-destruction.
She would never tire of this feeling.
Was this why the man before her stayed standing?
Did he also pursue this feeling of exhilaration, of playing a game of cat and mouse with death?
Was this why he was roaring with laughter, despite the amount of blood that had been emptied from his vessels?
She longed to know. To understand. To comprehend her own unbidden smile.
And as she relinquished the senses, only allowing her instincts to go on autopilot, she contemplated her own feelings.
For the first time in her life, she felt truly alive, even if she felt slightly detached from her body.
Was this what it meant to be alive?
But before she knew it, she slipped on a deeper pool of blood than she had realized, and she fell, too late to regain her balance, as the blood that had drenched the handles of both Sange and Yasha caused them to slip out of her grasp.
Was this what it truly meant, to be alive?
And the Gladiator’s cutlass swung down at her exposed neck, and she knew it was over.
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“It is done,” whispered the Captain, startling the Vice-Captain. Both of them had fallen into silence in the past few minutes as the tireless combatants continued.
The gates to the arena slowly grinded open, as the announcers and the crowd were silent at what had transpired inside the arena. Most wondered in contemplative silence.
Both the contestants were standing still, peacefully, and the only proof that a battle had raged in that arena was the amount of blood spilled.
It felt as though the Gladiator’s roaring laughter and the crisp strikes of their blades still echoed through the arena and into their ears.
The strongest one had been determined.
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“Arasunia,” the Summoner said with sneering contempt.
“You seem to be familiar with it,” observed Maliken Grimm.
“Of course,” he replied, turning around with a swish of robes, as he viewed the city from the scrying bowl. “I spent a good year chained to the place.”
“To think she was here, of all places.”
The daemons that were gathered cowered as they felt the increased anger building up within the man who shackled them to his will.
“It was a wonderful city I gifted to the Chaplains,” commented Maliken Grimm.
And he snorted in disgust. “The Chaplains. ‘Holy’, they call themselves. Yes, yes, of course, the pursuit of gaining more power, that is of course the way to worship their deity.”
His eyes narrowed even more, when he contemplated slightly. “This does make my plans a lot easier, however. They drained me of a good amount of power while I was held as a test subject. I may as well reclaim the other half of my energy while I liberate her from their grasps.”
Lifting his new sword into the air as he sighted down its edge, Maliken Grimm commented, “Then I will go. I have souls to collect.”
The Summoner nodded in quiet agreement, and replied, “I will send my daemons to go with you while I look for her first.”
With a nod at the daemons, a few of them stepped forward to line up next to Maliken.
“This seems to be too much,” replied the once king.
“They will also serve as a means of communication,” said the Summoner.
“As a last chance for you to go collect souls elsewhere,” began the Summoner slowly, “You do not care for your people anymore?”
The man who had once united all men under a single banner did not even flinch, and replied with an even tone, “None shall stand in the way of my wish.”
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“Ready the men,” commanded the Captain.
And the Vice-Captain ducked back into the hallway, issuing orders in whispers.
He himself prepared to fight if the crowd resisted. Checking his trusty weapons, he took one last look at the arena grounds, before heading into the hallway.
Neither of the bodies had moved an inch. That was probably for the best, right now.
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