Reborn: Insanity Isle

[Fallenreaper]

Islay

A child? A crippled child, this wasn’t a place for one so young and fragile thought the man with his eyes shock at the sight. The boy was no taller than a wine pot and every word afraid, stuttering though some sort of speech that seemed spoken before by someone stronger. There was no will or encouragement to Islay as just stood there, a statue beside the freak trouble maker who body held no wounds. He knew this from watching the bruises the captors inflicted on him only have them vanish overnight in the bellows of that rotten ship. The child’s trembling hand passed off a sword that seen better days to the abomination before passing a rounded shield to him, the pallid warden decorated with bone piercings and crude markings brunt into his thick frame bore his gaze relentlessly into the youngster.

It made Islay frown to be a part of this, especially chained to the freak.

While the child fumbled with the bolt lock, he secured the shield in place one handed before warily raised it about his ginger head testing the weight difference it made. It would be clear he was unfamiliar to the object that was now hooked to his forearm. At the sound of a metal click the man turned to look at the boy, noting the manacles on his wrist felt far too tight much to his discomfort. Tch…he mentally chided at the fortunate bestowed. His starling grey blue eyes reached into Pot’s seeing s flicker of something more, something strong while his own returned warmth at the sight. The impatient jerk of the warden ushered the pair out a gate that clacked open before walking through, pausing a glare at Asad for being the one he was bound with, to meet what a waited the pair next.

† In to the Arena †

Hot yellow orb of the sun glistened about a cloudless blue sky; the heat bearing down on the tops of thick canopies shielding the thousands of spectators seated on large sand stone benches. Their bodies moved and clamored restless, shifting in seats and impatient for the large gates’ to rattle open announcing the arrival of fresh meat to dye the beach white sands once more. The cloths hung limp and lifeless on poles tied by ropes as humidity settled thick in the air, nearly suffocating completely if not for the cool shade provided. At the far end of the arena’s crowds was the clear difference between the lower pleasant ranks and the wealthy, green leaf fans waft providing likely the only breeze in whole area while any that sat there were obscured on the sides by large red fabric draping about the sides. It sealed the light of the hot sun out, shading and shrouding a place worthy for royalty itself to perch to watch the match below.

The crowds eager for more violence as what came to be spilt in the ring failed to satisfy the hunger of the paying customers it seem for far too short a time and their eyes searched for the next round to begin, their voices hushed abruptly as the sounding of the gates opened revealing Asad and Islay to the harsh and uncaring light blinding their eyes for a brief moment. Islay felt the digging of the shackle bury into his wrist, the flesh rubbed and reddened from the child’s shambling attempts to bind them with the shield strap resting in the middle of his other forearm the round shape of the reached as wide to cover his upper chest. They step upon the gritty grounds of the death pit with Islay leading out to be the first to blink away the light that pierced his gaze. The sun felt warm across his flesh, heating it and at the same time scorching it seem at first, his vision coming clear in the few rapid blinks.

His white skin seemed to melt under the sun’s rays, the soot and black marks of his blacksmith trade clear on his arms from his simple sleeveless tunic. On his lower half was plain brown pants leading down to bare feet, the toes digging into the hot sand, the monolog of the pant’s color broken by a red stripe of cloth on his left thigh. The hair short and cropped, contrasted against his sooty pale skin with an inch ponytail peering against the neckline. About in his late twenties, his face young and worried scanned the scene before him.

He did not like what he saw.

Pieces of bone scattered, thick gut twisted into a mess was still warm from the living, remnants of busted manacles, and new and old bloody hand prints decorated the heavy timber walls of the inner ring reaching well over Asad and Islay’s heads trapping them within. It was clear in end this place’s sole purpose was death, the very life and breath was to spill blood on the sandy floor. The ring reached across far even as it seemed it could house an small army easily, still able to hold even more in the vast space, with small hole drilled into the walls around about the size of a man’s fist. Islay’s eyes followed along to view the crowds in the stands, their eyes scanning and watchful at the appearance of the newest fighters while secretive whispers rippled through the silence like subtle sounds, soft and far from comprehending yet it was clear they were judging.

It made Islay’s spine shiver in fear understanding this. It was if they bet for time the two had, this freak and him, to outlast the reaper’s sickle though their appearance alone. Any flaw, weakness would be lowering the odds to favor them while the lack of confidence would only farther damn them. Islay felt the thick scratch of his throat swallow at spotting a few approving nods. His eyes followed the spectator’s as they turned away traveling to the other side of the pit reaching to the gate opposite of them. His heart hammered, fear clear in his wide eyes watching the gates roaring in their pull upward. The crossing square pattern of the bar lined the man behind it, his thick furred boot stomped out form the engulfing darkness into the arena making the crowds roar in a frenzy. The viewer’s both bare and sandaled feet slapped alongside balled up fists, echoing into a thundering sound that erupted into the area at the man’s entrance. Smiles and earsplitting screams lite up each face, the promise of blood being sacrificed at their enjoyment couldn’t be ignored.

Islay’s and Asad’s opponent stood in front of his gate, his face covered in a helmet with a dome shielding his face from view dotted with millions of air hoes to breath. The side had molded shape of ram horns following the curve of the circular gear, pointed forward with curved and wicked looking tips. His torso exposed with a single strap latched from his right shoulder over across to his left hip, the buckle resting in the front’s middle, shoulder pads of simple design strapped under the arm pits to hold them in place. In his hand was single curved sword with a recent red tint to the blade edge. Scars, vivid white from age and fresh scarred his torso’s uncovered muscles speaking clear of his experience in battle wasn’t light ending a the rim of a loin cloth that hung to the middle of his thighs. Along his waist hung yet another weapon tied by an easily ripped tie: a spike ball iron mace. The man was build lean and tall but the way he grip that sword handle in his hand told all that was cultured muscle, every single ounce, about a good head above Asad and Islay, the normal man only a few inches shorter then the freak beside him.

His head rose to acknowledge the crowd that cheered him onward. The helmet rotated to take in the crowd’s numbers before then twisting to view Asad and Islay, noting their appearance and the fact they were bonded at the wrists. Limited the pair’s mobility and dependent on one another, it surge the gladiator with confidence at his likely victory until the next round. Filled with this notion, his right hand raised the sword to slice the air in front of where he face should have been while the sin glistened off this grimy, sweaty figure.

Then he approached the ring center, likely meeting Asad and Islay, taking stock of the two. It was clear there was only way out of this hell and that with blood soaking the ground and lifeless corpse. Another clear matter was the man before had little problem in killing, his strides were confident and aggressive in each step drawing closer. His foot crushed down onto some guts, grinding the intestines into pulp with a loud squish, spreading the pink entrails into the grains unfazed by what they once were a part of. Once he was in striking range the man gave no quarter. Bending knees he made his move, taking a fighting stance with his feet slightly apart before launching to cover the remaining distance in a few quick, aggressive drives forward bring both his hands on the handle and his blade to slash a straight cut inside at Asad’s upper thighs. Aiming where the blood thick vessels would bleed well if hit. His eyes mindful of where the tip went for, the fighter watched for motion from Islay or Asad’s sword to bring a defense around and mind the counter.

Islay was still slightly stunned at the turn events to realize how to react, though the clues in the present moment should have given him clear picture of what was to come. It wasn’t until a sound or tug, from Asad or the clank of steel that the man would jar from his trance. His instincts to live would take over, pounding adrenaline in his system like a drug; bring his left arm with shield up against his body and feet widened slightly to defend in weak stance.

[tirgesfu]

Jaymz

She had nothing else. That’s what Saidah told him in the small safe sanctuary of her room. How could he answer that? He had nothing to give her, no reason for hope, no words to encourage, and yet he wanted her to live. For his own selfish reason he wanted Saidah to be here in her room with this small bit of green she protected. He needed her here. There was no way to tell her that. He could see the pain in her eyes the water ready to come, as she lifted her chin. In that gesture he could imagine what she once was. He could not ask her to endure all this for him. She was once something to marvel at he was sure because even here in the clutches of hell she was more than he; her fall farther and harder than his.

“If the survival of this small wonder does not give you reason, Saidah, then I have none.” He could not look at her face but instead kept his eyes on the very tiny sprout and leaves that already meant more to him any plant he had known.

“But let me share a promise with you, Sadiah. My return for the secret you have given me.” Slowly Jaymz raised his eyes so he could look at her again. It was time for him to drop his mask of determined aloofness and let her see the pain behind his eyes. He stumbled upon words as he heard the cheers of the crowd in the arena. A new battle had begun. Trying to block out the sound and find a way to ease some of this shared warriors’ pain he blinked. He leaned in closer to her as if what he would say pained him in ways he wasn’t sure he wanted her to see, he whispered, “When you can take it no longer, when you are sure there is no way out, I promise you Saidah I will end your breaths and heart beats and bless your journey onto the afterlife.”

Jaymz was not sure he could wait for her response. As the noise rose from the arena and the courtyard he knew his precious private time was done. He turned and put his hand on the door fearing she would call him back and tell now was the time.

[May]

Asad was quiet. Eerily so. He held his tongue as he was unchained and then re-chained to the man behind him. The fool who thought he could speak to him like he had some power of him. If they expected them to work as a team that wasn't going to happen. This man was an idiot, despite how muscled he looked. It wasn't the fine muscles of someone who knew how to use a sword, but more like someone who had worked hard their whole lives. Whatever he did, he was strong, but that did not make him a good partner. Not in the slightest. Especially not when Asad would be willing to thrust the rusty sword he held in his hand through his chest as quick as could blink.

But he didn't. Not yet. He might possible prove to be of use.

When they were pushed into the arena he looked around, not at all surprised by its state or that there were people. He'd never had any matches like this himself, but he knew of others who did. So this was nothing new to him. The times he'd been apart though, he'd been the one watching, not the one fighting. He didn't really mind this change though. He enjoyed fighting and this would be no change to battle for him. He would win. He sized up the man who came out as the two of them were looked over. He'd fought men just as big as this before and had obviously come out on top. But he'd not been chained to some fool at the time. He looked to Islay at his side, grumbling at his fate to be stuck with this man. He would give them a much better show on his own.

When the man chained to him didn't move right away, he pulled hard on the cuffs that linked them together, getting his attention back into the fight. "Pay attention fool," he hissed, stepping back easily as the man lumbered at them. Asad made no swing at the man though, just moved himself out the way. He had to watch him a bit more before he knew the best way to attack him back. The best way to win this fight. Hopefully Islay could keep himself unhurt long enough, and keep this brutes sword away from Asad long enough for him to figure that out.

[May]

The man sidestep so easily, pulling his foot back while the gap between him and the other bonded was closed up. Asad’s hair whipped out in his motion, catching his attention, as the gladiator watched from the dotted holes streaming sunlight on his face underneath, noting the quickness of Asad as well as the fluid path he took to avoid the jab. It was clear one of his opponents knew battle. His chest inhaled, excited at the idea this round would provide a bit of sport this time than the previous meat to enter. His muscle constricted to drew his attack back, halting in his jab forward when he realize it wouldn’t hit at moment he spotted Asad’s foot move and spared a bit of energy with it. Body slightly lowered into the reach out. The man dug his foot deeper into the sand letting the grains steady him with firmer grip before hearing the sounds of chain clunk and hissing. It was clear neither liked one another.

Under the helmet the man smiled a twisted grin, his scarred lip upturned in a sneer at the realization that these two conflicted giving this battle more intensity. Him an undeniable edge as well. Examining the two in a few mere seconds, the one with the sword seemed bossy and use to carrying his own weight in battle yet the other, the weaker one, wasn’t. If that one fell, he would weigh down the man and force limited movement that even sparing a moment to severe with that ill sword would take far too long. It would risk opening the man up for his attacks. Only one of many to consider possibilities but at some point Asad would have his blood drawn.

Imaging the position of the bond pair, Asad’s side step wasn’t far, merely a three steps to his right placing his back to Islay and likely exposing his chest to the gladiator, now reacted almost instinctively. His first attack missed but it didn’t stop his momentum. His hand above closest to the hilt pulled to the opposing side, being the blade about to upper cut across the man’s new position from just below his hip to the opposing shoulder. The left leg brought about to rest just beyond his other, creating near complete circle in the sand, the sword swing would have blocked Asad from sidestepping one way while to move the other would mean bring his shoulder about exposing his back or side to the blade. Risking a deadly slice. With Islay behind him block a retreat backward or preventing the man from blocking him and the attacker in front with his blade within clear cutting distance, it might be come painful clear that Asad would need to lock blades. Or severe his blood spilling on the ground.


He was good, this man they were fighting. He must have been like them once. Brought in to fight some other big man who'd won his freedom of sorts. And won. But this would be the end of his winnings. Asad would not let himself be so easily defeated. Not like this. And not because of this buffoon that he was chained too. But this buffoon was making it hard for Asad to move easily to avoid being sliced at and he wasn't doing a very good job at making sure that he used his shield.

The big man hissed in pain as the sword cut through flesh, drawing blood and making it well to the surface. He could feel the burn of it, and the growl that bubbled up in his chest transformed his face into a mask of rage. If he didn't control himself soon, one, or the both of them might end up dead.

"Be useful!" he hissed over his shoulder at the idiot behind him, tugging painfully on the chain that held them together, hurting Isaly as much as he hurt himself. He could handle the pain, but that dolt needed to be reminded that they were in this together at the moment. He didn't have the time he wanted to watch this man. He had to act.

His sword lifted, taking a calming breath. He pulled Isaly hard again, bringing him around to his side a bit more so hopefully if the brute in front of them didn't go for Asad again, he could actually do what he was suppose to do. He swung up, using all the might he could with just his one arm. He would have a much better chance being able to use both his arms. Or at least feel like he could. It be even better if he could have his own damn blades back.

[Fallenreaper]

Her body was being pulled mercilessly forward while Onix resisted, jerking and making the chains clank and click loudly in her struggle. Heels dug in fruitlessly only to be dragged across the dirty floor, the smooth sandal bottoms provided no purchase to brace against her path while she drew near the two men talking loud enough for her ears to take in the conversation. Their voice rose above the rattling of her ankle chains and those on her planks determined in their task. She was unease about the subject determining her future on the island. Her teeth gritted tighter in her strain with her eyes closed against the truth even with her leg muscles flickering and twitching every ounce of strength, wasting it like a denying prisoner of war meeting the executioner at long last, Onix refused to go easily.

Finally she saw the nod of the Varoogla warden’s pointed eared, black fleshed head, hearing most of what was said about Redbeard’s request and the other about her having a craft being the reason she was here. Did he refer to her magic she wondered, her green eyes darted from to the other before feeling the vibrations of the chain being tugged taunt from either side limiting her motion while holding her upright. It drew a silent growl from her, muzzle lines deepened from her bared teeth and body’s pointless struggle strengthening the sharpness in her eyes like dangerous sword blades drawn ready to take blood. Two Varoogla stood a few feet away and opposite sides of her would tighten the chains forcing her upward once more each time she tried to lower her body, safe and out of reach from any counters to stop them. More thin splinters dug into her neck’s flesh as Onix’s hands moved up and down, stopped by the holes of the cuffs, threatening to make her bleed. Though it was clear she didn’t like this in the least, it matter little in the end as the one in charge spoke of a collar of sealing.

The vision of the iron collar, black and merciless, hung there like death itself. Closer it came to her even while it approached with heavy steps of the wielder, every one of her movements were a waste of energy yet her body refused to calm down, refuse to give up. The icy chill of the collar sank into her skin and flooded though the spine sending discomfort all the way to her heart, weighing it down deep into her stomach, added with the sick click of the iron being secure on her being. Making the thing’s solid presence permanent in Onix’s mind and body. It wasn’t loose like the choker that rested at the base of her neck nor was it too tight to breath, it rested on the middle with the pole tip pressing a slight pain into the spine. A warning it was at her misbehaving actions, cruel and effective. Her face scrunched up and tightened from the discomfort. Her body jerked to fight at the treatment feeling the increasing pressure being applied, forcing her to yield into submission with more torture, until Onix became still.

Her motions froze added by the tugging of the chains at sensing the manifestation of others, Onix’s eyes opened to spot two more Varooglas standing by her side nearly brushing her crooked arms with their own reaching ones. Nearly making her flinch at their touch. The pair’s thick black fingers moved quickly and proficiently to the bound unlocking them, releasing her from the stiff wooden planks that soon barely hung off now. Each motion drew the one holding the pole to dig it in deep, forcing a cease instantly, while the clanking of metal echoed in her ears until the last of it was pulled away followed by the wooden restraints.

It was short lived relieve being free from the crippling things before being reminded of the new with the first stirrings of her body, driving out the aches. Impulsively her hands went to her neck, nails clawed the outside of the thing, feeling the inner texture rubbing at her flesh irradiated from the new friction on top of the old. Another sharp pain was her reward. Too focused on retreating and fighting she missed most of the conversation between the two figures that had snatched her attention in the beginning, catching only bits even the bow Redbeard did to the one that seemed in charge. The collar slipped down to press her claw choker into her collar bone before being tugged up, nearly choking her, making her chained feet rattled forward one step at a time.

No….her face said it all, eyebrow tensed and turned up a scowl at the direction like a stubborn child. Her heels dug in deeper as the creature holding the pole eyes seemed to delight in her spirit; his hands tighten about the pole on its jerk back before tugging up cutting off Onix’s air abruptly. The collar thrashed up into her wind pipe, sealing it from receiving any air. Hard enough to leave a bruise along the neckline as gentleness seemed foreign to the Varoogla. It wasn’t long before Onix felt the effects, her lungs started to burn while her blood screamed for her to rip off the collar with feeble fingers tearing into the thing killing her.

Her knees brought her down as she reached out her hands out to catch herself, saving her face from slamming upon the hard floor cracking her skull even as more growls came at being helpless. Her eyes searched across, instinct of survival driven, the dirty floor where she came to rest on all fours just near one of the many covered cages. There were low hungry snarls like those of demons with clicking of something hard and solid against the cage bottom, the sounds of something hidden shifted pass the inch not covered by the dirty white canvas. Whatever was under there had been stirred by Onix’s struggles in an irate state, restless. It was strangely familiar while fighting the collar’s demands to pull her upward as she leaned to the side to place it, her chest on fire that it might have well went up in flames and her heavy breathing doing her little good. It came then. A quick claw so deep red that it was black flicked into view. The wicked curve things matched that of her necklace, capable of slicing into the underbelly with ease and force many of her kind, able fighters, to watch their guts spill out over the ground in one swipe.

No… it can’t be…Onix’s eyes widen in fear, mind too stunned to move then only to jumped as the thing leap at the cage. Its body made the cover shift revealing a wrinkle hide through what little was shown even as it move about for another lounge, seeking out the Delilah’s blood driven by the idea of fresh meat with a snapping maw. A nail of terror seemed to make her weak at the knees even as her lungs were on the verge of collapsing. Desiring to be gone from the cage, Onix stubbornly forced her body up placing her hand on one knee in her rise back to her feet. Her heart racing to pour what remained of the air in her body though her system only to feel the rush of new air chills the heated and dry lungs back to life. It made her wheeze and cough, yet her eyes never turned from the covered cage that now had the attention of a few Varoogla that rushed to secure the canvas cloth even as the creature grew excited from her rise.

Hungry…it was hungry for flesh and blood.

It was a short lived scene, Redbeard leading the way with the Varoogla tugging Onix along like some mangy, rabid dog back the way they came. Her body moved, keeping pace while eyes darted about taking the uncountable number of noisy covered cages. Some she was awe by the towering size that reached the heights of great Red woods, even noting the smaller ones, all mingled with the prisoners of this “house” it seemed. Onix felt far more wary now than when she had first entered taking in the sight of it, too distracted to fight, memorizing the surroundings in her walk with one hand on her necklace rubbing it with her thumb absent minded.

Memories flooded back into her mind. Drifting from here, it came to rest beside dying embers of fire surrounded by the lush trees planted on the grey stone of the land. Onix’s hand reached out and pushed a long wooden pole into the shimmering ashes, making the remains hiss defensively as if provoked before crumbling in on itself unable to roar to life. Onix smirked pleased at the result as heavy footsteps, displacing pebbles and tiny rock drew her face to the source that quickly brought it in a smile. Her short hair was gently brushed by her hand to take in her mate’s figure, both with love and lust at knowing every bit of his body. His short wavy hair seemed to frame his soft face, gifted with young charm and hard to resist bright blue eyes, the lean frame was a show of his natural skills at fighting -part of what drew her to him at least in the first glance. Finally her eyes travel downward turning to what was held in his hands. The necklace that now lay on her neck, made from the claws of a natural predator for strength and power with carefully braided twine to hold them against the flesh.

It was display, a physical gift, of her worth to him at the risk of he took. An undeniable gesture of love to the world of what she knew to be true.

[Fallenreaper]

Islay

The The gladiator’s body language seemed excited, enjoying the sport, his breath accelerated. The arms pulled upward, stretching with strength in its preset path. Leaving a long score across the man’s chest, dripping with crimson not pausing a moment. His muscles moved in purpose, with the lithe grace of a beast starving for a kill. Asad’s growl was like music to him. Without missing a beat, the man’s sword flipped about to slash at the parallel side. Only to meet the tang of blade hitting Asad’s blade, the upward thrash stopping the steel from meeting the flesh. Though his ears rang with the roar of the crowds, their shouts of encouragement and disappointment, it was his eyes that narrowed with dislike at his thrust being blocked.

Once more his sword had flashing out this time to dash across the man’s chest like the first wound. Ting, the sound meeting steel rang in his rings to the gladiator’s fury. Stopping his attack dead in its tracks. Without missing a beat he changed his target, a quick rapid slash to the inside of the thigh to bleed the blood rich vessels. He hoped to score and drain his opponent dry in the match’s course. Reflecting silver met the grimy and dull edge of the victim’s blade defecting the edge easily enough, the brute leaning into farther risking his right side in the dart forward right for the gut. He was mindful of Islay’s whereabouts purposely keeping his attack too fast before retracting back then out again, a cobra seeking blood or flesh.

Ssssllliinnnkkkk! Asad’s sword hit, finding a mark. A red line sliced though the thick neck muscle uncovered by the helmet, dripping hot liquid from the veins down the contours. The monster’s mind screamed with anger. His body, both driven by the score and lack of wounds on his target spurred the man onwards with several fast jabs and thrusts toward the belly. No longer did he care for derawing out the match, merely to watch his opponent just lay there a bloody mess of fleshy ribbons, skinned meat and pool of crimson was all that on his mind. With the last strike their sword inter locked, forcing the man closer.

His sword hand bent, blocking Asad’s sword from moving against him while his body closed most the gap. The man’s intentions were simple: crack his head against Asad’s skull and disorient him. Win by all costs, even resorting to filthy tricks. It would have to be a speedy decision.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw motion as Islay’s arm pulled into view alongside his current focus, his face snared under the helmet. Leaning forward, his back foot kicked hard against the ground sending his weight into Asad to push him away. Acting quickly his metal head went to impacted on Asad’s face in attempt to crack his nose sending it right up into his brain. Not caring what part of the head he hit, his face turned to Islay while his hand reached across to the mace at his hip. Feeling the hard handle come into contact with his grip, the blood thirsty gladiator whipped it.

Seeing a chance, Islay had pulled his shielded body forward and jerked the edge toward the monster. Aimed for the face. Being more clearly trained, the man was quicker than Islay sending the spiked ended mace heading for him. Bang! The metal hit on the up held shield sending vibrations though his forearm upon impact. Eyes cringed, the chained man flinched, his lips turned up in pain and surprise to feel the points scrape across the surface making scratch marks along the surface of pure ear splitting sound.

Islay eyes caught Asad’s, the moment he could, screaming loudly inwardly NOW FREAK, HIT HIM! The lids wide revealing the colored iris’s in wide white though his head hunched down behind the shield. His teeth clenched though the vibration rattling his hurting arm even as the blow sent him back a step, one leg straight out while sand provided no push against the force. Instead Islay tried to hold it. His body leaned into the shield, forceful with all his might to oppose it, stopping him from falling both to his ass and likely death.

The man on the other hand wasn’t done. His face turned back to Asad and with it, he was lashing the mace back around right at the head hoping take it clean off. His blade slid from the grasp of Asad’s, tearing to the side with a desire to severe the torso and making him two smaller men. Islay’s voice rang out realizing the ploy,” Watch your right!”

Islay raised his arm, using the shield to defend Asad while the arm went to wrap around the face. His eyes stunned by the close weapon menacing towards them. Time seemed to move to a crawl, a life ending in that moment. It would be the last time he ever saw the light of day or the beauty of this world, the thick base of the mace heading right at him. The first thing it hit was the forehead. It stained the skin color, drawing out what life the man had in a blink of an eye.

Pain, red and agony. He felt his head crack wide open as the mace spikes embedded, the outer skin split open then white bone gave away like brittle porcelain to the impact. A spike nailed his eye, plowing into the soft tissue and through the iris, blinding the man as the hit sent him flying. The force sent his head whipping back. It all happened too quickly for him to scream but the expression told the world of his agony.

Everything seemed too slow allowing his life to flash before his mind and for the moment, he realized it wasn’t anything specular. He heard his neck snap at an odd angle, rupturing the tiny and delicate nerve clusters along his spine though the shield was already falling from his arm. It hit the red sands scattering them in its landing. It bounced once before coming to a rest, its surface dented and useless. Time finally caught up at that moment when Islay’s body hit the ground, the roar of the death hungry crowds filled the stadium echoing though the twitching man’s ears. His vision was a blotted image of red on black spots, with peaks of his original sight gapping through.

From what his dying glimpse of the world showed him was disheartening. The gladiator was standing over Asad, his sword seem planted into the man’s chest while the crowd’s bloody cheers rose up and seemed to pull him farther into a disoriented haze that overwhelmed the senses. His figure seizure in the gritty floor as he watched, expecting the helmeted man, the appearing victory to finish the rest off. End his suffering. The foe’s body towered over the freak while the two remained lock for what seemed like hours, sweat poured from the skin adding to the copper-ish scent that spread through this place of death with his chained arm still reaching thanks to the manacle towards the freak.

Islay’s breath was still, held in the lungs, until at least the gladiator seemed to go limp. A piece of the puzzle fell into place. The man’s body slacked and impaled over Asad’s dull sword, the wrist released the wellkept blade allowing it to hit the sand with a soft thump. His fresh carcass shifted to the side coming off Asad to leave it lying there. Islay watch what he could, both his own blood and broken vision hide the details so before he knew it Asad was standing above him holding a sword. A searing ache just like before rippled through the man unable to scream, his body curled up in its misshapen form best it could letting fresh blood to stain the sandy floor. His.

Then the world went black, forever.