The roar of the crowd was known to be addictive, easily able to overpower people that were weak willed. Many had lost their lives in the ring because of overconfidence or rage, even desperation groped out at the contenders, trying to pull them in. The ear wrenching screams of joy and laughter filled the crowd, catching many on their first battle, often making it their last.

John Knew this, he knew it very well. the constant voices that ran through the halls and echoed around him told him so. Each spectator adding to his mind crippling madness, yet he knew he was sane, at least that's what his mind was telling him. Though that might just be his brain trying to cope.

The constant drum in Johns chest didn't help, his fight was coming up, his third this year. It was only the end of the rain season, It should be green and lush in the world, but all he could see were stone walls that seemed to close in and the constant flicker of a wax candle. His room smelt strongly of iron, he couldn't tell if it was from the smelting of weapons down the cells halls, where the slavers gathered or the crimson that seemed smeared across each and every wall. John pulled at his hair tightly, trying to stop the rushing sound in his ears. he snapped up as he heard keys clattering at his cells door

It was time for the fight.

The air was sharp and cold, but felt free and embracing, but you should never trust the air, weakened muscles, sharp painfully breath that makes your lungs feel like collapsing, your eyes start to water as your lips freeze over. John knew not to trust it. "Don't trust anything, don't trust anyone, don't trust anything" he muttered his mantra himself.

John glanced down to the weapons in his hands, a chipped short sword and a buckler shield, about as large as his head. his thoughts strayed from the area around him as he stared at his weapons, his mind thought of "what if", what if he had never been captured what if he had escaped. john imagined living on a small farm with a caring wife who watched over two little angels, a girl and a boy. He would go home to his beautiful wife and his smiling children after a long hard day at work "dad, dad!" they would yell as they ran to hug his knees, his wife would hug him and comfort him after he put in his efforts at the farm, a nice happy family.

The screams and cries of the audience brought him from his dream like state, the howling alerting him of what is coming, the air somehow felt colder, like shards of glass. Each breath built a lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow.

The horrid sound of metal on metal scraped into everyone's ears as the large rusted gate wrenched themselves open.

The sound of soft steps came from the gate, a short childish figure emerged from the shadows in the gate.

John dwarfed the figure, standing at 5'11 whilst the figure stood 4'10, as the childish figure emerged John noticed the claymore it dragged behind it. The kid seemed to be a boy, shocking toxic green eyes shone on the pallet of pale skin. Raven hair outlining his face.

The claymore looked absurd being dragged by such a small person, the sword was easily the size of his body. John didn't even know if the kid would be able to swing it. A large mark traced wherever the claymore was dragged. Both competitors stood across from each other. The slavers gleamed down from their perched platform, each one observing with mild amusement.

John glanced at the kids face again, he was immediately met with an intense stare.

"My name is Jonathan!" He shouted over the harsh yelling from the spectator's.

"Perseus!" The kid snapped

John didn't want to fight the kid, he never wanted to fight, he was just a toy used by it's owner. He didn't find the treasure, get the girl or ride into the sunset. John was here, he knew this, this was the only thing he could fully grasp in a sea of madness.

One of the more portly slavers, being Impatient shouted "the fight begins, only one may leave!"

John steeled himself.

A blur flashed by his eyes, the world seemed to spin, everything became faint, he shuttered end coughed, his eyes dimmed. John lost hold of the short sword he had held. His shield smashed across the ground, a large sword seemed to have found home in his chest. The world flipped and John landed on the ground with a thud.

John heard chanting faintly In the background, "Destroyer! Destroyer! Destroyer!" The world faded away.

John had lost his third match.