The Life of a Slave

Chapter 1: My Life

Author's Note: This book will written from one view and one view, only. This chapter is basically a snippet of what the main protagonist's life is like. I am hoping to gain some input on this book and constructive criticism will be appreciated. Please read and, if you feel like it, review. Enjoy.

"The way I was brought up in the arena was if you didn't kill people, they killed you. Simple as that."
-Ethan Dabria

I let the lids of my eyes slowly roll down, shutting me off from vision. Feeling the adrenaline and pure strength pump through my veins, I inhaled the scent of dried blood from my previous bouts. I let my heart thrash against my chest like an animal begging for its master to release it.

The pound of my heart settled down though, instead becoming a slow, steady beat as I commanded it to be. Still having my eyes shut, I listened to the announcer give a "warm welcome" to the people of Level 1313. I tuned him out once more and let my ears slowly shut off all other noises until not even the beat of my heart could be in my mind.

No, instead I listened to myself.

You are a warrior.

You are the warrior.

You are the warrior that survives.

You are the only warrior that survives.

I opened my eyes as the door separating me from the arena opened. My eyes let sound fill my mind as I walked out into the dust filled and blood caked arena floor. The crowd was so deafening and barbaric that you could barely hear the announcer say, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, Durasteel!"

Loud is an understatement when talking about the audiences of the Gladiator's Playground. They all cheered and waved towels and articles of clothing around. A picture of my scarred face came up on a holo-screen and I raised my eyebrows. It hadn't been there the last time I was here.

Huh, they really love to advertise people before their death, I thought, not that I would ever lose or, at least, thought about it at that point.

I gave a simple nod to the south section of the crowd, yet only that was needed to drive the girls in that section wild. They screamed in joy and blew kisses at me. I scoffed and thought, They love me, yet they know nothing about me. Oh, the irony…

Still I kept my face stony and watched my opponent walk out of his own entrance. He was met with much "booing" and insults from the spectators and a smug smile found its way onto my face. Because after all, they reserved their cheers for their favorite gladiator, which was me, of course.

I observed the man before me. He had a silver breastplate and a white long-sleeved shirt under that. More silver armor coated his legs and he had a vibroaxe attached to his back. His face was uncovered, revealing a male Twi'Lek in his late twenties. I smirked and thought, That fool. His armor will slow him down. And I had learned this lesson before, as well. Now, I settled for gauntlets, pants, and sword.

I felt remorse and pity for the man that stood before me. I had been undefeated for the past ten years and I planned for things to stay that way, but that didn't mean that I intended to spare his life.

"Let the match begin!" the announcer exclaimed, causing the crowd to erupt in applause.

The challenger advanced towards me, but I kept calm and watched his eyes.

He wants to strike me across the shoulder.

No! He changed his mind…

He wants to disable me so…

The legs.

The Twi'Lek roared a battle cry and used his vibroaxe to try to cut off my legs, yet he only succeeded in embedding his axe into the dusty floor. I executed a back-hand spring and landed a good ten feet away. He stumbled when he tried to pull his axe out of the ground though, and I took advantage by running towards him, grabbing his collar, and smashing my knee into his face.

The Twi'Lek cried out in pain and stumbled back a few steps. I flashed a grin at the crowd and they all laughed, knowing that I was just putting on a show for them. I let him recuperate for a moment and he growled at me. He pulled a dagger out of his armor and slashed me across the shoulder and recoiled and examined the wound.

Hmm… not too deep and just enough to give the crowd a show. Just how I like my wounds…

The Twi'Lek seemed proud of his achievement and laughed at me. I narrowed my eyes and thought, That fool, thinking that he has won when he has only succeeded in fueling my adrenaline and strength…

While he was basking in his so-called glory, I sucker punched him in the face and roundhouse kicked him in his ribcage. He made an "oof-ing" sound and recoiled from the wound.

Yet I wasted no time. Grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him around, I held him in a choke hold. He gasped and sputtered for breath while I looked to the crowd for approval. They all roared and held their hands in a thumbs-down fashion. The Twi'Lek sobbed and I felt his tears drop onto my arms.

And I hesitated for a split-second. Then, I twisted his neck and heard a snap.

He went limp and I dropped him onto the dusty floor. The crowd went silent for a split second as I grabbed the chain that was wrapped around his neck. Yanking it off, I looked at it for a moment.

Then, I raised it up in the air and smirked at the crowd. They roared in applause and the announcer came down to raise my hand in the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Durasteel! Our still reigning champion! How do you feel about winning your twentieth tournament, Durasteel?"

I smirked and replied, "I'm just happy to give the crowd a good show."

But in the midst of the applause and laughter, I felt the shroud of darkness come into my heart. I was lying when I said that I liked serving the crowd. In fact, I hated their guts for coming here. They were scum to me and I hated feeding their fetishes for violence.

Yet I was a slave to the crowd. They controlled my every move inside and outside of the arena, whether it be food or clothing or staying alive. It was a matter of life or death when it came to whether or not the liked me.

But I don't like being a slave to the crowd. I don't like being a slave to anyone, yet I still live that way.

My master makes me hide behind a stupid name to conceal the real me and the crowd knows this. Yet they still let it go on.

But you don't know what I'm talking about, do you? You don't know my entire story yet, so you have no idea about my suffering and my siblings' suffering. Or my parents' suffering.

So… here goes.

My name, my real name, is Ethan Dabria, son of Kael and Relana Dabria, warriors of Mandalore. I am a slave and I live in Level 1313 of Coruscant, the capital of a "Slave-Free" Republic.

This is my story.