Here you go my peeps! Hope you like it and P.S. thanks to all of you who read this.
Loki had been training for months, and now it was finally time. Time to battle in the arena and to please the crowd that watched him and the others make their way through the marketplace. Dogs bark and vultures circle while brightly colored banners flap in the wind. Each of Proximo's slaves are shackled to a wooden pole and led through the entrance of the small fighting area. The excited crowd cheers as the new gladiators come into view; they cannot wait to see the bloodshed and violence to come. Newly dyed yarn is hung overhead and the red liquid dripped down, Loki ducks a little to prevent it from getting on his face, but the rest of his exposed skin is soon covered in red. Proximo is a few paces behind the group, protected from the dye with a large umbrella. The lead gladiator, who Loki has come to know as Hagen, spoke in his ear.
"The gods favor you. Red is the gods color. You will need their help today"
Loki bit down hard on his tongue, preventing the words that fill his mind from spilling out.
Gods? I am a god you dull creature! There is no one that favors me today and I certainly don't need their help!
They are unshackled from the post and directed into a room under the small arena. The crowd above stomps their feet and chant, dust seeping through the boards of the roof. Loki, along with the others, sits down on a wooden bench affixed to the wall and listens as Proximo gives them one final prep-talk.
"Some of you are thinking that you won't fight, some that you can't fight. They all say that until they are out there. Listen"
Proximo pauses as the mob continues to cheer and stamp their feet, anxious for the battle to come. He pulls a sword from the rack above the slaves' heads and jabs it forward, his form perfect.
"Thrust this into another man's flesh, and they will applaud and love you for that. You…"
He jabs forward again.
"you may begin to love them for that"
Proximo slams the sword point into a wooden table in front of the men. Loki stares at him, green eyes blank. All this time he had been trying to avoid this moment, the moment he would fight and kill for the man he hated. But slowly, that burning despise was turning into respect, and Loki hated him even more for that.
"Ultimately, we are all dead men" Proximo continued. "We cannot choose how, but we can decide how we meet that end in order that we are remembered as men."
Proximo's words echo the Alfather's, for he had given this same speech to his men before battle, Loki has heard it before. He sighs, he must fight. If he is to die he will die with honor.
The men are paired up, the ones with red on their tunic are put with the ones with yellow. Loki is chained with Juba and Hagen is paired with a small, frail scribe. Soon they are lined up, waiting for the gates to open and hell to be unleashed. Juba looks at Loki, his expression grim, but he gives a small nod of encouragement. Loki can't help but to nod back, he hopes that both he and Juba will survive, right now they are not enemies, but friends. He glances at Hagen who has is eyes closed in prayer. Loki is armed with only a sword and a small wooden shield, along with Juba. He wears no armor, just his simple tunic and if a weapon was to find its way past his shield, one well-aimed thrust could end him. Loki's heart thumps wildly in his chest and his muscles stiffen. He lets out a shaky breath, fear steadily creeping through his body and clouding his mind. He does not want to die.
Then the doors burst open and the first thing Loki sees is an armored andabata take out the man to his right. When the spiked ball collides with his skull blood flies and a wet, crunching sound fills his ears, the crowd cheers. A dozen gladiators await them and are closing in. They wear huge iron helmets and tunics of chainmail, their arms sheathed in plates of jointed metal. The tyrants carry swords, battle axes, and tridents.
Side by side, their chain dangling between them, Loki and Juba enter the arena and fight as one. Through the blinding dust he sees Juba is under attack from an andabata wielding both a large sword and a broadaxe. Loki joins the fight, releasing the anger and hatred he has been pushing down for so long. He dodges the brute's axe and thrusts his own sword forward, slaying his attacker with one blow. Juba is surprised to see him attack with such ferocity, this man had always seemed so lifeless during training, but now he was proving to be a forced to be reckoned with. He was concentrating hard; he could see it in his green eyes. The way he moved, it was graceful, yet deadly and combined with dangerous precision.
When Juba is about to be struck down by a gladiator behind him Loki yanks the chain, pulling him out of danger. He blocks the oncoming sword and stabs the andabata in the chest, his thrust so powerful the blade emerges from the man's back. He smiles at the satisfying feeling of his sword going through flesh and bone. Loki quickly glances at Hagen who is fighting with such power that he drags his weaker partner along. The scribe is killed by a gladiator, Hagen swings and ends the gladiator and slices through the wrist of the dead scribe, freeing the chain. The chain attached to his own wrist becomes another weapons, he swings it, electively taking out two more opponents. As the battle continues Hagen lifts a man and impales him on a horn adorning the side of the arena.
The blood and gore that continue to fly through the air often accompanied by the excited cheering of the mob watching from above the arena. Loki swings his shield, barely blocking an oncoming attack. The blade nearly makes it past his shield and leaves his arm with a bloody gash. Just as he prepares to stab the andabata through the neck Juba swings his sword powerfully and kills him. He gives Loki a small nod and they turn to see one last gladiator carrying a handled trident. Juba takes position behind and over Loki's shoulder, both of the men's swords pointed towards the final enemy. As the gladiator attacks Loki and Juba dodge the trident, and then turn it onto its user. They piece the metal weapon into his mid-section. They stand back, exhausted, then stare in disbelief as the gladiator pulls the trident out of his stomach and stands ready. Loki and Juba spin then garrote the gladiator with their chain; they stab together, finishing the last opponent.
The crowd erupts in excitement as the "new gladiators" look around at the carnage. Mangled bodies lie everywhere and the ground is stained red. Loki glares at the mob in disgust then turns, pulling Juba along. He makes is way to the door that led to the entrance of the arena, ignoring the cheering crowd. He wants nothing to do with them.
That was my longest chapter yet! I will try to post more soon and please reveiw to tell me if you like it. A little goes a long way when you are writing and it really lifts your to hear back from your readers!