The Hidden city was surrounded by sand. Desert stretched for miles in all directions, blinding in the unforgiving sun. It seemed to rise straight up from the ground, its sloping walls blending with the sand at the end till it was impossible to tell where one started and the other ended. The Arena peeked just over the top of the embankment, its towers shockingly white, bleached by time, sand and sun.
The landscape and the climate, most visitors assume, are the reason for the affectionate nickname, Death City. But for the residents these things are simply a part of life. No, it is not the cruelty of nature that has earned the name, but of humans.
The games; the spectacle which all visitors must see. It's like nothing else in the world. Where else can you witness the careless shedding of human blood, the thoughtless waste of human life? Though there are many who would argue the human part.
The poor have learned to fear the games and all who attend them, but to the rich, it is simply another way to indulge themselves. A thrill like no other.
It had always disgusted Soul to see those painted men and women chatter away, unforgiving in their laughter, heartless in their smiles as death unfurled before them. Only blood could satisfy those lusty gazes, each death eliciting a roar from the crowd. What were those tiny people in the centre of the coliseum thinking when they saw those faces so far above their own?
It was impossible to see any expressions from where Soul was sitting. He wondered if that was better or worse. It certainly made it easier to pretend they were just puppets putting on an elaborate performance for the wealthy.
But puppets don't bleed.
He looked on with careful impassivity. He knew the consequences for throwing up, crying out, making any movement to call attention to himself. Everyone was watching the spectacle below, but that didn't mean they wouldn't notice his uneasiness if he let it show. He must not let it show.
Soul let his mind wander, his eyes transfixed on the competition, but he couldn't really watch it. Couldn't let himself see the world he lived in. He thought of his mom, her lullaby playing like background music to the carnage. It was oddly suitable, transforming each player into a deadly dancer. 'That's right' Soul reminded himself, 'It's all just a show, another way to escape the life of the rich and boring.' The girl below him moved with beautiful grace, blond pigtails swinging as she danced around the much bigger man in front of her, armed only with a knife
It seemed unfair to Soul, to be paired against someone who was clearly not her match, but she moved smoothly, ducking each blow and quickly closing in for a swipe at his rib cage, or a stab at his arm. The bigger man was beginning to slow; he was losing blood quickly from dozens of small cuts across his arms and chest.
Soul clenched his teeth; the girl was losing speed as well. She was clearly untrained and underfed, but she continued to fight. Soul could feel his jaw beginning to hurt, but it was hard to make himself watch without the distraction of pain. The girl was dying.
Around him he heard the mundane twaddle of bored nobles. A few called for blood, eliciting smiles from their friends. It wasn't interesting enough, the man was dying far too slowly, and the girl had not even bled yet. What fun was that?
The girl moved in for the next blow. For a second Soul's breath was taken away as he saw her blond hair catch the sunlight, perhaps it was the contrast with the macabre scene, but Soul could only see it as beautiful.
She stumbled. The man was more than desperate to gain some ground on the petite warrior, and wasted no time taking advantage of the situation, moving in for the kill. Soul gripped his chair, he hoped his face was still blank, but he couldn't be sure.
He really hated this part.
The girl twisted as the axe came down towards her head. The crowd roared around him, but he could barely hear them over his own heartbeat. The girl stretched out and arm to protect her head, turning her face away from death.
The roar of flame filled the stadium. Even Soul could feel its heat from his seat. The man stood no chance; his body was a blackened mess, charred beyond recognition. The crowd erupted into cheers, they loved a good spectacle. And though Soul stood up, he made no noise, he saw the girl collapse, falling backwards, and just before they rolled back in her head he saw her eyes. Green.
He lifted a hand to his own blood red eyes, before quickly lowering it back to his side. Essence users were rare in the game these days. Most were killed before they got here. Many thought suicide was preferable, others simply couldn't escape the hands of friends and family.
Soul could see the hungry gazes of the nobles around him. Interesting players always garnered personal attentions. Some thought this was the best way out, others knew that the wealthy were just as deadly as The Game.
That girl was in for a hell of a time when she woke up.