Footsteps echo across the polished concrete floors of Beacon Academy. Glass windows reveal a shattered moon, moving clouds obscuring and revealing its silver light. Gray hair glistens in the moonlight as Azraq walks down the endless hallway back to his sleeping bag.
His mind begins to wander with the monotone patter, wandering to dark and bloody places. Dread fills his body as alarm bells begin ringing in his head. His mouth begins to taste the acrid, hot air of the arena. He can feel the weight of his armor, his khopesh's leather grip tight in his hand.
The school hallways slowly blur, no longer windows and classrooms, now a solid stone construction. After all, no lights reach the hypogeum tunnels. Calm footsteps echo as Azraq walks towards his next challenge.
'This is sooner than usual. Did something happen to the other fighters?' He thinks as he starts climbing the staircase to the arena floor. His footsteps make no noise as they tread across the sandy floor. Sunlight finally reaches him as he steps before a steel gateway into the arena.
He nods to his fellow slave as the man begins to crank the gate up. The roar of the crowd reaches him as the summa rudis announces his entrance; he catches the tail end of his record as he walks in.
"The fight for freedom continues as two more famous contestants face each other in battle. At only 12 years old, Azraq has moved up two age divisions as he now faces our teenage contenders, aged 16 and older. Will he once again prevail against uneven odds, or will this be where young Azraq meets his match?"
As Azraq moves forward, the roar of fifty thousand voices crashes over him like a wave. The smell of sweat, blood, and dust is thick in the air. Marble tiers rise around him, packed with cheering civilians, and normal families become little more than savage beasts in their fervor.
His sandals etch a trail across the searing sand before he stands in front of his opponent. A teenage gladiator stands tense in the arena.
He is wearing a murmillo helmet, a heavy, bronze helmet with a broad brim, high crest, and a face-concealing visor pierced with narrow eye slits, designed to protect the head while intimidating opponents.
Azraq can feel the teenager staring resolutely at Azraq. The boy towers over him, casting Azraq in shadow. The boy holds a trident and a net with an easy grip, every subtle adjustment driven by instinct and training.
The summa rudis looks over Azraq. After receiving a nod, he does the same to his opponent. Once he confirms both are ready, he backs away before declaring into the microphone, "Begin!"
The instant those words sound, the teenager shuffles backward, his net beginning to spin in the air as he gathers the momentum to throw it. Metal hums in the air as the velocity picks up; meanwhile, Azraq begins circling his opponent, studying him.
'A trident and net, he intends to push his range advantage to entangle me within the net. My shield will be of little use against the net, but it may give me the opportunity I need with the trident. The first thing I should do is get rid of the net.' Right as Azraq's thoughts complete, he sees the boy suddenly shuffle forward.
The boy swings the net in his direction in the same motion, metal cords whistling through the air. Azraq jumps back, allowing the net to pass him by harmlessly. He then shoots forward, swinging his sword at the rope tying the net to the teenager.
The teenager spears his trident forward, but Azraq simply deflects with his shield as he finishes his swing. A loud clang interrupts his planning as the sword bounces away from the cord, vibrating violently in his hand.
Azraq quickly disengages as he fights to keep a grip on his sword. His mind goes over what just happened before cursing as he realizes the rope is made out of threaded steel wire, not something his khopesh possesses the weight to cut through.
The teenager takes this time to reset the net, swinging it in the air once again as he slowly moves forward. Azraq quickly tries to come up with an alternative, but before a plan comes to mind, his opponent rushes forward.
Azraq raises his shield instinctively, which saves him from getting speared by the razor-quick trident thrust. His arm goes numb from the force of the blow, his eyes lock in on the trident to prevent another strike, but he forgets the greater threat in his hurry.
A crosshatched shadow covers Azraq's face as he notices the net swinging from above to catch him. With no time to dodge, Azraq makes the next best choice as he swings his shield up to catch the net.
After catching the net, he swings his shield to the side to make space for movement, quickly jumping out of the net's reach. Unfortunately, the motion all but guaranteed his shield's entanglement, so Azraq decisively unclips it, abandoning it in favor of keeping the net away from his body.
Not allowing the teenager to recover, Azraq sprints at him. The teenager thrusts in a panic, not expecting the escape and sudden attack. Azraq manages to barely dodge the attack, the tips scratching his body rather than piercing it.
Now within range, Azraq's khopesh is put to use as he feints an overhead slice before twirling it into a wrist chop. The teenager's spear is unable to strike Azraq at close range, and his clumsy dodge fails, leaving a devastating wound on the boy's hand.
The net falls to the ground, no longer able to be held up with the injured hand. The teenager quickly recovers as he steps away, trident at the ready to prevent Azraq from entering his range.
The pair begin circling each other as the crowd roars at the sight of first blood. Droplets of red stain the sand, only to be buried by their footsteps the next second.
Azraq suddenly fakes a lunge forward, the teenager quickly piercing but hitting nothing but air. Unfortunately, the boy has learned, so he doesn't overcommit and quickly returns to his stance.
The teenager decides to make the next move as he takes a step forward and lunges with his spear, the reach of the weapon allowing an attack at Azraq. Azraq dodges to the side, but before he can capitalize on the attack, his instincts scream at him.
Azraq quickly turns his body but fails to completely dodge as the trident is pulled back, barbs on the back of the points catching Azraq's arm, tearing a chunk of flesh with it as it retreats. Azraq quickly puts more distance between himself and his opponent as he inspects the wound.
'Luckily, it didn't hit anything vital, but it has started bleeding quite a bit.' Azraq judges he has to finish the fight quickly before he starts getting tired or bleeds out.
His eyes harden as he realizes he'll have to sacrifice something to win this fight. Azraq grits his teeth at the sickening notion, before taking a deep breath as he rationalizes the choice to aim for victory. Azraq glances over the teenager one last time to confirm his plan before steeling himself for what comes next.
Azraq rushes forward, Khopesh held out in front as if to stab the boy. As expected, the teenager takes advantage of his reach to attempt to stab first. Azraq swings his khopesh in between the teeth of the trident, locking the two weapons together with his weight.
He feels the tips punch holes in his body, but careful positioning means none are deep or in vital areas. Azraq pushes forward with his weapon, preventing the boy from suddenly withdrawing.
The next moment, he feels the boy push back, attempting to overpower him with his weight and height advantage. Knowing he stands no chance in this, Azraq moves on to the next step as he suddenly pushes his Khopesh to the side, spear attached, and lets go.
The Khopesh is sent flying, but before the teenager can do anything about it, Azraq moves into his guard, his hand reaching towards a hidden sheath at the back of his waist. He draws his closest companion, a slightly rusty yet razor-sharp dagger, and jams it into the teenager's jaw, right underneath the seam between his neck and the helmet.
His own heartbeats thunder in Azraq's ears, drowning out the screams of the crowd as he pulls out his dagger. A fountain of blood spurts out before more begins rushing out in a crimson wave that crawls down the teenager's body.
Azraq steps back as the teenager's body buckles, trident clattering to the sand as he plops face down. Blood slowly stains the surrounding sand red as Azraq walks away and retrieves his Khopesh.
The thundering noise of the crowd slowly returns as his heartbeat calms down. The summa rudis walks over and lifts his hand, announcing his victory. After showing him off to the ecstatic crowd, Azraq walks with weary steps out of the arena, mind replaying a sight he wasn't sure he'd ever forget.
The sight of a tanned boy's brown eyes slowly blurring into death as he falls to the ground, motionless forevermore. His heart remains unstirred, his eyes stuck on the boy's own despite his own wishes. Azraq breathes a deep sigh as he takes in a sight that's grown so familiar it's begun to disgust him.
As Azraq reaches the portcullis of the arena, he stops for a moment and looks back. Instead of the darkened sand and body of his opponent, Azraq sees familiar polished concrete.
Windows line the outer wall of the hallway as doors to the left lead to classrooms. Azraq snaps out of his memories at this mundane sight, a loud sigh escaping him as he turns back around, opens the door to the classroom full of sleeping bags, and enters. The loud click of the door closing echoes in a silent hallway.