The two young warriors battled it out in the arena. Hatred for each other filled their heart with savagery. The crowd knew this was going to be a brutal battle. As much as these two men hated Rome, they hated each other even more.
Each blamed their own enslavement on the other. That coupled with the promise that the victor can go free made them even more lethal.
They had fought long and hard for over 30 minutes, each second was as stirring as the next. As the two started to lose energy, Marek knocked Arturus to the ground.
When Arturus tried to get back up, Marek rammed his blade clean through his opponent. Arturus dropped to his knees resting against his sword. One hand grasped the hilt of the sword sticking out of his belly. He arched over in pain. The crowd roared in thunderous applause.
Marek approached to retrieve his sword from his opponent's gut. He stood over Arturus mocking him. As he reached down to grab the hilt of his sword, Arturus got his second wind and rammed his sword deep into Marek's unprotected navel.
Marek let out a yell of pain anger. Arturus shoved the blade in deeper until the hilt pressed firmly against Marek's abs. All Marek could do was grasp his enemy's arm to prevent him from causing further pain. Neither man could hear the cheers and festivities of the audience of the arena.
Arturus struggled with both Marek's grasp and the searing pain in his gut. He dropped back down, both angry at his own demise and gladdened by the fact that he would not be dying alone.
The crowd continued it's jubilous roaring as Marek collapsed atop of his enemy. He felt Arturus let out a final breath while his own body seemed to lose function. The warmth of his enemy's flesh under him gave him no solace as he shortly greeted death himself.
Each blamed their own enslavement on the other. That coupled with the promise that the victor can go free made them even more lethal.
They had fought long and hard for over 30 minutes, each second was as stirring as the next. As the two started to lose energy, Marek knocked Arturus to the ground.
When Arturus tried to get back up, Marek rammed his blade clean through his opponent. Arturus dropped to his knees resting against his sword. One hand grasped the hilt of the sword sticking out of his belly. He arched over in pain. The crowd roared in thunderous applause.
Marek approached to retrieve his sword from his opponent's gut. He stood over Arturus mocking him. As he reached down to grab the hilt of his sword, Arturus got his second wind and rammed his sword deep into Marek's unprotected navel.
Marek let out a yell of pain anger. Arturus shoved the blade in deeper until the hilt pressed firmly against Marek's abs. All Marek could do was grasp his enemy's arm to prevent him from causing further pain. Neither man could hear the cheers and festivities of the audience of the arena.
Arturus struggled with both Marek's grasp and the searing pain in his gut. He dropped back down, both angry at his own demise and gladdened by the fact that he would not be dying alone.
The crowd continued it's jubilous roaring as Marek collapsed atop of his enemy. He felt Arturus let out a final breath while his own body seemed to lose function. The warmth of his enemy's flesh under him gave him no solace as he shortly greeted death himself.
Brilliant! Thanks.
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