GLADIATOR

The arena is made of a dark stone, with cracks so deep the shadows look black with ink. Despite that, there’s a thick, sticky warmth clinging to the air that makes his back sweat. The torches - sconced on every rising, carved pillar - are bewitched to flicker and roar as an accompany to the feral crowds surrounding him. He takes the musty air deep into his lungs in a feeble attempt to block out the sound. 1. 2. His jaw aches and tenses. A drop of sweat rolls down his spine and makes him shiver. His fist, golden in the firelight, clenches around his wand. The enemy is grinning viciously on the other side of the underground colosseum.He lets out a slow, agonising breath. Lowers his centre of gravity. Bares his teeth. His muscles ripple, eager to move, to dance under the spotlight. To impress.A pause.The horn sounds.

Warning:This chapter contains abuse, manipulation, implied anxiety attack, mentions of terminal illness.Keep yourself safe.