Distant, crazed chants rolled through the colosseum like thunder, crashing endlessly against the stone walls. Heat rose from the sand in visible waves as the sun hung mercilessly above, its glare blinding and unforgiving.
Derrick stumbled backward, barely managing to dodge a massive greatsword that whistled past his head.
The blade struck the ground with a deafening clang, sending sand flying into the air.
"I–I can't die here…" Derrick muttered, his breath ragged as panic clawed at his chest.
His hands trembled around the worn handle of his axe. Sweat streamed down his face, stinging his eyes, but he dared not blink. The man in front of him—his opponent—stood tall and relaxed, as if this was nothing more than a performance.
And maybe it was.
Black eyes stared back at Derrick with cruel amusement.
"Come now," the man said lazily, rolling his shoulders as the crowd roared behind him. "Let's give these people a show."
A dark smile curved his lips.
"After all… they paid for entertainment."
Before Derrick could react, the man stepped forward.
Then—
He vanished.
"W–wait… where did he go?" Derrick's voice cracked as his eyes darted wildly around the arena.
His heart pounded so loudly he could hear nothing else. The cheers of the crowd faded into a dull roar, drowned out by his own terror. His grip on the axe loosened.
Too late.
Thud.
Something heavy hit the sand beside him.
Derrick's gaze dropped slowly, unwillingly.
His arm lay there.
Severed cleanly at the shoulder.
For a brief, horrifying second, his mind refused to understand what his eyes were seeing. Blood spilled freely onto the sand, soaking it crimson.
Then the pain arrived.
"ARGHHHHHHH!"
His scream tore through the arena, raw and desperate. He collapsed to his knees, clutching the empty space where his arm had been, blood pouring between his fingers.
The crowd erupted.
"EXECUTE HIM!"
"EXECUTE HIM!"
Thousands of voices screamed in unison, their faces twisted with excitement. Some stood on their seats, others slammed their fists against the stone benches.
The man with the greatsword raised his blood-stained weapon high above his head, basking in the frenzy. He turned slowly, acknowledging the crowd like a hero returning from battle.
Their cheers only grew louder.
Then his gaze returned to Derrick.
Amused. Detached.
Like a man watching an insect struggle.
Derrick dragged himself across the burning sand, leaving a thick trail of blood behind him.
"Help me…" he sobbed, his voice breaking. "Someone… please…"
Rocks suddenly struck his back.
"Get up, you trash!"
Another stone hit his head.
"Fight! Make your death worth it!"
Commoners dressed in plain tunics leaned over the front rows, throwing whatever they could reach. Their faces were contorted with disgust, as if Derrick's suffering offended them.
Derrick finally understood.
These people didn't see slaves.
They didn't see humans.
They saw livestock.
His sobs faded into hollow breaths. His eyes dulled as despair swallowed what little hope he had left. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself to his feet.
Not to fight.
Not to beg.
He turned his back to the crowd.
The cheers faltered, confused murmurs spreading through the colosseum.
Derrick faced the tall stone wall enclosing the arena. Blood dripped from his body onto the sand beneath him.
A voice echoed mockingly from behind.
"Aren't you going to fight?"
He ignored it.
With the last strength he had left, Derrick broke into a sprint.
The crowd gasped.
BAM!
He smashed his head against the wall with terrifying force.
His body crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
Silence fell.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then curses erupted.
"Useless!"
"Worthless trash!"
"What a waste of money!"
Booing filled the air as the body was dragged away, his blood smeared across the arena floor like an afterthought.
High above, hidden behind iron bars and shadows, Jael watched.
His fingers dug painfully into the cold metal of the cage as his breath grew shallow. His entire body trembled.
His chest felt tight.
That could be me.
The realization hit harder than any blow.
He had seen death before—heard stories, imagined it—but this… this was different. This wasn't war. This wasn't justice.
This was entertainment.
Jael swallowed hard as the noise of the crowd washed over him again, louder than before, hungry for the next sacrifice.
A guard's laughter echoed somewhere nearby.
Jael closed his eyes.
Fear and despair coiled tightly around his heart.