A rush of anger ran through Roman's body at the mention of divinity, his fists clenched and his chest tightened.
Roman muttered a half baked excuse for his strange behavior through gritted teeth, "I see. I guess it just slipped my mind."
"Sure, sure, it's not like this is the only thing you've been talking about for months now."
Root then turned around and started to walk away, presumably towards the location of the tournament.
Once Root was out of earshot, Roman let his mask slip and muttered his thoughts out loud, "This tournament was the start of everything back then," Roman then cracked his neck, relieving tension from a fight that hasn't happened yet. Flashes of divine cruelty echoed through his mind, but he just sighed deeply, trying to dissipate the residual anger inside of him, and caught up to Root with a light jog.
After running side by side for a while, Roman and Root finally heard the sounds of faint chatter from dozens of people making small talk with each other. With the reassurance that he was in the right place, Root broke out into a full sprint, excitedly running towards the arena. Roman just rolled his eyes fondly and quickened his pace.
"Two minutes remaining for sign ups! Two minutes remaining!" the announcer yelled, his voice bouncing around the arena.
Roman and Root wrote their names down on pieces of paper and tossed them in a box with all the other contestants' names. Scanning the crowd, Roman sized up the contestants.
There were some peculiar ones, such as an old, long haired man meditating in the corner, a large fat alien munching on a stick of meat, and a scrawny looking woman with six arms. As well as more traditional fighters: a group of three muscular men, draped in shoulder pads, leather jackets and multicolored mohawks, and a towering man wearing a skin tight shirt to show off his extraordinary muscles, along with a few other warriors.
After a moment, Root found an empty bench with only a few people around it, patting the space next to him with a bright smile.
"Might as well sit while we wait! Lots of interesting people, aren't there?"
Roman concurred, "Yeah, lots…" but even though he said that, he couldn't take his eyes off of one particular fighter, the mountain of a man, Bertoss, the man with the skin tight shirt.
After a moment of silence, Roman got up and approached Bertoss, "I hope you haven't changed since I last saw you fight."
"Do I know you, Stranger?" Bertoss grumbled, his deep, full voice sending vibrations through Roman's chest.
"No, not yet, but you will." Roman extended his hand to pat the man's shoulder but Bertoss flicked it away. Roman just sighed and walked away.
From in front of him, Roman heard Root's inquisitive voice, "Do you know him?"
"No. I was just introducing myself. Getting familiar with the competition."
"I see, I see. Smart man! I should do the same!" Root said, already dashing off to meet the fighters.
Being left alone to his devices, Roman walked over to the old man meditating in the corner. "Get up, old man. You're about to be called."
Right after Roman said that, the announcer's voice rang throughout the waiting area. "Fighters and Warriors! Listen up! The ballots have been drawn and the bracket has been finalized! Will the fighters named Roman and Gromel please come to the arena!"
The cheers and chatter of the crowd was almost deafening as Roman stepped onto the dueling grounds, Gromel, the old man, following closely behind.
As they got into their places, they took their battle stances. Roman kept his elbows in, and his fists in front of his face, lightly jumping back and forth, staying light on his feet. The old man, however, did the exact opposite. He planted his feet in the ground, inhaling deeply and keeping his hands near his chest.
The announcer stepped into the middle of the ring, his arm held high.
"Round One… Fight!"