The final contestant stepped from the shadows of the arena entrance. Engarde could still feel his body shaking uncontrollably with the rage that had completely engulfed him moments earlier, but through the red he could make out their distant figure.
Engarde straightened his back and looked his opponent in the eye. Something didn't seem-
It was him.
The opposing gladiator was almost as tall as Engarde, and just as thin. His body wasn't as muscular - not naturally built for speed, for fighting; yet his neutral face, deathly calm, suggested a quiet confidence of victory.
Engarde's handicap had not stopped him. It seemed that the other, too, did not care much for armour; aside from the meagre shoulder and arm plates, the gladiator had not even bothered to properly equip himself. Engarde doubted it was arrogance, but rather a "Couldn't-care-less, I-want-my-life-to-end-anyway" mindset. His attire could have been likened to that of a mage, with long-flowing robes and a cloak that flapped slightly in the trace wind, the interior of which was bluer than midnight. Secured with two hands was a simple staff with a single colourless gem and a glinting silver blade, arced like the waning moon.
The gladiator stopped, no trace of emotion leaving his face.
"I'm sorry." Engarde almost choked on the words, at the memory. His voice had lowered to no more than a whisper, but knew he had been heard by the answering blink that seemed to reflect a bottomless sorrow that had melted into a cold anger.
The opponent cocked his head - a silent threat, a challenge - and hardened his face into an unreadable mask of, "I will obliterate you."
A bell sounded.
And then it began.
YOU ARE READING
UNFINISHED: Humans
Science FictionWhat if humans evolved into entirely separate sub-species? How different would the world be? Engarde is trapped in chains. In fact, he's been a prisoner of the Colosseum for countless years now - he's a gladiator, no more than a slave condemned to a...
