Why?

Spoiler:

Awaking in the dark of the cell, the man leaned forward, pushing himself up on his bed to look around the small cell he occupied. A square of light shone from the opposite side of the room which his bedroll occupied, the yellow glow blocked only by a blurry humanoid shape. A brusque voice bid him rise and dress and so he did, slipping on a pair of simple cotton pants and following the man out of the room and down the hall. The touches which hung in the sconces sent shadows dancing through the narrow tunnel as the two men's shadows whipped crazily through the whole place.

He followed because it was his place. He followed because he was owned. He followed because it was called upon him to enter the arena for the first time in his stint which could lead him to freedom, or at least such was the promise given to him. But perhaps, more than anything, he followed because the call to battle gave him a rush of adrenaline and stirred his blood. As much as enslavement did not thrill him, spilling blood did. He looked forward not for the chance to prove himself to the frothing crowds or to the stately savages who ruled him but rather to test himself. Endlessly.

They entered then the armory where upon he had his choice of weaponry and gear. His hands felt out the weapons, moving through swords and staves and maces; bows and spears flicked beneath his fingers as he passed them up. Swords of the east and west and those of a strange hybrid passed his eyes until he selected a simple, well made katana, strapping it to his waste before picking up a well weighted xiphos, a leather strap to attach it to his chest, and a small, matching shield. And then it was time to war.

He strode out onto the sand of the sunken pit and, as he did, the crowds, already loud, began to rave and swirl like a teeming sea. The noise almost deafened the man who held the long blade casually in his right hand. He had no particular powers when it came to the draw and thus simply brandished his steel upon entry. The animals which he would fight would not care about the honor prior to the battle and those who came after, it he survived, would likely also be unfazed by a hardened desire to triumph and survive.

He moved near the center of the arena, the hot, early afternoon sun promising only to worsen as time went on. It would be best to pace himself as the gauntlet would doubtlessly stretch well into the evening and perhaps even beyond. The screams of the arena were soon drowned out by the loud resonance of a collection of five huge gongs which signaled the crowds to silence themselves for a few moments as a squat man with a microphone announced that the new challenger would soon face the lions and then began recounting that it had been some number of days since last anyone had lived the collection of five kings of the jungle that they loosed upon the warriors. A small smirk marked the face of the mute as he prepared himself for combat.

A low thrum sounded through the venue as a collection of deep drums began to pound out a slow heartbeat. The anticipation of the crowd intensified but they remained rather meek,
awaiting the opening of the gates opposite the long haired man with his single sword brandished now in both hands. The beat slowly quickened until it, along with the throngs of people, began to rage wildly, whipped up into a second frenzy by the simple music of the stretched skins. Once they had elevated to such a pace that the end of one beat was indiscernible from the beginning of the next, some universal signal struck and all ended abruptly, a single breath of ringing silence filling the sands for but a brief moment until the crowd burst into a roar before settling back into the boisterous chatting that had marked them before.

In that final crescendo, the massive, wrought iron gate had been lifted and out prowled a host of five deranged lions, three female and two male. They appeared, upon first glance, half starved and potentially feral. Doubtlessly on purpose, the state of the lions would make them mad and aggressive, though as beasts they would inherently lack the technique of a practiced human and their hunger would cause them even further to throw themselves upon the man's blade. He had no illusions that this would prove simple or without dangers, but he did understand that it would be the simplest of the tasks ahead of him.

The half starved beasts charged almost immediately upon seeing or, perhaps, smelling their prey. Honestly, the man found it a bit amazing that they could work together at all and did not instantly turn upon one another though, to be fair, they probably considered him, with no sharp claws or teeth, much easier prey. And he was not of their species. Regardless, the fight began and, as soon as it had, the man with the microphone began to narrate the actions occurring. Interesting as this may cause any attempts at stealth to be useless but, no matter.
The teeth were upon him.

Two of the females came at him, one directly forward and the other flanking to his left. the forward pounced, rising high into the air as the other ran at him from his side. His eyes flicked frantically and the crowed collectively drew in a breath as, at the last second, the man before the two beasts rolled forward and to his right, dodging beneath the pounce and moving to keep the whole collection of cats as visible as possible. He had no rest though as the cat which had ran at him simply continued on, running at him and extending a paw to slash at him with claws which blazed white under the glare of the rising sun. He readied himself for the impending strike, inhaled, and then exhaled.

In a blinding flash, a dirty yellow paw spiraled through the air, sending a Spirograph of blood on the man and the sand upon which he stood. He had shifted himself to the animal's attacking side, bringing the sweep of of weapon through the bone and blood of the attacker in a fluid motion as he continued moving forward, circling the starving cat and winding around to face the remaining four. The one he had attacked would not be dead, of course, but would be mostly incapacitated by the grievous wound he had struck. Still, he had much more work to do and as he scanned he saw one of the males moving to his right and the female which had led the charge already attempting to descend on him with a second pounce.

The crowed had broken fully, blood whetting their appetite regardless of whose had spilt. He ran to the approaching feline female, meeting first her charge and then her pounce head on and, like the first time, ducking at the last moment, though instead of rolling beneath her he entered a kind of reclined slide whereupon he extended the claw of his blade to meet with the gut of the one who jumped him. The two's momentums brought them far from one another,
he quickly finding his feet once more and she collapsing near her fallen sister, entrails steaming in the hot sun as, already, flies began to gather to the sent of free meals and opened flesh.

Three more adversaries remained to him and the announcer had taken the ears of the crowd and run with them. The ranted and raved, raged about and awed when he flicked his sword lightly to free it of the blood and gristle which had adorned its simple face. The male which had stalked him took the moment to run to him, keeping low and to the ground, though he simply lept up in a vertical spin and, with his sword, split the animal from tail to crown, a deep gash spewing blood for one, two, three, and four pumps of the once proud animal's heart beats until it too collapsed into the thirsty dirt which formed the floor of the pit.

The remaining two, one man and one woman, were already upon him when he landed most elegantly on his feet and in a crouch. He rolled once more, near the corpse of the second beast and spun upon righting himself to see the two prowling to him. They seemed disinclined to split up, a strangely intelligent tactic considering how well he had been dividing the cats so far. They moved to him as one and, when the distance between their approach and his slow steps backwards had eclipsed ten meters they lunged forward, her head traveling to his throat and his claw seeking his belly or groin, perhaps both.

A flash of sunlight heralded the end of the show, at least for course one. When the pounced as a group the man had taken a lightning quick step backwards as, with a two handed grip on the katana he held, he flicked the sword forward across the female's skull. With strength which belied, perhaps, his frame he cleft swiftly through her head and into the arm of the final male, the diagonal slice carrying his sword through the bone there as well. The lion, likely foreseeing either landing upon the man or upon the ground, stumbled forward and roared out in pain as the now ruined limb took the brunt of his weight and he toppled over himself. In a second flash his head fell from his shoulders, bouncing away across the blood soaked grains.

The crowd drowned out the roar of the once proud king and the announcer. His proclamations were completely suffocated by the excited ravings of of the bloodthirsty patrons, though all new what this meant: the next challenge would come to this man and the next course of food would come to the guests. He Turned to the once more opening grate to await the next round of combat as the microphone speakers blared out a single word above the din: "Bears."

Exit