The sun blinded Roran as he stumbled up the last few steps. The stone stairs gave way to dirt and gravel that shifted beneath his feet. He and the others were herded out into the arena, lining up along the wall.
Roran had never seen such a massive structure before. The arena was a giant circle, with rows of seats climbing higher and higher above the fighting pit below. People cheered and screamed from above, crying out for the carnage to begin.
Down in the pit, there were dozens of fighters of all shapes and sizes. Many appeared to be like Roran and his little group, starved and miserable and just waiting to die. A few of the others were a little more robust, clearly comfortable carrying their weapons and at ease with the mayhem that was about to begin.
One in particular caught Roran's eye. She was small and lithe, carrying a spear that dwarfed her in height. She shifted from foot to foot, constantly fidgeting, as if impatient and wanting to get this over with.
"Attention ladies and gentlemen!" A voice boomed through the arena. Roran couldn't tell where it was coming from or who was making it, but the noise was loud enough to rattle his bones. "Welcome to another day in the Crucible. It is here that we see stories begin, it is here that the desperate are forged into talented warriors, it is here that stars are born and heroes rise up."
The crowd swelled, cheering and screaming.
"We have thirty seven brave souls, ready to fight and die for the glory of our lords and masters, the kings we hold on high, the Gods of the mountains themselves. Vassilis the Grand, Balaki the Unmovable, and Tasos the Indestructible. We give thanks to these gods among men, and shed our blood for them willingly."
Sweat was beginning to run down Roran's forehead, dripping into his eyes and blurring his vision. His heart was pounding in his ears.
"As most of you know," the voice continued, "the rules are simple. When the bell rings, combat shall begin. When the bell rings again, combat shall end. Every gladiator that claims a life shall be awarded one point, the gladiator with the most points shall be crowned the victor. In the event of a tie, those with the most points will be allowed to challenge the others and claim the title of victor for themselves."
The crowd cheered again, tossing confetti and streamers into the air to swirl around before falling to the ground where they would get under foot and create problems for the fighters.
"This week we have many new contestants along with a handful of old favorites. Returning, we have the living boulder Duran!" A massive man flexed and waved up at the crowd, a gleaming hammer leaned against his shoulder.
"We have the cruel Morena, known for dismembering his opponents alive!" A tall man with lank hair drew a pair of curved swords, grinning up at the audience and flicking his blades around in a display of bravado and showmanship.
"Finally, we have chaos incarnate herself, Kell, the living storm!" The short woman raised a hand to the crowd and gave them a single finger salute. She clearly had no patience for the announcer's games. The crowd cheered regardless.
"Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready?"
The crowd went wild, stomping their feet and chanting, "Fight, fight, fight."
"Combatants, are you ready?"
The fighters said nothing, only hefting their weapons and preparing for death.
"Then let the Crucible commence!"
The sound of a bell rang through the entire arena, reverberating off the walls and echoing over and over again. The arena devolved into chaos.
In a gesture of unspoken camaraderie, none of Roran's group attacked each other. They all fanned out, moving apart and trying to gain some distance from the others. Following Chase's advice, Roran began jogging along the outside of the arena, trying to keep distance between himself and the other fighters.
Already people were starting to die. Pockets of combatants had formed as the amateurs tried their hand at killing one another, awkwardly slashing and parrying in an attempt to claim points and stay alive.
The veterans were having a much easier time, wading through the chaos with the calm confidence that comes from experience. As his name suggested, Duran was rolling over people like a boulder, using his massive hammer to smash his opponents in a single, bone crunching blow. Morena was singling opponents out one at a time and backing them into a corner, a deranged grin on his face as he went to work with his blades.
Kell made good on her name as the living storm, sweeping across the arena and wiping out anyone that got in her way. Despite her wild fighting style, Roran noticed that she was anything but chaotic. She was skillful, her mastery of the spear evident in every motion. She would sweep out her opponent's feet then follow up with a blow to the abdomen or head, rendering them helpless. She never bothered blocking an attack, using her mobility and agility to simply dodge whatever her opponent threw at her. It was like watching a dancer weave across the battlefield, elegant and beautiful.
Distracted by the living storm, Roran ran into a couple of gladiators, almost bowling them over. He was so surprised that he started to apologize before remembering where he was and what they were doing.
His opponents, both as dirty and disheveled as himself, were clearly from refugee groups. They had partnered up in an attempt to stay alive. One circled around Roran while the other swiped at him with his sword. Roran parried and danced backwards, desperate to get away. They pressed harder, eager to claim Roran's life.
Roran didn't stand a chance in a straight up fight. He was too weak and frail. He probably wouldn't be able to fight one of these people, let alone two. He would have to improvise if he wanted to stay alive.
In a desperate move, Roran swung wildly at the nearer of the two, his sword clanging loudly off their shield, pushing them back. In the brief moment of distraction, Roran turned and ran, heading straight into the center of the arena. His two opponents chased after him.
Roran's mother had taught him many things before she passed away. She had been a traveler for a period of her life and had learned about storms and how to navigate them. One thing she had taught Roran was that storms followed their own path and it was best to avoid them, unless of course, you were hoping to get rained on.
Sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him, Roran ran straight at Kell. She turned at his approach, half a grin on her face. It was as if she found his attempt to ambush her amusing. Kell extended her spear behind her, preparing for a low sweep that would send Roran to the ground. Roran pressed on, running harder.
Kell swung her spear, aiming to knock out Roran's legs. Roran jumped and dove. The spear passed harmlessly underneath him. Roran hit the ground, rolled back onto his feet, and kept running. From behind him came the most awful sound he had ever heard. Kell was laughing. It was sweet, haughty, and jagged, like a silver knife hacking through the air.
When Roran looked back over his shoulder, he saw Kell was already dealing with his pursuers, sending them to the ground with two quick swipes of her spear. When he looked back a second time, Kell had a grin on her face and blood dripping from her spear. When he looked back a third time, he saw that she was chasing after him, a hungry gleam in her eye.