The bed was stiff and hard, no sheets, no comforter, just a mattress. His clothes were stiff and uncomfortable, his skin cold and clammy with sweat. His bed was still as uncomfortable as he could remember and had been for months. He ran his fingers along the edge of his pillow, absentmindedly, knowing it would be there. He felt a breeze of air come in from the large open windows. As his body rose up, Moloch tasted dried blood on his lips. His head ached, throbbing with each beat of his heart.
His mouth was dry and tasted like blood and dirt. He squinted as he attempted to focus on his surroundings, but the blurry shapes kept dancing in and out of vision. His heavy eyelids threatened to close, and he rubbed them vigorously in an effort to stay awake.
Soon moloch regained his vision and began preparing for the gruelling training that was to come.
He knew that he couldn't afford to let his guard down, not even for a moment. The erephors were always watching, always testing him. He needed to stay sharp if he was going to survive. Moloch stood up, his body aching from the fight. He took a deep breath, quelling the pain, and began to stretch his muscles. He could feel the sweat drying on his skin, the blood crusting on his knuckles. He flexed his fingers, feeling the stiffness fade away. He knew that he was in for a long day, but he was ready. Moloch walked over to the open window, letting the cool air wash over him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the tension in his body start to ease. He knew that he needed to clear his mind, to focus on the task ahead. The sound of footsteps broke his concentration, and he turned to see Zeck approaching him. Zeck was one of the strongest and most respected in the agore. Many saw him as a leader. He was an honest man and a good friend. Although moloch would never admit it, he saw Zeck as a brother.
Zeck approached Moloch, his eyes scanning his friend's body for any sign of injury. "You look like hell," Zeck said with a wry smile. Moloch returned the smile, grateful for the levity. "Thanks," he replied. "I feel like it too." Zeck's smile faded, replaced by a look of concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softening. Moloch nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He knew that Zeck was genuinely worried about him, and the thought touched him deeply. "I'll be fine," he said finally. "Just need to rest up a bit." Zeck nodded, but Moloch could see the doubt in his eyes. He knew that Zeck wasn't convinced, but he didn't want to talk about it. Not yet, at least.
Instead, Moloch changed the subject. "What's on the schedule for today?" he asked, his voice brisk. Zeck hesitated for a moment before replying. "More training," he said finally. "And then a meeting with the erephors." Moloch tensed at the mention of the erephors. He knew that they were the ones pulling the strings, the ones controlling everything in the agore. He didn't trust them, didn't like the way they played their games. But he knew that he didn't have a choice. He had to play along if he wanted to survive. "What do they want?" he asked, his voice low. Zeck shrugged, his face unreadable. "Who knows?" he said. "They never tell us anything until the last minute." Moloch nodded, resigned. He knew that there was no point in dwelling on it. He needed to focus on what he could control - his training. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the grueling day ahead. As he followed Zeck out of the room, Moloch couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. He knew that something was off. The erephors had been acting strange lately, more secretive, more aggressive. Moloch couldn't shake the feeling that they were planning something, something big. He didn't know what it was, but he knew that he needed to be ready. As they walked through the agore, Moloch could feel the eyes of his fellow agorai on him. Some looked at him with respect, others with envy or fear. But Moloch knew better than to let their opinions affect him. He had worked hard to earn his place in the agore, and he wasn't going to let anyone take it away from him. They arrived at the training grounds, a large open space filled with various obstacles and equipment. Moloch felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him as he remembered his first day in the agore, struggling to keep up with the other acolytes. But now he was different. He was one of the best, one of the strongest. And he was determined to stay that way. The training was grueling, as he knew it would be. The other acolytes were fierce and relentless, pushing him to his limits. His body was an untold story, upon which one could see the blood, sweat and tears that moloch had shed. He moved through the stances fluidly, his experience allowing him to make up for the defects of his tired body. This was when the teachers stopped them. They would now be sparring,
testing their skills against each other. Moloch scanned the group, sizing up his opponents. He knew who the strongest ones were, who would give him the toughest fight. He didn't like to underestimate anyone, but he also knew that he couldn't afford to hold back. He had to go all out if he wanted to win. The first match was against a tall, muscular acolyte named Timon. They circled each other, both looking for an opening. Moloch kept his guard up, waiting for Timon to make the first move. It came quickly, a swift punch aimed at Moloch's face. Moloch blocked it easily, then countered with a quick jab to Timon's stomach. Timon grunted in pain, but didn't back down. He launched a series of punches at Moloch, each one faster and more powerful than the last. Moloch dodged most of them, but a few landed, causing him to stagger back. He gritted his teeth as He felt his heart rate spike and the blood rush through his veins as his opponent staggered away. Adrenaline flooded his body, and he could feel the anticipation of the fight growing within him. His fists clenched and his breath quickened as he stared into his enemy's eyes, feeling as if this is the life he was born to lead. He welcomed the pain and exhaustion that came with pushing himself to his limits in battle; it was a feeling like no other. He charged fowards, appearing to became an unstoppable demon, he aimed a powerful kick at Timon's chest. Timon tried to block it, but moloch's kick was too strong. With a loud thud, Timon was sent flying backwards, crashing into the dirt. Moloch's breaths came in short bursts of steam, as if his lungs were fighting for air. His legs trembled beneath him and each misstep sent a dull ache through the rest of his body. Yet Timon didn't give up, he quickly stood back up, dusting himself off, and charged at Moloch with renewed vigor. Moloch braced himself for impact, but just as Timon was about to land a punch, Moloch sidestepped him and threw him to the ground. Timon grunted in pain as he hit the dirt, and Moloch quickly pinned him down, his arm twisted behind his back. "Submit," Moloch growled, his voice low and menacing. Timon hesitated for a moment, then tapped out, signaling his defeat. Moloch released him, standing up and dusting himself off. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he looked around at the other acolytes, all of whom were watching him with a mixture of fear and respect. His body was breaking, working over time to keep up. The spirit of the agore was one that demanded more than mere servitude. It demanded subjugation of body and soul, a relentless grinding down until nothing remained but gristle and bone. They would work you until your hands bled and your knees buckled, and then they would do it again the next day. You toil in misery each day, then rising the next day to repeat the cycle all over again. You either broke or survived, with no middle ground to be had. Every breath tasted like dust and sweat, every step an ache in the joints. But still they persisted, hammering away at their tasks with reckless abandon, even as their bodies cried out for mercy.
Moloch wiped the sweat from his brow as he prepared for his next opponent. He knew that the next match would be even tougher than the first. He glanced at his opponent, a slender but muscular acolyte named Lars. He had a fierce look in his eyes, and Moloch knew that he wouldn't hold back. They circled each other, each waiting for the other to make a move. Moloch struck first, launching a series of punches at Lars. He dodged most of them, but a few landed, causing him to stumble. He recovered quickly, counterattacking with a swift kick aimed at Moloch's head. Moloch ducked, then swept Lars legs out from under her. He fell to the ground hard, but quickly got back up, his face twisted in anger. He lunged at Moloch, but he dodged the attack and threw him to the ground again. This time, he pinned him down, as moloch's fist raised in the air, ready to deliver the final blow. But just as he was about to strike, Moloch hesitated. He looked down at Lars, who was staring up at him with fear in his eyes. Moloch felt a pang of guilt wash over him. He didn't want to hurt Lars, didn't want to cause him any more pain than he had to. He released him, standing up and offering his hand to help him up. Lars accepted, still looking shocked at Moloch's sudden change of heart. The other acolytes looked on in surprise, some even booing at his display of mercy. Moloch was showing mercy, a trait no one had ever seen the winner of a duel show before. But Moloch didn't care. He knew that he was strong enough to win without causing unnecessary harm. He had no desire to become a mindless killing machine like some of the other acolytes. He would find another way to prove his strength and worth in the agore. The hisses and boos were still continuing, and even Lars had joined them against moloch. Only Zeck and Ikki had not booed or hissed at him, simply staying quiet. Soon, the commotion neared it's end. This was when the erephors came, their faces scrunched up in anger. and they approached Moloch, their robes billowing in the wind. "What is the meaning of this display, Moloch?" one of them demanded. Moloch stood his ground, meeting their gaze with confidence. "I chose to show mercy to my brothers in arms, erephors," he said calmly. "I am strong enough to win without causing unnecessary harm." The erephors exchanged a glance, then nodded. "Very well, Moloch. But remember, the agore demands strength above all else. Do not let your compassion make you weak." Moloch nodded, his eyes never leaving theirs. He knew that he had made a dangerous choice, but he had no regrets. He would continue to fight with honor and integrity, no matter the cost. The training continued, with Moloch winning all of his matches with ease. He felt confident and powerful, but also knew that there was much more to learn. This was when an erephor, who thought moloch was too arrogant, decided to pair him with Ikki. Ikki was in consideration to be the next eiren, along with moloch and Zeck being held in consideration too. They stood still, a guard up. They were given special permission to use live, steel weapons.
Moloch and Ikki faced each other, their eyes locked in a deadly stare. Moloch could see the determination in Ikki's eyes, and knew that he was up against a formidable opponent. They started circling each other, their weapons at the ready. Moloch lunged first, his sword aimed at Ikki's chest. Ikki parried the blow, then returned with a swift strike aimed at Moloch's head. Moloch ducked, then countered with a quick jab to Ikki's stomach. Ikki grunted in pain, but didn't back down. He launched a series of blows at Moloch, each one faster and more powerful than the last. Moloch dodged most of them, but a few landed, causing him to stagger back.
Moloch gritted his teeth and charged at Ikki, appearing to become an unstoppable force. Ikki sidestepped his attack and swung his sword, aiming for Moloch's back. Moloch
twirled around, deflecting the blow with ease. He then launched into a flurry of attacks, each one aimed at Ikki's defenses. Ikki tried to block them, but Moloch's strikes were too fast and too powerful. Moloch could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his lungs burning for air, but he didn't let up. He knew that he had to keep pushing, had to keep fighting until he emerged victorious. Ikki was a worthy opponent, but Moloch was determined to prove himself as the strongest acolyte in the agore. He launched another attack, this time aiming for Ikki's legs. Ikki dodged it, then struck out with his own sword, aiming for Moloch's chest. Moloch blocked the blow, pushing back against Ikki's strength. They were locked in a stalemate, neither one willing to give an inch. But then, with a sudden burst of energy, Moloch pushed forward, breaking through Ik
ki's defenses and landing a blow that sent him sprawling backwards. Moloch stood victorious, his sword raised high in the air as the acolytes cheered. Ikki got back up, glancing at Moloch with a mixture of anger and respect. "You may be my friend Moloch," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "But don't think that this is the end. The agore demands that we continue to push ourselves, to become stronger and more powerful with each passing day." Moloch nodded, his eyes blazing with determination. He knew that the path to becoming the eiren was a long and difficult one, but he was willing to do whatever it took to reach the top. The training continued, with Moloch pushing himself harder than ever before. He trained with Zeck, learning from his wisdom and experience, and continued to spar with the other acolytes, each one helping him to hone his skills and become a better warrior. He knew that the erephors kept trying to promote the idea that there are no friends, and only opponents in the agore. Moloch didn't listen and ignored them, bringing his guard back up, as he saw that Ikki was getting serious. Moloch vaguely knew that Ikki outclassed him by far yet,
he didn't let that discourage him. He was determined to show that he was a worthy contender for the title of eiren, even if it meant facing off against his friend. They circled each other, their swords glinting in the sun. Moloch could see the determination in Ikki's eyes, and he matched it with his own. They started exchanging blows, each one faster and more powerful than the last. Moloch tried to anticipate Ikki's moves, but he was always one step ahead. He managed to block most of Ikki's attacks, but a few landed, causing him to stagger back. He gritted his teeth and launched a counterattack, but Ikki deflected it with ease. Moloch felt his heart racing in his chest, and he knew that he had to keep pushing, had to keep fighting until he emerged victorious. Yet, in the back of his mind, he knew that Ikki was winning. He would lose.
Moloch could feel his energy waning, his movements becoming slower and less precise. He was panting heavily, his muscles burning with exhaustion. Ikki, on the other hand, seemed to be gaining strength with each passing moment. Moloch knew that he was in trouble, but he refused to give up. He launched another attack, this one aimed at Ikki's head. Ikki blocked it effortlessly, then countered with a blow that nearly knocked Moloch off his feet. Moloch stumbled backwards, his sword slipping from his grasp. Ikki stood over him, his eyes blazing with triumph. "You fought well, Moloch," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "But I am the better fighter. The agore demands strength above all else, and I have proven myself to be the strongest." Moloch could feel the weight of his defeat crushing him, but he refused to show any weakness. He nodded, accepting the loss with grace. "You are a worthy opponent, Ikki," he said, struggling to catch his breath. "I will continue to train and improve, so that I may one day defeat you." Ikki extended a hand to help Moloch up, and Moloch took it gratefully. As they walked away from the sparring grounds, Moloch couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment and shame. He had lost to his friend and rival, and it stung more than he had expected. He knew that he had to continue to push himself, to become stronger and better than before. He was determined to show the erephors and the rest of the agore that he was a force to be reckoned with. And he would not let his defeat at the hands of Ikki define him. Instead, he would use it as motivation to become the best fighter he could be, always striving for greatness. The day was over and they went back to the chambers.