Aiden sat quietly in the cold, dark room beneath the Colosseum, waiting for his name to be called for his first fight. The sounds of distant battles and muffled roars from the crowd echoed down the labyrinthine corridors.
He could feel the weight of the place—the lives lost, the false promises of hope, the twisted reality of this arena.
Around him, other fighters sat in silence, some pacing nervously while others muttered to themselves.
The stench of sweat and blood filled the air, a grim reminder of what awaited him above. Aiden had seen his fair share of death, but this was different.
This wasn't just about survival—it was about becoming a tool in a system that thrived on pain and suffering. A victor here wasn't free; they were still bound, forever enslaved by the twisted rules of the Reapers.
