The hulking brute stepped forward, his spiked mace dragging across the dirt with a harsh, grating sound. The crowd roared louder, hungry for blood, their chants echoing in the pit.
Kael's eyes darted to the scattered weapons strewn across the arena floor. Most were broken, rusted, or useless in a fight. A shattered spear shaft. A blade dulled to nothing more than a hunk of iron. His fingers twitched, aching for something, anything that could even the odds.
His opponent grinned, the kind of grin that spoke of years of dominance. The man was enormous, his shoulders broad enough to block out the light from the torches above. Scars crisscrossed his exposed chest, and his breath came out in heavy, guttural huffs.
"You're dead, boy," the brute said, raising his mace.
Kael didn't reply. He took a slow step back, his body screaming with weakness. His muscles trembled, not from fear, but from the lack of strength this frail form carried. His legs felt like reeds ready to snap, and his chest ached with every breath.
The brute lunged without warning, his mace swinging in a wide arc. Kael threw himself to the ground, the weapon whistling inches above his head. Dirt sprayed into the air as the mace struck the earth, sending a shockwave rippling through the arena.
Kael rolled to the side, barely avoiding the follow-up swing that smashed into the ground where he had just been. He scrambled to his feet, his breath coming fast and ragged.
Too slow, too weak.
But his mind was sharp.
The brute wasn't just strong; he was reckless. His swings were wide and heavy, leaving him open after each attack. Kael's eyes narrowed. He had fought men like this before in his past life—brawlers who relied on raw power and intimidation.
Still, knowing how to win and being able to do it were two very different things.
"You're faster than you look," the brute growled, hefting his mace over his shoulder. "Doesn't matter. You'll tire out soon enough."
Kael didn't answer. His eyes flicked to the weapons again. The broken spear shaft wasn't far—perhaps a few paces away. He edged toward it, careful to keep his movements subtle.
The brute noticed.
"Looking for a toy, huh?" the man sneered. "Go ahead. I'll wait."
Kael didn't take the bait. Instead, he lunged to the side, feinting toward the spear shaft. The brute reacted instantly, swinging his mace down with devastating force. Kael changed direction at the last moment, darting toward a dented shield instead.
He grabbed it and turned just in time to block the next swing. The impact rattled through his arms, nearly tearing the shield from his grasp. The force sent him skidding back, his knees buckling.
This body is pathetic, Kael thought bitterly, gritting his teeth.
The crowd jeered and laughed, mocking his feeble attempts to fight back.
"You call that a block?" the brute laughed. He swung again, and Kael barely managed to sidestep, the mace grazing the edge of the shield.
Kael stumbled, his foot catching on a rock. He fell to one knee, the shield slipping from his hands. The brute loomed over him, raising his weapon high.
"This is where you die!"
The mace came down like a falling star.
Kael threw himself to the side, grabbing the broken spear shaft as he rolled. The mace slammed into the ground, sending a cloud of dust into the air.
Kael sprang to his feet, gripping the spear shaft tightly. It wasn't much, but it was something.
"Found yourself a stick, huh?" the brute taunted. "Go ahead. Poke me with it."
Kael didn't reply. He circled his opponent, keeping his movements deliberate. His mind raced, analyzing every detail—the brute's stance, his movements, the way he favored his right side.
The brute lunged again, swinging his mace in a horizontal arc. Kael ducked low, darting under the swing. He jabbed the spear shaft forward, aiming for the man's exposed ribs.
The blow landed, but the brute barely flinched. He laughed, swatting Kael away with the back of his hand. The force sent Kael sprawling, the spear shaft slipping from his grasp.
"You think that's enough to hurt me?" the brute roared, his voice booming.
Kael groaned, pushing himself up. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His body was screaming in protest, every muscle on the verge of collapse.
But he wasn't done yet.
As the brute closed in, Kael's eyes flicked to the dirt at his feet. A small, sharp shard of metal lay half-buried—a fragment of a broken blade.
Kael reached for it, his fingers wrapping around the jagged edge.
The brute swung again, this time aiming for Kael's legs. Kael jumped back, the mace smashing into the ground and sticking there for a moment.
Kael seized the opportunity. He darted forward, slamming the shard of metal into the brute's forearm.
The brute roared in pain, dropping the mace. Blood gushed from the wound, staining the dirt.
Kael didn't stop. He drove the shard deeper, twisting it until the brute's roar turned into a howl.
The brute lashed out blindly, his massive hand catching Kael and sending him flying. Kael hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs.
The crowd was on its feet now, roaring with excitement.
The brute clutched his arm, his face twisted in fury. "You little rat!" he bellowed. "I'll rip you apart!"
Kael staggered to his feet, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. He was barely standing, his body trembling with exhaustion.
But he had the advantage now.
The brute charged, his movements sloppy and uncoordinated. Kael sidestepped at the last moment, grabbing the discarded shield and slamming it into the brute's injured arm.
The brute screamed, falling to one knee.
Kael didn't hesitate. He grabbed the broken spear shaft again, driving it into the brute's thigh.
The brute collapsed, his body hitting the ground with a thunderous crash. He tried to rise, but Kael was already on him, pressing the sharp end of the spear shaft against his throat.
The crowd fell silent, their cheers turning to murmurs.
Kael's violet eyes burned with intensity as he stared down at his opponent. His chest heaved, his body on the verge of collapse, but his resolve was unshaken.
"Yield," Kael said, his voice low and cold.
The brute glared at him, his lips curling into a snarl. But he didn't move.
Kael pressed the spear shaft harder, drawing a thin line of blood. "Yield, or die."
Finally, the brute's shoulders slumped. He raised a trembling hand. "I… I yield."
The crowd erupted, half cheering, half booing.
Kael dropped the spear shaft, his body swaying. The guards rushed into the arena, dragging the defeated brute away.
Kael stood there, the weight of the fight crashing down on him. He had won, but the cost was high. His vision blurred, and the last thing he saw before collapsing was the faint glow of the mark on his chest, pulsing softly as if in approval.