The jeers of the crowd faded into a hollow roar in Rafael's ears as he stood motionless in the center of the arena. His opponent had already stepped into the ring, a towering man clad in armor that gleamed with runic etchings.
The gladiator moved with confidence, his broad shoulders rolling as he flexed his hands, arcs of crackling magical energy snapping between his fingers like living lightning.
Rafael swallowed hard, his throat dry like sand. The veteran gladiator didn't speak, he didn't need to. His every movement radiated a message of dominance. He was there to win, and Rafael was there to lose.
"Eyes up, rookie!" the gladiator barked, his voice like a thunderclap. Rafael flinched, barely managing to lift his trembling sword into what he hoped was a defensive position. The crowd roared its approval at the taunt, the sound pressing down on Rafael like a physical weight.
"Let's make this quick, shall we?" the gladiator said with his lips curling into a cruel grin. "Don't worry—I'll try not to break anything too important."
Rafael's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, though his palms were slick with sweat. His voice caught in his throat, refusing to respond. The air between them shimmered as the veteran raised a hand, channeling his magic with ease that made Rafael's stomach churn.
The first surge of energy arced across the arena floor, striking the sand mere inches from Rafael's feet. He yelped, stumbling backward as the heat singed his boots. The crowd erupted into laughter, their mockery biting deeper than the sparks that scattered around him.
"Stand your ground, kid," the gladiator said, his tone almost bored as he began circling. "Or this'll be over before it starts."
Rafael's heart pounded against his ribs. The sword felt heavier with each passing second, the ill-fitted armor clanking awkwardly as he shuffled to keep the gladiator in his sight.
He had no plan, no strategy. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but the crushing gaze of the spectators kept him rooted in place.
"Too scared to swing?" The gladiator raised an eyebrow, lifting his arms as if to taunt the arena. "Come on, give them a show! Even amateurs are good for a laugh."
The crowd cheered again as their voices blended into a deafening dissonance. Rafael clenched his teeth, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. They weren't laughing at a fight, they were laughing at him.
"I—" His voice cracked, and he stopped himself.
"You what?" the gladiator snapped, his grin turning sharp as he lunged forward. Rafael barely had time to react, his sword jerking up in a clumsy block. The impact sent vibrations rattling up his arms, the force nearly knocking him off balance.
"Pathetic," the gladiator muttered, shoving Rafael backward with a quick strike to the chestplate. The sand shifted beneath Rafael's feet, and he stumbled, his breath hitching as the crowd roared louder.
"Get up!" the gladiator bellowed, pacing in a slow circle as Rafael struggled to regain his footing. "Or maybe they should call the janitor to mop this mess up!"
The insult cut through Rafael like a knife, his face flushing hot with humiliation. His fingers dug into the sand as he pushed himself upright, his eyes darting between his opponent and the arena's edges. There was no escape, no mercy waiting in the wings.
"You don't belong here," the gladiator continued, his voice dropping to a growl. "You're not a fighter. You're fodder."
Something in Rafael snapped. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the crowd. The veteran's taunts blurred into a low hum as anger surged through his veins.
"I don't belong here?" Rafael muttered, his voice trembling but slowly rising. "Then maybe you shouldn't underestimate me."
The gladiator stopped pacing, his grin faltering for the first time. "Oh? Got some fight in you after all?"
Rafael didn't respond. Instead, he gripped his sword tightly and charged forward. The movement was clumsy, untrained, and reckless, but it was enough to catch the veteran off guard. Their blades clashed, sparks flying as Rafael pushed against the larger man with every ounce of strength he could muster.
For a brief moment, the gladiator's expression shifted from amusement to surprise. Then his strength surged, and he shoved Rafael backward with a single powerful strike. Rafael stumbled, but this time, he didn't fall.
"Not bad," the gladiator admitted, rolling his neck as his confidence returned. "Still not good enough, though."
Rafael barely saw the next attack coming, a burst of magical energy that erupted from the gladiator's outstretched hand. It hit the ground in front of him, sending sand spraying in every direction. Rafael raised his arms to shield his face, coughing as the dust filled his lungs.
"Fight's over," the gladiator said, stepping closer as Rafael struggled to breathe. "I'll make this quick—"
"No," Rafael said, the word coming out as a ragged gasp.
The veteran raised an eyebrow. "No?"
Rafael's vision swam, his knees trembling under the weight of his armor, but he refused to fall. He stared at the gladiator, the anger in his chest flaring into something deeper.
The crowd's laughter and the gladiator's taunts were distant echoes now, drowned by the sound of his own heartbeat.
"I'm not done," Rafael said with a firm voice.
The gladiator hesitated, his predatory grace faltering for a fraction of a second. Rafael took a shaky step forward, the ground beneath him feeling less like sand and more like a foundation he could finally stand on.
Something flickered in the air between them, a faint distortion, almost unnoticeable. The gladiator frowned as his eyes narrowed and scanned the arena.
"What the...?" he muttered.
Rafael didn't notice. His focus was on the fire building inside him, a force he couldn't explain but refused to ignore. He tightened his grip on the sword and his gaze locked onto the gladiator.
"Come on, then," Rafael said with a low and steady voice. "Let's see what you've got."
The gladiator's frown deepened, but he didn't back down. With a roar, he surged forward, his weapon glowing with crackling energy.
Rafael braced himself, his fingers tingling as if something was waking beneath his skin.
The instant the gladiator's blade swung toward him, Rafael's body reacted before his mind could catch up. He raised his sword awkwardly to block, but the force was overwhelming. He could feel the impact rattle through his arms, nearly knocking him backward again.
The blade didn't connect, not fully. Something shifted in the space around them.
Time seemed to ripple, slowing to a crawl as if the very air between them had thickened. Rafael's ragged breathing echoed in his ears like distant thunder, and every grain of sand suspended mid-air caught his eye with impossible clarity.
The gladiator's expression twisted into something unreadable, confusion flashing across his face as his blade hung frozen in motion, the energy surrounding it dissipating in jagged arcs.
Rafael's knees wobbled as an intense pressure surged inside him, like a dam struggling to hold back a flood.
"Move!" he shouted at himself, though his voice came out weak and hoarse. His feet felt glued to the ground, and the tension between him and the gladiator grew unbearable, crackling like a taut string about to snap.
Then the world itself shifted.
The arena, the gladiator, the roaring crowd, they all twisted and warped as though the edges of reality were made of liquid. The sand rippled beneath Rafael's feet, waves spreading outward like a stone dropped in a still pond. The towering walls of the colosseum swayed as though drunk, and the massive pillars lining the arena seemed to bend toward him.
"What—what is this?!" the gladiator roared, staggering as the ground beneath him quaked.
Rafael couldn't answer. He barely understood what was happening himself. His vision flickered as the distortion in the air thickened, the gravity pulling at his body loosening its grip. His feet left the ground, his arms flailing as he drifted upward, weightless.
"Hey! Stay still!" the gladiator shouted, swinging wildly, but his blade arced through open space.
"Stay still?!" Rafael sputtered, panic replacing the defiance in his voice. "You try staying still when the world is losing its mind!"
The gladiator stumbled forward, his footing slipping as the sand beneath him churned unnaturally. He growled, muttering an incantation under his breath as runes flared to life across his armor. A bolt of energy surged from his palm, aimed directly at Rafael.
Instinctively, Rafael threw up his hands, bracing for the impact he knew would come but it never did.
Instead, the energy bolt zap wildly off course, veering backward to slam into the ground near the gladiator's feet. The explosion threw him sideways, sending him sprawling in the warped sand.
The crowd's roaring shifted to gasps, the confusion spreading like wildfire.
"What in the pits of the Spectral Arena is happening?!"
"That spell—he didn't even block it!"
"It—It deflected itself!"
Rafael blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what had just happened. His heart pounded in his chest as he floated gently back to the arena floor, the twisted environment still swirling around him. The sand rose in little spirals, untouched by the natural pull of gravity.
"You!" the gladiator barked, struggling to his feet. His glare burned with anger and something else, uncertainty. "What are you doing?!"
"Do you think I know?!" Rafael shouted back, his voice cracking as he gestured wildly at the chaotic arena.
The gladiator clenched his fists, and his armor crackled with renewed energy. With a guttural growl, he charged forward again, his steps faltering against the unstable ground but gaining speed as he closed the distance.
Rafael's body screamed at him to run, to dodge, to do anything but the moment the gladiator's blade came down, the distortion rippled once more. The strike passed harmlessly beside him, as though space itself had shifted to protect him.
The crowd fell silent, the tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud about to burst.
"What kind of magic is this?" the gladiator muttered, stepping back with a wary gaze.
Rafael didn't answer. He didn't have to. A strange clarity washed over him as the pressure in his chest began to subside, his breathing steadying for the first time since the fight began.
He couldn't control it, not yet but he could feel it. His power wasn't a tool. It wasn't a skill he'd practiced. It was alive, pulsing with a will of its own.
"Whatever it is," Rafael muttered to himself, tightening his grip on his sword, "I'd really like it to help me win this."
The veteran gladiator growled low in his throat, his boots grinding into the shifting sand as he steadied himself. Rafael saw the hesitation in his opponent's eyes now, a flicker of doubt beneath the smoldering frustration.
"You think this changes anything?" the gladiator spat, raising his sword. The magical runes across its surface flared brighter, and he pointed the blade toward Rafael. "Whatever trick you're pulling, I'll end it."
Rafael wanted to answer with some cutting remark, anything to sound more confident than he felt but all he managed was a shaky gulp as the gladiator charged again, this time with a strong intensity.
The air between them shimmered again as the runes on the sword released a crackling arc of electricity. It surged forward, but just like before, reality bent, warping the attack into a harmless flash of light that zigzagged away and dissipated against the arena wall.
"What?!" The gladiator stumbled mid-stride, his momentum faltering.
The crowd's collective gasp hung heavy in the air, drowning out the muffled jeers.
"I don't know what you're doing!" the gladiator bellowed, turning his full attention to Rafael. "But it stops now!"
He raised both hands, his gauntlets sparking with concentrated magical energy. With a wordless roar, he unleashed a massive pulse of force that rippled across the arena like a tidal wave.
"Move, move, move!" Rafael yelled to himself, diving to the side.
But just as he leaped, the impossible happened.
The arena around him stretched and swirled, the pillars twisting like wet paint smeared across a canvas. The pulse that should have leveled him curved sharply in mid-air, reversing course. It slammed into the gladiator with full force, lifting him off his feet and tossing him backward like a ragdoll.
The colosseum fell silent again, the sound of the gladiator's body crashing into the sand echoing over the unnatural quiet.
"What…" Rafael stared, panting, as his opponent groaned and rolled onto his side.
The crowd erupted in chaos—shouts of confusion, murmurs of disbelief, and, here and there, cheers of astonishment.
"What kind of magic does this guy have?"
"Was that his spell or the other guy's?"
Rafael wiped his brow with a trembling hand. He could barely stand now, his legs quaking beneath the combined weight of his exhaustion and the mounting fear clawing at his insides.
"Get up!" one voice screamed. He thought it was directed at him until the veteran gladiator groaned and planted a gauntlet into the sand, hauling himself upright. His armor was dented now, the once-bright runes flickering like dying embers.
"You're dead," the gladiator hissed, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.
Rafael's laugh came out more nervous than confident. "You sure about that? Because so far, it seems like I'm doing better than expected."
He braced himself as the gladiator raised a trembling hand and began conjuring another spell, but something stopped him.
The sand beneath the gladiator's feet churned and coiled like a living thing, pulling at his boots with unnatural force. His hands flailed for balance as the ground betrayed him, swallowing his footing in a swirl of shifting grains.
Rafael could only watch as he was too shocked to move. "That's not me," he muttered, glancing at his hands as if expecting them to glow or spark or do anything to explain the spectacle unfolding around him.
The crowd's laughter was gone now, replaced by a tense hum of anticipation. Rafael's power had turned what should have been a public execution into something far more dangerous and far more unpredictable.
The gladiator broke free of the sand's grip with a violent pull, but his balance was gone. He stumbled toward Rafael, the fury in his eyes replaced by something unspoken, a recognition, perhaps, that he was up against forces he didn't understand.
"Enough!" the gladiator roared, lifting his sword one last time and charging recklessly.
Rafael held his ground, though his entire body screamed to flee. The air around him rippled again, this time spreading outward in every direction like shockwaves in a pool of water.
The gladiator slowed mid-charge, his movements erratic and jerky, as though he were fighting against an unseen current.
By the time he reached Rafael, his strikes were sluggish, his once-imposing blade dragging uselessly against Rafael's half-hearted blocks.
The sand shifted beneath them both, swirling and rising in odd patterns. The gladiator's strikes fell shorter and shorter until, finally, he collapsed to his knees.
"I… don't understand…" the gladiator panted, his sword clattering to the ground.
Neither did Rafael, but at that moment, he wasn't about to admit it.
The arena was silent now, the crowd stunned into stillness. Rafael stared down at his opponent, his hands trembling as he lowered his sword.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then the voice of the announcer boomed across the arena.
"Victory… Rafael!"
The colosseum erupted, some cheering, others jeering, all trying to make sense of the impossible scene they had witnessed.
Rafael stumbled backward, his head spinning. He didn't feel victorious, he felt terrified, overwhelmed, and out of place.
He turned toward the gate from which he had entered, stumbling toward it as the noise of the crowd thundered in his ears.