Free It Rained Red Upon the Arena by Kenneth Champion

He looked towards Phillip and couldn’t help but say what was on his mind. “I’m scared. I don’t want to die out there today,” said Nick. “Just last week I was training to be a Refect, and now I’m here today about to face death in the arena. Life does not make sense if this is to be the result. I have to kill a man which I know nothing of in order to save my own life. It’s like we are savages. I don’t want to die out there in front of the spectacle of the arena crowd and be looked down upon as a savage. Nobody knows who I am.”
    “Are you done, lad?” said Phillip. “My God, you sound like all of them. All of the new and hopeless recruits of the arena. You want to go out there and piss your pants while you cry for help, then be my guest. I understand you’re scared; everyone is at some point. But you have to understand one thing. You are a true warrior. I see it in you like I see in a few others amongst us. If throwing daggers fails, then you will have to cope with that out there and use your brain to kill him another way. Yes, you have to kill. That is the deal if you want to live. When you’re out there, just know the man you face is a terrible scum of Hentrio, while you are not. Stick your blade in him where it counts. Do not stop until you see the life drain from him, alright?
    Nick nodded his head in agreement. He needed that pep talk, but he knew talk could only get him so far. In his mind he kept doubting himself. The Reza he would face was a proven warrior of the arena. He had killed numerous times. Nick had killed once, and that one time had had such purpose behind it. Nick had never been in a combat fight with real weapons. The doubts within his head were consuming him.
    A Refect came into the dungeon.
    “Alright, it’s match day, said the Refect, ”Today we will have four matches, which means...yes, four of you will die. Good riddance, I say. Right, so you, you, you, you, you scumbag, you, you, and you follow me,” he said as he pointed out the fighters of the match in the dungeon.
    Everyone in the room had their eyes on the combatants, knowing very well that half of them would die. Nick looked over at Phillip and gave him a slight nod which was his way of saying thank you for the advice and training. Phillip reciprocated the action with confidence and gave him a half smile.
    Nick and the other combatants began walking out of the dungeon and followed the Refect group into the armory.
    A well of water sat in the middle of the small cave in which the armory resided. Steel weapons of vast diversity were fixed against its walls. Adjacent to the weapons’ wall was the armor itself, various sizes to sport the most unusually shaped combatants. Beside it were the shields, some circular, the others shaped like a diamond.
    Nick had seen real weapons and armor; the sight quickly reminded him of his father’s own weapons shop. These weapons were subpar to his father’s craftsmanship.
    The other combatants quickly chose their armor and weapons of choice. Nick walked over to the steel armor and picked the one closest to his body type. He chose a chest plate, helmet, leggings, and gloves. All made of steel. As Nick was putting on his helmet he noticed Grimey looking at him without a flinch. Grimey had a smirk on his face as he put on his steel helmet and leather chest piece.
    Nick knew mobility was key for Grimey. Leather allowed more freedom than steel. A Refect came over to Nick and said, “You are in the second match. You’ll be fighting the man over there,” pointing his finger at Grimey. “Good luck, the least you can do is put on a good show for the crowd.”
    “Thank you, Master,” replied Nick.
    Nick walked over to the wall to choose his weapons. He could pick two large weapons. However, he chose a steel short sword and two daggers. The rules stated that two throwing daggers would equal one large weapon.
    Nervousness swelled up within Nick. It had been building up throughout the whole day