Thump. The sun blazed directly overhead, transforming my world into a shimmering haze of deception. Thump. Adrenaline coursed through my body. Thump. Every moment was defined with crystal-clear clarity. Thump. My fingers turned slick with liquid fear. Thump. The expectant atmosphere bore down on me, squeezing the air from my lungs and suffocated any hope of survival. I stumbled forward into the aura of the crowd, stiff as the heartless piece of savage, rusty metal my hand unconsciously clenched. The blistering sand was rugged with the fragmented bones of previous contestants in this warped game and stained with crimson reminders of ended lives. It crunched under my leathery feet, forcing its way between my toes like seeds of doubt.

The spectators paced and pawed the ground with twisted hunger, yearning for the sickly stench of death. They became a pack of blood-thirsty wolves, snarling and circling, and as they slavered with the frenzy of the arena they forgot their humanity, forgot I was one of them. The God amongst beasts sat atop his throne, luxury lathered upon his mighty form, commanding respect through fear. He appraised the gruesome scene laid out before him, eyes alight with a cold, calculating glare, lips twisted into a cruel smirk. I was overwhelmed, incapacitated, with an all-consuming terror. Finally, before the dread could turn me to stone, I snapped my head up, shoulders back, and tried in vain to intimidate the petrifying opponent that loomed above me.

My eyes flickered about him constantly: the perfect emotionless mask; the muscular, battle-scarred body; the glistening axe that threatened to tear my heart from my chest; the silvery tear frozen in time sliding down his immortal cheek. I concentrated upon that symbol of anguish, drawing strength from the lonely droplet. My heart began to pump, pump, pump with a new kind of fervour. Instincts turned me into a creature fiercer than the scorching depths of Hades. A brutal roar ripped through my body like a tsunami as I sprang forward, unanticipated, launching myself at the chest of the enemy. And then I heard the sound that made my frantic heart skip a beat. The tiger had arrived.

The trap door grated open like an ancient tombstone, resonating with the spine-tingling wails of the dead. It lurked beneath the deceptive floor, a cobra waiting to strike, anticipating the ferocious ambush to come. The fiery demon snarled a scream of pure fury, promising carnage. A sense of dread rooted itself deep in the pit of my stomach as the hooked daggers burrowed deep into my flesh from behind. For a split second that felt like eternity, I stared into the murky depths of the monster’s great eyes that were filled with a murderous hatred beyond comprehension, and I saw the oily depths of its tar-black soul. I saw an evil craving to rip, to tear. I saw my life hanging by a single thread.

Instinctively, we acted. Simultaneously our lethal weapons plunged through the other’s flesh, sinew and bone. I felt the animals unrelenting teeth mutilate my shoulder, slicing though tendons like a knife through butter. My sword, though blunt and callous, was driven by my burning desire to live; it pierced the very essence of the murderous creature. A torrent of blood cascaded over my fingers, a waterfall of pure life, and its shadowy heart was silenced forever.

The tiger slumped to the ground, its glittering emerald eyes fading into the eternal sleep, as I stared up at the endless sapphire sky in wonder. Crunch. Crunch. Icy splinters of dread crippled my already mangled body as the hysterical panic smashed into it, just as the tiger had before. Now I stared up, helpless as a new-born child, whilst my destiny approached. My fingers desperately raked through the grainy sand like a man possessed, searching, searching for a cold, metal glimmer of hope. But they clutched at empty air. My luck had run out, and once again my opponent loomed above me. I closed my eyes in defeat, simply praying for an abrupt end to my meaningless life as the tips of my fingers brushed along a smooth, curved edge. “Too late, too late…” the wind chanted, cruelly mocking my pitiful position as the sound of an axe whistling through the static air drowned it out.

But his weapon bit into the ground by my head with dull, permanent thud. His mask fell through his calloused fingers, shimmering and dancing in the golden glow of the sun as it hit the ground. His lips, warped into an unnatural grimace by the crescent of a scar, his nose, so misshapen from countless beatings, his ears, bitten and bloody… I saw none of it but his pleading eyes. Eyes that had seen so much horror they were shattered with the memories, with the weight of his existence. I saw the true life of a gladiator then, not fame and fortune as I had ignorantly dreamed, not talent for killing, not being detached from the men you have to murder as we are told the best are: pure desperation. Desperation to escape the constant blood bath, to escape the burning fear of death and to stand up tall despite the overwhelming pressure. Desperation to succeed or be forgotten as easily as a casual stranger. This man was not my enemy or my idol. He was a victim like me. I stared up at the pits of grey oblivion carving dark rings into his face, and in that instant knew I would rather die a million deaths than be made into a monster. Slowly, maintaining the eye contact that held me to the spot, he retrieved the mask. With a practiced hand he shielded his vulnerable face and took the stance of an executioner, poised for the kill. A swift glance to the Emperor was confirmation; he placed the axe at my throat in preparation.

“No man,” I screamed hoarsely to insatiable crowd, “Should live like this. This is an abomination! Think of your children, think of-” I tried to go on after I felt the slicing pain. I tried to be memorable, to not die in vain. All I could do was gurgle blood as the last breath I would ever take escaped my cracked lips. The honoured gladiator had killed again.