A S P
Mid Rim
Thelea, Kesh — The Battlegrounds
The arena was as it always was. Hot, dry air filled with the shouts of the crowds, the occasional jeer or boo or scream that followed the events and bouts.
Solomon missed none of it. But, it kept him sharp enough. And it kept enough money in his pocket to get him by with his needs. Sighing, he brushed past bodies in the halls that contained the fighters. Well, the fighters that were conscripted. Taken, usually, much like he was. Those on the outside who clawed to fight their way to glory and prestige, and those who hoped only for a swift death.
He was neither today nor any day since returning to his homeworld. Now, he volunteered for lack of better options. He was too far removed to think about further education or establishing himself as anything else. This arena was almost all he’d ever known. Cruel as it was, it was home enough.
Today’s event brought people from all over the planet, always eager for the games that helped to bring them closer together. The capital had been packed with bodies, more than usual. He could barely walk without bumping into someone else, not that anyone paid him in mind in the hooded cloak he’d worn. Why should they? They were all going to the same place. They were all talking and excited, pointing at the posters that’d been plastered on buildings for about a week now. The main event was him, going by his usual moniker of The Desert Asp. It was a non-lethal free-for-all for an entry fee of a small fee. These big events didn’t happen often. If someone was lucky, they’d catch a match or two of him unannounced two weeks out of a month. Sometimes, as sparse as once a month. But, today was special as anyone could sign up if they wanted the glory (and credits) that went with defeating him in a match. As he sat and worked himself into basic protection that would at least ensure he wouldn’t break a bone from taking blows, he thought about his prospects.
It was unlikely that he’d have to face many opponents. He’d made a name for himself in the years he’d spent under the arena’s — the Imperium’s — supervision. The challengers seemed to dwindle more each time such an opportunity presented itself. Usually, that group consisted of other gladiators who were eager to move up quickly and found themselves with a mouth full of sand.
He looked up as Rix tapped his shoulder. “They’re about to call for ya. Best get up there. Good luck. They’ll love you.” Solomon laughed half-heartedly and gave the man a pat on the back as he stood and walked to the entrance. As it opened, he stepped out into the open air and breathed it in. Hot and dry, as if it could be anything else.
The crowd’s roar became muffled in his ears while he took the time to empty his mind and relax his body. He strolled to one side of the arena, absently waving to the onlookers with half a smile plastered on his face. Though, his eyes never left the entrance on the opposite end of the space. He focused on the way to the top layer of sand shifted beneath his weight, followed the way it took him, and noticed where the ground became firm. He felt the air blow through his fingers, sticking the wooden staff he was given into the ground while he waited.
His hearing returned to normal as the announcer began to announce today’s challenger. Singular challenger. Solomon raised an eyebrow. Only one. He hoped they were good enough to put on a decent show. Otherwise, this would be a rather disappointing and tedious experience for the fighters and the audience.
The desert they inhabited was a cruel place. It was necessary to know how to fight and to do it well. It was necessary to be quick, in movement and one’s thinking. Slow was enough to survive on Thelea, but not enough to seize life. Too slow and you’ve already died twice before you could comprehend what was happening to you. Nothing was so harsh as the Imperium. Yes, it did its best to put on the guise of unity and collaboration. But, he’d heard the experiences. He had his own. Not all was as it seemed. Not everything was as fair and free as they proclaimed. So many people succumbed to their poison without so much as a gasp of surprise. This was nothing more than a distraction. A mirage.
He picked up his staff once more and watched the entrance carefully as it swung outward to reveal his opponent.
Show time.
