Abogo entered the sun-lit arena to the cheering and clapping of the crowd.
The fans knew him, adored him. For Abogo their adoration was simply a vehicle, piloted through oceans of blood-soaked sands toward his ultimate aim: his freedom. From slavery to stardom Abogo had fought and bled with honor throughout the many arenas of the Empire. His equipment, carefully chosen, lovingly maintained, the best he could scrape together after the Scollo's take of his winnings. His body, a mass of scars earned at death's door. It had all come to this: his last fight to catapult his renown to every corner of the Empire and finally make the case for his freedom. Should he win, they could not deny him.
He stepped into the circle of stone planters and sweet-smelling flowers and faced his opponent. At such rarefied heights of violence he'd been guaranteed to face only the best fighters. A veteran of the arena like himself, this one armed with the dreaded spear that was couched behind a tall shield. Abogo had fought many similarly-armed opponents throughout his brutal career and he knew this gladiator would test the limits of his skills. The deadly point of the spear, seemingly as effective up close as far away, able to punch through a helmet and into the eye as neatly as an arrow. And the towering shield negating most openings and counters. In the hands of patient, skilled fighter they made for a deadly combo. Abogo couldn't have asked for a more challenging opponent for his final battle. He steeled himself: it was victory or death.
They met in the center of the tiled mosaic. Abogo confidently moved in, slashing his sword in from his opponent's right side, tearing a chunk out of their shoulder armor and biting into flesh. He pressed his advantage, keeping close and driving his opponent back to keep them wrong-footed, hoping to avoid the point of the spear. Again he swung and again he struck home. But quick as lightning his opponent responded, weaving his spear inside Abogo's guard and stabbing through his armor. Alarmed at such a grievous blow, so easily dealt, Abogo leapt back and raised his shield. His foe advanced, darting the tip of the spear at Abogo's face like a viper's strike. Abogo dodged and blocked, throwing up his shield as he moved. He was fully on the defensive now, his breath sawing out of his lungs as he kept moving, trying to create space to recover. The crowd howled their anger, Abogo's life and freedom as nothing in the face of their lust for violence.
The world shrank around Abogo until it was nothing but the shield and spear back lit by the noonday sun. This was the moment everything else had to fall away: the crowds, the pain, the past. Everything had to be laid on the altar of victory.
He stopped retreating abruptly and moved forward slashing into his opponent, slamming his blade past the rim of his foe's shield and into their side. He leapt back and toward his opponent's shielded side, narrowly avoiding the spear's counter thrust.
On and on they went like this each taking a bite out of the other at turns. Attack, block, dodge. Attack block dodge. The steady rasp of exhausted fighters served as the metronome of the battle. Each strike that landed enough to bleed and weaken but not kill. After a minute and a half Abogo was covered in wounds, his life blood pouring out of various punctures, staining his body and what remained of his armor crimson. His life fluttered within his body, threatening to leave him at of its own accord. His foe fared no better, their grandiose breastplate long since torn away by Abogo's strikes, their wooden shield notched and splitting in a dozen places. Both gladiators held their positions several paces apart behind their shields, gasping for air, their limbs starting to shake as their life dripped fromt their bodies. But their eyes remained locked on each other, ready for the next and last clash. Without words they acknowledged the honor of a battle well fought and advanced.
Abogo broke into a charge. At the last moment he brought his shield up high, deflecting the questing point of the spear his foe thrust toward his face. He pushed past the attack, the spear sliding off his shield, and again hammered his blade horizontally across his foe's right flank. The blow was caught by the shaft of the spear but only just, the blade still sliding along his foe's arm, drawing more blood. Abogo didn't relent, moving forward and striking again, all finesse gone, the attack powered by the sheer desire to live. This time his sword struck the shaft of the spear solidly and jarred it from his foe's hand. It fell to the ground with a clatter. The roar of the crowd surged, the tumbling fates of the two gladiators now in free fall driving their excitement to new heights.
Abogo's foe retreated from him behind his shield, all but abandoning their fallen spear. It was then Abogo knew he'd won. Grimly he advanced on his opponent. The veteran gladiator cast around looking for something with which to fight back, but all the amphoras and wood and stones thrown into the arena by the crowd were beyond their reach. Abogo raised his blade as he closed on his foe. One last life, for a life.
He brought his blade down and hewed at his foe's shield, alternating his strikes from different angles. Like the fall of a blacksmith's tireless hammer blows he struck again and again, measured to preserve his stamina while pinning his foe on the defensive. Exhausted and overwhelmed his foe's numb hands eventually lost their grip on the shield and it went tumbling to the side.
With a mighty overhand slash Abogo cleaved into them, and his adversary fell to the blood-soaked tiles with a heavy, wed thud.
The sound of their fall however was swallowed by the triumphant bellows of the crowd raising from their seats, stamping their feet, and setting the air to trembling until Abogo felt the tumult surround him, as though it were trying lift him up. The slave who became a champion against all the odds. A true legend.
Though his vision was greying and his limbs trembled, threatening to collapse underneath him now that the fire of battle no longer sustained him, Abogo raised his weapons and his face up in victory. Recollections of that day would say he looked to the fans of the arena and smiled at their adoration. But it wasn't to the screaming mob he looked, and it wasn't validation or satisfaction that gave him joy. His eyes went to the blue sky above and he smiled at the future it promised.
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Topic: How did you last *own*? (Read 1348933 times)