[ COLOSSEUM ]
Two months since the ti Claude set foot in the Spade Kingdom and beca a warrior to entertain. His cruel thods almost gained him instant popularity. Claude could've done sothing better than fight all day, create a bloodbath, and listen to the vicious cheers of the people. Warriors. In so land, that word brought honor and valor attached to it. But in this land, warriors were considered beasts who had to tear their enemies apart without rcy for entertainnt. Entertainnt. One should know that entertainnt had its unspoken limit. Life was not sothing to consider as part of it, even though life itself was full of mockery.
Claude was sitting in the corner of the chambers where the warriors were held. Chamber, as in this tiny cell as if they were prisoners. They were, though. n who did a minor or huge cri that disobeyed the rules of the kingdom were being held in this place; their sentence was to fight to death. This wasn't a secret to everyone, though. Even the audience who would attend these fights were aware the warriors they were rooting for or booing were a criminal. What others didn't know was that not all warriors were actual criminals. So of them were simply farrs who voiced their thoughts to the unfair king. What they got in return was that they were thrown into these very cells to fight for their life. To keep them busy was what the king, Zero, told them. Claude gazed at the injured n rotting in this cell from the corner. His knee was bent while his arm was resting on it. The n in here were the ones who got injured during their last battle. So of them barely survived the fight, and they were all good n. 'Looking at them right now, I sohow think that His Majesty and I were wrong in choosing those scums who deserved to die,' he thought, thinking that Rufus and Claude had always chosen their opponents. Not that they initially had the privilege to choose, but Claude had his way with his words. Rufus, on the other hand, knew how to play with the facilitators. And thus, they get to choose who to execute in every battle. Those opponents never played fair and square, but in the end, since only the good was left, they still have to fight. At least, these n had to fight, but Claude and Rufus had already finished their last battle. There were no more bad guys since they would end the current regi. "You good?" asked the man sitting in the other corner of the cell. Claude slowly turned his eyes to the man. The man had a dark complexion and a great physique… if not for the severed leg and bandages across his body, he would be a great warrior.
A real one. A warrior he used to be.
"Of course," Claude smirked, staring at the fire in the man's eyes. "Are you?"
The man let out a scoff, gazing down at his severed hand. "That last battle was quick, a hard one."
"Well, Perry was a good man. The battles these days are just… what will I say? Harder battles to even think about," said another prisoner. Unlike the first guy, he was already old yet injured, with a broken ankle and a sling for his broken arm. Everyone in this cell was injured and incapable of fighting. So would recover, while others would just die in here. That was the fate of the warriors of this colosseum. It was plain tragic.
"They were our friends, after all. We've been stuck in here for a long ti; we et people and then they're gone the next day," another injured fellow added with a tired voice, shrugging. "It's been a cycle. I'm tired of it."
Everyone let out a deep exhale as soon as they heard the word tired. Everyone in here was beyond exhausted. Although they were grateful that they were alive, the frustration of knowing another one of them didn't return to this cell hindered that gratefulness. To be honest, all of them didn't know why they were still trying. They knew the only way to stop the cruel fate they didn't deserve was death. They fight to die, and yet, they co back to this cell with a lost finger or a limb. That was just how fierce each and every battle was for them. The only exception was the newcors, who gained instant popularity. Rufus and Claude. "Why are you even here, boy?" asked the old man, who was lucky enough to last this long in a fight. "You don't seem injured like the rest of us."
"Well." Claude cleared his throat and shrugged. "Just checking on you guys."
"Hah…" Another one laughed in mockery. "We're all alive, unfortunately. Don't tell you ca here to mock us, since you never get a scratch in your battles."
The man's remarks put a frown on the faces of so of them. All the people they t, like Claude, were arrogant n. Hence, since they only watched Claude from afar or they would bump into him, they already had built an image of Claude in their heads. Claude had portrayed himself as a maniac since all his battles were more like an exhibition. It was always a one-sided fight.
Claude pressed his lips and shrugged once more. "As much as I want to laugh at people's misfortunes, I don't have the ti."
Claude slowly rose to his spot, stretching his arms and spine. When he felt a satisfying crack on his back, he let out a hiss of satisfaction.
"That's good." He grinned, planting his hands on his hips. He cocked his head, seeing that they were simply looking back at him with poker faces, only to realize his action was a little insensitive of him. "Right… you're all injured and so of you can't stretch like that, huh?"
"This boy —"
"Well, anyway." Claude clapped, cutting off the man, who was imdiately irritated at his remarks. "If you want to leave this place just as much as I do, then co with ."
Claude march towards the bars, ignoring the eyes that were following him. Claude still had his hands on his hips, cocking his head back, eyes on them. Without a second hesitation, he kicked the tal bars, and nothing happened.
"What are you doing, boy?" asked the man with a severed leg, frowning. "Getting out of here." Claude's lips stretched even brighter, and what they heard next was a cracking sound, before the piercing noise of the tal bar falling on the ground. "Let's go?"
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