The pits. Of course.
The sound of marching was muffled by the screams of the crowd. Something was brewing. I looked around: there was a bunch of boys near me, more people I barely knew from the mine; across the arena was another group, except this one had their clothes marked in blood. Both were frozen in their feet, shying away from the thousands of eyes around'em.
Fear, screaming, blood and sand. All had a very distinct smell, and could almost touch it. There was a bunch of weapons in the middle of the arena, and it was time to shine.
There was nothing to be said. I ran to the stack, and my friends quickly followed. Those on the other side were not so keen on living, and moved only when the glint of our blades caught their eye.
We had been locked up for far too long to risk going back. The crowd caught their breath when we charged the defenseless kids.
There was blood. Much more than I'd ever seen, I had never killed anyone before, but never thought I'd feel so.. unconcerned.
Once I got past the surprise of not being surprised, I took to hacking away until not a single man in that group was moving.
The crowd was not excited. For someone that came to see the gore and violence, they weren't showing that much passion. But I had more to worry about.
VICTORS OF THE WHITE TEAM
Put down your weapons. Leave the arena now, and rest. You've earned it.
One of the larger gates crawled open. Beyond it, I saw trees, and freedom. I ran, we ran, like we had never ran before. So close, Closer, On it. A huge portcullis came down. NO.
More loud screaming. The cheering was at its maximum now. Behind us, we found a new group, more young men in clean clothing.
They didn't look friendly.
Where did this come from? Then what?
Original work C Pedro Nunes. Split according to OP's vision.
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