It was a killing cycle.
Like a pack of wolves that saw a lone lamb, he was picked, torn like a rag, and left on the ground.
After that the time was counting. The cloud of dust kicked by the new warriors got closer and closer.
Funny how I was on the wrong side of the slaughter this time, and how the victims of the previous one would help their killer survive. One of my companions fell beside me, managing to take one of the armed ones with him. Seeing his shiny metal lance I slid from under the two corpses I was hiding under, grabbed it, and rolled up. I still had no idea where to turn, except I knew to keep quiet and lay low.
A boy stared at me, so hopeful, seeing my plan to get a weapon come together, he never tried to dodge my lance until it came out the other side of his chest.
I fought my way back and forth, stabbing at the powerless that counted on me to save their sorry hides, offing one or another of the second group when noone was looking.
The crowd roared more than ever. Everything that was going on was obvious to them, watching from the outside. But the fodder in the arena was too busy doing a horrible job at surviving to notice the guy raving through flesh and bone.
Then we were three, and the crowd was screaming... they yelled like they still needed more blood:
"One more!"
We faced each other. Neither would hesitate killing, and we knew we couldn't just walk away, but I knew something they didn't: the crowd was wrong.
Two more...
Where did this come from? Oh crap, then what?
I wondered how much amusement those people were taking off seeing unskilled amateurs go at it against unarmed opponents. I didn't spend more time thinking. Not that I had the time to... Even though I saw myself in each of the boys running hopelessly against the newcomers, I kept shouting orders around, hoping someone foolish enough would follow them.
Quite surprisingly, a pile of bodies began taking shape. Not my body or theirs, but the bodies of the victims of our first charge. One of ours decided not to take cover behind the difficult terrain, and ran around the arena in panic instead.Like a pack of wolves that saw a lone lamb, he was picked, torn like a rag, and left on the ground.
After that the time was counting. The cloud of dust kicked by the new warriors got closer and closer.
Funny how I was on the wrong side of the slaughter this time, and how the victims of the previous one would help their killer survive. One of my companions fell beside me, managing to take one of the armed ones with him. Seeing his shiny metal lance I slid from under the two corpses I was hiding under, grabbed it, and rolled up. I still had no idea where to turn, except I knew to keep quiet and lay low.
A boy stared at me, so hopeful, seeing my plan to get a weapon come together, he never tried to dodge my lance until it came out the other side of his chest.
I fought my way back and forth, stabbing at the powerless that counted on me to save their sorry hides, offing one or another of the second group when noone was looking.
The crowd roared more than ever. Everything that was going on was obvious to them, watching from the outside. But the fodder in the arena was too busy doing a horrible job at surviving to notice the guy raving through flesh and bone.
Then we were three, and the crowd was screaming... they yelled like they still needed more blood:
"One more!"
We faced each other. Neither would hesitate killing, and we knew we couldn't just walk away, but I knew something they didn't: the crowd was wrong.
Two more...
Where did this come from? Oh crap, then what?
Original work C Pedro Nunes. Split according to OP's vision.
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