The Queen had been cornered. The deliberate and timed movements had all been building up to this moment. I had no way out.

  Finally, I would be taken off the board. The constant battles would stop. I would no longer be a tool of entertainment for these maniacs. I may not have been able to gain my freedom through winning, but perhaps I would gain it through death.

  Yet, even as my mind had resigned itself to its fate, it didn't stop looking for ways to survive. My body didn't stop moving.

  Adrenaline flowed through my veins. Every single fibre of my being filled with energy.

  Time slowed. The cheers of the crowd drowned out by the blood rushing into my head.

  The arrow moved sluggishly through the air. The blades around me were slow as they approached. All of my senses were on overdrive.

  My eyes caught a faint glimmer in the sand at the tip of my feet. The shield-bearer's shield. It was a gamble, but now it was all or nothing. In one explosive moment, I dug my foot into the sand beneath the shield. I raised my leg, flipping the shield into the air. As the shield spun mid-air, the arrow collided with it, getting thrown into the sand.

  With one leg still in the air, I bent my knees and ducked beneath the swing of the axe. I stabbed the claymore into the ground, just in time to block the swing from the sword. I grabbed the bronze shield just as it was falling to the ground. Coming up with a twirl, I threw the shield like a discus towards the archer. It all happened so fast they didn't have time to react.

  The archer watched with wide eyes as the shield hurtled towards him. He barely got to raise his bow as the shield knocked him to the ground.

  I grabbed the sword out of the ground and went for the axeman. His focus was on the archer going down and he failed to notice me in time. By the time he did, I had slashed his neck.

  Two left.

  The swordsman had a bit more time to recover. He raised his blade as I went for him next. We exchanged blows, the blades ringing as they clashed. But he buckled at my strength and at the lack of support from his teammate.

  I knocked the sword out of his hand and thrusted mine into his stomach.

  One left.

  As the swordsman fell to the ground, I turned my attention to the archer. He had quickly gotten to his feet. Blood flowed from his forehead and covered part of his face. A mixture of anger, pain and disbelief plastered across his face.

  There was a considerable amount of distance between us. He put his hand to his quiver and tensed when he felt how few arrows remained.

  Just four.

  With the speed at which he fired those, it was likely he could shoot them all before I reached him. But he saw how I had dodged all of his arrows so far even while fighting two other people. He couldn't afford to shoot carelessly now that he had my full attention.

  Needless to say, I also couldn't make a beeline for him. That would make my path easy for him to read, and he could easily line up arrows that are hard for me to dodge.

  He nocked an arrow and took aim.

  I shot towards him at an angle, running diagonally. He steadily tracked me with his bow. I kept my eyes on him, paying attention to the slightest movement.

  Thwack!

  The arrow was released.

  I dug my heels into the sand, stopping dead in my tracks and leaning my body as far back as I could. The arrow flew by, pricking the tip of my nose.

  Three arrows left.

  I started running in the other direction, keeping the same angle. This time he waited a bit longer before releasing his shot. I already had a fair idea of the trajectory. I dodged this one with relative ease.

  Two arrows left.

  I took off in the opposite direction again with the same angle, my path gradually resembling a zigzag. I was getting close.

  He took another shot. As I stopped in my tracks and leaned back, I saw another arrow coming straight for where my head was about to be.

  'Sly bastard.'

  To think he would shoot his last arrow almost instantly. He was throwing in an all-or-nothing gamble at the very last moment. It would be close, but I would make it. As I leaned back, I brought my sword up and cut the shaft of the arrow in half, killing its momentum. I almost lost my balance, but regained my footing quickly and dashed towards him.

  I looked at his quiver. No arrows left. This was it.

  As I got closer, I could see the desperation in his eyes. He reached for the empty quiver, most likely hoping another one would magically appear.

  Unfortunately for me, one did. Although it wasn't by magic. It was significantly smaller than all the other ones he had used so far. Short enough for its smaller fletching not to peek out of the quiver, yet long enough for his hand to grab. A hidden last resort.

  It would obviously lack a lot of speed, power and range compared to the other arrows, but at point-blank, it would be just as lethal. The arrow was nocked and aimed, ready to go. Time came to a crawl once again as I ran towards him. We didn't take our eyes off each other, waiting for the slightest opening.

  His eyes were bloodshot from the sweat and blood flowing into them. Yet he kept his gaze firmly fixed on me. The absolute focus of a man looking death straight in the eye.

  He didn't dare blink.

  Neither did I.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  So far I had always seen the arrows coming. There was usually enough time to react. But now there was no distance, and no ample time to respond after he released the arrow. I had to somehow dodge it right before he released it.

  My awareness was heightened, everything coming to greater focus. I paid close attention to every slight movement.

  'It's coming.'

  He had to release it soon before I got close enough to strike him. Once he was in range of my blade, it would be over.

  Five metres.

  'Not yet.'

  Four metres.

  'Almost.'

  Three.

  'I might make it before he fires.'

  Two.

  I started to bring up my sword.

  On—,

  'Now!'

  I buckled my knees in an instant, just as I noticed a tensed muscle in his forearm relax.

  I felt the arrow part through my trailing hair as I ducked.

  "Aaaaah!" with a shout, I rose from my crouch with an upward swing that sliced his bow in half and slashed his upper body.

  I spun and then thrusted the sword towards his chest. The sword pierced through, skewering his heart. His eyes went wide with shock, as his mouth coughed out blood onto my shoulders. With a croaking voice laced with pain, he uttered the only words I had heard him speak in this arena.

  "It was…an…honour…" and then his body slumped against mine.

  I pulled out the sword, and then slowly lowered him onto the ground.

  It was over.

  At the fall of the last challenger, the crowd burst into shouts. Their voices rose to a crescendo and the sand of the arena began to shake in response. Chanting in unison at the top of their voices:

  "Crimson Savage! Crimson Savage! Crimson Savage!"

  Anger began to well up inside me as I thought of the last words of the archer.

  Honour?

  Where was the honour in any of this?

  What glory was there to be gained?

  Locked in a cage, only let out for the sole purpose of taking the life of another. Being given an unsavoury moniker such as 'The Crimson Savage'!

  Who was the real savage here?

  The people with no choice but to desperately fight to the death for their lives? Or the sick bastards who derived pleasure and entertainment from watching them suffer?

  Every man who stepped through those gates was given the hope that if they won, they would be free. However, I became the incarnation of their despair. An insurmountable wall.

  A paragon of nobility reduced to a harbinger of death. As long as I was alive, there was no freedom to be gained in this arena.

  Not for the men who fell by my sword, nor for I, their executioner.

  What was the point of persevering? Every time I win, someone's chances of surviving are wiped away, whereas I'm not even an inch closer to my freedom. I was a dead end.

  I wonder what the crowd sees. A woman in tattered clothes, with ratty scarlet hair that looked like it had absorbed the blood of her victims, lengthening each day with each new kill till it reached the small of her back.

  Warm blood all over her hands and the cold blade she held. A speed and strength far beyond the average person. A monster.

  A glare of light caught my attention and I looked down at the bronze shield near my feet. As I stared at my reflection on its dented, polished surface, my eyes came into view. Bright red eyes that had long lost their light. I gazed at the image, taking in what had become of me. It had been so long since I had last seen my reflection. I could barely recognize myself.

  But I could still tell it was me. Albeit a far cry from what I used to be. As I reminisced on the past, it was as though the reflection were taking on the form of my old self. Clothed in silver armour instead of rags. Holding a valiant and polished longsword and not a rusty claymore. Surrounded by friends, and not enemies.

  My friends. Those closest to me.

  I hadn't seen them since the war where I got captured. Even now, knowing them, they were probably trying to find a way to rescue me, as impossible as that seemed. Yet, I didn't doubt their ability. As long as I was alive, they would find a way.

  He would find a way. He always did.

  Until that time came I had to keep fighting. I couldn't throw my life away. Couldn't let their efforts be in vain. I would keep fighting and keep winning. I'd take whatever they threw at me, whatever unfair odds came my way. I won't falter. I won't be killed. I would shoulder the weight of the men I had slain. I would take on their sorrow, their fear, their anger, their grief, their loathing.

  'And when that time comes, when I become free…'

  I looked towards the King on his throne. I raised my sword and pointed it in his direction, drawing a line across my neck with the thumb of my other hand.

  'I'll be coming for your head.'

  At my gesture, the archers around the Colosseum all pointed their bows at me, ready to fire. Two of the guards around the King immediately brought out their shield and stepped in front of him, ready to block anything I hurled their way.

  The King waved his hands and the guards stood down while the archers lowered their bows. Even from this distance, I could see that arrogant grin on his face.

  With another gesture from his hands, a nearby lever was pulled. The Eastern gate I had walked out of began to open. It was time to head back into the darkness.

  Or so I thought.

  Instead, someone emerged from the gate. This had never happened before.

  It was an ominous man. He wore no armour whatsoever save for tattered clothes that were in similar shape to mine. He also held no weapons. What was disconcerting however, was the helmet he wore.

  A black mass that seemed to be absorbing the light around it, instead of reflecting a black colour. It completely covered the head of the man and also sported a pair of horns. And deep within the slots for the eye to see through, there was a slight red glow.

  From his walk and posture, I could tell he was a trained fighter. He stopped a few metres from the centre of the arena. The crowd was quiet at this unexpected entry. The man gave a formal bow in my direction, then got into a battle-ready pose. I discarded the claymore and reciprocated his bow. I also got into a fighting stance.

  Even savages have courtesy.

  The announcer from earlier made his way forward once again, but he had nothing to say this time. He quietly brought the horn out of his robe and put it to his lip. Another round was going to start.

  I had incurred no injuries from the last fight save for a few scrapes from the arrows, but I had expended quite a lot of energy.

  But it didn't matter…

  Bwooom!

  Only one person would step out of this arena alive…

  Bwooom!

  And that person…

  Bwooom!

  Would be me.

  Bwooooooooooooooom!

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