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I stood firmly staring my opponent down, a boy around the age of fifteen, small. The fears in his eyes were followed by a light stream of tears. But he did not run, even as I dashed towards him with intent to knock him back. I was forced back into the arena wall leaving it cracked and crumbling. I pushed myself out of the wall to study my once freighted foe. His eyes were ablaze with flames and his palms morphed into bear like claws engulfed in fire. His voice distorted into roars of pain and sorrow. I was taken aback by the emotion of what was once this boy. He’s probably the youngest I’ve seen, but many with these curses are forced to fight in the arena. I clenched my palm into a fist and sparks of electricity began to flow from the center of my palm. I opened it slowly releasing strikes of lighting. My enemy didn’t blink an eye (not that I could actually see them...). He charged forward, the claws aiming for my gut. I released a quick bolt of lightning aiming at the boy. It his forehead directly and send him spinning backward then slamming against the ground and continue dragging against the dusty ground as he came to a stop. A black mark was stained on his forehead. The flames in his eyes grew in size and flickered in rage as he got back up. I shot another bolt quickly as he tried to stand. He flung his fiery claw knocking the bolt into the audience stands. The shriek of a woman filled the stadium. I glanced quickly over to see where it came from; a small tribeswoman with cream skin was squirming on the ground in agony holding her chest. The stands seats were splashed with blood and the people near her stared in horror and fear. She let out one final scream before falling still and the blood trail down the stand, down the wall of the arena. The boy had recovered and was standing again. He had a fierce smile mixed with a demonic chuckle. I turned stern and clapped my hands together. A bright light pulsed from my hands, sending waves of air in every direction. My cloth tunic wavered as I pulled a blade of lighting by its handle out of my hand. It crackled and sparked as I held it with both hands. The crowd cheered in delight. The beasts smile changed from one of ferocity to one of nerves. I pulled the blade back and swung sending a wave of electricity directly at the boy. He tried to block with his claw but it cut right through dismembering his hand and pushing him back into the wall of the arena. He fell and rolled in pain staring at where his hand was in disbelief. The flames in his eyes diminished and the boy who was in fear began to scream in agony.

I snapped my fingers and my blade disappeared into nothing. The arena gates quickly lifted and guards rushed out and circled us. Two men in iron clad took the boy away. As they left a man dressed in fine clothes from foreign lands entered with a sincere face strolled in.

“Fine casting there. The arena is no place for an archmage now...” He said with false sincerity. His smile was a mask to his true intentions. I could see right through him. My legs were hit from behind and a guard grunted

“Respect those of rank, scum,” The guard said with a husky voice. I jumped back from the ground, head butting the guard with the back of my head. It would have hurt like hell but the battle from earlier has left me numb.

“Brave too!” The well-dressed man said as he clapped. The guard who I had head butted was on his side holding his nose. Not even his hands that had sausage like fingers could contain the blood from his nose.

“Who are you and why do you know my title?” I asked fiercely. The sudden burst of disrespect changed the man's opinion quickly. He withdrew his sword and swung aimlessly out of rage. I side-stepped slightly to dodge the blade. It was quite easy as he wasn't even holding the sword correctly. He let out a huff and put his sword back into its sheath.

“Your faster then I thought,” he said as he wheezed. I waved the compliment away with my hand.

“I’m the son of Elric, king of Skadia” he explained while fixing his tunic. Skadia is the snow continent of Altian. I thought to myself why a prince would travel all the way to Morin, the sand continent to find m-

“We want you in our army! We got word from a scout who seen you fight against the Werewolf man. It was eccentric so I heard” He interrupted breaking my train of thought. I was taken back by what he said. The very man who just tried to kill me wanted me to join his army.

He explained my hand would never be empty, any women I wanted and a rank of high standing. It would be good to actually wear comfortable clothes and eat... My tunic had been shredded from the battles in the arena. I don’t get fed much either and when I do It’s just stale.

“Fine.But I do as I please” I said firmly. The prince’s smile grew wide. He clapped his hands and a man dressed a little less formal came and pulled me out of the arena.The desert sun was even stronger on the bare street. The man pulled me into the inn and dragged me upstairs to get changed. The smell of fresh flowers filled my nose quickly as I was finally pushed into a Large bedroom with plush pillows and nice curtains.

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