The Demons Within

An Unorthodox Ascension

The dull of echoes of the crowd was all that breached Ahriman's vigil of silence. Cheers that signaled a match drawing to a close, The sharp clatter of metal against metal. Sounds that had terrified him as a child, but now comforted him.

The sounds should have still terrified him, for he knew The Watcher would collect his soul today. The fledgling Imperium had recently outlawed Gladiatorial Fights and his master, being a cruel and vindictive man, had taken it as a personal slight. None of his slaves would live past this day, and he would put on one more show.

So Ahriman had been placed in a tiny cell to prepare for his final match. Over his 15 years of fighting he had gained the favor (and therefore patronage) of many wealthy men and women. A steel breastplate fit for an imperial soldier adorned his body, and a custom Auramite curved blade (The Extremely wealthy noble he had received it from called it a Khopesh, but he wasn't sure what that meant) sat next to an empty bottle of polish.

The only effective light source he had was a smoky torch placed across from the steel bars that was supposed to be a door. The Smog from the torch surprisingly exited through the iron bars, which Ahriman was glad for.

It would be shame for a warrior of his caliber to die after chocking on some smoke after all.

Titling his head slightly, Ahriman realized something was missing. Something that had been a part of him for a very long time, and now part of his soul. Despite all his bravado, his heart skipped a beat as he realized what was missing. The cheering of the crowd was gone.

He closed his yellow eyes - that had often gotten him into trouble with the priests and other children before he had been put in manacles- and mouthed out one last pray. He had memorized countless litanies, and his faith in the gods had once fueled his life. Now the prayers were more of a habit, instead being fueled by a true fervor.

His harsh life had led him astray, and he had been forced to realize that life was cruel. The gods were cruel. Only the most foolish couldn't see that, and his eyes had been forced open with the final drops of his once friend's life essence.

But those times lay in what felt like past eons, that realization filling him like a cold barrel of oil. Heavy breath echoed around the cell, before he steeled himself once more. It wouldn't do to have his final moments be filled with cowardice.

And as the heavy thumps of steel boots registered in his ears his yellow eyes flickered open, turning a dark golden fueled with raging passion.
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Ahriman and his guard arrived at the steel gates that led to the battleground in the arena, with the heavy set man trailing behind. Being surprisingly pudgy for a commoner, racing up the stone stairs to keep up with Ahriman had nearly killed the man.

The guard, obviously seeing that Ahriman couldn't escape -nor that he wanted to- went up a second set of stairs that probably led to some part of the stands.

Glancing onto the field, he felt a small knot from in his stomach, for their was no enemy already in the arena. He knew the normal procedure after his extended stay here, and this was highly irregular. He toyed with the idea that he had simply bounded up the stairs to quickly, but he knew that this match was going to be something special.

With a heavy jolt, the pitch black gates began to pull upwards. Some kind of magic was obviously at play, but Ahriman has grown used to it over the years. As he walked forward out of the shadows he was instantly basking in the cheers of the crowd.

People had traveled from far away towns just to view his last 'show', and it was rumored even one of the Emperor's daughters would be making an appearance. Even with his fame that was a surprise, for the Imperial Family was always busy; something that the commoners and Ahriman respected greatly.