Chapter Twenty-Two

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Concrete walls surrounded you on all sides, reaching up at least three feet higher than your (height) self, and the top was a metal grate with vertical lines spaces every few centimeters looking up at a bright blue sky. The sound of thousands of people talking all at the same time drowned out all of your thoughts, allowing you only concentration enough to observe what seems to be your cell. A few of the walls are stained with crimson blood and greenish puke while others are scratched into, indicating one of two things, which you summed up into whoever had been there before you had been there a very long time. A ping of anxiety hit you like a flick to the head, but the chanting and cheering outside more than made up for what else might have happened. The next thing you noticed was that you were wearing some sort of toga, like a sheet that Grecian people wore back before clothes were made comfortable. Yours was (F/C) and the hem that made up the edges of all of the fabric and made it so you couldn't pull it apart very easily was the opposite of color, a void black that seemed to suck all the light out of the world. Following that, you noticed one of your arms were engulfed in flames and turning a unique shade of bronze like a blaze rod, while the other was the typical black skin of an enderman, and that really set you to panicking. These powers of yours were things you'd just barely discovered, much less were able to control, and some instinctual thing in your gut told you that you were about to be forced to use them anyway.

Unfortunately, that feeling of dread was deadly accurate.

Sediment came off of rock as the concrete box you were in began moving in one direction, feeling like a fuzzing elevator for you while sounding like someone trying to write on cement with a rock at the same time. The roar of the crowds got louder as your cage lifted out of the earth and lurged to a sharp stop once it reached ground level, throwing you towards the back where you just barely managed not to hit your head. Then one of the heavy walls fell away to reveal a large flat area a few good football fields wide and long that was entirely surrounded by filled bleachers of millions of peoples come to watch. The ground was made of sand-colored rock and looked like it belonged in a museum exhibit, and continued all the way around in a circle from where you were (as it appeared your box was in the center) until it reached the seats and turned into a wall to separate the people in the arena from the spectators. The rows of observers was mostly red and black, with occasional dots of yellow visible in the masses of people who you couldn't really tell if they were people or not. Walking out of the cage, you do a full spin to take in the entirety of the area, spotting what you instantly assume to be the royal box in the back - or maybe it's the front? - with two seats spread a good distance away from each one. Only one is occupied, holding an indistinguishable male dressed in white and gold and apparently watching the happenings of the empty stadium, while the other chair is darker, like burnt wood and the soot it leaves behind, and marked with large, upturned silver spikes on the arms for intimidation.

The nasty scratching sound excited again, signalling that the little room you woke up in was being returned to its former location, and marking that the event was about to begin. You spread your legs a little and watched the flat landscape for any sign of your task, which soon made itself apparent. An armoured warrior on horseback began charging towards you, making clear in your mind that this was a gladitorial arena and you had to kill or suffer the injuries of taking that loss yourself.

With your enderman-stolen teleportation ability active on your left arm, you flexed your fingers and transported yourself slightly above the knight so you'd be able to grab them from behind during your fall. As cool as it would've been, you couldn't pull it off and ended up sitting on the back of the fighter's horse, making the creature whinny in pain as your fiery right hand made contact with its rear end, sending it off faster towards where you used to be. The rider turned as best as she could, ginger hair spilling from beneath her helmet and sliding off of her blade and she plunged it towards you and into your stomach with a sound that made you sick to hear it-

You screamed and bolted upright in bed, bending over your stomach slightly and pressing both hands against your belly the instant you got up, noticing the sweat that had accumulated all over your body and the nauseous feeling you had from it. Next to you, James sat up as well, though he was obviously pretty tired as his crimson eyes were half-closed and his black skin had lines in it from exhaustion. The terrorized sound leaving your mouth had woken him up, and once the dedicated male remembered that, his arms were around you in a hug instantly, murmering soft, comforting nothings into your ears to calm you back down again. Outside, the sun had yet to rise, so the two of you were alone in the darkness and you were still half-convinced you were bleeding out from a sword wound. Whimpers left your mouth, though you wouldn't remember that little tidbit, and worried the man next to you, who switched to carding one hand through your sweaty (H/C) hair to try and get you to breathe.

Eventually, you had calmed down enough to explain to him about the dream ("James, it was so realistic! So real!") and he was pondering this while you comforted yourself with your head in his neck, his arms still wrapped around you to keep you close and protected from the monsters in your sleep. The fact he didn't immediately tell you that it was just a dream and you should get over it worried you more, because ever since you had come to this place, every encounter, every experience, every feeling had had some sort of darker reasoning and that probably applied to scary gladiator dreams, too.

"That is concerning," the hacker answered carefully, being very specific and vague with the words he chose and how he phrases each sentence. You lifted your head, eyes boring into his as you attempted to get him to spill the beans about what it meant. Luckily, be proceeded to do so anyway. "Either you're prophetic, someone is trying to tell you something, or both. Its symbolism. But of what?" He answered his own question like a true scholar, "I'm not certain. We'll have to see what other things you dream of."

The fact you had to go through more nightmares for this shit to even make sense made you drop your jaw in a typical this-isn't-fair face to express your displeasure at the other man, who merely smiled apologetically and shrugged his bare shoulders at you. Clenching your fists together in the blanket, you set your jaw in a frown and sigh, releasing a reluctant "fine" to where you could be heard. You stuck your head back against James' collarbone, unsure of why you were suddenly so desperate for affection but blaming it on the leftover fear and a want for relevancy, and closed your eyes once more while the other tried to gently coax you into laying back down. When you refused to move your head from the spot on his chest, he lays down and lets you lay beside him, moving the pillow you would've been using underneath your shoulders so it wouldn't hurt you to stay in your chose position. In addition to this, which kept you calm due to the comforting regularity of his breathing and heartbeat, he started rubbing your arm again to keep you calm while pulling the blanket over your waist to keep you a little bit warmer, because the sweat would evaporate and leave you cold again and he didn't want that to happen. Moments later, the entity smiled, grateful to his god for allowing this opportunity to arise and let him be close to the younger male. He kissed the top of your head and rested his own back on the pillow, hand never leaving your skin and mind never forgetting your trust.

"Sleep soundly, little warrior," he whispered to your inattentive figure, using his new favorite pet name for you. "May the gods have mercy on your soul."



Don't be mad. I have inspiration for once in my life. But my back also really hurts and my thumb is killing me. Anyhow, am I making a good comeback? The story's starting to make sense now xD. Its 12 am for me, so for all of you idiots (jk, ily guys) who haven't gone to sleep yet:

Sleep well, little warriors. Don't let life best you. Keep fighting. And there will always be someone to help.

- Friendly neighborhood psychopath, Dark-Le-Spector 

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