I couldn't get used to this cell no matter how long I lived here. Every night, I lay on my straw-filled pallet, staring at the damp, cracked ceiling, my mind drifting back to the life I once knew. My shitty apartment, with its peeling paint and leaky faucet, now seemed like a paradise I had taken for granted. The more I reminisced about my past, the more I realised how much I had lost. The familiar sounds of the city, the comforting anonymity of the crowded streets, even the mundane routines of daily life—everything had been stripped away, leaving me with nothing but memories and regrets.

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor. I sat up, alert, as the heavy door to my cell creaked open. Two guards appeared, dragging a boy between them. He was small, pale, and clearly underfed, with a look of terror in his wide, haunted eyes. He couldn't have been more than thirteen years old.

Without a word, the guards shoved the boy into my cell and slammed the bars behind him with the boy stumbling forward, catching himself before he hit the ground, and then retreating to a corner, curling up where Ascal once sat. His thin frame shook with fear, but his eyes, though filled with terror, held a spark of defiance that were far different from mine when I was his age.

I watched him for a moment, my heart aching at the sight. No one that young should be in the gauntlet but what do i know i've barely been here over a month. This place was a hellhole, a brutal, unforgiving environment that chewed up the weak and spat them out. I took a deep breath, trying to soften my voice as I spoke. "What is your name?" I asked gently, attempting to break the ice between us.

The boy flinched at the sound of my voice, looking up at me with a mixture of fear and suspicion. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer, but then he whispered, "Thorsten," quickly retracting his lips as if he regretted speaking.

"Thorsten," I repeated, nodding slowly. "How did you get here, Thorsten?"

He didn't respond, just hugged his knees tighter to his chest, his eyes darting around the cell as if searching for an escape route. I sighed, knowing that gaining his trust would take time.

"You can sit there all day, lost in thoughts of escape, but if you genuinely want to make it out of here alive, we must trust each other implicitly. Understand?" I said, my voice firm and unwavering, as if I could will strength into him through sheer force of determination.

Thorsten's eyes met mine, their usual spark dimmed by fear and uncertainty. His resolve seemed fragile, teetering on the brink of despair. "Then tell me how to survive," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

The plea struck me like a bolt of lightning. I had not anticipated such a raw, honest admission from someone so young. Here was a boy, thrust into circumstances beyond his years, seeking guidance and strength from me. The gravity of the situation pressed heavily on my shoulders, and I knew in that moment that our survival depended as much on our mental fortitude as on any physical skills we might possess.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before speaking again. "Surviving here isn't just about the physical challenges. It's about staying sharp, staying focused. We have to be vigilant, look out for each other, and never let fear cloud your judgement. We must be each other's support, each other's strength. Alone, we falter; together, we endure."

Thorsten nodded slowly, his eyes beginning to show a flicker of determination. It was a start, a fragile seed of hope in a barren landscape of despair. We were bound together by necessity, and our trust in one another would be our greatest asset in this harrowing ordeal.

It had been one week since Thorsten arrived in my cell, and in that time, I had initiated him into the same rigorous training regimen that I had been following myself. During this week, Thorsten and I formed a bond that went beyond mere camaraderie; perhaps it was the isolation of our shared confinement, but for the first time in my 28 years of existence, I had someone with whom I could genuinely socialise. Despite never having siblings, Thorsten began to feel like the younger brother I never had.

Through our long conversations, I discovered that Thorsten hailed from the Cassis Empire, a fact that startled me given my recent encounter with Emperor Revalor. However, the most shocking revelation came when Thorsten explained how he ended up in this dire situation. His father, a humble baker, had taken out loans to start a bakery. Tragically, the bakery burned down due to an oven fire, leaving his father unable to generate income and repay the debts. As a result, Thorsten's father could only watch helplessly as ruthless loan sharks took his son away and sold him into the Gauntlet here in Pax.

Thorsten's story was a poignant reminder that I was no longer on Earth. His experiences highlighted the stark reality that this new world was a much harsher existence, one I had yet to fully encounter since I had been stuck in the gauntlet. The contrast between our past lives and this new realm was jarring, a constant undercurrent of danger and challenge that permeated every moment.

As we both navigated the trials of our new existence, it became clear that survival required more than physical endurance. The emotional support we provided each other truly strengthened our spirits. In the midst of our relentless training, the bond we formed became our anchor. We shared our fears, our hopes and Thorsten's resilience became a beacon of hope, inspiring me to push through the pain and uncertainty.

As the days passed, I began to witness a remarkable transformation in Thorsten. His initially frail form gradually became more robust, and his spirit grew increasingly determined. I couldn't help but think, "He should be ready," though the uncertainty of when our next battle would take place gnawed at my mind.

In a moment of déjà vu, I heard the quick, short footsteps of the master hurrying towards our cell. "How's the kid?" he asked, his eyes piercing into mine as if he was expecting a negative response.

"Not bad," I replied. "If you're here, I'm guessing it's time for our next battle."

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The master grinned. "Yes, it's your first team battle, but don't worry, it's just two greenhorns this time."

A wave of relief washed over me as the master's words sank in. The thought that our opponents were inexperienced boosted Thorsten's chances of survival. However, this relief was tinged with a slight disappointment, as facing such novice adversaries would do little to sharpen my still-developing skills. I glanced over at Thorsten and, unsurprisingly, saw anxiety etched across his face.

The master then tossed some shabby armour and an old sword onto the floor—a stark reminder of my own first day in the gauntlet. "This is for you, kid. If you think it's lacking, just remember that the Lion Slayer over here earned that nickname wearing garments just like these," he said, his words dripping with a twisted sense of satisfaction. With that, he turned and walked away, leaving us to prepare for the upcoming battle.

Thorsten picked up the armour and sword with trembling hands, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination. I could see the weight of the moment pressing down on him, and I knew I had to say something to bolster his spirits.

"Remember, Thorsten," I began, my voice steady and firm, "the key to survival is not just strength, but strategy and courage. Trust in your training and in yourself. We've come a long way, and we will face this together."

He nodded, a flicker of resolve igniting in his eyes. We spent the next few hours going over tactics and practising our moves, each motion becoming more fluid and instinctive. As we prepared, the distant sounds of the arena began to filter through the thick walls of our cell—the roar of the crowd, the clash of steel, the cries of victory and defeat.

Finally, the moment arrived.

As the cell door to the arena began to rise I noticed Thorsten cover his eyes, he truly was the same as me when I had first arrived. As we stepped into the blinding light of the arena, the sight that greeted us was exhilarating. The vast expanse of the coliseum, filled with cheering spectators, seemed to swallow us whole.

Our opponents stood across the sandy battleground, their inexperience evident in their uneasy stances and darting eyes. Despite their apparent greenness, they, too, wore expressions of determination. The announcer's voice boomed, signalling the start of the battle, and in an instant, the world around us faded away, leaving only the fight at hand.

The opponents were similarly equipped to Thorsten, their armour old and battered. One wielded a small dagger and wore a tattered helmet that clearly impaired his vision, while the other clutched a shabby shield paired with a dull sword. This was a stark contrast to the exquisite, finely crafted weapons and armour bestowed upon me by the emperor. As we circled the arena, sizing them up, I could sense their palpable lack of confidence. After roughly a minute of tense silence, I spoke firmly to Thorsten, "Approach them slowly."

Following my command, Thorsten and I advanced cautiously, every step measured and deliberate to conceal any potential weaknesses from our adversaries. The terrain was uneven, strewn with debris from past skirmishes, and the tension in the air was palpable. Our eyes never left the two figures ahead, analysing every movement and shift in posture.

As we drew closer, the man with the shield suddenly lunged forward, his eyes wild with a mix of fear and determination. His charge was aimed directly at Thorsten, seemingly desperate to confront him and avoid facing me. Thorsten, ever vigilant and agile, reacted instantly. He leaped back with a fluid grace, evading the man's attack and simultaneously positioning himself to counter.

This swift manoeuvre left the man with the shield in a precarious situation. He was now trapped between us, his comrade too far to offer immediate assistance. The man's brief moment of hesitation, his glance darting between Thorsten and me, betrayed his growing panic. Sensing the shift in the battle's tide, I seized the opportunity.

With a surge of adrenaline, I raised my sword high above my head, the blade gleaming ominously in the dim light. I brought it down with all the strength I could muster, aiming for a decisive and lethal blow. The man, seeing the impending strike, lifted his shield in a desperate bid to protect himself. But the force behind my attack was overwhelming.

The impact was devastating. My sword cleaved through the shield with a thunderous crack, splintering the wood and metal as if they were nothing more than brittle twigs. The blade did not stop there; it continued its deadly descent, slicing through the man's flesh and bone with brutal efficiency. His head and torso split apart, the sheer power of the strike reducing him to a lifeless heap. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, and the echoes of the clash lingered

Expecting the crowd to fall silent in the wake of such a gruesome spectacle, I was instead met with a roaring chant, "Savage Beast!" It was another nickname, perhaps more fitting this time, echoing through the arena. The cheers and jeers of the spectators filled the air, a cacophony of bloodlust and admiration.

Thorsten stood frozen, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear at my brutal display. His momentary lapse in concentration did not go unnoticed. The other opponent, seizing the opportunity, lunged at Thorsten, plunging his dagger into Thorsten's upper right shoulder. Thorsten gasped in pain, but the rigorous training we had endured took over. Using the momentum of his attacker, Thorsten deftly guided the man forward, impaling him on his own sword.

The crowd's roar intensified as the second opponent fell, and Thorsten, though injured, stood victorious. Blood dripped from his shoulder, but his eyes now held a steely resolve. I moved quickly to his side, checking the wound. It was deep, but not fatal. Thorsten grimaced but nodded at me, signalling to me he was ok.

The master then ascended back onto the podium, his face etched with an expression of deep dissatisfaction. His eyes scanned the crowd before he spoke, his voice heavy with a condescending tone. "I hope you enjoyed today's battle," he announced, his words dripping with sarcasm. The crowd responded with a deafening roar. "But this fight isn't over yet," he continued, and with these words, an eerie silence descended over the arena.

He let the tension build before delivering his next statement. "Our two victors here will now engage in a battle to the death, with the grand prize being their freedom."

Shock coursed through my body, a cold wave of dread washing over me. What kind of twisted game is this monster playing? I looked up at him, our eyes locking, and all I could see was a cruel, mocking smile spreading across his face. My gaze then shifted to Thorsten, who was trembling uncontrollably beside me. He must have been thinking this was the end for him.

"What do I do?" I thought frantically. There was no way I could bring myself to kill a kid, not after everything we had been through together. The moments we had shared, the bond we had formed – it all came rushing back to me. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it. As the weight of the situation pressed down on me, I felt a surge of defiance rise within me.

In a split second decision, I resolved to act. With a fierce determination, I hurled my sword with all the strength I could muster towards the podium. The blade cut through the air, a deadly projectile of rebellion. No one was prepared for this sudden turn of events. The master of the gauntlet, caught completely off guard, toppled off the podium and crashed onto the sandy floor of the arena.

Gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd as the realisation of what had just happened dawned on them. My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I knew this act of defiance would have severe consequences, but in that moment, I didn't care. I had made my choice.

To be continued…