"There will be blood." A hard, wooden stick bearing a solid metal block rested against the wall. Next to it, a bloodied, holed shield. A simple, ragged cloak was draped over the shield, also blood-stained. Across the room, on a single, bare rack, rested a lonesome, cold helmet. Slowly, the prisoner stood. "I can tell." His deep voice echoed across the open, sparse hall. Several rotting, fleshy corpses were piled in a corner. The darkness was penetrated only by the small lantern the guard carried. The heavy gate separating the new combatant from the blisering hot sands, and the bloodlust of the fans, was shut indefinetely. The only other man in the hall was the gatekeeper; responsible for opening and shutting the gate. The guard's strong, bony hand slipped it's way onto the combatant's back. A simple thurst implied the message.

Several minutes later, the fresh warrior stood before the massive gate, ready for the ensuing bloodlust. The guard, satisified. The warrior was clad in the blood-stained cloak, bore the sledgehammer and the shield in his left, off, hand. "Ready?" The gatekeeper held the gat ewinch like his life depended on it. It probably did. The guard walked toward the warrior. "Have fun." The guard chuckled. Already, the new combatant had a plan. The first, weak rays of light crept into the dark hall, as the gate began to open. The warrior turned around, his deceitfully strong hand locking around the guard's wrist. The guard tried to pull away, to no avail. Fear gripped his eyes, despite being himself armed. The warrior was not even smug, or proud. He simply stood, prepared. The gate was half opened. Already, the survivors in the arena surged forward. The crowd roared. And the warrior acted.

With a single thrust, he threw the guard toward the men. The guard stumbled, collapsing at the attacker's feet. The warrior sprinted forward, bashing one of the attacker's in the skull. The warrior felt the man's skull shatter beneath the blow. The man instantly died. Limp, the corpse fell to the sand. Shocked by the sudden brutality, the crowd was deathly silent. The fresh combatant swung at another man. The sledgehammer bashed into the second man's shield. The force of the blow knocked the defender to the ground. The others were still fumbling with the guard, helping him regain his feet. The last thing the second an saw was a sledgehammer rushing toward his face.

The gate closed as the second man was instantly killed. Two men were dead already. The crowd roared with excitement. The warrior took another step and spun around, swinging the sledgehammer. He caught a third man in the gut, puncturing the man's arteries. It would take several minutes for him to die, but he would be unable to move. The man's limp, paralyzed body was flung backwards, and the warrior bought the sledgehammer back to his side. Two men left. The crowd was, literally, on the edge of their seats. This new warrior had slaughtered three men, in the space of fifteen seconds. The guard untangled himself from the other two men, as the first of the survivors faced the new warrior. Behind him, three, bloodless corpses. Fear filled all three pairs of eyes, as the man took slow, solemn steps. The sand seemed to give way to his movements, as if parting to his sheer power and raw brutality.

The fourth man took a step backwards, sub-consciously, into his ally. The fifth man pushed his partner toward the warrior. With a single, swift blow, the fourth man was bashed aside by the warrior's shield. The fifth, and final man cowered down, his shield covering his face. The warrior stopped walking. "'Ya scared?" The taunt rang loud and clear through the arena. The crowd, simultaneously held their collective breaths. One of the spectators coughed, and everyone heard. For a single, foreboding moment, silence hung over the bitter Roman arena.

The first blow was hard and swift, against the shield. The fifth men fell onto his back, dropping his shield. In the same moment, the man rolled over, and stood. Fear filled his eyes. The warrior took a single step forward, and slowly dragged his back foot through the sands, parting the sun baked grains like the waters of the Red Sea. The lone survivor stepped back again. With amazing speed the warrior leaped forward, following through with the sledgehammer. The weapon broke the man's arm, as he impulsively tried to block the blow, shield-less. Pain seared through the survivor's body. The bones hung loosely in his skin. The warrior stood over his victim. On their feet, the crowd screamed. "Blood! Blood! Blood!" The warrior turned, to face the guard. With a single step, the guard felt the raw weight of the sledgehammer annihilate his ribs. His blood vessels burst. With a silent scream, the guard grasped at the air for oxygen.

The warrior turned back to the sole survivor. "There will not be blood."