-Part-I-day in Hades
The crowd noise was a faint roar that came in waves punctuated thwarted since the basement. The oppressive heat
mixed smell of blood and excrement seemed to rise from the sewers of hell. Exhalation who knew only too well and burned the nostrils and the throat preventing him almost to breathe.
was his moment, he knew awaited him an opponent in the arena.
Suddenly he heard the thought of death that grabs his legs as a postulant in despair, he chased him angrily, but close to the stomach clenched guts for stealing a moment every force in the body.
realized he was creeping into his mind the fear, doubt, uncertainty.
"No, no!" He shouted to himself. It was not to be overwhelmed by fear, not now. For the gods, not now!
"I am the strongest," he said several times, beating his chest with the flat of the sword.
The pain spread like a spider web of fire on his chest and revived him in anger and envy for a life without freedom. Only tears, violence and terror had remained as companions in this life, even if you could call it that this sadistic representation.
As far seemed to him the days spent by a person free. Days dotted with love and serenity, but which were buried for centuries. Remember that now belonged to another man. Men? He could still be called as a humanity which had been stolen? This question, however, he did not make sense in either space.
The door swung open suddenly accompanied by the sound of rusty hinges straining on the wood. He was hit by intense light from the sun. The air was thick with the shouts of the crowd went crazy for the show obscene. Mouth breathing trying to extract from every breath of fresh air he needed the strength to live until the end.
Rapid meters to climb up into the arena.
His cry at that hostile world was screaming animal, deep throaty and not so much directed at his opponent, but to his fate.
eyes transfigured with rage did not see the spectators thronged the stands but only those who stood before him.
The wrestler was at the heart of this cruel theater and waited nonchalantly swinging his sword at his side.
seemed not a man, but a barrier, a barricade erected against another satisfactory day of life.
armed as he was dirty and a short sword and a round shield. The helmet was only open on the front and thus allowed him to see the glassy eyes of his antagonist, a lost look on the crowd or perhaps just indifferent, even to their fate, the Wrapped had a bright red waist band.
He understood then why the guards had made tie as a belt that piece of blue cloth, making it recognizable duelists to bettors.
The other appeared robust, with powerful legs and had often leather protections on the shins. He was wearing a light armor, like his, which covered the shoulders and the chest, but left open the belly and a portion of the sidewall. This allowed the particular type of wound that extends the time the show expanding the agony of the gladiators. The crowd, made drunk with the blood, so he could enjoy more time for the battle.
These thoughts ran fast in his brain, lightning which lightens the situation and helped him make the best decision to win.
generally opposed men with different weapons, but in this case the draw was decided.
Curiously, while evaluating his opponent seemed to perceive the other as a reflection of himself. For a moment she saw the mirror. It was only an impression in his mind, fleeting and terrible, which passed very fast leaving behind only a note of wonder, a kind of delirious estrangement from harsh reality, but now there was no time for thoughts ... It was time to fight, even kill.
Now there was only the present.
A shot then another, fast and accurate attacks follow one another while the clang of the blades like an echo bouncing between the high fences of the amphitheater. The seeming nonchalance of his opponent is completely gone. He fights with ferocity and a significant force. The shots of both are accompanied by grunts and the heavy exhale that help in the effort. Apart from this macabre musical theory between the two fighters, the silence is total. The crowd is usually noisy kidnapped for a few moments from the energy of this duet.
His intuition precedes the opponent's blow, And 'a shot, which struck deaf and strong top-down directly on his shield and gives a sharp pain in his left arm, while the bronze transmits the vibration of impact that penetrates right to the bone. His hand, however, is tempered by training and despite the powerful blow can not lets go.
The fight for life usually lasts a few seconds. Rarely go over minutes, but for those who fight moments seem eternal.
So after the first attacks, the breath becomes short.
He inhales deeply and just shoot the forces he launches into a fake. First right and then, with a quick jump to the left. A move that has repeated many times during training and will surprise the enemy. Gives him a short window of opportunity between the armor and shield, because he made the mistake of lingering over the odds with the latter up.
Almost no time to reflect, the blade slips like a snake with a narrow upright and blow it touches. Penetrates a few centimeters in the side, opening a cut that looks like a smile. But does not sink as well, or might get caught between the coasts.
"Just four fingers, the cut reaches the internal organs" So they had taught. Quick
portrays the body and the blade, while the gush of red blood draws wave lapping on the sand and the left foot with large drops hot. The public finally explodes in a chorus of amazement. That's step back
avoids the thrust of the enemy that it slightly. Then, the surprise for the wound does not have the courage necessary for the antagonist to badger.
again reunite both guard. Experience teaches that a shot like this is not enough. The wound is probably serious, but still leaves too much life. In a place where you decide everything in a matter of seconds, minutes count as so much time in decades, the fortunes can change dramatically.
"It 's more useful to walk around," he thinks moving along a circle drawn close to the ideal warrior struck, like a cat waiting for the right time.
people screaming in the stands who wants to see fight. There is no place on this stage of sand for mercy. The other
Caracalla few steps back, throws the shield to the ground and the hand which held it first now it presses hard against the wound to slow the bleeding that he would lose consciousness in a short time. A decision which deprives it of an important protection, but which of necessity must give up.
opponent's hand turns more and more of the same crimson as if emerging from the side of a big scarlet carnation.
Every action seems to slow down, they are eternal seconds before a new contact and the mind becomes silent.
The audience screams exasperated by the expectation, but he does not hear almost anything, senses alert, the view increasingly acute and colors of objects under the light shine, a light that almost blinds.
Drops sweat flowing from under his helmet that weighs a ton. Turn jerked his head to get rid of. A drop of salt water into his eyes make him blind for a moment and instead the eyes must remain fixed on those of the opponent.
feels the fear of a wave as it reaches infect.
"Focus", urges himself. "Do not waste the opportunity, perhaps the gods will smile today."
Here, the breathing is back to normal, he felt again the strength in the arms and legs, it's time.
Sferra two quick shots, but the other para them well, although the weakness perceived by the enemy blade held with less force.
Then, even moments Long as a life and resumed the fight, close the duelists hours, swords intertwined, the muscles that push, buttocks contracts in a spasm, neither able to advance on the other.
"It 's still strong," but thinks it has a good chance in Serbia and not let her get away. It is a soothing absorbing the momentum of the other, transferring the weight in your heels like a spring and returns to the way the push of a bent branch and then suddenly released.
E 'making a push with your shield, unexpected and elastic. The wounded enemy staggers, stumbles, rests on one knee. Try a decomposed reaction to avert the end he feels next. Lengthens his sword to defend the exposed position, waving the sword right and left like a broom that will keep away the dust, but is slow. The gesture is too weak and does not have time to get up from the kneeling position because he's almost over.
The sword of the other weak arrives on his shield, as he passes over it his blade. Grazing the edge, rising unexpectedly and this time is inside the opponent's defense. Log in well with the toe of the net in the neck, just below the ear where there is no protection of the helmet, and sank the blade coming out the other side as in butter.
A lateral continuity of the attack and the wound open more as it parades and pulls the iron out of reach for a counterattack unexpectedly. A precaution that is useless for his fortune.
The other leaves the sword and brings both hands around his neck. While lapilli of blood leaving the mortal wound to the rhythm of systolic heart.
Piscia life right on the sand of that hole and you hear a strange hissing sound.
"It 's perhaps the silent scream of death?", He asks in a moment of clarity, the survivor.
The enemy fell face forward, while the buttocks and legs for some time to have seizures. They dance the last dance tragic.
"I live, I'm still alive," he thinks as a breath of fresh air inflates his chest like a bellows. E 'drenched in sweat. The tension, however, will not abandon and skin stings like invisible hit by thousands of pins.
Slowly return the hearing, and with it the music of this crazy world. He hears the laughter of the vulgar people, and as its name stands out: "Por-zius! Por-zius." It 's the name the Romans gave it and that is punctuated by the audience in the stadium.
's really a meager gain that reputation over the cost to continue the perpetuation, but this is its price, at least for now. It makes one last look at the dead body that looks like a puppet pale and ragged. "Now you're finally free," he thinks with sadness. "It might have been better if ... No, better not think about it", chased away from his head that this observation could weaken his desire of life.
"This was the last. Today it is over," thinks finally removing his helmet and heads for the basement. The dark secret of waiting for him to swallow, but also to accommodate it.
He ran his hands through his hair wet tired, and greets the sun leaves behind a long sigh condemned.
Novel in Progress ...
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