The ce was dingy and smelled of sweat and blood. But the lights shone brilliantly at the fight below. The only thing that separated the shrieking crowds from the two people going at it in the caged ring, were fists to flesh.


    One of the men looked like he could''ve been sculpted by the gods themselves. He was big and fit, he would''ve been the perfect diator in the olden days. It looked like he was born for this, the way he seemed to enjoy caving in skulls.


    While the other looked skinny and unappealing. Anyone would''ve thought that the match up was unfair, but there was nothing fair about the fight ring. Fighters were totally chosen by the crowds.


    If you were not a favourite of theirs, they''d match you up with the greatest of monsters known in the fighting ring. Of course most fights ended without any fatalities, but some, some did. There were a very stubborn people who didn''t concede even when they knew their fates.


    There were those who preferred death than to be made an entertainment for high and middle society, so they''d purposely not concede. This was a favourite oue amongst the crowds.


    The prisoners weren''t the only ones caged. Every sick bastard that paid to watch something so primitive and vile, had their own demons caged in society. While they actually showed their true nature within these walls.


    Every blood sttered was cheered for, every bone crunching. Every cries for help were met with boos,ughter and spitting.


    Bets of course were inevitable. They had all the money in the world to waste, some even bet on prisoners, knowing that they''d lose, just for the fun of it.


    The skinny man was obviously out of his depth, he was being dragged all over the caged ring. His punches, when they managed tond didn''t seem to do much to the diator.


    He didn''t seem to even avoid his punch, he weed the pain and possibility of being drenched in blood. People certainly had their weird fetishes in this ce, but nobody here judged or even bat an eye.


    The skinny man was breathing unevenly, announcing his end on the perilous road. It was excruciating, every time he''d been called to fight he thought it''d be hisst time. But he was too much of a coward to let himself die, so conceded each time.


    This time though, he didn''t care how many punch were nted on his bony body. He didn''t care if he couldn''t take the pain at the moment anymore. He reminded himself that, if he conceded now, this pain would continue on, it would be his life.


    He had his teeth clenched together so that it would be difficult to say anything. The diator wasn''t merciful, he never liked finishing his opponents quickly. He loved smacking them around for a while before dropping the finishing blow on them.


    This fight was no different. He mostly went for his arms and legs, careful not to damage his organs before he was tired of ying with his toy.


    "The diator sure loves to y with his food." One manmented from the stands. He wasn''tining, the longer the fight was, the better for those watching.


    They hade here for entertainment after all and they were getting it.


    "Yeah, your skinnyd is about to die, why did you bet on him again? This was obvious from the start who would win." Said another betting man, shaking his head.


    "What can I say, I love the unexpected. I can only hope that one day I''ll get it right." He shrugged.


    The man had always put his bets against the diator. He had a thing for underdogs. He never liked anything that was obvious, the subtlety made things exciting after all.


    "You''re a strange man Arnold."


    "I know you haven''t been part of this for long, but we don''t really use names here. So don''t do it again."


    The man apologetically smiled and nodded his head. It''d only been a few weeks since he was allowed in the inner most of the secret society''s doings, he didn''t want to mess it up, not for anything. He was naturally told of the rules, but it was easy to slip up when you were new.


    Their conversation was interrupted with a roar from within the cage. Which only riled up the crowd even more, that was the cry the diator used when he was ready to y his opponents.


    They watched as he picked up the skinny man above his head and dropped him to his knee. The crack could be heard, despite the fact that it wasn''tpletely silent. As if on cue, the crowd imitated his roar as he let it out once again.


    He jumped, dropping his knee directly to his head. The man underneath didn''t have time to cry out this time, as death immediately took him as one of his own. Blood and his brain were on the floor.


    Which made the crowd go even wilder, they had never seen such a spectacle before. They didn''t know if it was because the diator was too strong or the man was simply too weak.


    The diator roared once again, and begun hitting his head as a form of victory. He then walked to the gate, his hands in front of him. Handcuffs zoomed out of nowhere and bound his hands together.


    The gate then opened for him. He stepped out, not even daring to look at the crowd, he walked straight to his cell. Usually, prisoners shared a cell amongst themselves, but he was special around here. He had his own quarters and he could eat just about anything he wanted.


    You could tell the man was a stallion in his past life, but this ce hadpletely broken his spirit and now, he was something else. The animalistic instinct kicked in when he realised that, this was something he had to do in order to survive.


    He entered his his cell, which locked behind him. He sighed and walked to a wall with many lines crossed, he used the cuffs to draw another line and crossed it.