'Ugh… what is my name?'
That was the first thought that crossed his mind. In fact, that thought was the only thing that had ever crossed his mind, to his knowledge.
The nameless boy peered around for a glimpse of something familiar, but found nothing. A form of concrete stones surrounded him, and there was an assortment of weapons and armor plates lining the chilly… basement? A relatively tall man was sharpening a curved sword some distance in front, and he paused to look up at the nameless boy who was wearing a strange attire consisting of pants that were cut, and a vibrantly colored shirt of sorts.
"I did not know this gladiator fight was meant for two. May our blades strike true."
The nameless boy hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say, but stopped when he heard the click of a door behind him. Belatedly looking back, he found himself facing a young boy in tattered rags and a man wielding a halberd. The boy in rags began walking forward but was quickly yanked backward by the man, whom the nameless boy perceived to be a guard of sorts.
"There's already bloody two of you."
With that, he slammed the door back and locked it with a click.
The nameless boy blinked a couple of times, then looked back to where the tall man was sitting. He looked up to meet the nameless boy's gaze.
"So be out with it then, what is your name, and what weapon will you be wielding?"
The nameless boy pinched himself on the cheek as if checking if he was dreaming, then eventually spoke.
"What are you talking about? Why am I here, and what is my name?"
The tall man gave him a look of pity.
"Ah, you must be a slave, seeing as you have no name. Such a poor life, being sent here to die. But let it be that you go down with at least a fight. Soon we will fight men and beasts alike; it would be wise for you to choose an easy weapon to wield."
The nameless boy trembled a bit, then picked up a straight sword and a round shield.
"Will this be alright?"
"Yes, that should serve you well."
The nameless boy moved towards the sword-cleaning items that the tall man was sitting next to, but was interrupted by the sound of a ringing bell. The tall man abruptly got up and began walking towards another door.
"That is our call, let our blades strike true. And for the record, comrade, you can call me Azarax."
Azarax confidently opened the door and ascended the steps leading to a blinding light. The nameless boy followed behind Azarax's long, wavy hair.
However, as the boy reached the door, he felt a tugging feeling on his mind. Not quite a physical tug, but something else. Something more mystical, as if not existing within the confines of human touch or pain.
The nameless boy stopped within the confines of the doorway and dedicated his attention to the nag in his head. Or rather, the nag that was in his whole body. As if it were disrupting his very spirit. Unsure of what to do, the nameless boy surrendered to the tug and found a variety of words displayed in front of him.
He was not sure why, but the words and character did not disrupt his vision, as if they did not exist without his focus.
{
[Weak Point(Optic Sight)](–)
(You have an innate understanding of the world around you. Thus, your sight is able to pick up the vital points of living beings)
}
"Hurry and come, comrade, the fight begins."
The nameless boy glanced at the information conveyed through writing over once more, then began his way up the steps.
The boy's mind was racing. He was not sure how he was here and if he was truly about to fight. His consolation was that he might have been a stage actor of sorts. Things were simply going too fast for him. First, he found himself in a weapon-stocked basement, and a moment later, he was allegedly going out to fight.
He pushed the shield he was holding to the side of his arm, then gingerly touched the blade of the sword he was holding. Its blade did not draw blood, but it was quite easy to tell the sword was sharpened to the point where it could take a life. Quite simply, it was created for killing.
As he reached the exit of the stairs, he was greeted by the soft sting of the sun and the radiance that came with it. Basked in the sun's light was a circular enclosure with sandstone ground.
Upon leaving the enclosure, the buzz quickly grew into a loud… applause?
The nameless boy looked around and found himself in an arena surrounded by thousands, if not tens of thousands, of onlookers. The enclosure was large, circular, and made of sandstone bricks. Vaguely in his fractured mind, he registered something. He was in a coliseum.
'Ah… I must be a gladiator.'
The sword, the crowd, the arena, it was all too perfect. All too real. Any wish of this being an act was diminished from his mind. This world he found himself in, with no memories, was his life. Perhaps he had once been a slave, as Azarax had mentioned, but now he was a gladiator.
The grip on his sword and shield trembled a bit as he walked into the arena. Seeing his nervousness, Azarax placed his hand on his shoulder.
"Fear not, no man will strike me down."
The nameless boy looked up at his face and frowned.
"What about me? Many men can strike me down!"
Azarax chuckled lightly, then said while beckoning to the other side of the arena, "Then let it not be that man."
On the other side of the arena, a man emerged, and behind him, a frightening creature emerged. It was roughly the size of two humans and had four legs. Its torso was covered with grey hair, and its head was humanoid, but with a large, fanged mouth.
"Well then, if no man can kill you, what about that thing?"
Azarax turned his head and locked eyes with the boy.
"You worry too much; it is bad for your health. Just watch, and if you do not mind, entertain the man."
With that, the sound of a bell rang out again, and the Azarax advanced towards their adversaries.
The first death match had begun.