As Steven took his first steps into the arena, the very first thing that hit him was the undoubtedly ear-deafening cheering from the innumerable voices packed within the Colosseum.
The sound struck him like a physical force, crashing into his senses so violently that his head rang. His eyes instinctively shot upward toward the hundreds of rising seats. At first, the brightness overwhelmed him, the sunlight reflecting off pale stone and polished bodies blinding him completely. He squinted and blinked erratically, his vision swimming, until slowly—painfully—the entire Colosseum came into focus before him.
The view stole his breath.
Hundreds… no, maybe thousands of people were seated there, stacked row upon row, all yelling, all screaming words that dissolved into nothing more than a singular, oppressive roar inside Steven's ears. It wasn't encouragement. It wasn't joy. It was hunger—raw, impatient, and cruel.
All of these people seated above, unlike the slaves and prisoners who drowned daily in despair under ruthless starvation and inhumane accommodations, existed on a completely different plane of life.
Steven's eyes drifted across the crowd, scanning faces, bodies, silhouettes.
He could not spot a single one of them who looked skinny—not even by the slightest margin.
No. None of them were.
They were fat, bloated like well-fed pigs. Their mouths were puffy and wet with excess, their bodies obese, arms bulky with indulgence rather than labor. They wore clothing of the finest linings Steven could imagine for this time and era—layers of dyed fabric, jewelry that glimmered under the sun, sandals that had clearly never touched dirt.
He wasn't even sure if some of them could bend over to pick up a pen if they wanted to.
Yet instead of being reborn into this realm as one of them, he had been born as a commoner.
'What mundane luck,' he thought bitterly, his hands clenching into trembling fists at his sides.
Still, something felt… wrong.
Very wrong.
The way these people looked—too clean, too full, too perfect. Their smiles were wide, almost stretched, and their eyes glittered with something Steven couldn't quite define.
They seemed rather… too good to be true.
He couldn't put his finger on it, couldn't give the feeling a name, but unease crawled beneath his skin. For now, he decided to keep the thought to himself until he could understand what exactly felt so twisted.
As he did this, he slowly turned, taking his time to scan the entirety of the arena itself.
It was massive.
A circular pit of pale stone, roughly eighty feet wide, its surface scarred with old stains that no amount of cleaning could truly erase. There was more than enough space for a one-versus-one battle—enough room for bloodshed to unfold without obstruction.
"Strange," Steven muttered under his breath.
Another section of the wall rumbled, stone grinding against stone, and an opening revealed itself. From it, another contestant stepped into the arena.
A man—older than Steven. He had a short black beard, patchy and unkempt. His body was skinny, though not nearly as emaciated as Steven's own. His face was unpleasant to look at, asymmetrical and rough, yet compared to Steven—who resembled a rotted corpse dragged back to life—this man would be considered handsome by many.
Steven guessed this was his enemy.
Still… something felt off.
Very off.
The man paid him no attention beyond a single glance. One look—that was all. His eyes swept over Steven briefly before dismissing him entirely, as though Steven didn't even qualify as a threat.
Or maybe something far worse.
And then, once again, a notification sprang into existence before Steven's eyes.
{Location: Fated Colosseum}
{DESCRIPTION: The venue where the poor and ill-tended come to entertain the rich and the Deity of the Sea. Each fighter must strive to survive and kill their enemy. The reward for victory is life. The punishment for loss is death, marking the end of the immortality Ark'shaRin has granted.}
"Ark'shaRin?" Steven muttered.
As the name left his lips, something inside his mind cracked open.
A sudden surge of memories flooded his consciousness—memories that were not his.
They belonged to the original owner of this wretched husk of a body.
Rat.
Steven's vision blurred as his awareness sank deeper, his surroundings dissolving while the memories replayed themselves as vividly as lived experience. It felt less like remembering and more like reliving.
The memories pulled him back nearly two hundred years.
Back then, Rat had been an orphan, much like Steven himself. But unlike now, Rat had held a reputable job—one that earned him enough to live decently. Enough to own a modest house, eat good food, and perhaps, in a few years, even start a family.
His profession was that of a village fisherman.
Hirim village depended heavily on fish for survival. Their soil was useless for farming; whatever crops they attempted to grow perished within a week under the land's harsh conditions. Animal farming fared no better. Without sufficient plants to feed cows, goats, or rams, livestock starved and died just as quickly.
Many called it a cursed land.
Yet it was the only land the people of Hirim had ever known.
None had ever ventured beyond the village. The vast plains of rock and distant mountains surrounding them were believed to hold nothing—only death and emptiness.
And so, fishing became the lifeline of the village.
For someone like Rat, the profession was a blessing. People said he had a way with fish—that the river favored him. They called him a miracle finder, sang praises of his skill, claiming no fisherman could match his daily catch. All of it, they believed, was thanks to his dedication to the Sea Deity.
Back then, he had gone by a different name.
Steven tried to grasp it, to see it clearly—but it remained vague, obscured, as though a veil had been deliberately placed over that fragment of memory.
Then came the day everything changed.
On one of Rat's many fishing expeditions, something went wrong.
No matter how hard he tried—every method, every trick born of desperation—not a single fish took his bait. He toiled in the river for hours, sweating, cursing, exhausting himself until finally he gave up.
'Perhaps today just isn't my day,' he had thought.
But when he returned to the island, he was met with the impossible.
A crowd had gathered and before them stood a beast.
A monstrous figure—part anteater, part something far worse. It bore the elongated face and body structure of the animal, yet instead of fur, its skin was bald and slick, riddled with countless pores. Its texture resembled that of a starfish, uneven and alien. The creature was the size of a fully grown elephant, yet disturbingly humanoid in posture.
It sat calmly, hands spread wide, as though presenting a grand performance.
Rat stood frozen at a distance as the villagers fell to their knees, bowing, praising the creature in reverence—as though it were their god.
At first, Rat was stunned, others weren't, instead they were amazed.
Standing before the beast was a man once known throughout the village as wrinkled and crippled since birth. Now he stood tall and straight, without a single imperfection. His skin was smooth, his muscles full and healthy. A man who once couldn't afford a scrap of bread now looked stronger than Rat himself.
The deity smiled, revealing rows of glistening, unnatural teeth.
"I am the god of the sea," it declared. "I, Ark'shaRin, have come to share the wondrous intent of my mercy upon the people of Hirim."
Its voice gurgled painfully, wet and distorted, yet despite how monstrous it sounded, the villagers found it comforting—enticing rather than terrifying.
They rushed forward.
Begging, Pleading and Offering prayers.
Still Rat stayed where he was and gor a fleeting moment, Ark'shaRin's gaze met his.
And it frowned.
A sharp unease twisted Ray's gut. He immediately averted his eyes, refusing to meet the Sea Deity's gaze again.
Months passed.
The fish vanished from the river, as though they had never existed.
Fishing died and farming followed.
All other professions meant to sustain Hirim faded into irrelevance.
No one needed them anymore.
They had Ark'shaRin.
The Sea Deity fed them by tearing pieces from its own fingers and offering the flesh freely. The villagers consumed it without hesitation, their bodies growing stronger, healthier, fuller.
Temples were built in its honor, Poems were written, Songs were sung.
For a time, the village forgot suffering, sickness, and despair.
For a time, everything felt right.
Until—
The Deity grew bored.
//Author's note//
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