I slept fitfully that night, and the next morning was heralded in all too soon by the sound of the other fighters practicing, praying to their respective deities, or eating a hurried breakfast. I didn't eat; I felt sick to my stomach. I wasn't scared of the fight itself; I had fought countless times before. It was more the thought of possibly losing Layala that upset me more than anything else.

I glanced over at Layala, who was picking at a bowl of porridge. I noticed that the hand she was holding the spoon with was shaking. She was staring blankly at the porridge, her mind clearly on other things. I walked behind her and looked over her shoulder at the food.

"That porridge must be fascinating," I said jokingly, trying to lighten her mood.

She broke out of her daze and laughed softly. "No, it's actually quite repulsive." She poked at it halfheartedly. As the mealy substance separated in the thin milk, I felt my stomach turn as I realized that she was probably right. 

"It'll be alright, you know," I said, trying my best to sound reassuring.

"Do you really think so?" She said, worry filtering into her voice.

I didn't know, to be honest. In fact, the chances of it turning out alright were slim. But there was no point in telling her that. Besides, I felt like I needed to be assured myself.
"I hope so," I murmured, trying to project confidence I didn't feel into my voice. I slowly walked over to the other side of the room, looking out the tiny barred window.

I could see a long line outside. People were gathering for the fight, I assumed. Many of them had bags of money at their belts, and several groups were huddled together counting coins and exchanging them. What kind of people would enjoy watching such a spectacle, much less bet on it? I looked at each person in the line individually, and as I studied them and their rich, colorful robes and soft hands my answer came. Only those who had never experienced such horrors firsthand.

The thought took me back to the first time I had killed... Over six years ago, when I was just a boy of twelve.

*Flashback*==================

I spit out a mouthful of blood as I got back onto my feet. My opponent, one of my friends named Edil, stood a short distance away holding a bowstaff. I reached for my weapon, a short halberd with a hook on the end, and stood tall, ignoring the pain from the previous blow. My right eye was already swelling, and it was difficult to see through it.

Edil wordlessly lunged at me, using a quick combination of strikes that put me into retreat. His skill with a bowstaff was unparalleled among the younger fighters, and the quick spinning of the weapon unnerved me. Instead of blocking the attacks I focused on getting out of the way. I was letting him have the upper hand, gauging his attentiveness.

The staff whirred as Edil rapidly spun it around, pushing me further back until I was nearly to the edge of the ring.

It was now or never.

I rapidly sprang into the air, my momentum carrying me over Edil as I used the outer wall as a launching pad. As I passed overhead I managed to land a kick on his face that knocked him back. As soon as my feet made contact with the ground I spun around, the blade of my halberd making contact with my opponent's back. He let out a cry of pain that he quickly silenced. We had been trained not to show emotion in a fight, no matter the pain.

I looked over to where my father and several other of our tribe's leading members sat. They were shaking their heads in disapproval and murmuring amongst themselves.

I looked back at Edil just in time to duck a swing that had been aimed for my head. He had recovered to some extent, though his breathing was heavier and I noticed blood dripping onto the ground from his back. I now had the upper hand.

I swung my halberd, and Edil blocked the blow just in time. I swung again, harder this time. I noticed that he was blocking with the exact same part of his staff each time. So I swung once more, this time putting my full strength into it. His bowstaff split in half with a loud crack and he sprang backwards, out of the reach of my weapon. I saw fear in his eyes.

I stalked forward like a tiger that had cornered his prey. Edil suddenly launched forward in a last ditch attack, sending a swinging kick towards my head. But we both knew that I was the better hand to hand fighter.

I narrowed my eyes and threw my halberd away, pouncing on him with a jumping punch, followed by several swift strikes. He blocked with his forearms and stepped back. His breathing was labored and he looked pale. The wound in his back must have been deeper than I thought it was.

Unexpectedly he drew the knife from his belt and leapt at me. With lightning fast speed I grabbed his wrist and twisted the knife out of his hands, grabbing it in my other hand and stabbing him in the stomach.

His eyes widened in shock and he stepped back. "Well... done Rukil," he gasped quietly and fell to his knees. I walked behind him, putting the knife to his neck and looking at the tribe's leaders. My father looked at me with pride... No, it wasn't pride. It was something else. Approval, perhaps. He had never been proud of me before.

"Kill him," he said emotionlessly, his tattooed face wrinkling. The other elders nodded in affirmation.

I looked back at Edil. He looked back up at me and nodded defeatedly. He knew he had lost fairly. This is how it was supposed to happen. But despite that, there was fear in his eyes. Fear of death.

I didn't want to kill him. We had been friends from a young age... Or at least, as best of friends as we could be, given that all we did was practice fighting. But if I didn't, I would be sold into slavery. Maybe even executed.

"I'm ready," Edil whispered. He closed his eyes and raised his head, leaving his neck vulnerable to my blade. I closed my own eyes and cried out, pulling the blade across his neck in a swift motion.

His body fell to the ground with a thud, a few spurts of blood hitting my face as he fell. I opened my eyes and looked at the elders, hate gleaming in my eyes. I would never forget.

=========================

I had taken part in many fights after that. I knew to never befriend opponents. But I fought until I could kill no more. I would have been sent to fight in the Pit regardless. I finally refused to kill an opponent, and so I was sold into sent to Master Dakil... Just so I could eventually kill here instead.
It would've been a mercy if they had just executed me instead of letting me live to do this, I thought to myself with bitterness. Why was I subjected to such punishment? What had I done to deserve it?

"Rukil?" A guttural voice broke me from my reverie. I turned around to see Lykar standing at the door.

"The fight is about to begin, it's time to make preparations," he said, motioning down the hallway. "There's a sizable armory down the hall, you should pick out your weapons before they're all taken."

Layala followed Lykar into the hallway, and I followed her. She seemed nervous, but ready.

We reached a large room full of weapons and armor. Several fighters were mulling through them, taking their pick of the best weapons.

"Knowing the way you both fight, I recommend finding some light armor. The heavy stuff will only slow you down," Lykar pointed to a row of armor stands. I walked over and examined each, finally deciding on a suit of red-stained leather with spiked leather pauldrons. I strapped it on and went over to a table upon which were many helmets of all shapes and sizes. One in particular caught my eye.

It was a steel helmet with a tall red crest. It had a slit for the eyes that also went down and left the bottom open. It would suitably protect my entire head while still allowing enough visibility to see around me.

I picked it up and it was surprisingly light. This helmet would definitely do. I put it on, the odor of sweat immediately assailing my senses. It had been used... Recently. 

After taking a moment to acclimate to the strong smell I turned and looked around, searching the room for Layala. I found her on the far side of the room.

She was wearing a black headwrap that covered all but her eyes. A suit of light chain mail covered the sleeveless black leather cuirass she had chosen, providing a good combination of protection and mobility.

I strode over to her and looked down at her through the slit of my helmet.

"My, you look intimidating," she laughed and gently pushed me.

I grinned. "You don't exactly look like someone little children would run to for help yourself."

She raised an eyebrow and removed the headwrap. "What weapon will you use?"

I glanced over at the weapon rack, and pointed at a short, double-bladed spear.

"That right there. That'll do nicely. What about you?"

She patted the daggers on either side of her belt. "These. That's what I'm best with right?"

I glanced back at the weapon rack. Taking Layala's hand, I walked over to it and picked up a javelin.

"You're quite good with one of these as well. It might be useful to be able to attack from a distance, we don't know what we'll be fighting out there." I handed the javelin to her, and she picked up two more.

"You're right." She put all three javelins into a large bag and slung them over her back.

"Are you ready?" She asked with a sigh.

 "As ready as I'll ever be." I reached into my pocket, feeling the cold steel of the necklace. There had been no opportunity to give it to her; But I knew that if I didn't now, there was a chance I never would. I opened my mouth to speak, but she began first. 

"Promise me you'll make it," Layala whispered, her voice breaking.

"I'll do my best," I replied, my own voice quivering slightly. Before I had a chance to continue, she wrapped her arms around me, and I returned the embrace as I felt a pang of sorrow. Something within me told me that we wouldn't leave this fight unscathed. We stood in silence for a moment, oblivious to the other fighters in the room. I finally pulled away and looked her in the eye.

"Stay with me, alright? We won't stand a chance if we're separated." I put the helmet back on.

Layala took my hand and squeezed it. "I will," she said softly.

I opened her hand and slid the necklace into it, struggling to think of the right words to say. 

"I..." I began. Just then a loud horn sounded, its call echoing through the room.

"That's our signal," she said quietly, looking up into my eyes.

"We should go," I agreed reluctantly, inwardly kicking myself for not saying what I had wanted to. I slowly released her hand and we filed into the main hallway with the other fighters.

Lykar was waiting for us and motioned for us to follow him. The path began to go upwards until we reached a small door at the end.

"This is it," Lykar said with finality. "Through that door is the holding room. You will be elevated onto the arena from there. Good luck, may Morgoth show favor to you." He looked at us both for a moment, then turned away and disappeared down the long hallway.

I took a deep breath and locked eyes with Layala. This was indeed it... For better or worse.