(Pre-Show) The Barracks

[Gildarts]

The silver doors rolled open and he breathed it in. Karl's air, now his own. He thought it had a distasteful essence, but perhaps that was his own vengeance. This place he had been transported to seemed to be made up of endless doors that branched from one narrow hallway to the next. The Barracks resembled the same cage that Gildarts had already pictured himself hostage in. The Prime caught the faint glimpse of the back of a golden head before the shining gleam of armor trailed behind a corner.

Absent-mindedly, Gildarts sauntered forward, as though the room were his own but was careful enough not to break the walls. It was too late for escape, but that had never really been an option anyway. Warriors were never truly free of battle, and somehow, it always seemed to find him.

The immortal strolled the out of the metal box, his only regret was having been forced to leave the beautiful Michelle in the middle of his charismatic charm. A voice had interrupted the delight of her laughter and called to his masculine physique, "Hey, Blackjack," it was a malicious slur, "You're coming with us. All Prime's are to be escorted to the next level. You'll have to leave the woman behind."

"Blackjack?" Gildarts had never played cards, and could only assume they were talking about his cloak. He departed from Michelle, but not without farewell.

The guards in the elevator waved their own goodbye and they dismissed the Prime. As the doors closed behind, one intimidated escort whispered to his friend and the elevator began its decent once more, "Man what a scary one, he didn't say anything to us the entire way up!"

"Arrogant bastard. I'll never get over that righteous entitlement Primes feel they have over us as secondaries. They always fail to realize that it's actually us who make their world go round, yet treat us less than slaves. Neither a hello, nor a goodbye. Typical." Scoffed the uniformed man with a cynical face.

"Yeah, man. Still, I can't help but to wonder what was going through his mind with that serious look on 'is face." The younger, and still more fearful of the two imagined how a man could ever grow into such a resolved monster.

"Gah, Reggy, you're too soft, trying to sympathize with everyone you meet. He was probably planning how he will murder everyone in this competition, that's what he's here for. There's no better place than the battlefield for a gladiator like that to flex his muscles, flaunt his skill, and get paid for it. Not to mention the added bonus."

"I donno Prat, that one didn't seem to be doing this for the sport." Reggy, the youth, pointed out and shifted his feet as the floor swept from beneath him in a motion that sent his stomach hurtling into his throat.

"Oh, how could you tell? Was it the fact that he was standing in front of us after signing his name and mingling with the masses? Or maybe that special intuition you got there?" The sarcasm was laden in Prat's voice, who chastised any weakness.

"Neither," Reggy said dismissively, "He only had one arm."