Nine Lives

[Gildarts]

The commentator rumbled on the loudspeakers for some time. The narration seemed unending. Gildarts recovered his cape and the bodies were picked up off of the ground but not removed of the dirt and blood they had been stained with.

The stench of death stung their noses. Cal, Cindy, and Gildarts were supposed to be the lucky ones. So were the others, who hobbled out of the arena on crutches, a medic’s arms, or a stretcher. Each injured person groaned in pain. Each a fighter who would survive at the cost of a lost limb that immobilized him to the extent were he could not continue.

Gildarts was lost in the haze of time, and had stared off into the distance for a while. Only was he beckoned back into reality by the tug of a man on his cloak. The Prime looked down to see the man. Every inch of the man’s sweaty skin was covered in the splattering stains of scarlet blood.

This ‘fight’ was no challenge for some people. Those with abnormal powers or with the correct weapon wielded in their hand. And then were the those who tugged on his attire. Gildarts felt his eyes fill with understanding, empathy, and mercy as he took pity on the man with tears in his eyes. The wounded had lost his legs by a sword, or so it had appeared by the cleanness of the cut.

“You bastard.” The maddened man spit, as his words became the spilling of blood on his tongue and over his lips. The secondary expired. Never to live again. Gildarts’ felt he jaw set, enraged by the man’s last words.

Whether the blame was on him for killing him, being the so-called “cause’’ of the competition, or because he had fought for his life and won. No matter the cause, it was meant to stir some survivors guilt. If Gildarts was repulsed, it did not show on his face. Not even a cringe scarred his motionless features. Cal observed this, his static hands idle and folded underneath his elbows, and Cindy could have given a damn.

Gildarts followed the dead man’s stretcher with intent to leave, only to have the iron bars of the gate slam in his face. Anger went unquenched on his unspoken tongue as he looked at the sharpened pegs that drilled into the dirt below. He had almost been guillotined.

His cheek loitered like stone inches from the steel bar. “Allow me passage, or you will regret it.” The threat, open and filled with flame. The man of service shivered and muttered in cowardice, “B-b-but t-that’s against the rules!” He pointed at the powerful Prime and scurried off before Gildarts could protest further.

“I will be leaving.” He demanded to Cal, who seemed to be the most receptive person around. He hadn’t even tilted his ear in the caged Prime’s direction.

Gildarts was bothered, the well-known Fairytail wizard was not used to being invisible. He almost was challenged to stay by the thought of making his name known, however he would not be held against his will and he bartered with an unrelenting guard.

Finally, Cal seemed to be sick of hearing the Prime, and grumbled, “My god, won’t you stop?” To Gildarts before facing the guard, “Don’t we get to take a piss?” Cal finally gestured over a guard. Who magically opened the latch and the door rose.