(If gladiatorial combats were allowed our days. Add yourself wherever you want!)

The sun was baking, his muscles burning with tension, sweat dripping down his forehead, mixing with the blood. Whether it was his blood or his opponent's, Jayce wasn't sure.

Upstairs, in the bleachers, there are rich people, or people who like to watch suffering. Jayce hates them all to the core. Ever since he was a boy, he's been trained for gladiatorial combat. But that didn't make him a killing machine; he still craved warmth, though he never hoped for it.

A defeated opponent lay on the ground, in a pool of his own blood and a smeared skull. In Jayce's hand is his best friend, his large, human-height hammer. Jayce is the most popular of the gladiators, which is a pretty big plus, because he gets handouts from rich people who don't want him to die. One of the handouts is that Jayce only uses his hammer in his fights, it's his signature weapon.