Darius Marek stood in the center of the Colosseum, the roaring crowd deafening around him. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he gripped his weapon, his eyes narrowing on his opponent—a hulking man with a broad chest, wielding a heavy axe. The sand beneath his feet felt familiar, like a stage he’d performed on countless times. But this fight was different. The weight of his desire for freedom burned in his chest.

The signal sounded, and the clash began. His opponent charged forward, axe raised high, aiming to bring it down with brutal force. The crowd screamed with excitement, but Darius remained calm. He had fought men like this before, and he knew that strength alone wouldn’t win this fight.

As the axe swung down, Darius sidestepped with a fluid motion, narrowly avoiding the blow. His movements were precise, calculated—he’d learned long ago that brute strength would only get him so far. His opponent, off balance from the missed strike, stumbled. Darius seized the opportunity. With a swift strike, he slashed across the man’s side, drawing a line of blood. The crowd roared in approval.

But the fight wasn’t over. His opponent recovered quickly, fury in his eyes. Darius knew the man wouldn’t go down easily. This was a battle of minds as much as muscles. He baited the man, pretending to stumble as if weakened by the earlier blow. The crowd gasped, but Darius didn’t flinch. The man took the bait, rushing in for a crushing blow. At the last second, Darius rolled away, leaving his opponent open.

With a swift motion, Darius lunged forward, his blade sinking into the man’s side. The blow was clean, quick, efficient—Darius knew exactly where to strike to bring his opponent down without leaving himself exposed.