https://arenafighter.adult/mybb/ Mon, 27 Apr 2026 14:14:43 +0000 MyBB https://arenafighter.adult/mybb/showthread.php?tid=4041 Tue, 18 Feb 2020 15:56:53 +0000 BattlesandDeaths]]> https://arenafighter.adult/mybb/showthread.php?tid=4041 His name was Marcus, the youngest son of the Count of Verdeu. You had sworn to the count that you would keep him safe in the family estate while the count was away at war. You weren't really sre why he chose you to stay behind and could see the jealous look in my eyes. You had alway's been the Count's right-hand man, so it came as a surprise that I would be going with him to war while you stayed back on babysitting duty.

You never really trusted me. You knew how cunning I actually was. You always questioned the count for trusting me, but he would always reassure you that my loyalty was to him.

While the Count and I were away at war. You had spent several months alone with Marcus and became far closer than either of you had imagined. You trained him well with the sword and helped him tone up his young body. You had secretly enjoyed watching his youthful, strong muscles glistening with sweat in the sunlight. You had known him as a boy, but with each passing day, you saw how much of a man he had become.

It was quite shocking news when you heard the Count to be slain in battle. I was the second in command of the Count's forces and had laid claim to his title, declaring that Marcus was too young. It was well-known amongst the townspeople that I had been the one who killed his father, and I was arrogant enough to boast of having killed Marcus' older brother three years earlier, when it was believed he was killed by a stray hunter's arrow to his chest.

Your relationship blossomed when word was delivered of his father's death. You knew that you would have to be the one to tell him. You dismissed the other servants for the day and found him in the bath-house. When you told him, he began sobbing and wrapped his arms around your waste and cried against your muscular chest. His smooth, naked body pressed hard against yours. You felt his strong muscles vibrating against your body as he pressed his even harder against you. You held him in your arms and ran your hands across his back, cradling him in your strong embrace.

You carried the young man to his room and laid him in his bed, but as you truned to leave, he asked you to stay, saying that he did not want to be alone. So, you spent the whole night in his bed with him curled up in your embrace. Your muscular chest caressed against his.

When I had finally arrived back in town, you and Marcus had decided to end it all here. You were informed that the slayer of his father had come to put an end to the family line and knew that you could not talk Marcus out of the opportunity to avenge his father's death. And you, yourself, did not want to pass up that opportunity either.

You were both standing in the entryway of the palace when I walked in. I pulled my sword from its sheath and said, pointing it at Marcus, "It's time to put the old days behind us and bring in the new."
"Over my dead body," your voice bellowed aggressively at me.
"That is the idea." My retort exuded the arrogant confidence that I was renown for.

Marcus hadn't even pulled out his sword when I took the first swing at his throat. Luckily for him, you were in your best form and deflected the swing over his head. Marcus then pulled out his sword at tried a quick jab at my midsection, which, I quickly side-stepped and kicked his chest, sending him backwards against the ground.

Grabbing his sword from the ground, I then turned my attention towards you, blocking your every strike with one sword, while forcing you to step back as I swung the other. When you were about twenty feet from the boy, I gave you a hard head-butt to the face, sending you down to the ground.

As I raised my sword to jab into your bare mid-section, Marcus jabbed a small dagger into my muscular back, causing me to bellow out in pain. AARGGGHHHH!!!!!

I then turned my attention to the boy, who tried to flee from my wrathful fury. As he ran to the stairway, he stumbled on the first step and fell face-first on the stairs. I then rammed one sword into his lower back, causing his to cry out in pain. "Wwwuuaaagghhh!!" Hit back arched as the blade ram him through. The tip stuck out of his navel and clinked against the stone stairs.

I then turned to go back after you when Marcus let out a boastful yell, "You fucking coward!! You can only kill someone by stabbing them in the back."

Immediately my rage built back up inside me and I turned back to the mouthy brat. "Well, let's just see, you arrogant boy."

I flipped Marcus over and pinned him against the steps, his glaring brown eyes staring straight at me. I pulled out the small dagger that had been protruding from my beefy back and rammed it into his navel, watching his front muscles all tighten up at the pain, as he struggled hard not to cry out, fearing a dishonorable death. I then backed up and put the tip of his own sword against his chest. "Time to die by your own sword."

But, before I could deal the deadly blow, my back arched forward and the blade of your sword stuck out of my gut, just above the navel. I again let out a roar of pain, strong and manly. "AAAAArrrrrrrggghhh!!!
Marcus pulled the blade from his gut and jabbed it into mine, just below the navel, causing my whole body to spasm from the orgasmic shock. I fell beside the boy, my muscles jerking trying to ward off death.

You then grabbed Marcus' body and surveyed the damage, and you realized that his wounds were mortal. The fear was prevalent in your eyes, and even Marcus felt the need to comfort you. "Don't worry, we got him. My father will know that you gave all you could to keep me safe. I'll tell him myself."

You picked up the boy in your embrace and held his body against yours. You then felt him arch forward suddenly and begin violently trembling and did not realize why until my blade had completely pierced his chest and was protruding deep into yours. Blood filled your lungs so quickly, you had no time to holler. Only a muffled cough of blood left your lips. You felt your own body begin trembling as you looked into the wide, brown eyes of the young man whose lifeless body was now pinned against yours.

You then fell forward, pressing the boy between both of our dying bodies. This made the sword pierce even deeper into your chest. The last thing you saw before the world turned black, was my dead stare peering over the shoulder of the boy as your fleshy chest pressed against his.]]> His name was Marcus, the youngest son of the Count of Verdeu. You had sworn to the count that you would keep him safe in the family estate while the count was away at war. You weren't really sre why he chose you to stay behind and could see the jealous look in my eyes. You had alway's been the Count's right-hand man, so it came as a surprise that I would be going with him to war while you stayed back on babysitting duty.

You never really trusted me. You knew how cunning I actually was. You always questioned the count for trusting me, but he would always reassure you that my loyalty was to him.

While the Count and I were away at war. You had spent several months alone with Marcus and became far closer than either of you had imagined. You trained him well with the sword and helped him tone up his young body. You had secretly enjoyed watching his youthful, strong muscles glistening with sweat in the sunlight. You had known him as a boy, but with each passing day, you saw how much of a man he had become.

It was quite shocking news when you heard the Count to be slain in battle. I was the second in command of the Count's forces and had laid claim to his title, declaring that Marcus was too young. It was well-known amongst the townspeople that I had been the one who killed his father, and I was arrogant enough to boast of having killed Marcus' older brother three years earlier, when it was believed he was killed by a stray hunter's arrow to his chest.

Your relationship blossomed when word was delivered of his father's death. You knew that you would have to be the one to tell him. You dismissed the other servants for the day and found him in the bath-house. When you told him, he began sobbing and wrapped his arms around your waste and cried against your muscular chest. His smooth, naked body pressed hard against yours. You felt his strong muscles vibrating against your body as he pressed his even harder against you. You held him in your arms and ran your hands across his back, cradling him in your strong embrace.

You carried the young man to his room and laid him in his bed, but as you truned to leave, he asked you to stay, saying that he did not want to be alone. So, you spent the whole night in his bed with him curled up in your embrace. Your muscular chest caressed against his.

When I had finally arrived back in town, you and Marcus had decided to end it all here. You were informed that the slayer of his father had come to put an end to the family line and knew that you could not talk Marcus out of the opportunity to avenge his father's death. And you, yourself, did not want to pass up that opportunity either.

You were both standing in the entryway of the palace when I walked in. I pulled my sword from its sheath and said, pointing it at Marcus, "It's time to put the old days behind us and bring in the new."
"Over my dead body," your voice bellowed aggressively at me.
"That is the idea." My retort exuded the arrogant confidence that I was renown for.

Marcus hadn't even pulled out his sword when I took the first swing at his throat. Luckily for him, you were in your best form and deflected the swing over his head. Marcus then pulled out his sword at tried a quick jab at my midsection, which, I quickly side-stepped and kicked his chest, sending him backwards against the ground.

Grabbing his sword from the ground, I then turned my attention towards you, blocking your every strike with one sword, while forcing you to step back as I swung the other. When you were about twenty feet from the boy, I gave you a hard head-butt to the face, sending you down to the ground.

As I raised my sword to jab into your bare mid-section, Marcus jabbed a small dagger into my muscular back, causing me to bellow out in pain. AARGGGHHHH!!!!!

I then turned my attention to the boy, who tried to flee from my wrathful fury. As he ran to the stairway, he stumbled on the first step and fell face-first on the stairs. I then rammed one sword into his lower back, causing his to cry out in pain. "Wwwuuaaagghhh!!" Hit back arched as the blade ram him through. The tip stuck out of his navel and clinked against the stone stairs.

I then turned to go back after you when Marcus let out a boastful yell, "You fucking coward!! You can only kill someone by stabbing them in the back."

Immediately my rage built back up inside me and I turned back to the mouthy brat. "Well, let's just see, you arrogant boy."

I flipped Marcus over and pinned him against the steps, his glaring brown eyes staring straight at me. I pulled out the small dagger that had been protruding from my beefy back and rammed it into his navel, watching his front muscles all tighten up at the pain, as he struggled hard not to cry out, fearing a dishonorable death. I then backed up and put the tip of his own sword against his chest. "Time to die by your own sword."

But, before I could deal the deadly blow, my back arched forward and the blade of your sword stuck out of my gut, just above the navel. I again let out a roar of pain, strong and manly. "AAAAArrrrrrrggghhh!!!
Marcus pulled the blade from his gut and jabbed it into mine, just below the navel, causing my whole body to spasm from the orgasmic shock. I fell beside the boy, my muscles jerking trying to ward off death.

You then grabbed Marcus' body and surveyed the damage, and you realized that his wounds were mortal. The fear was prevalent in your eyes, and even Marcus felt the need to comfort you. "Don't worry, we got him. My father will know that you gave all you could to keep me safe. I'll tell him myself."

You picked up the boy in your embrace and held his body against yours. You then felt him arch forward suddenly and begin violently trembling and did not realize why until my blade had completely pierced his chest and was protruding deep into yours. Blood filled your lungs so quickly, you had no time to holler. Only a muffled cough of blood left your lips. You felt your own body begin trembling as you looked into the wide, brown eyes of the young man whose lifeless body was now pinned against yours.

You then fell forward, pressing the boy between both of our dying bodies. This made the sword pierce even deeper into your chest. The last thing you saw before the world turned black, was my dead stare peering over the shoulder of the boy as your fleshy chest pressed against his.]]> https://arenafighter.adult/mybb/showthread.php?tid=29 Tue, 16 Jul 2019 05:46:16 +0000 BattlesandDeaths]]> https://arenafighter.adult/mybb/showthread.php?tid=29 Brad was a cocky American. Some damned cowboy, who had no clue as to his place in society. He had grown up bouncing between youth ranches for troubled teens, until he met the duke's son. They both turned 18 within a month of each other. When the duke's son decided to return to his home, he brought Brad back as a stable hand.


While Brad's attitude was in need of being checked, he was most certainly good with horses. He had been working in the stables for 4 years. Carrying buckets of food and water really taxed his strength and the result was a firm, muscular build.


The duke's son would sneak out regularly to the stables, where Brad was and the two would hold private encounters in the straw of an empty stable. Brad loved it. While he was always to be submissive as a servant, those encounters made him the master of the future duke. What could be more exhilarating than making his master's son kneel before him, or to make him groan from pain and pleasure.


Rumors began quietly circulating about Brad and the duke's son. One night, the duke took a few of his men and went out to the stables, catching the two young lovers.


The duke dragged his son back to the manor house, leaving his men to handle Brad. Ever so cocky, Brad pulled up his pants and looked at the duke's head servant. “So, what you gonna do now? Fire me?”


The head servant only gave a mere smirk..... “Sort of.” To that, he gave a nod to the five men with him and each one pulled a cross bow from his back.


Brad was shocked. “What the hell is this?” He stood arrogantly by the wall. He was already pissed from being treated as an inferior, but the nerve of these bastards, threatening him like this. They didn't need weapons. All they needed to do was tell him to go and he would gladly leave.


The duke's men each locked an arrow in his bow and held it in front of them. “What the f**k is this? You're going to kill me?” Brad could see from the look on the lead servant's face that this was the case.


“You should have thought twice before creating such a scandal in the duke's household. You're nothing but a filthy stable rat, thinking you could screw your way into the manor house.”


“So, what? Now you're gonna kill my for f**king his son. Why not kill him for f**king me?”


“His father will deal with him. You, on the other hand, would most likely use this to blackmail the duke into some sort of annual income. We will not stand for you tarnishing the name of this house.”


Brad watched as the servants all aimed their bows at his bare chest. His mind quickly jumped. His initial thought was to run like hell. He could feel his bare feet clench against the floor. No, he thought. I'm not going to run.


Brad looked defiantly at the servants. He spread out his arms and braced himself against the wall. He raised his chin and glared at the head servant. “F**k you and your master's house.”


With that, the arrows let go. Brad felt the first two hit him in the chest, causing his chest to twist first to the right, then to the left. A third arrow nailed him below the navel, causing his hips to jump forward. The final two rammed into his upper abs, forcing him to bend forward.


Brad, merely let out a hardened grunt when the arrows began slamming into him. The bow from the arrows forced him backward towards the wall. He grasped the wall, forcing himself to remain standing. He stared down at the five arrow protruding from his handsome body.


He could feel the blood in his lungs. His manhood began throbbing out it's final burst. It took all he could to stay standing. He grasped the wall with all the strength in his hands. He could not show any weakness to these bastards. His anger was flaring, but he knew anything he tried, would only make the pain worse. His facial expression flowed between anger, pain and fear,


A sickening feeling began crawling through his stomach as the blood trickled out of his wounds. His breath was becoming stronger, heavier. He could taste the blood in the back of his throat. His breaths gargled as he sought to hold in the air. His mind began blackening. He felt his back sliding down against the plaster wall as his life finally faded.]]> Brad was a cocky American. Some damned cowboy, who had no clue as to his place in society. He had grown up bouncing between youth ranches for troubled teens, until he met the duke's son. They both turned 18 within a month of each other. When the duke's son decided to return to his home, he brought Brad back as a stable hand.


While Brad's attitude was in need of being checked, he was most certainly good with horses. He had been working in the stables for 4 years. Carrying buckets of food and water really taxed his strength and the result was a firm, muscular build.


The duke's son would sneak out regularly to the stables, where Brad was and the two would hold private encounters in the straw of an empty stable. Brad loved it. While he was always to be submissive as a servant, those encounters made him the master of the future duke. What could be more exhilarating than making his master's son kneel before him, or to make him groan from pain and pleasure.


Rumors began quietly circulating about Brad and the duke's son. One night, the duke took a few of his men and went out to the stables, catching the two young lovers.


The duke dragged his son back to the manor house, leaving his men to handle Brad. Ever so cocky, Brad pulled up his pants and looked at the duke's head servant. “So, what you gonna do now? Fire me?”


The head servant only gave a mere smirk..... “Sort of.” To that, he gave a nod to the five men with him and each one pulled a cross bow from his back.


Brad was shocked. “What the hell is this?” He stood arrogantly by the wall. He was already pissed from being treated as an inferior, but the nerve of these bastards, threatening him like this. They didn't need weapons. All they needed to do was tell him to go and he would gladly leave.


The duke's men each locked an arrow in his bow and held it in front of them. “What the f**k is this? You're going to kill me?” Brad could see from the look on the lead servant's face that this was the case.


“You should have thought twice before creating such a scandal in the duke's household. You're nothing but a filthy stable rat, thinking you could screw your way into the manor house.”


“So, what? Now you're gonna kill my for f**king his son. Why not kill him for f**king me?”


“His father will deal with him. You, on the other hand, would most likely use this to blackmail the duke into some sort of annual income. We will not stand for you tarnishing the name of this house.”


Brad watched as the servants all aimed their bows at his bare chest. His mind quickly jumped. His initial thought was to run like hell. He could feel his bare feet clench against the floor. No, he thought. I'm not going to run.


Brad looked defiantly at the servants. He spread out his arms and braced himself against the wall. He raised his chin and glared at the head servant. “F**k you and your master's house.”


With that, the arrows let go. Brad felt the first two hit him in the chest, causing his chest to twist first to the right, then to the left. A third arrow nailed him below the navel, causing his hips to jump forward. The final two rammed into his upper abs, forcing him to bend forward.


Brad, merely let out a hardened grunt when the arrows began slamming into him. The bow from the arrows forced him backward towards the wall. He grasped the wall, forcing himself to remain standing. He stared down at the five arrow protruding from his handsome body.


He could feel the blood in his lungs. His manhood began throbbing out it's final burst. It took all he could to stay standing. He grasped the wall with all the strength in his hands. He could not show any weakness to these bastards. His anger was flaring, but he knew anything he tried, would only make the pain worse. His facial expression flowed between anger, pain and fear,


A sickening feeling began crawling through his stomach as the blood trickled out of his wounds. His breath was becoming stronger, heavier. He could taste the blood in the back of his throat. His breaths gargled as he sought to hold in the air. His mind began blackening. He felt his back sliding down against the plaster wall as his life finally faded.]]> https://arenafighter.adult/mybb/showthread.php?tid=27 Tue, 16 Jul 2019 05:29:37 +0000 BattlesandDeaths]]> https://arenafighter.adult/mybb/showthread.php?tid=27 I walked out into the arena. My young, smooth body glistening in the sunlight. This was my first fight in the arena, but I was ready for it. As the son of one of the greatest lanistas in this town, I was well-acquainted with the arena.


I also knew my enemy well, the “great” champion of Antium. He was a highway robber who had killed my father and mother as they traveled from the city. I was only fourteen at the time and vowed my revenge. I stood before the magistrate and demanded the man's head. Instead, a rival lanista bribed the magistrate into letting the man fight for him in the arena.


I watched every fight, hoping to see him fall, instead, I saw him turn from a murderous villain into the “hero” of the city when he slew two gladiators brought by a Roman Senator. Being too young to own my father's gladiators, I was forced to sell them off, retaining only my personal servant, who was only a year older than I. Although I was still well off financially, I spent very little money. Most of the people who saw me walking the streets to the market, only saw some small, lanky boy and looked down on me as one to be pitied.


For the next few years, I had kept a very solitary life. I accepted no guests. The only companion I had was my servant, who, at times, seemed to be more of the master than I was. I spent my time training myself in my father's ludus and he was my doctore. For at least 14 hours every day, he would give me a brutal workout. Each passing hour, my young body ached and yearned to quit from the exhaustive pain. Most other men, better men than I, would have given up. Several times I passed out from the heat, but my servant was there to dowse my head with water and get me back up. My body was still weak, but my mind and heart were fixed.


Each month, I grew stronger and stronger, feeding myself on the same meat and gruel that my father had fed his gladiators on. At the crow of the rooster, before the light of day, I started my sword training until the sun was directly overhead. The heat of the afternoon sun gave me time for my endurance training. In the evening, was my strength training. As the finale of the strength training, I had my servant chain me against the wall and give my abs a long, gut-punching work-over until I could no longer stand on my own feet. He would then, drag me to my bed and lie with me for the evening. When the rooster howled in the pre-dawn light, I was up again.


Each day was the same schedule, with the exception of one day each week, when we would spend the morning in the market purchasing our needs and conducting what little business I could. By the peak of the sun, we lunched and took off on a a six-hour run along the coastline or up into the hills.


Without a break, I trained every day, preparing myself. Through all the pain and turmoil, my heart and mind were focused on one goal. If no other gladiator would arise to avenge my father's death and bring this villain down to the dust, then I would.


Four long years seemed to pass in short time. My pecs and shoulders bulged into hardened rocks. My once smooth belly, transformed itself into a granite washboard. The few times I could see my own reflection, I stood in awe. I, who was once a small gangly boy, was now a chiseled warrior.


I went to the magistrate and presented the challenge against “Antium's greatest champion.” At first, he was reluctant. He kept questioning my skills as a gladiator, and perhaps, I should challenge some lesser to gain more experience first. But, I was not about to become some common spectacle for others' entertainment. This was to be my only fight.


The magistrate knew of my lust for vengeance and justice. “Well,” said he, “You may not have the experience of being a gladiator. But, you most certainly have the heart.”


So here, today, I stand under the blazing sun in the hot sands of the arena. The crowd had heard of my challenge and it seemed that all the city had come to watch me avenge the death of my parents. It was astounding to see how quickly the fickle crowd, who had always cheered on their beloved champion had turned against him in an instant. I stood there, blade in hand, awaiting the last entrance that the champion will ever make.


The horns bellowed and the crowd booed as the other gate opened. He walked out from the darkness into the light of day. His massive muscular figure gleaming in the sunlight. I watched him as he flexed for the crowd. I was unmoved by his flaunts. All I could think of was how those same muscles would be tensing up when my sword ran him through. I enjoyed watching his little show, knowing full well, that his powerful physique would soon enough be doing a final encore.


He spread out his arms arrogantly and turned around haughtily, a mighty spectacle for the crowd to behold. He didn't seem to care about the disapproval of the crowd. He didn't need them. After all, he had his blade and it was far too easy to turn a crowd. A small tingling of doubt cast its shadow over me. I tried hard to subdue it. But, my heart began racing in my chest. Hatred and anger with even a slight touch of fear boiled over. After a quick salute, I made my charge.




He stood there, as I mustered my vengeful rage into a powerful courage and made my dash at him. My sword arm was fully cocked for the kill. The crowd was awed by my muscular, youthful beauty as I charged my opponent. Time seemed to briefly stand still. The ladies longed to have their legs and arms wrapped around my strong youthful hips. The older men desired to be or at least have me. I was a young god in their eyes, a god of youth, a god of strength, a god of justice, a god of beauty. Those four years slaving away myself at home had paid off. I was, for this brief moment, the new champion and the desire of all.


What was really about five seconds seemed more like an eternity as I made the charge. He might have strength and experience. But I had justice, heart and speed on my side. I got in close enough proximity to almost collide with him. I aimed the tip of my blade at his chest and was about to thrust my sword straight into his heart, when I felt a heavy hit to my gut, almost as if he had kneed me there.


I heard a loud gasp “Uuhhhh!!”. I wasn't sure if it was from him, me or the crowd. I bent forward and looked down at my gut to see his blade buried about six inches into my navel. My eyes widened in disbelief, shock ran throughout my body, causing me to drop my sword. This couldn't be. I looked up at him, my face flushed. His arrogant eyes squinted from his sly grin.


My stomach sickened. This was supposed to be justice. I looked again at my firm, strong body and realized that, though clothed in tightly toned muscles, I was still a weak young man. I had spent years training and toning, only to lose it all in a single quick instant.


He placed an arm around my shoulder. His chest pressed partly against mine as he whispered in my ear. “You had the heart of a warrior, but lacked the skill.”


My knees began to shake as blood ran down my belly and legs. My breathing was still strong and powerful. I felt as If I was going to pass out, but, he began rubbing my back gently. “Not yet,” he whispered. “You tried hard, now, the least you can do is die like a man.”


He slowly added pressure on the blade and I felt my whole abdomen begin throbbing violently as he buried the blade entirely through my gut. The sharp point sticking out through my back. I arched forward from the searing pain, my chest resting against his arm, my cheek pressed against his massive bicep.


He rubbed his hand tenderly between my shoulder blades and gave me a couple pats. “Now, that's a good boy. Go to your daddy.” With that, he yanked the blade out of my gut. The sharp, almost electric pain caused me to let out a muffled cry as I fell down to my knees. I bent forward, placing my hands over my wounds, the streaming blood trickled between my fingers.


I felt light-headed and dizzied as I fell over to my side. The sands around me were soaked red around where I lay. I looked up to see him raise his sword high in the air, my blood still dripping from it, while the crowd erupted out into great cheers. He had regained their favor and was again their champion. My abs muscles heaved together with a couple of pounding thrusts. I let out a couple quiet gaspy sighs. My bare legs gave a final squirming seizure and all went still........]]> I walked out into the arena. My young, smooth body glistening in the sunlight. This was my first fight in the arena, but I was ready for it. As the son of one of the greatest lanistas in this town, I was well-acquainted with the arena.


I also knew my enemy well, the “great” champion of Antium. He was a highway robber who had killed my father and mother as they traveled from the city. I was only fourteen at the time and vowed my revenge. I stood before the magistrate and demanded the man's head. Instead, a rival lanista bribed the magistrate into letting the man fight for him in the arena.


I watched every fight, hoping to see him fall, instead, I saw him turn from a murderous villain into the “hero” of the city when he slew two gladiators brought by a Roman Senator. Being too young to own my father's gladiators, I was forced to sell them off, retaining only my personal servant, who was only a year older than I. Although I was still well off financially, I spent very little money. Most of the people who saw me walking the streets to the market, only saw some small, lanky boy and looked down on me as one to be pitied.


For the next few years, I had kept a very solitary life. I accepted no guests. The only companion I had was my servant, who, at times, seemed to be more of the master than I was. I spent my time training myself in my father's ludus and he was my doctore. For at least 14 hours every day, he would give me a brutal workout. Each passing hour, my young body ached and yearned to quit from the exhaustive pain. Most other men, better men than I, would have given up. Several times I passed out from the heat, but my servant was there to dowse my head with water and get me back up. My body was still weak, but my mind and heart were fixed.


Each month, I grew stronger and stronger, feeding myself on the same meat and gruel that my father had fed his gladiators on. At the crow of the rooster, before the light of day, I started my sword training until the sun was directly overhead. The heat of the afternoon sun gave me time for my endurance training. In the evening, was my strength training. As the finale of the strength training, I had my servant chain me against the wall and give my abs a long, gut-punching work-over until I could no longer stand on my own feet. He would then, drag me to my bed and lie with me for the evening. When the rooster howled in the pre-dawn light, I was up again.


Each day was the same schedule, with the exception of one day each week, when we would spend the morning in the market purchasing our needs and conducting what little business I could. By the peak of the sun, we lunched and took off on a a six-hour run along the coastline or up into the hills.


Without a break, I trained every day, preparing myself. Through all the pain and turmoil, my heart and mind were focused on one goal. If no other gladiator would arise to avenge my father's death and bring this villain down to the dust, then I would.


Four long years seemed to pass in short time. My pecs and shoulders bulged into hardened rocks. My once smooth belly, transformed itself into a granite washboard. The few times I could see my own reflection, I stood in awe. I, who was once a small gangly boy, was now a chiseled warrior.


I went to the magistrate and presented the challenge against “Antium's greatest champion.” At first, he was reluctant. He kept questioning my skills as a gladiator, and perhaps, I should challenge some lesser to gain more experience first. But, I was not about to become some common spectacle for others' entertainment. This was to be my only fight.


The magistrate knew of my lust for vengeance and justice. “Well,” said he, “You may not have the experience of being a gladiator. But, you most certainly have the heart.”


So here, today, I stand under the blazing sun in the hot sands of the arena. The crowd had heard of my challenge and it seemed that all the city had come to watch me avenge the death of my parents. It was astounding to see how quickly the fickle crowd, who had always cheered on their beloved champion had turned against him in an instant. I stood there, blade in hand, awaiting the last entrance that the champion will ever make.


The horns bellowed and the crowd booed as the other gate opened. He walked out from the darkness into the light of day. His massive muscular figure gleaming in the sunlight. I watched him as he flexed for the crowd. I was unmoved by his flaunts. All I could think of was how those same muscles would be tensing up when my sword ran him through. I enjoyed watching his little show, knowing full well, that his powerful physique would soon enough be doing a final encore.


He spread out his arms arrogantly and turned around haughtily, a mighty spectacle for the crowd to behold. He didn't seem to care about the disapproval of the crowd. He didn't need them. After all, he had his blade and it was far too easy to turn a crowd. A small tingling of doubt cast its shadow over me. I tried hard to subdue it. But, my heart began racing in my chest. Hatred and anger with even a slight touch of fear boiled over. After a quick salute, I made my charge.




He stood there, as I mustered my vengeful rage into a powerful courage and made my dash at him. My sword arm was fully cocked for the kill. The crowd was awed by my muscular, youthful beauty as I charged my opponent. Time seemed to briefly stand still. The ladies longed to have their legs and arms wrapped around my strong youthful hips. The older men desired to be or at least have me. I was a young god in their eyes, a god of youth, a god of strength, a god of justice, a god of beauty. Those four years slaving away myself at home had paid off. I was, for this brief moment, the new champion and the desire of all.


What was really about five seconds seemed more like an eternity as I made the charge. He might have strength and experience. But I had justice, heart and speed on my side. I got in close enough proximity to almost collide with him. I aimed the tip of my blade at his chest and was about to thrust my sword straight into his heart, when I felt a heavy hit to my gut, almost as if he had kneed me there.


I heard a loud gasp “Uuhhhh!!”. I wasn't sure if it was from him, me or the crowd. I bent forward and looked down at my gut to see his blade buried about six inches into my navel. My eyes widened in disbelief, shock ran throughout my body, causing me to drop my sword. This couldn't be. I looked up at him, my face flushed. His arrogant eyes squinted from his sly grin.


My stomach sickened. This was supposed to be justice. I looked again at my firm, strong body and realized that, though clothed in tightly toned muscles, I was still a weak young man. I had spent years training and toning, only to lose it all in a single quick instant.


He placed an arm around my shoulder. His chest pressed partly against mine as he whispered in my ear. “You had the heart of a warrior, but lacked the skill.”


My knees began to shake as blood ran down my belly and legs. My breathing was still strong and powerful. I felt as If I was going to pass out, but, he began rubbing my back gently. “Not yet,” he whispered. “You tried hard, now, the least you can do is die like a man.”


He slowly added pressure on the blade and I felt my whole abdomen begin throbbing violently as he buried the blade entirely through my gut. The sharp point sticking out through my back. I arched forward from the searing pain, my chest resting against his arm, my cheek pressed against his massive bicep.


He rubbed his hand tenderly between my shoulder blades and gave me a couple pats. “Now, that's a good boy. Go to your daddy.” With that, he yanked the blade out of my gut. The sharp, almost electric pain caused me to let out a muffled cry as I fell down to my knees. I bent forward, placing my hands over my wounds, the streaming blood trickled between my fingers.


I felt light-headed and dizzied as I fell over to my side. The sands around me were soaked red around where I lay. I looked up to see him raise his sword high in the air, my blood still dripping from it, while the crowd erupted out into great cheers. He had regained their favor and was again their champion. My abs muscles heaved together with a couple of pounding thrusts. I let out a couple quiet gaspy sighs. My bare legs gave a final squirming seizure and all went still........]]>