He held a tight grip on the haft of his dull gladius in his right hand, his spike adorned helmet in his left. His heart pounded, echoing the sound of the crowd, their stomping and thunderous cheers. His chest covered in oil meant to make his body gleam and shine in the open sun as it beat down on him making his scarred frame of past events more exposed. This was his day, he lifted the helmet and placed it on his head, and he had a hunger to hear the masses erupt in victorious merriment and to prove those who wished to see his blood groan in rage. He saw the open gate across the arena, just as the four hundred pound lion stepped into the sun and glared at the crowd, then to him, the beast had the same appetite.
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