Letters of the Damned:(Part III)

[Antar]

50th of Fall,511av

The days were beginning to tire him out. This constant fighting and conflict were setting him on edge, and after the last ambush in the South woods a third letter had arrived.

A letter with a time a date and a location, just like the first two. Another match in the blood pits. Another dangerous duel to the death, not for mizas, or for glory, but for some form of twisted revenge that was being masterminded from another source entirely. Was that man here, was he watching somewhere in the stands above?

Antar didn't know, all he knew was that he wasn't facing a boy now. He was a facing a man, a very deadly man who bore a whip and a sword, using them both at once.

Damn this set of circumstances, damn this carnage of blood, and damn dancing to another's tune. Long ago he had decided that if he had to kill; then he would kill on his own terms! Not to the wiles of some faceless demon from his past handing out 'trials' as if they were a trail of breadcrumbs.

He swore, he'd turn the tables soon... even if it meant to ask someone else for assistance. But could he really do that? Would his secrets still remain safe that way? It was a conundrum, a conundrum of the senses, and of the mind and it produced an internal conflict in his desires. This little game was wearing on him.

The crack of the whip against the ground near him snapped his mind back to the present as he began to move...