Oryx and Carthir's Final Moments Together
Oryx held the man beneath him by the throat.
"I wish it didn't have to end like this." Blood dripped from the blocky iron duster held in his hand, cocked back above his head.
"I think we both knew it would," Carthir coughed.
The clashing of blades still echoed out across the colosseum. Mutilated bodies lay all around the two entangled fighters. The air tasted of iron and salt.
"We could have left, together, and gone away from here." Oryx knew he was lying. For two fighters of such renown as them, there would be nowhere to hide. The slave hunters would've found them in a day. Carthir smiled like he always did. But now, his teeth were painted red with blood.
Pain bloomed in Oryx's ribcage, behind his chest plate, where Carthir's stiletto penetrated his chainmail shirt. Oryx's grip tightened, and he mashed his fist into Carthir's face, shattering his cheekbone. Punch after punch after punch—until Carthir's arm dropped limp from his dagger. Yellow and green banners whipped in the dull breeze, and the world roared around the victorious fighter. Oryx could hear none of it.
A lil' writing exercise to make a narrative in under 200 words. Oryx is a character I've had in my head for a little while. Some type of retired gladiator who becomes a monk. :-P