Brand stretched in anticipation as he made his way back into the sandy arena. Each step held the familiar crunch of teeth grinding together while the sand felt thick, like walking through cement thanks to the fresh blood giving each grain a crimson color.

He ignored at all, the spilled blood, the roaring crowd, the replaying image of Magna crying if he came home a bloody mess. Brand didn't need distractions now. His opponent wasn't someone who thought being big and strong was the same as being dangerous.

The man Brand faced was a new challenger. From the scars and his oddly shaped nose, he'd seen his fair share of fights. But he was skinny, with sunken eyes and loose skin hanging off of starved muscles, so his fights were probably over food in some run-down gutter.

Normally, when up against someone like him, Brand would beat his unlucky opponent just bloody enough to appease the crowd and send him on his way with the money even a loss earned. That’s what made the pits worth it for anyone desperate to risk life and limb for some coin. The only problem now was that beating the man bloody wouldn't be enough to end the fight.

Pain didn't exist to a demon-rooted mind, neither did fear, hesitation, or guilt. When the fight began, Brand could slice off the man's legs and he’d still hobble forward with murder in his eyes. The once desperate man willing to do anything for his next meal could no longer be beaten or even broken, he'd have to be put down. Whether that meant knocking him out or taking his life Brand didn't know, but he’d at least try the latter before the former.

“Your name’s Hob, right?” Brand asked testing the man’s sanity.

Hob’s head jerked in Brand’s direction, but his eyes were lost. A moment later he began growling and inched forward like a predator about to pounce. Then he broke into tears before going vacant again.

“At least you’re not scared of what’s about to happen,” Brand continued. “But I at least hope you’ll be alive to feel this tomorrow.”

Refusing to get close to either fighter, the announcer signaled for the bout to commence. Immediately, a short sword landed in front of Hod, gifted to him by Hoder. The sword’s impact broke him from his stupor, replacing it with confusion. He picked up the blade, finally noticing where he was. With one look at Brand, his dazed eyes focused with killing intent.

An eerie shriek came from Hob as he sprinted at Brand all the while swinging his weapon frantically. Brand also ran at Hob but in a slower more controlled manner. Right before they collided, Brand rolled to the ground, his back slamming into Hob’s legs sending him tumbling face-first against the hardwood wall that separated them from the audience.

Rolling back onto his feet, Brand lept for Hob. He landed with his left knee firmly pinning Hob’s sword arm and both hands trying to choke the life out of the now toothless man.

The blow to the head Hob had taken on the wall lost him most of his front teeth and broke his nose into an uglier shape, but he didn't seem to not notice. Instead of crying in pain or passing out, the man thrashed about trying to bite at Brand without teeth while kicking the air. Somehow, he was able to swing far enough for his free hand to push off the ground.

With drug-induced strength, Hob and Brand were sent flying off the ground in a heap. Even though they didn't go far, the move loosened Brand's grip enough for Hob to break free.

Rolling away, Brand received a shallow cut on his back as Hob slashed at him without taking time to recover. Still, without time to stand, Brand stopped the blade from cutting into his shoulder too deeply by holding his barking opponent aloft when he leaped for him again blade first.

Kicking Hob in the stomach, Brand sent him back into the wall, this time bashing the back of his head into it. “Damn it Hob!” Brand complained as he held the wound in his shoulder. “I can't be nice if you cut me up. You’re not the only crazed bastard I’m fighting tonight!”

Now that he was hurt, Brand forgot all about not killing the man in front of him. When Hoder told him to win all but the last match, he hadn't said a thing about all the first timers being given demon root. If he had, Brand would have never agreed or given his hefty entrance fee; a fee he could not get back until his last fight. Now he had to make it through each match well enough to continue which meant holding back was not an option.

“Sorry,” Brand thought as Hob ran at him with the sword again.

He dodged several swings, sometimes shoving his opponent away when coming too close to a wall. Brand waited patiently for an opening. He searched for the one swing that would grant him the win and give a man desperate enough to join the pit fighting a bloody end.

Finding that opening, Brand struck Hob’s wrist sending the sword flying from his grasp. Grabbing the hilt before it hit the ground, Brand brandished the sword at Hob. Still unable to feel fear, Hob charged like a wild animal.

With a simple sidestep, Brand spun with the blade dodging Hob, but not before sliding the sword deeply across the back of his neck. With a severed spine, Hob hit the sand, dead in an instant.

Not caring for the crowd’s adoration, Brand just headed back to his seat. He’d need to end fights that quickly for several more hours. The rest of the drugged fighters were now being held in out of site cages inside a tunnel on the opposite side from where the others came from. It would take time for demon root to leave their system, so until then, Brand and every other competitor with their wits intact had to kill. Anything less would have them too hurt to survive more than a few matches.

Taking his seat, Brand fumed at knowing all this was done to impress some fucking nobles and how there was nothing he could do but dance when ordered. Noticing his angry demeanor, Blood Beard leaned over to talk to Brand.

“I know you don't like killing, but it’s got to be done.”

Brand scoffed. “Hob probably just here because he was out of options. It ain't right.”

Blood Beard looked at Brand in confusion. “Who’s Hob?” Brand pointed at the dead man being dragged away. “You know he said his name was Sol.”

“Oh. Seems more like a Hob to me.”