Cold, despite the sunny day outside, this room was colder than one would think. Not because the temperature here was low—no, not at all. It was... how should it be put? Unwelcoming. A bed made of hay sat neatly on the gray stone. The walls were also made of stone, with deep scratches marking the days. The longest time someone had been here was a year, right up to the next tournament, after which they probably died. The other people who had been here had died of different reasons; their stays were shorter. The bucket—oh, that damn bucket—was a dirty, rusty bucket for one's needs in the corner. And also the bars, same as the bucket, were rusty and bent.
However, there were some positive aspects here—three to be precise. The small hole was covered with some new bars that let the sun shine through. There was a piece of glass that served as a mirror, and a cleaner bucket filled with water sat under the mirror. But the worst thing here was the stench: blood, feces, and death.
Eve rose from the bed of hay and walked to the mirror, staring at her reflection for a while. She grabbed her short, dirty hair and began to analyze it.
"It's been a while since I thoroughly washed it. Whose blood is this anyway?"
She looked at the dried blood on her hair.
"Probably not mine..."
She bent down toward the water bucket and scooped a handful of water, then she splashed it on her face. Even though the water was lukewarm, it made her shiver. She repeated this action a couple more times, and then she dunked her whole head into the water. The dried blood didn't give up so easily. After a series of dives, she was eventually somewhat clean. Her face went back to the mirror, scanning herself for a while. With the bandages on her arms, she started wiping her face and hair, trying to dry them. Once she was done, the bandages fell into the bucket, which had now turned a shade of red. Half of them were floating in the water, and the rim of the bucket separated the other half, touching the water but not falling straight into it.
After the bandages left her forearms, her gaze fell toward her scars that had been exposed, and she scratched them lightly. After Eve looked at them for a while, she decided to go back to the stack of hay, sitting on it while hugging her knees close to her chest.
She was cleaner than ever, but she felt dirtier than she ever had been, like an animal that was going to perform at a circus. She was deep in thought. Could she meet Elyon's expectations? Could she keep her promise to the family and give them a show they would never forget? Would she meet Sarah again? She didn't know.
She didn't realize how much time had passed. The sun was falling and giving way to the beautiful twilight. The stench became more bearable. Her body grew heavier, and so did her eyelids. She lay on the stack of hay and closed her eyes. Sleep claimed her.
She was awakened after a while by a constant banging on the rusty cell's bars.
"Wake up, rat." A man's voice resonated through the corridors.
She was startled and looked through her room for her sword, but she didn't find it. She forgot they had taken it once they had locked her here.
"I... I am awake," she answered, meeting the man's piercing gaze. He was a guard—one of the guards who had dragged her into this cell. He was dressed in heavy iron armor, with a halberd in his right hand and a piece of paper in his left hand. His face was barely visible through the helmet, but she knew his face was full of disgust at the sight of her.
The man mumbled something under his breath, then threw the piece of paper inside her cell.
"Look it over. These are the brackets. Your first opponent will be a guy named Galbert, the former cult leader of the Hell's party."
"Hell's party? Who did they worship?" asked Eve, her voice quivering slightly.
The man looked at her, not speaking for a while. "They worshiped the Goddess of Hell. You should know that. Or wait, I forgot—you are too much of an idiot to learn basic stuff like this."
She wanted to say something back to him, but she held herself back.
"Do you have any idea how much we searched for you? How much we wanted you here? Yet you decided to show up uninvited and ruin our fun. Because of you, we had to redo the bracket at the last moment."
She tried to pay him no mind by studying the newly made brackets, but his words had some effect on her.
"Get ready. You will have the second fight. The first one is Gladys, which will only take a moment."
He turned around and began to walk away.
"Doesn't matter either way if you get ready or not. You will still die by his hand. That is, even if you get to him."
Then the man was nowhere to be seen; he left. Eve crumbled the paper, almost ripping it in half. She started to bite her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "I will fucking win," she said, her voice full of frustration.
After a few moments, she managed to calm down, and her head turned toward the small window. It was night; the tournament should start.
Right on cue, a voice was heard loud and clear throughout the Colosseum. It was the announcer.
"Everyone, welcome to the 7th annual Grand Colosseum tournament on this fine night! I, the host Calliopius, will be in your care. We hope to see some amazing fights, especially from our beloved champion, Gladys The Absolute. Will he reign victorious this year? Or will he fall victim to another criminal? Only time will tell. But enough of chit-chatting—let the night begin."
The crowd erupted in a sea of cheers and wails of joy. The cheers were the sound that confirmed it.
It had begun, the night of death.