Ready Your Arms!

"Soldiers!"

"Ready Your Arms!"

The deafening roar of a battlefield entered Carson's ears, as he regained his senses. He felt the cold sting of the bronze armor along his bare skin, and the weight of the shield and spear held in his hands. Well, former spear it seems. The spear head on his must have not been secured properly when they were mass produces, and had likely fallen off and lost on the journey here. That wasn't Carson's main interest however, he was much more entranced by the physical changes. It was like he was a different person, muscles he didn't even know existed pressed out against his skin. He raised his shield up to hid face, looking to see his reflection. What he found was his face, it seemed, but there was much different about it. He was now covered by a massive scar over the left side of his face, and a menacing solid scarlet eye laid in its socket. He looked grizzled and battle hardened, with a full beard covering his features except for the spot where his scar would forever lay. 

"Carson! Stop admiring yourself and get ready!" The same voice from earlier shouted at him. He looked up to see a man covered in majestic golden-bronze armor surrounding his visage, and a brutal sneer marring his features. The horse he rode was a solid white, seemingly untouched by the mud that had covered the landscape.

"Apologies, Commander Kieron" He spoke before realizing what he was doing, and touched the scar on his face, "Just reminding myself why I'm here" but the man - Commander Kieron - just scoffed. It seemed he didn't to give two shits about the people that served under him. Whether that be from a bitterness grown out of old age, or a simple distaste for those he believed were below him. Whatever the case Carson didn't have time to think about it, war chants filled his ears as he saw Spartan Hoplites and Centurions approach. The Athenian army was vastly outnumbered, Carson knew, but he couldn't help but feel excited as his bloodlust rose in his heart.

"Charge!" Commander Kieron shouted, not going forth himself, in an obvious display of cowardice. The man stood tall, looking mighty and unbreakable as his soldiers ran forth beside him. Carson couldn't help but wonder, if he killed that man, how much stronger would he get? He shook that thought out of his mind. The young man wouldn't become a mass killer without reason, just like the primordial, he would be better, even if just subjectively. Carson was dragged along with the tide of people running around him, putting one foot in front of the other until he reached a sprint. The two armies were closing in, but he didn't fear the clash, he would revel in it.

The two forces met, somehow in the midst of the warfare, Carson had managed to take the vanguard of the attack. He plowed into the enemy Spartans as his spear - now wooden staff - slammed into the enemies. It hadn't done much against the bronze armor, but was enough so he could knock them off balance. He stole one of their spears, and was greatly surprised by the quality of it. The spear was completely covered in bronze, a wooden core most likely underneath it to support the main layer. When he got to where the head of the spear should've been however the young man could only sigh in regret.

"Fuck my life." Carson looked at the spear, this one also lacking a head, now just being a long metal rod. "You know what? Screw it!" the former college student swung the metal staff at the head of the nearby enemy he had just stolen it from. Against his expectations, the staff sunk into the bronze plate armor, crushing the mans head instantly. A flow of blood and brain matter gently ran out of the hoplites helm, leaving the ground he was standing on painted red. He stood there for a moment, shocked that this weapon was so sturdy. So he swung again at another approaching warrior, he felt the newly pronounced muscles in his body contract and sway as he pulled the metal rod through the air. It hit his opponent straight in the jaw, curving the lower portion of the Corinthian helm around it. The mans head spun a full one-eighty and loudly snapped as his jaw flung away from his head, only hanging on by thin pieces of connective tissue around the other side.

Carson soon found himself running through the waves of oncoming soldiers, spinning his staff above his head as he brutally killed anyone who came close enough to do so. His mind was racing too fast to process the fact that he was killing people - humans - the remorse and regret he should've felt were discarded as he fought. He pulled those around him into a trance of bloody malice as the air around him grew more viscous. His opponents took one look at him, His bloody-crimson eye glowing from beneath his helm, and the scar that you could feel was there even without seeing it, and they all felt it was harder to move. The air turned into honey, and they struggled to even breathe as the demon before them mercilessly killed those that got within his range, his staff looking more like the scythe of the reaper than a broken spear.

Blood covered Carson as he fought, staining his human eye to the point it was unusable, but the eye he had stolen never wavered. He could see through it as if the blood and gore never existed, that he was clean and pure. He wavered for a moment at that thought, remembering what had happened outside the trial world, but he let it pass. He knew full well he was using the battle as an escape from his worries, a outlet for his frustration, and he let it happen. If the young man thought of the events that had transpired, he would get killed, and not wanting to die, he let those thought release from his mind.

*BOOM!*

*BOOM!*

*BOOOM!*

He felt the world shake, increasing in intensity as he saw a massive figure approach his position on the field. The Centurion leading one of the Spartan battalions had taken notice of his brutality, and had forced his way to the area where he was fighting. Carson looked around to see if he could rally his fellow warriors to fight alongside him, but he couldn't find any. The young man had thought that the soldiers were fighting alongside him in his advance, but it seemed that wasn't the case. The man had finally stoped in front of him, standing a towering 7 feet tall, nearly a foot taller than Carson.

"Were you... disturbance i felt?" The mans booming voice filled his ears, making his head shake. He was surprisingly calm in tone however, seemingly mildly impressed by his powerful display. Upon seeing Carson's reluctant nod he spoke again. "I am Grimlock you fight me now. When i win, you be my gladiator." He said, his try at the language of his opponents slightly broken, but still mostly legible.

Carson swallowed, feeling his throat go dry. "And what if I win?" The man that had just arrived was clearly blessed. Even in trial worlds blessed individuals, and those that had done trials to gain Echoes were by no means rare. It was the prevailing theory as to why the trial worlds were just windows into previous cycles. This made him unconfident in his chances, but something like this must've happened at some point in history, Right?

The man laughed. "You?" He shook his head "Have luck." The being jumped at Carson. A massive mace had appeared in his hands moments earlier that Carson failed to take notice of. The young man dodged out of the way of the spiked ball heading towards his torso, missing him by a hair as the ball and chain slammed into the ground, making a small crater as it did. Carson swung around the man, a cold sweat beginning to roll down his face. He swung his bronze staff at Grimlock's side, attempting to land a crippling liver shot. The staff hit the large man directly where Carson had hoped it would. The armor in that area crumpled like tinfoil, but instead of seeing the giant crumple over in agony, he just saw him smile with glee.

"You Strong!" The giant turned to face the young man, setting them into stand-off position.

'How the fuck am i going to do this!?' Carson's mind raced as he thought over the possibilities of this fight. 'It seems like the man had some form of body enhancement blessing or Echo, and the same for mass, or size control. There's no way that mace weighs enough to do that to solid ground without any sort of changes.' His mind traced back to the massive crater that had formed after the man's swing. 'Yeah, no way.' He looked around again seeing if there was anything he could use to his advantage. 'Okay, so... No weak spot from what i can tell, no apparent terrain advantage, he's blessed, I'm not. Cool, so I'm fucked.' Carson dodged another incoming swing as his thoughts came to a halt. Instead of continuing to ponder the secrets of the universe, he decided to just fight the man and look for an escape he could use.

The ground below him shuddered as a mace - now twice the size it was previously - slammed down in front of him. His constant steps stoped as his path was blocked. Carson ran towards the Centurion and dove under his legs in a roll. The young man flipped around on the other side and crumpled the giant helm with his staff, the bronze gleam flashed through the air as the balled helmet flew across the field. Grimlock turned bringing his mace with him in a massive arc of silvery gold. The young man dodged again, having lowered himself to the ground to avoid the brunt of the swing. He still was hit by one of the spikes however, pulling a deep gash along his leg and torso.

The monstrous mace wielder in front of him laughed in a distinguished happiness. "No man has fought... me this much and lived." He stopped seeming to think over his words to convey his meaning, evident by the stutter in his words. "You will be good gladiator." He grabbed the mace from the ground and tossed it into the air, swinging it downwards and in a circular motion to gain speed. The mace slammed down next to Carson's now standing figure, it seemed to have gotten bigger once again and hit the ground with so much force that it briefly lifted the young man off of the ground.

'Shit! I'm not gonna be able to do this!' The young man thought as he saw the Centurion throw his mace-ball into the air again. He had an idea. 'Every time he slams the mace down he has to wind it back up, which should be enough time to -' His thoughts were cut short as a metal ball hit him in his breastplate. The giant had gone for an attack in Carson's moment of distraction, pulling his chain in reverse as to how it had swung before and let the ball fly upwards into the young man.

Carson flew into the air, feeling whatever pressure was in his lungs forced out by the weight of the mace. He felt every bone in his torso shatter sans his spinal cord, and once again acknowledged the feeling of something - in this case a metal spike - pierce his ribcage.

His height allowed him to see the battlefield, however, but it was not pretty. Gore covered the landscape and bodies cut in half littered the field. Most of the enemy casualties seemed to have been from where he had paved his way through their vanguard, only a few outside of those were apparent. He looked towards what remained of his army as his flight had reached its apex, his now foggy vision began to swim as the sight entered his eyes. Commander Kieron was surrounded by dead hoplites, not the enemies, but his own soldiers, likely in an attempt to join the enemy in order to save his pitiful life. The falling figure stuck out both his hands, middle finger extended on each, one towards Commander Kieron and one towards Grimlock as his eyes distorted, he managed to croak out a final phrase.

"Go fuck yourselves."

And his world went black.