Fear [part 2]

**This chapter is only for readers 18+ and contains disturbing scenes. Please read it at your own risk.**

**The Warrior Approached Me**

The warrior charged at me with blind fury, gripping his axe with both hands as if all his strength and desperation could change what was inevitable.

His battle cry echoed through the arena, but to me, it was just a distant noise, a howl of the wind before the storm.

Each step he took brought him closer to his end, though he didn't know it yet.

I let him get close, to feel for a moment the illusion of hope.

That illusion shattered the moment I struck.

With a quick and precise move, my sword intercepted his attack, stopping the axe mid-air.

I looked into his eyes and saw the surprise turn into pure terror.

With a violent sideways motion, I disarmed the man, the axe falling to the ground with a dull thud.

He staggered back, his hands still reaching in a futile attempt to grasp the weapon that was no longer there.

Without giving him time to react, I struck him with the hilt of my sword across the face, sending him crashing to the ground.

The crowd held its breath, the entire arena seemed suspended in that moment, waiting for my next move.

There was no hurry.

I had all the time in the world to enjoy myself with my prey.

I knelt over him, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him with one hand.

His body dangled like a puppet, his will already broken.

I looked into his eyes, those bloodshot eyes now filled with terror.

His breath caught in his throat as my grip tightened, his hands feebly scratching at my armor, trying in vain to free himself.

I hurled him to the ground with force, making him spit blood and broken teeth.

A muffled groan escaped his lips, and I smiled under my mask.

There was no need to kill him right away; it wouldn't be a satisfying victory.

No, he had to suffer, he had to understand the mistake he had made.

And the others had to understand it too.

I flipped him onto his back, pressing my foot on his chest to pin him down.

With a slow and deliberate movement, I positioned the tip of my sword at his side, just below the ribs.

I watched as he realized what I was about to do, the terror in his eyes growing with each passing second.

Then, without haste, I plunged the blade into his flesh.

His scream filled the air, a high-pitched, desperate sound that resonated within the Colosseum walls.

The crowd erupted in a roar of exaltation, but I wasn't distracted.

It wasn't the crowd's cries that interested me, but those of my victim.

I stopped when the blade reached his bones, the blood flowing copiously down my arm.

I watched him writhe beneath me, his body trembling in pain.

But I didn't finish him off, not yet.

I slowly withdrew the sword, twisting the blade to inflict maximum pain.

Every inch that the blade left his body was a torment for him, and I savored every second.

His stifled groans were music to my ears, and his agony was a balm for my thirst for blood.

Finally, when the blade was completely out, I leaned over him, looking into his glassy eyes.

"Did you really think you could challenge me?" I whispered, my voice a low and menacing growl.

"You're just another victim, another example for anyone foolish enough to follow in your footsteps."

Without warning, I grabbed his right hand, his weapon hand, and with a swift strike of my sword, I severed it.

His scream was deafening, a wail that echoed through the arena, and I couldn't help but smile.

The others would see, and they would understand.

I stepped back a few paces, letting the warrior writhe in his agony, looking around with desperate eyes, searching for an escape that didn't exist.

But I wouldn't let him die so quickly.

No, I wanted him to suffer more.

I approached again, slowly, calmly, like a predator preparing to deliver the final blow.

I lifted him by the hair, forcing him to look at me.

In his eyes, I read complete submission, the realization that there was nothing he could do to escape his fate.

With a fluid motion, I slashed my blade across his throat, severing life from his body.

His blood sprayed like a fountain, soaking the sand beneath us.

His body slumped, dead, finally freed from torment.

The crowd erupted in a burst of cheers, but it meant nothing to me.

There was no glory in this.

Only a necessity, a need to assert my dominance.

The other participants would see, would understand the message I had sent.

And they would tremble.

The battle wasn't over, but I knew that every step I took from now on would be a step toward my inevitable victory.

There was no need to hurry, no need for mercy.

I would make them wish for death, I would make their end slow and painful.

This was my realm now, and I had just become their worst nightmare.

**Participants' POV: The Spreading Terror**

The arena had turned into a theater of horror, every corner steeped in the suffering of the warrior massacred before their eyes.

Those who had been close to the center, in a desperate attempt to decide on a strategy, now found themselves divided, confused, and uncertain.

The brutality with which I had tortured and killed that man had shaken every single participant, but their reactions were different, fueled by terror, despair, or blind rage.

**Those Who Flee**

Some participants, unable to bear the weight of the growing fear in their hearts, decided it was better to seek safety elsewhere, taking advantage of the chaos I had just created.

One of them, a young warrior with blonde hair and light armor, turned pale at the sight of the blood flowing like rivers from my latest victim.

Without a word, he turned on his heels and started running toward the edge of the arena, hoping to find temporary refuge.

His escape was followed by two other participants who, equally terrified, abandoned the center without looking back.

For them, the priority was no longer winning the Battle Royale, but simply surviving as long as possible, escaping the fury of the monster stalking among them.

**Those Who Wait in the Shadows**

In the midst of the group, there was another type of participant: those who didn't run but didn't dare approach either.

They preferred to watch from afar, waiting for an opportunity that might never come.

Among them was "Serpent."

With his usual lethal elegance, he had hidden among the shadows cast by the arena walls, his cold gaze fixed on me as I tortured my prey.

"Serpent" wasn't as scared as the others, but he wasn't reckless either.

He knew a direct attack would be suicidal.

And yet, as he watched my brutality, he searched for a weak point, a moment of distraction when he could strike unseen.

He was patient, ready to exploit the first mistake I might make.

But that patience kept him still while the others fidgeted around him.

He knew that to eliminate an opponent like me, he would have to play a different game, waiting for the right moment to spring from the shadows and make his move.

**Those Paralyzed by Fear**

For some, the fear had been so paralyzing that it rendered them incapable of movement.

These participants couldn't run or hide.

They simply remained frozen, their eyes wide, their breath quickened as they watched the massacre unfold before them.

Among them was a young man, almost a boy, armed only with a short sword and a battered shield.

His body visibly trembled as he watched the axeman being slaughtered, unable to look away as if the horrific scene had trapped him in a mental vise.

His thoughts tangled, unable to find a way out of the panic that was consuming him.

His mind repeated only one phrase: "Don't do this to me, don't do this to me."

But he knew that if he were chosen next, there would be nothing he could do to stop me.

**Those Who Wanted to Attack**

Finally, there was a group that had considered the possibility of attacking, but the swiftness with which the ax-wielding warrior had been disarmed and tortured had caught them off guard.

They were strong warriors, men and women who had known violence and death, but the horror I had inflicted on that rebel had stopped them in their tracks.

One of these was a giant with tattooed skin, wielding a massive spiked mace.

He had decided to charge at me as soon as the ax-wielding warrior had taken the first step, but he hadn't even had time to complete the thought before the man was already thrown to the ground, disarmed, and torn to pieces.

The giant watched the scene with impotent rage, his hands gripping the weapon tightly as the muscles in his body tensed.

He wanted to act, wanted to avenge, but the swiftness and brutality of my response had forced him to stop.

He knew that if he dared attack now, he would meet the same fate.

So, he remained still, trying to suppress the impulse to attack immediately, aware that it would be a senseless move.

But inside, that frustration turned into growing hatred, a hatred that would push him, sooner or later, to attempt the impossible.

**The Shadow of Death**

As they watched my latest victim collapse lifeless onto the blood-soaked sand, the participants at the center of the arena were all aware of one thing: I was dictating the rules of this deadly game.

Every one of their actions, every thought, was influenced by my presence, by my ferocity, by my relentless will to dominate and destroy.

Some had chosen to flee, others to wait, others still to freeze.

But they all knew that the real battle wasn't against themselves or the other participants.

It was against the terror I had sown, a terror that now grew

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///A/N - Chapter 1/3! We have finally reached 100 chapters, thank you very much for your support! ///