I don't care to be a priority target, as long as they obey
It was dark under the catacombs of the Coliseum. Cooler drafts of air, coming from who knows where, made the weak flame of the torches flicker.
The gladiators and recruits prepared silently, each in his own way. The most pious prayed kneeling before statuettes of their gods, while others repeated the same sword movements they had practiced over and over again, imagining an invisible opponent.
Others, like Jake, were frowning in a bad mood as they inspected the edge of their blades. Dull wood. Applying strong pressure by pinching the blade between his thumb and forefinger, the wood cracked immediately, confirming what he dreaded. Those swords were useless.
Gazing at his fist for a brief moment, Jake then punched the stone wall. A thud of clatter sounded, pieces of rock and rubble falling in front of him. His fist was thrust into the wall up to his wrist, wide fissures cracking it.