Gurudo’s Gauntlet

Gurudo was stretching, controlling his breathing, and counting down from fifty. This was a ritual, he could hear the crowd above stamping, rumbling the ceiling of the chamber that was dimly lit. Rancid with the smell of blood and rotting flesh. He is a fighter, a champion.

His gauntlet illuminated, tightening his forearm, revealing the veins. He felt some of his soul fleet, replaced with a heavy burden he had been unable to shake since childhood. He made his way up the dark stairs. Louder. Louder. He heard the screaming from the excited fans. He emerged, facing a gigantic mass of muscle, teeth protruding from multiple orifices pulsing. Hungry. Gurudo tightened his fist and smiled.