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 his veins like an ancient circuit of dreams.
He felt some of his soul fleet, replaced with a heavy burden he had been unable to shake since childhood.
Making 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.
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