Capítulo 9: Chapter 9: "Life as a Slave"
William had lost count of the days. Time had become an abstract concept, swallowed by the endless routine of pain, cruelty, and bloodshed. Five years had passed since the slavers had captured him on that forsaken island, but to him, it felt like a lifetime ago.
The Celestial Dragon who had purchased him wasn't just any noble. This one was old, sadistic, and gleeful in his cruelty. He had a twisted love for gambling, especially in his private slave-fighting arena, where he pitted children and adults alike against each other for his amusement. The weaker ones didn't last long; they were either killed in the ring or discarded like broken toys. But William? William had survived, and not just survived—he had thrived in the hellhole they put him in.
The Celestial Dragon, known simply as **Master Callen**, had taken a particular interest in William. The boy's abnormal strength and rapid physical growth made him a prime candidate for Callen's sadistic games. Under the harshest conditions, William had been trained—if it could even be called that. The beatings, the punishments, the grueling hours spent honing his body to be nothing more than a brutal weapon—it had all shaped him into a fighter, a living, breathing beast.
Now, at twelve years old, William stood in front of a cracked, dirty mirror, staring at his reflection. He had grown into something unrecognizable, both inside and out. His long sandy blonde hair fell in ragged waves down to his shoulders, often tied back for fights, though loose strands hung in his face. His bright green eyes, once filled with a spark of curiosity and life, had dulled over the years, replaced with something darker—hollow, predatory. His once youthful face was now sharp and hardened, scars littering his skin, each one a reminder of the countless punishments he had endured.
Standing at an imposing 1.8 meters, his body was well-built from the years of forced labor and relentless training. His arms were thick with muscle, his chest broad, and his hands calloused from wielding weapons. Though only twelve, his size and strength made him look older, more like a young man than a boy. But it was his expression—the cold, merciless look in his eyes—that truly set him apart. The boy who had once feared nothing but the loss of his loved ones was gone, replaced by someone far more dangerous.
William touched the scar on his right shoulder, a deep gash left from a whip during one of Master Callen's "lessons." He had learned long ago that resistance only led to more pain, and compliance didn't guarantee survival. But over time, the beatings, the cruelty, and the violence had numbed him. The humanity in him had been beaten out, replaced by brutality. He had learned to embrace it, to let the anger and pain fuel him. That was the only way to survive.
In the background, he heard the clink of chains and the muffled cries of other slaves. The smell of sweat, blood, and dirt was thick in the air. It was always the same in the holding cells beneath the arena, a dark place where hope was a distant memory. Slaves, both young and old, awaited their fates here, their lives reduced to nothing more than sport for the Celestial Dragons and their guests.
"Hey, blondie," a guard barked, breaking William from his thoughts. "Get ready. Your turn's coming up."
William's jaw clenched. His turn. He had been trained for this moment, conditioned to kill or be killed. But this would be his first time in the actual arena, facing an opponent not for practice, but for blood.
He turned away from the mirror and began wrapping his hands with the rough linen provided. His knuckles were already bruised from countless hours of sparring, and his muscles ached from the morning's drills, but none of it mattered now. Pain was a constant companion, one he had grown used to.
As he tied the last strip of cloth, the door to his cell creaked open, and two guards stepped inside. One of them threw a set of rusty shackles at his feet.
"Put these on," the guard sneered.
William did as he was told, securing the iron cuffs around his wrists. The weight of the chains barely registered to him anymore. He had worn them so often that they had become an extension of himself. He flexed his fingers, testing the range of movement he would have once the shackles were unlocked in the arena.
The guards led him through a dimly lit corridor, the air thick with tension. From above, the faint roar of a crowd could be heard. They were waiting for blood, for the spectacle that Master Callen had promised them.
As they neared the arena's entrance, the noise grew louder. The stone walls vibrated with the cheers and jeers of the spectators. William's heart pounded in his chest, not with fear, but with something colder. His mind had long been conditioned to suppress fear. There was only the fight. Nothing else mattered.
The guards stopped at a massive iron gate. Beyond it, William could see the sand of the arena floor, stained dark with blood from previous matches. The smell of death lingered in the air. One of the guards approached him, unlocking his shackles.
"You better put on a good show, kid," the guard said with a twisted grin. "The boss is betting big on you."
William's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. The gate creaked open, and the blinding sunlight of the arena flooded his vision. He stepped forward, his bare feet sinking into the sand. The crowd roared as they saw him, their bloodlust palpable.
From across the arena, his opponent stepped into view. A large, hulking man, likely twice William's age, covered in scars.
But William didn't flinch. His green eyes locked onto the man, cold and calculating. He had been trained for this, molded into a weapon. The brutality, the cruelty, it had all led to this moment. This was no longer a fight for survival. It was a fight to prove he had become what they wanted—a monster.
As the gate behind him slammed shut, the arena fell into a tense silence. Master Callen's voice echoed across the stadium, announcing the beginning of the match.
William's fists tightened as he stepped into the center of the arena. The boy who had once been kind, brave, and full of life was gone. In his place stood a savage, ready to kill.
The fight was about to begin.
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