Pacing had never been quite so difficult. The dozen steps seemed like a mile.

The raucous crowd roared as he entered the colosseum. The tsunami of noise almost knocked him over as he walked in. Some cheered, other jeered. They all knew what was ahead of them.

The centurion, buoyed by his reception, felt a foot taller and forgot about the added weight of the amour he was wearing. For about five seconds anyway.

Just as the noise was starting to die away, he felt it crescendo again. He turned round to see members of the crowd rise to their feet as Adaceus strode into the stadium. Standing at an imposing 6’7”, he towered over the younger man, casting quite a considerable shadow onto the ground from the blinding sunlight.

Adaceus sported cuts and bruises all over his body from previous encounters – even the best make mistakes – but he was at the top of his game, the undisputed champion. In favour with the Emperor, he was above most rules, and picked his fights carefully and infrequently.

The young centurion stopped and gathered his thoughts, drowning out the cacophony around him. He tried to focus despite the disruption. He had earned the right to be here, fought his way up from a junior, beating far older and bigger warriors on the way. He knew that Adaceus was beatable, he’d studies his form, the tactics, and had seen before how he had been on the ropes when the Emperor strangely called a halt to proceedings.

This was his shot at true glory – at a huge price.

He looked up, signalled he was ready, and the Emperor dropped his hand.

And with that, he cautiously edged forward.