Krath entered the Arena and blinked in the harsh morning light. At the other end of the grounds he could make out a small lizard-like shape, but could not tell if it was Raven or Siph. He laughed, and the grating sound of it set most of the spectators' teeth grinding. I crush him easily, Siph or Raven. Both die in my hands soon.
High above on the Arena's lowest terrace, the Arena master stood, holding a blood-red cloth. "Today, the fights begin. Let them mark a noble ascension to victory, and prove themselves worthy of Calarith's challenge! When the cloth drops, have at it, fighters!" And at this, he flung the cloth down. It fluttered quickly down the side of the Arena's wall, over twenty feet down, to the dirt floor of the battlefield.
As it touched the ground, Krath charged. His wickedly sharp blades seemed to stretch out from his body, and he looked more a demon from Hell than his opposition.
Siph could not help but feel a sense of awe and power as the brute charged. But he has no magical powers- just strength and sharp bones.
Then the time for thinking was over.
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