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| - It was a lukewarm summer day in the north. The days were still getting shorter and shorter, but that mattered not to Aureus, for today was his chance, his possibility, to fight in the war and gain glory and honor to his house. The greatest honor is not in victory but death for a great cause. He recited his family motto. Even if he wasn't the top in his class, he was still the most driven. His heart layed in war, and many a teacher thought he would make a fine soldier. At least if Pullus wasn't there. Pullus was always superior to Aureus in life. Pullus is better. Why aren't you as good as Pullus? His family's beratings haunted him. He would have been the best if it wasn't for his gray rival. It was a mutual feeling as well. He remembered the many days he scrapped with the boy. Every one. Fifty two. Fifty two hellish battles in the only war we'd ever fought. And this'll be the last. His brothers actually fought, though. He had three, each of them brave warriors who had effortlessly won their Trials. Aureus had to make his family proud. “Aureus,” yelled his father, in a stern tone, “You'll be late! “Coming!” replied Aureus, jogging to his father's voice. He followed his beckoning father into his Preparation Room. The walls of the rather empty room were their original cement gray, with the exception of a bright golden stripe, his family color, dividing the top from the bottom. His armor matched the stripe near perfectly. He donned his armor, which was much lighter than the training version that was used to build muscle. His sword was sharpened and painted to perfection, matching his pristine armor. He lifted his shield in the air, noting its weight. It was painted gold as well, with a black lion head roaring, his family emblem, emblazoned on it. The last thing Aureus donned was his helmet, which was built like a bulletproof fishbowl in the front for maximum peripheral vision and a titanium alloy wall for the best defense. His father looked down on him and smiled. “Aureus, I know I don't say this a lot,” his father was strangely emotional, Is that a tear? “I love you.” That hit Aureus like a ton of bricks. His father was rarely this open, especially towards his youngest son. The only time the golden-clad boy had seen his father cry was at his mother's funeral, and even then, Aureus thought he imagined it. “I... I lo-” the son was interrupted by a loudspeaker, hidden somewhere in the room, most likely with a camera. “ALL FIGHTERS ENTER THE FIELD!” yelled the machine, and Aureus rushed to oblige it. He climbed up the stairs to the field, witnessing hundreds watching him enter. Pullus, having beat him there, clad in grey with his signature mace, was leading the crowd in chants. Two others rushed up the stairs, Caesius, clad in a lavender color with a spear, and Prasinus, wearing her grass green with a war pick. Finally came Luteus, a weak orange warrior carrying a trident. The countdown began. “Five.” “Four.” “Three.” “Two. “ “One.” A small beeping sound occurred and the fighting began. Caesius attempted to fight Pullus, but was quickly knocked to the wall with a sickening crack. Prasinus and Pullus engaged, with the fighting woman having a bit more luck against the brute. While, Aureus was distracted, the runt Luteus got a strike on him, knocking him to the ground and nearly piercing his armor. Luteus stabbed down, only for the fallen trainee to roll out of the way. Aureus managed to get up, putting his shield up just in time. The orange clad trident wield stabbed his weapon directly into the shield, managing to get it stuck. This was all the defender needed, he jerked his shield arm away, counting on his superior strength. This motion pulled the trident from the wielder's hands and freed the shield. As Luteus rushed for his trident, he exposed his armor's weak point, the neck, and Aureus in a fit of adrenaline stabbed his blade directly into the side. He stood in shock for a moment, realizing the severity of his action. A man was dead. He could not dwell for long, and looked over to the other two, being horrified with what he saw. Caesius was laying against the wall in a pool of blood, not yet defiled. Prasinus was much worse off, with her helmet removed and her face crushed and covered with blood, snot, bone, vomit, and liquids Aureus dare not mention. Finally, Pullus, covered in blood and gore, noticed the gaping boy and charged with his mace. “And your champion, Aur-” the announcer was interrupted, by some movement, not from Pullus, but from Caesius, the thought dead combatant. It seems that the assault from Pullus only rendered him unconscious. Aureus charged, unthinking and filled with bloodlust and fear. Caesius put up weak resistance, feebly putting both his hands to try and block whatever the golden-clad man would throw. Yet, unexpected to all, certainly Caesius, Aureus stopped, and fell to his knees, with a hole straight through his chest. Smoke rose from Caesius's fingers, the light that killed the warrior seeming to have come from his hands, and silence fell throughout the audience. Aureus looked at his father with startled eyes, and tried to beg for his help, but all that came out was gargled blood.
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