I was thrown in the shade by a Klevian goons, a race so disfigured, it was hard to look at. Two of his friends, the lesser pedigree of him stood at his side and mad watched at the other contestants while the teller took their names and gave them blaster charges.
“This isn’t your first clash, I see.” A man behind me said looking straight at the Arena.
I haven’t replied, nor turned to give him attention, but he cleared his throat and added.
“Just stay out of my way and you will be fine.”
“Next!” The teller shouted as I was the next in line. “Name!” He gave me a mean look.
“Erthorn.” I grunted and he tossed me the blaster and three charges of acid solution so the wounds would burn, but not kill.
I proceeded to the entrance where music melted with the clamor of the crowd and light bounced from the glass walls. In the middle of the dusty place laid the broken satellite. Strange, this is the first time I used the foreign word and I knew its meaning.
The walls around me were the solar panels, a mirrors of sorts that made the barrier around us. The dome rose high with metal construction, some people sitting on it and curiously looking at the match that was about to start.
I stepped on something, and that was the charges that fell from the Klevian Rangers. The tallest one had four arms, but his human form was so ripped with muscles it almost made him alien. His two friends were somewhat smaller and full of odd lumps on their back, like some experiment went wrong with them.
The match was three on three, and Klevians didn’t wanted to mix with the other people they deemed as less worthy. My companions stood behind me, waiting for the bell to ring. With the music stopping and a short buzz of a bell, the match begun.