I felt the ice thaw on my face. My body was moved about before I was given an official resting place. I was hardly dead just holding on as best I could to the edges of consciousness. The battle in my mind was far deadlier than the battle I was going through physically. Lack of air left me slightly in a dazed state, my eyes would open but nothing would register. I saw a blurred mix of faces, still seemingly staring through that spectral vision produced by the ice, coating my sight in a thin film that was hardly pleasant. But it faded with time, but for now I would just sleep fade back into my hovel which was hoisted up in my own mind above the barren lands of my imagination.
My mind worked over strategies, hearing muttered and incomplete sentences about Molotov and the blond passing into the final cage. Along with my own name, but the doctors say I might not be able to participate. To hell with that my mind said then my eyes jerked open. Looking around I looked into a mirror at myself, the same ol’ face but when I moved my whole lower abdomen wrenched with pain. I wince then stagger, hitting the ground with one hand, the other curled tightly around my midsection. But with another thought of not participating I found the strength to pull myself from the ground. My equipment was laid out on a chair; I had my trousers on along with my boots. But my tunic, shirt, armor, and sword were resting on that chair. Before dressing this pain needed to be dealt with. So I went to work, survival was the key, so I wrapped myself in bandages, shock absorbing thick bandages. The pain would still mill through my body but not as badly, or so I hoped.
Now on to dressing, within the next fifteen or so minutes it was about dressing effectively. Trying out several methods only ending up in further irritating my pained midsection, I slipped on my Iron plated chest, and shoulder armor, under which was my tattered shirt, and gloves for my hands. I held my sword tightly around the middle of the scabbard inclining my head forward as I said a small prayer. Asking for my mother, and fathers blessing for me to do well in this tournament, I knew both would be watching or would at least hear word of me passing into the final round. How could I let them down? So with a pained body, and my head raised high I ambled out of the medical tent. As I tried to make myself look as presentable as possible, the closer I heard the crowd.
Then I found myself inside the cage, the pain was on the back burner, all I could feel now was the adrenaline. Pumped with energy I opened my mouth to let out a sigh after inhaling deeply. Rolling my shoulders back as a wave of pain flushed through my chest, I had to convert this pain into malleable energy. I have to prevail; my shameful performance within the first round would hardly be acceptable. So I would have to watch for sudden moves, anything that would provide me a reason to move to dodge. I am the hero of this tale, so lets act like one and go down valiantly.