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The sandy scent of the fighting pits filled my nostrils as the sharp clank of weapons, grunts, and roars reverberated through the arena.
The prison’s combat ground was a harsh world, separated from the depths of the cosmos above only by the translucent, dome-like ceiling.
I was fortunate that in the vastness of this grim place, I had carved out a niche for myself as a mentor, one whose voice the fighters sought amidst the chaos.
Looking down at the pit from my vantage point, I watched two combatants lock into a fierce battle.
One was a hulking brute named Garlon, an alien with rough, grayish skin covered in spikes.
His opponent, Larn, was one of my proteges — a lean, agile fighter from a moon where gravity had chiseled its inhabitants into swift-moving creatures.
They circled each other, Garlon’s every heavy footfall a contrast to Larn’s graceful, darting movements.
I felt the gritty texture of the guardrail beneath my fingers as I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes at the combat below.
The din of the crowd was a continuous drone, but I zeroed in on Larn’s rhythm, sensing the adrenaline rushing through his veins.
Garlon lunged first, swinging his massive club with all the power his beefy arms could muster.
But Larn, with his heightened reflexes, nimbly rolled to the side, leaving Garlon to strike nothing but air.
“Stay nimble, Larn!” I shouted, my voice barely piercing the cacophony.
The cool air hit the back of my throat as I continued cheering. “Use his weight against him!”
The two continued their dance.
Larn’s strategy was clear — to tire out the behemoth.
Larn’s agile feints and dodges frustrated Garlon.
Each miss took a toll on the larger combatant’s stamina, his breathing growing ragged.
Garlon, desperate for a win, roared and unleashed a flurry of strikes.
Larn, quick as ever, dodged most but got caught by a glancing blow.
The force threw him several feet away, dust rising from where he landed.
The crowd gasped.
My heart raced. “Get up! Remember your training!” I yelled, hope and worry flavoring every word.
Heeding my call, Larn sprang to his feet just as Garlon came charging.
Using Garlon’s momentum against him, Larn dropped and performed a sweeping kick, catching the larger fighter by surprise.
Garlon tumbled, crashing into the pit’s perimeter with a thud that resonated through the ground, even up to where I stood.
A triumphant cheer erupted from the crowd. “That’s how it’s done!” I shouted, pride swelling within me.
Despite the inherent violence and stakes of these battles, I always maintained an unspoken bond of respect with those I mentored.
I became a coach not out of necessity but out of a desire to improve the lot of those trapped in this merciless environment.
Not just in terms of combat skills but also in instilling the values of teamwork, trust, and honor.
In the pits, where life could be snuffed out in an instant, I had learned that a fighter with a cause, a fighter who felt valued, was more formidable than one simply thrown into the fray.
