He was six when the Horde of the Crimson Mandate broke his village’s last wall. He watched his mother become a statistic and his father become a scream. Then a gauntleted hand closed over his face, and a voice like grinding stone said, "This one has the spark. Brand him for the Arenas of Ur-Zarak."
"Leave me," she gasped.
"Everyone says you’re the one," she whispered. "The one who might break us out." battle slaves code