Blood was ever apparent, as too was pain.

Sometimes it was his own and mostly it was that of others, of those that would share the same fate as his, at least without the dying part…

The war cry from his left alerted him of an intervention, forcing him to swap his grip on his blade with his foot meeting the knee of his fellow gladiator. A cry of pain was earned as he fell to his knee and broke the lock of their blades, and more importantly it freed his sword. With a swift horizontal slash did his rushing opponent meet his end as his grasp faltered when it came to block the slash.

What was left crumpled down onto the bloodied floor, and with it he was on the move.

It was a blur these days, all he could ever really recall was the Blood, the pain, and jeers from above. Yes he was not alone, nor was this conflict of his desire, as this was an arena to send men to an honorable death.

He was both a prisoner, and executioner.

Bodies fell, blood was spilt, and lives were taken.

All at the core of this place, at the darkest crevice of this world of smog, where smoke clouded the sun and the air was a detriment to one's health. It was a perfect act keeping him here, if he chose to try and flee, to try and carve a path out…

"Please! Die! Just die!"

Though for the others, his opponents, they had long established what this place represented as a death sentence. Just as how he met blades with his next opponent, the woman desperate to keep the scrap of metal she called a shield up to hold back his own. She trembled under his pressure, and could not hold as he pulled his blade back and brought it down again, earning the screeching of metal.

With a simple kick he sent the scrap shield off and swiftly moved his sword in his grasp, intercepting a slash of a sword, even more continuing its fluid movement to cleave his attempted killer's stomach open.

How many were left now? The horde was thinned down to a good handful of men that didn't dare approach him and sought to stick to the half assed structures of metal. From simple pillars to barriers it was molded to be…diverse when combat came to be, and it was ever changing. With a low groan the man slowly grasped his stomach, tracing over the gash that had nearly spilled his guts earlier. Already he could feel his skin pulsing as threads of his flesh snaked out to slowly patch the wound shut.

Damn…that was close….


At this rate the thought of death could only make him chuckle and smirk, it wasn't something he feared especially with just it prospected; being thrown back into cycle of life and death.

Yet Dominous could not fall.

Dominous…Dominic, yes…when was the last time he had even uttered that word? Better yet, when was the last time he had a conversation?


Huffing and with heavy breaths the man slowly rocked his shoulders and moved his blade in his grasp for a few twirls, flashy of course, but enough to signal his resumed advance.

He would live to fight yet another day.

That is at least how things should have gone, instead as he leap forth and blinked did he find his world different. Gone was the dead, cold, and unyielding stone floors now replaced with the soft green of glass, and the pillars and barriers? Now they were nothing more than trees and shrubs…

His grasp on his blade wavered for a second, before tensing as he moved forth and struck out with his blade. Yet he could feel it as his sword cleaved through his target, a tree, sending the plant careening down to the point he was forced to dodge it. Backpedaling he could only look down to where the tree now rested, but that wasn't enough as he raised his sword yet again. Another tree fell, sent down to crush a few poor defenseless shrubs, and worse confirming what was happening…

Still he was in a sense of denial, there was no way such a thing was happening.

His body didn't remain still, as did his blade as he struck out left to right at any plant life in his way…truly the plant-pocalypse. It was shameful to admit it, but even after creating an entire clearing filled with stumps did Dominic find himself unable to calm. If this was a trick, it was indeed getting to him as a bead of sweat drifted down his neck…


Ah…right, speaking…it had been some time, but it certainly wasn't impossible to recall…

"What…what ish…thitsh…"

Yes it definitely needs work, much work, but that would come later…right now he…needed to calm himself, which was difficult given the amount of adrenaline in his system. Shakily did he lower his blade, unceremoniously dragging it through the dirt as he took a seat upon a stump and buried his sword into the earth.

He sat in utter silence as he hooked an arm around the hilt of his sword to rest his forehead upon the guard as he took long breaths. This was…a lot to take in, better yet try and decipher, but he at least had some idea what was going on.

A Displacement event.

Rare…legendarily rare…well rare depending just who you were…


Ahh…the adrenaline was slowly fading, he could feel the many nicks, bruises, and light wounds once more, though it would be a few hours until they hit full force. Right now the artificial shit they had pumped in him left him feeling sore and his heart pumping…

Where did he even go with this? What was it again…that five step plan for when this happened? Er…stay calm…get to a safe location…assess the situation…or was that one the second one?