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The son of Rome

by zargham asfand 

Posted: 14 February 2014
Word Count: 430
Summary: This is the prologue of a story i am looking forward to write.

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His lustrous silver armor glowed red under the hot bright sun. With a double handed war axe held firmly in his hands the gladiator appeared to be a monster in disguise of man. The iron clad mountain loomed over Jon Cornelius engulfing him in a huge shadow. Even with a super natural height amongst the gladiators, this demon could not succeed instilling fear in Jon. In a sleeveless leather jerkin that did not even cover Jon’s sun-tanned muscular arms and legs and with a short broad blade in hand, Jon appeared to be naked as in front of the gladiator’s glamorous armor.
The searing sand of the Coliseum was blistering the skin under Cornelius’s feet. Everywhere Jon could hear crowds roaring in the monster’s appreciation. Cautiously he pushed back a lock of golden hair from his forehead and swiped sweat from his brows. His foe was staring at him for a long time, judging for a slight movement, a weak point, a mistake. Jon waited.
The monster, growing impatient, gave up at last and without a seconds caution lunged forward at Jon. Axe swished to go up over the monsters shoulders, shinning bright under the sun and came down fast with intentions of ending Jon’s life. Taking advantage of his lithe body and super-fast reflexes Jon pushed himself at the very last moment thrusting his sword forwards at the attacker’s thigh. Jon’s blade bounced of the impenetrable armor without a single scratch at it. As out of his past experience, Jon was sure that if it would not have been for the armor the gladiator would have been knocked down by his blow.
The crowd cheered and ushered the gladiator forward, and he without a second thought broke into another charge. This time Jon was ready. He immediately identified the weakness of the armor. Jon Cornelius jumped high into the air, just out of the harm’s way and with one swift motion thrust his sword into the narrow eye slits of gladiator’s helm. The sharp blade found its mark and drove through the flesh, like a knife through butter.
Jon Cornelius stood over the dead man, his arm raised in triumph. There were sullen faces everywhere. Many bets had been lost and the people’s favorite champion had been slain by a man still unknown to them.
Jon considered this victory as another step towards his route to achievements, as another step towards regaining his lost identity. Jon looking at all those faces muttered under his breath, “I wish you all knew this is your lost prince returned to you”.   

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