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Description
A stranger dressed in dark clothes and a hooded cloak stood among the crowd staring down into the pit. The winner was walking out, the loser would soon be tossed into a mass grave with today's victims. The bloody pit would be reset for the next pair of fighters and the process repeated.

"I want him." The voice beneath the hood was muffled but firm.

"Reaper? You said you wanted a bodyguard, not a killer," replied the bookie who was in charge of the bets.

"Is there a difference?"

"He'd kill you before he'd protect you!" protested Bookie.

"Do you dare to question me?" growled the stranger, sliding his cloak back enough for the handle of a long bladed dagger to be seen.

"N-No, sir. I'll get you his owner."

Reaper found himself ushered down a different corridor than usual by the armed guards; he had won and he wasn't badly hurt so why the change? Even breeding - not that the Pures had wanted to breed him because of his powers and temperment - occurred in the Demons' "rooms". These rooms were tiny cells barely big enough for a grown man to lay down. He was shoved into the infirmary, but no doctor awaited him. Instead, a bucket of water and a burlap bag had been placed there.

"Clean up," barked one guard before locking the door.

The water was cold as Reaper washed away the dirt and blood, the rag and towel was made from the same kind of burlap as the bag. However, the clothes inside the bundle were made of better material. He retrieved black cotton pants, a deep blue gray shirt made from thick linen, socks, sturdy boots, a leather belt, and a dark red hooded cloak. The new clothes were a pleasant change from the worn pants he'd been wearing. Puzzled, he quickly cleaned up and dressed, warily waited for what would come next as he held the cloak in one hand.

Description
A stranger dressed in dark clothes and a hooded cloak stood among the crowd staring down into the pit. The winner was walking out, the loser would soon be tossed into a mass grave with today's victims. The bloody pit would be reset for the next pair of fighters and the process repeated.

"I want him." The voice beneath the hood was muffled but firm.

"Reaper? You said you wanted a bodyguard, not a killer," replied the bookie who was in charge of the bets.

"Is there a difference?"

"He'd kill you before he'd protect you!" protested Bookie.

"Do you dare to question me?" growled the stranger, sliding his cloak back enough for the handle of a long bladed dagger to be seen.

"N-No, sir. I'll get you his owner."

Reaper found himself ushered down a different corridor than usual by the armed guards; he had won and he wasn't badly hurt so why the change? Even breeding - not that the Pures had wanted to breed him because of his powers and temperment - occurred in the Demons' "rooms". These rooms were tiny cells barely big enough for a grown man to lay down. He was shoved into the infirmary, but no doctor awaited him. Instead, a bucket of water and a burlap bag had been placed there.

"Clean up," barked one guard before locking the door.

The water was cold as Reaper washed away the dirt and blood, the rag and towel was made from the same kind of burlap as the bag. However, the clothes inside the bundle were made of better material. He retrieved black cotton pants, a deep blue gray shirt made from thick linen, socks, sturdy boots, a leather belt, and a dark red hooded cloak. The new clothes were a pleasant change from the worn pants he'd been wearing. Puzzled, he quickly cleaned up and dressed, warily waited for what would come next as he held the cloak in one hand.