CHAPTER
06.03: THE SLAVES AND HONOUR [PART 3]
As Damilare stepped into the arena. he took a deep breath,
breathing in and breathing out to calm his tense nerves or something unseen
rising from within him. His gaze swept across the vast, sandy open field and
all of its beauty.
The Bright hot sunlight beats down upon him, casting a golden
glow over the exciting scene he had placed myself in.
He was feeling many emotions but one of those feelings was
definitely a sense of awe wash over him wiping away the nervousness that
overcame his fragile but well-structured and trained body. His unconfident
posture gradually changed.
He stood there in the open hot field looking at the walls of the
arena and its inscription, like a explorer discovering a part of a lost ancient
civilization. He was adoring the glory of the arena and it's enchanting alure,
as he viewed it standing from the sides of the sandy floors of the gladiator
pit.
The bright ray of sunlight glowed upon him, casting long extended
shadows across the ground and partly on the stone walls.
The atmosphere was extremely tense with anticipation, and
expectations. upon gazing out to the vast sea of unfamiliar and irrelevant
faces, their features blurred and indistinct, but their excitement and
anticipation was visible as expected from a large pack of wild, blood thirsty
beasts in human skin.
With his mind focused, Damilare stood waiting for the
announcement of the battle to begin but a strange phenonium occupied as a
surreal feeling creeped over his body, stretching from his skin, his muscles,
his seeing, his hearing and to his breathing.
It attempted to consume him or maybe it did engulf him within
it's strange embrace. The once distracting loud cheers, chants and sounds of
the crowd strangely became less distracting, the burning heat of the hot Africa
sun became less hot and more like a warm feeling of a humid breeze.
The unpleasant sight of the dirty, unkept, untrained, and wild
slaves which served as Damilare opponent or obstacles from his point of view,
all seemed to fade and blend into the foggy background, becoming distant and
unreal like an after though.
The enormous arena itself began to distort in a spiral and blur
like a thick fog. The once pronounced ancient signs and symbols majestically inscribed
into the hard stone walls melted like wax, the sandy ground shifted like the turbulent
surface of a rushing river. He felt a sense of disorientation, as though he was
losing grip on reality... It's was like his soul was departing from his body.
No, he was truly losing control, he truly was falling or was it just something
he was feeling and not something that was happening.
He tried to shake it off like a distracting feeling, to focus on
the important battle he must to overcome. But it's was of no use, the surreal
reality he was feeling has him in its grip, and…
He felt powerless...
''NO NO NO''
He screamed within his subconscious.
''I'm not powerless. I am Damilare Odeniyi and I won't allow a
weak illusion defeat me. ''
He confidently said to myself
But those words, he said to himself were lies or should I say
words that were intended to boost his self-confidence. Although the illusions
were extremely weak in compared to what Adesanya and other users of the power
path could do but it was more than enough to drive the vast population of
unawakeners, paranoid or worse, mad.
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This was a fact that Damilare understood and knew, Afterall he
was trained by his sister for a mouth to resist the chaotic, and manipulative
effects of illusions.
It was referred to as an important training but its contents
conceived of just Damilare drifting between the boundary of sanity and pure
madness. It was an important training that all the members of the Odeniyi
family must attend, Although Damilare failed to pass the training, he had more
than enough experience to force his mind to retain its sanity but at a lasting
cost.
He tightly gripped his rusty blunt sword like the tight choke
hold of a might awakened Africa Python, and He swung his left hand wildly and
aimless with a equally tight grip on the shield. He held his weapons tightly to
force himself to feel his true sense of touch, he was forcing his mind, soul
and body to accept reality, to discard the falsehood of those illusions he
considered silly and frustrating.
He once again took a deep breath, breathing while feeling each
inhale and exhale as it went to his lungs into his body and back out.
He gazed up at the tiered seating and the faces of the
spectators, as it was of a different glow. It is clear enough to know they
weren't illusions but not distant enough to accurately describe their figures.
it was like trying to see and navigate within a deep fog, in simpler word, it
was extremely dangerous, annoying and disorientating.
He thought to himself
'' It is way easier trying navigate at night than trying to break
away from an illusion.''
As he saw the slaves, his opponents. The bastards responsible for
the wicked illusion he is facing.
They stood opposite of him; their intense glares collectively
fitted on Damilare as he struggled to stand properly without stumbling side to side.
Damilare laughed out loudly.
'' Ha Ha, Ha.''
His laughter was loud enough for the slaves to hear but not loud
enough for the wild and loud crowd to hear.
Damilare could feel fear, doubt and sadness. It wasn't his
feelings, but the feelings and collective thoughts of an external source.
It was the emotions of the caster.
''I don't need to see their faces to know what emotions is
displayed on it.''
He said to himself.
'' I might not be able to see clearly, but at least I could use
their emotions against them.''
is this a stupid though to have?
Is he stupid to think he could kill his opponents while currently
unable to see and walk properly due to his disorientation?
This was a match that didn't need to happen but came to be
because of his strong desire for something.
There are many ways of forcing an awakening and feeling the aura
of death is one of those many ways but from a logical and proper way of
thinking joining the festival as a combatant wasn't one of them as they were
many things to loss and fewer things gain upon victory.
Damilare was like a suicidal madman that had no regard for his
safety as long as he obtains what he wants or what he hopes for.
From a logical point of view, there were many ways to feel the
aura of death without actually facing it like a suicidal madman.
But why is Damilare so desperate?
What will he gain apart for awakening?
Will all his problems be solved?
what did he face for him to be willing to face death?
Afterall, he was not fighting for his honor,
For love,
For family,
For revenge,
For wealth and materialistic desires.
It was simple, he fought for the hope of awakening, but this
simple truth is complicated. It was causing the pondering of important and
reasonable questions. It is carrying secrets that needed to be uncovered.
Then with a deep and audible voice a guard shout.
'' BEGIN THE FREE FOR ALL.'' The announcement echoed within the
bounds of the arena
The announcement signified the official start of the festival.
The crowd then erupts into joy and excitement as a series of
crazy cheers and loud chaotic chants follows.
As Damilare stood there still struggling to balance. He couldn't
stop himself from feeling hyped from the loud cheers and chants of the crowd.
He also felt the caster's emotions change. The caster's inner will,
became stronger and more dominant as their fear turned to courage and
determination, their doubt and hopelessness changed to a desperate desire to
live.
'' So, this is the new emotions the caster of the illusion was
feeling. ''
''This lowly slave wishes to overcome me.''
''He is an amateur, if he can't separate his inner emotions from
the illusions he is projecting.''
He then nodded to myself, signifying his inner acceptance of the
battle that has begun and his will to come out victorious.
AUTHOR: THE PROGENITOR 01
