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You looked up, eyes electrified by rage, the gate was in front of you and a galra guard was leading you to it. You were not at your best: Weak, malnourished, dehydrated, had exposed wounds. To be honest, you would rather be dead, but the anger and the hope of reuniting with your brother kept you standing. The galras quickly learned not to underestimate you, despite being just an 18-Deca-Phoebs-old female human, in the arena you were fierce. The arena was the only place you could be the oppressor, not the oppressed, and that gave you the anger you needed to fight. The gate opened, a knife was thrown at you and you grabbed it, clenched your fist and ran toward the arena.

'Oppressor, not the oppressed.'

The audience was loud, louder than usual, you wondered if there was any reason for it. When you looked ahead the adversary's gate was opening, out of it came a sentry, the galra's undead soldiers, you gave a confident smile, you had won over several of these before, then came another one, and another, and another, when you noticed had an undead army in front of you. The audience screamed like crazy, you could hear

phrases like "She's already dead" or "This is going to be interesting".

"Oh quiznak," you said, then looked around, 9 of them and 1 of you, you were clearly outnumbered, but unlike them, you had both agility and complex thinking. You've got this.

You ran your fingers through your knife. You had a plan. You started running towards two undead, the front one tried to attack you, but before they could you pushed their legs and knocked them down, sticking the knife into their skull and using them as a shield from the other sentry in front of you. This, unfortunately, left your back defenseless giving one of the Sentrys the advantage to dig their pointy nails into it. Bursts of tearing pain pulsed through your back, you screamed. Their nails were almost as sharp as a knife. The audience vibrated. You took the knife from the other one's head, threw the sentry forward and in a desperate blow tried to hit the one that was on your back. Somehow you succeeded. Your breathing was heavy, 'two are gone, now only 7 left'.

One of them ran towards you, you ran toward him too, bending down at the last moment and sliding under his legs to deflect, the sand from the ground burned in your bruises, the pain made you frown, looking ahead there was another sentry, you took advantage of the boost, raising your arms and aiming the knife at their belly, you hit him but did not calculate that the knife would get stuck and you would be crushed by the undead that you just hit. You were trapped under an undead, several others approaching to devour you, part of the audience was thinking you were going to die, but that part didn't follow your fights. 

"Too easy" you grinned.You could feel a dark energy taking over your body.

You rolled to the side, now you were on the top of the undead's body, they tried to hit you, but you simply took the knife from their belly, and smashed his forehead with the handle. Blood splashed all over your face. You turned your attention to the other sentries, got up just to bring the nearest one down, giving them the same treatment as the one you just killed, the whole knife was bloody now. One of them approached you from behind, you turned to him with bloodlust. 'Control, control, control' was screaming all over your mind.

For a tick you turned off. The audience's voice was drowned. You were a different person on The Arena.

"CONTROL, CONTROL, CONTROL" you were screaming sweat dripping down your face as your knife repeatedly crossed the undead's head. The fight was over, but you were not.

"That's enough, slave" one of the galra guards screamed, repressing you, you didn't stop, "I SAID THAT'S ENOUGH, SLAVE"