Perpetually Tired Prince

The Anual Death Pit Tournament. An equally beloved and infamous event in hell. The biggest gladiatorial fight hosted by Wrath's royal family, where over two hundred demons were dumped in a single arena with the sole objective of surviving all of the others, with heavily suppressed powers and limited arsenal and protection. It was easily one of the most challenging events to live through, if you were one of the competitors. Only one could come out alive.

Hell's population loved it, of course they did. The event's day was a holiday, one of the few they had. The Coliseum's best seats all sold out, the public ones packed full, demons bumping against eachother, placing bets of this year's competitors. Anonymity was one of the rules for the fighters, as the point of the fight was winning through skill only, not political importance or levels of raw power, hence the suppression seals all over the battlegrounds.

The first one, when he had just turned seventeen, had been his first real fight outside of his mother's training. He went back to the tournament again at 19, then at 21. Now, at 23, it was his fourth time sitting in the dressing room, wrapping up his boots and pants tightly with fabric. Three days he would fight non stop, starting the moment he set foot in the arena and the horns were played. It had been his own idea, really. He hadn't felt like himself for... Ages now. Trying too hard to fit into whatever box and title people had given him. Prince, parent, sibling, friend, lover. He didn't understand those things, not like people wanted him to.

But he understood bloodshed, he understood fighting, the cacophony of blades hitting against eachother and pained screams.

He lets out a twisted, choked laugh

Come on, that was funny. What's it going to be this time? Dismemberment, impalement, gutting?

You've got to be more creative. It's getting boring to watch, to say the least.

It’s not like you have a choice, is it? You crave it, you love it, you feel it in your bones.

No, no, no, no, no no no no no no-!

Turning back and blindly slashing at where the taunt had came from with the sword, suddenly breathing heavy.

He should not be here. Not now.

The damned man who set him up for the first Tournament, without even warning him of it.

"It's your fault in the first place-!"

Leave you without any problems?

HA

Now that i noticed, did you cut your hair? You are quite different now, aren't you?

The Anual Death Pit Tournament. An equally beloved and infamous event in hell. The biggest gladiatorial fight hosted by Wrath's royal family, where over two hundred demons were dumped in a single arena with the sole objective of surviving all of the others, with heavily suppressed powers and limited arsenal and protection. It was easily one of the most challenging events to live through, if you were one of the competitors. Only one could come out alive.

Hell's population loved it, of course they did. The event's day was a holiday, one of the few they had. The Coliseum's best seats all sold out, the public ones packed full, demons bumping against eachother, placing bets of this year's competitors. Anonymity was one of the rules for the fighters, as the point of the fight was winning through skill only, not political importance or levels of raw power, hence the suppression seals all over the battlegrounds.

The first one, when he had just turned seventeen, had been his first real fight outside of his mother's training. He went back to the tournament again at 19, then at 21. Now, at 23, it was his fourth time sitting in the dressing room, wrapping up his boots and pants tightly with fabric. Three days he would fight non stop, starting the moment he set foot in the arena and the horns were played. It had been his own idea, really. He hadn't felt like himself for... Ages now. Trying too hard to fit into whatever box and title people had given him. Prince, parent, sibling, friend, lover. He didn't understand those things, not like people wanted him to.

But he understood bloodshed, he understood fighting, the cacophony of blades hitting against eachother and pained screams.

He lets out a twisted, choked laugh

Come on, that was funny. What's it going to be this time? Dismemberment, impalement, gutting?

You've got to be more creative. It's getting boring to watch, to say the least.

It’s not like you have a choice, is it? You crave it, you love it, you feel it in your bones.

No, no, no, no, no no no no no no-!

Turning back and blindly slashing at where the taunt had came from with the sword, suddenly breathing heavy.

He should not be here. Not now.

The damned man who set him up for the first Tournament, without even warning him of it.

"It's your fault in the first place-!"

Leave you without any problems?

HA

Now that i noticed, did you cut your hair? You are quite different now, aren't you?

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The Anual Death Pit Tournament. An equally beloved and infamous event in hell. The biggest gladiatorial fight hosted by Wrath's royal family, where over two hundred demons were dumped in a single arena with the sole objective of surviving all of the others, with heavily suppressed powers and limited arsenal and protection. It was easily one of the most challenging events to live through, if you were one of the competitors. Only one could come out alive.

Hell's population loved it, of course they did. The event's day was a holiday, one of the few they had. The Coliseum's best seats all sold out, the public ones packed full, demons bumping against eachother, placing bets of this year's competitors. Anonymity was one of the rules for the fighters, as the point of the fight was winning through skill only, not political importance or levels of raw power, hence the suppression seals all over the battlegrounds.

The first one, when he had just turned seventeen, had been his first real fight outside of his mother's training. He went back to the tournament again at 19, then at 21. Now, at 23, it was his fourth time sitting in the dressing room, wrapping up his boots and pants tightly with fabric. Three days he would fight non stop, starting the moment he set foot in the arena and the horns were played. It had been his own idea, really. He hadn't felt like himself for... Ages now. Trying too hard to fit into whatever box and title people had given him. Prince, parent, sibling, friend, lover. He didn't understand those things, not like people wanted him to.

But he understood bloodshed, he understood fighting, the cacophony of blades hitting against eachother and pained screams.

He lets out a twisted, choked laugh

Come on, that was funny. What's it going to be this time? Dismemberment, impalement, gutting?

You've got to be more creative. It's getting boring to watch, to say the least.

It’s not like you have a choice, is it? You crave it, you love it, you feel it in your bones.

No, no, no, no, no no no no no no-!

Turning back and blindly slashing at where the taunt had came from with the sword, suddenly breathing heavy.

He should not be here. Not now.

The damned man who set him up for the first Tournament, without even warning him of it.

"It's your fault in the first place-!"

Leave you without any problems?

HA

Now that i noticed, did you cut your hair? You are quite different now, aren't you?

The Anual Death Pit Tournament. An equally beloved and infamous event in hell. The biggest gladiatorial fight hosted by Wrath's royal family, where over two hundred demons were dumped in a single arena with the sole objective of surviving all of the others, with heavily suppressed powers and limited arsenal and protection. It was easily one of the most challenging events to live through, if you were one of the competitors. Only one could come out alive.

Hell's population loved it, of course they did. The event's day was a holiday, one of the few they had. The Coliseum's best seats all sold out, the public ones packed full, demons bumping against eachother, placing bets of this year's competitors. Anonymity was one of the rules for the fighters, as the point of the fight was winning through skill only, not political importance or levels of raw power, hence the suppression seals all over the battlegrounds.

The first one, when he had just turned seventeen, had been his first real fight outside of his mother's training. He went back to the tournament again at 19, then at 21. Now, at 23, it was his fourth time sitting in the dressing room, wrapping up his boots and pants tightly with fabric. Three days he would fight non stop, starting the moment he set foot in the arena and the horns were played. It had been his own idea, really. He hadn't felt like himself for... Ages now. Trying too hard to fit into whatever box and title people had given him. Prince, parent, sibling, friend, lover. He didn't understand those things, not like people wanted him to.

But he understood bloodshed, he understood fighting, the cacophony of blades hitting against eachother and pained screams.

He lets out a twisted, choked laugh

Come on, that was funny. What's it going to be this time? Dismemberment, impalement, gutting?

You've got to be more creative. It's getting boring to watch, to say the least.

It’s not like you have a choice, is it? You crave it, you love it, you feel it in your bones.

No, no, no, no, no no no no no no-!

Turning back and blindly slashing at where the taunt had came from with the sword, suddenly breathing heavy.

He should not be here. Not now.

The damned man who set him up for the first Tournament, without even warning him of it.

"It's your fault in the first place-!"

Leave you without any problems?

HA

Now that i noticed, did you cut your hair? You are quite different now, aren't you?

The Anual Death Pit Tournament. An equally beloved and infamous event in hell. The biggest gladiatorial fight hosted by Wrath's royal family, where over two hundred demons were dumped in a single arena with the sole objective of surviving all of the others, with heavily suppressed powers and limited arsenal and protection. It was easily one of the most challenging events to live through, if you were one of the competitors. Only one could come out alive.

Hell's population loved it, of course they did. The event's day was a holiday, one of the few they had. The Coliseum's best seats all sold out, the public ones packed full, demons bumping against eachother, placing bets of this year's competitors. Anonymity was one of the rules for the fighters, as the point of the fight was winning through skill only, not political importance or levels of raw power, hence the suppression seals all over the battlegrounds.

The first one, when he had just turned seventeen, had been his first real fight outside of his mother's training. He went back to the tournament again at 19, then at 21. Now, at 23, it was his fourth time sitting in the dressing room, wrapping up his boots and pants tightly with fabric. Three days he would fight non stop, starting the moment he set foot in the arena and the horns were played. It had been his own idea, really. He hadn't felt like himself for... Ages now. Trying too hard to fit into whatever box and title people had given him. Prince, parent, sibling, friend, lover. He didn't understand those things, not like people wanted him to.

But he understood bloodshed, he understood fighting, the cacophony of blades hitting against eachother and pained screams.

He lets out a twisted, choked laugh

Come on, that was funny. What's it going to be this time? Dismemberment, impalement, gutting?

You've got to be more creative. It's getting boring to watch, to say the least.

It’s not like you have a choice, is it? You crave it, you love it, you feel it in your bones.

No, no, no, no, no no no no no no-!

Turning back and blindly slashing at where the taunt had came from with the sword, suddenly breathing heavy.

He should not be here. Not now.

The damned man who set him up for the first Tournament, without even warning him of it.

"It's your fault in the first place-!"

Leave you without any problems?

HA

Now that i noticed, did you cut your hair? You are quite different now, aren't you?

The Anual Death Pit Tournament. An equally beloved and infamous event in hell. The biggest gladiatorial fight hosted by Wrath's royal family, where over two hundred demons were dumped in a single arena with the sole objective of surviving all of the others, with heavily suppressed powers and limited arsenal and protection. It was easily one of the most challenging events to live through, if you were one of the competitors. Only one could come out alive.

Hell's population loved it, of course they did. The event's day was a holiday, one of the few they had. The Coliseum's best seats all sold out, the public ones packed full, demons bumping against eachother, placing bets of this year's competitors. Anonymity was one of the rules for the fighters, as the point of the fight was winning through skill only, not political importance or levels of raw power, hence the suppression seals all over the battlegrounds.

The first one, when he had just turned seventeen, had been his first real fight outside of his mother's training. He went back to the tournament again at 19, then at 21. Now, at 23, it was his fourth time sitting in the dressing room, wrapping up his boots and pants tightly with fabric. Three days he would fight non stop, starting the moment he set foot in the arena and the horns were played. It had been his own idea, really. He hadn't felt like himself for... Ages now. Trying too hard to fit into whatever box and title people had given him. Prince, parent, sibling, friend, lover. He didn't understand those things, not like people wanted him to.

But he understood bloodshed, he understood fighting, the cacophony of blades hitting against eachother and pained screams.

He lets out a twisted, choked laugh

Come on, that was funny. What's it going to be this time? Dismemberment, impalement, gutting?

You've got to be more creative. It's getting boring to watch, to say the least.

It’s not like you have a choice, is it? You crave it, you love it, you feel it in your bones.

No, no, no, no, no no no no no no-!

Turning back and blindly slashing at where the taunt had came from with the sword, suddenly breathing heavy.

He should not be here. Not now.

The damned man who set him up for the first Tournament, without even warning him of it.

"It's your fault in the first place-!"

Leave you without any problems?

HA

Now that i noticed, did you cut your hair? You are quite different now, aren't you?

The Anual Death Pit Tournament. An equally beloved and infamous event in hell. The biggest gladiatorial fight hosted by Wrath's royal family, where over two hundred demons were dumped in a single arena with the sole objective of surviving all of the others, with heavily suppressed powers and limited arsenal and protection. It was easily one of the most challenging events to live through, if you were one of the competitors. Only one could come out alive.

Hell's population loved it, of course they did. The event's day was a holiday, one of the few they had. The Coliseum's best seats all sold out, the public ones packed full, demons bumping against eachother, placing bets of this year's competitors. Anonymity was one of the rules for the fighters, as the point of the fight was winning through skill only, not political importance or levels of raw power, hence the suppression seals all over the battlegrounds.

The first one, when he had just turned seventeen, had been his first real fight outside of his mother's training. He went back to the tournament again at 19, then at 21. Now, at 23, it was his fourth time sitting in the dressing room, wrapping up his boots and pants tightly with fabric. Three days he would fight non stop, starting the moment he set foot in the arena and the horns were played. It had been his own idea, really. He hadn't felt like himself for... Ages now. Trying too hard to fit into whatever box and title people had given him. Prince, parent, sibling, friend, lover. He didn't understand those things, not like people wanted him to.

But he understood bloodshed, he understood fighting, the cacophony of blades hitting against eachother and pained screams.

He lets out a twisted, choked laugh

Come on, that was funny. What's it going to be this time? Dismemberment, impalement, gutting?

You've got to be more creative. It's getting boring to watch, to say the least.

It’s not like you have a choice, is it? You crave it, you love it, you feel it in your bones.

No, no, no, no, no no no no no no-!

Turning back and blindly slashing at where the taunt had came from with the sword, suddenly breathing heavy.

He should not be here. Not now.

The damned man who set him up for the first Tournament, without even warning him of it.

"It's your fault in the first place-!"

Leave you without any problems?

HA

The Anual Death Pit Tournament. An equally beloved and infamous event in hell. The biggest gladiatorial fight hosted by Wrath's royal family, where over two hundred demons were dumped in a single arena with the sole objective of surviving all of the others, with heavily suppressed powers and limited arsenal and protection. It was easily one of the most challenging events to live through, if you were one of the competitors. Only one could come out alive.

Hell's population loved it, of course they did. The event's day was a holiday, one of the few they had. The Coliseum's best seats all sold out, the public ones packed full, demons bumping against eachother, placing bets of this year's competitors. Anonymity was one of the rules for the fighters, as the point of the fight was winning through skill only, not political importance or levels of raw power, hence the suppression seals all over the battlegrounds.

The first one, when he had just turned seventeen, had been his first real fight outside of his mother's training. He went back to the tournament again at 19, then at 21. Now, at 23, it was his fourth time sitting in the dressing room, wrapping up his boots and pants tightly with fabric. Three days he would fight non stop, starting the moment he set foot in the arena and the horns were played. It had been his own idea, really. He hadn't felt like himself for... Ages now. Trying too hard to fit into whatever box and title people had given him. Prince, parent, sibling, friend, lover. He didn't understand those things, not like people wanted him to.

But he understood bloodshed, he understood fighting, the cacophony of blades hitting against eachother and pained screams.

He lets out a twisted, choked laugh

Come on, that was funny. What's it going to be this time? Dismemberment, impalement, gutting?

You've got to be more creative. It's getting boring to watch, to say the least.

It’s not like you have a choice, is it? You crave it, you love it, you feel it in your bones.

No, no, no, no, no no no no no no-!

Turning back and blindly slashing at where the taunt had came from with the sword, suddenly breathing heavy.

He should not be here. Not now.

The damned man who set him up for the first Tournament, without even warning him of it.

"It's your fault in the first place-!"

The Anual Death Pit Tournament. An equally beloved and infamous event in hell. The biggest gladiatorial fight hosted by Wrath's royal family, where over two hundred demons were dumped in a single arena with the sole objective of surviving all of the others, with heavily suppressed powers and limited arsenal and protection. It was easily one of the most challenging events to live through, if you were one of the competitors. Only one could come out alive.

Hell's population loved it, of course they did. The event's day was a holiday, one of the few they had. The Coliseum's best seats all sold out, the public ones packed full, demons bumping against eachother, placing bets of this year's competitors. Anonymity was one of the rules for the fighters, as the point of the fight was winning through skill only, not political importance or levels of raw power, hence the suppression seals all over the battlegrounds.

The first one, when he had just turned seventeen, had been his first real fight outside of his mother's training. He went back to the tournament again at 19, then at 21. Now, at 23, it was his fourth time sitting in the dressing room, wrapping up his boots and pants tightly with fabric. Three days he would fight non stop, starting the moment he set foot in the arena and the horns were played. It had been his own idea, really. He hadn't felt like himself for... Ages now. Trying too hard to fit into whatever box and title people had given him. Prince, parent, sibling, friend, lover. He didn't understand those things, not like people wanted him to.

But he understood bloodshed, he understood fighting, the cacophony of blades hitting against eachother and pained screams.

He lets out a twisted, choked laugh

Come on, that was funny. What's it going to be this time? Dismemberment, impalement, gutting?

You've got to be more creative. It's getting boring to watch, to say the least.

It’s not like you have a choice, is it? You crave it, you love it, you feel it in your bones.

No, no, no, no, no no no no no no-!

Turning back and blindly slashing at where the taunt had came from with the sword, suddenly breathing heavy.

He should not be here. Not now.

The damned man who set him up for the first Tournament, without even warning him of it.

"It's your fault in the first place-!"

The Anual Death Pit Tournament. An equally beloved and infamous event in hell. The biggest gladiatorial fight hosted by Wrath's royal family, where over two hundred demons were dumped in a single arena with the sole objective of surviving all of the others, with heavily suppressed powers and limited arsenal and protection. It was easily one of the most challenging events to live through, if you were one of the competitors. Only one could come out alive.

Hell's population loved it, of course they did. The event's day was a holiday, one of the few they had. The Coliseum's best seats all sold out, the public ones packed full, demons bumping against eachother, placing bets of this year's competitors. Anonymity was one of the rules for the fighters, as the point of the fight was winning through skill only, not political importance or levels of raw power, hence the suppression seals all over the battlegrounds.

The first one, when he had just turned seventeen, had been his first real fight outside of his mother's training. He went back to the tournament again at 19, then at 21. Now, at 23, it was his fourth time sitting in the dressing room, wrapping up his boots and pants tightly with fabric. Three days he would fight non stop, starting the moment he set foot in the arena and the horns were played. It had been his own idea, really. He hadn't felt like himself for... Ages now. Trying too hard to fit into whatever box and title people had given him. Prince, parent, sibling, friend, lover. He didn't understand those things, not like people wanted him to.

But he understood bloodshed, he understood fighting, the cacophony of blades hitting against eachother and pained screams.

He lets out a twisted, choked laugh

Come on, that was funny. What's it going to be this time? Dismemberment, impalement, gutting?

You've got to be more creative. It's getting boring to watch, to say the least.

It’s not like you have a choice, is it? You crave it, you love it, you feel it in your bones.

No, no, no, no, no no no no no no-!

Turning back and blindly slashing at where the taunt had came from with the sword, suddenly breathing heavy.

He should not be here. Not now.

The damned man who set him up for the first Tournament, without even warning him of it.

"It's your fault in the first place-!"

The Anual Death Pit Tournament. An equally beloved and infamous event in hell. The biggest gladiatorial fight hosted by Wrath's royal family, where over two hundred demons were dumped in a single arena with the sole objective of surviving all of the others, with heavily suppressed powers and limited arsenal and protection. It was easily one of the most challenging events to live through, if you were one of the competitors. Only one could come out alive.

Hell's population loved it, of course they did. The event's day was a holiday, one of the few they had. The Coliseum's best seats all sold out, the public ones packed full, demons bumping against eachother, placing bets of this year's competitors. Anonymity was one of the rules for the fighters, as the point of the fight was winning through skill only, not political importance or levels of raw power, hence the suppression seals all over the battlegrounds.

The first one, when he had just turned seventeen, had been his first real fight outside of his mother's training. He went back to the tournament again at 19, then at 21. Now, at 23, it was his fourth time sitting in the dressing room, wrapping up his boots and pants tightly with fabric. Three days he would fight non stop, starting the moment he set foot in the arena and the horns were played. It had been his own idea, really. He hadn't felt like himself for... Ages now. Trying too hard to fit into whatever box and title people had given him. Prince, parent, sibling, friend, lover. He didn't understand those things, not like people wanted him to.

But he understood bloodshed, he understood fighting, the cacophony of blades hitting against eachother and pained screams.

He dialed the number, hoping his mate would answer.

"You could have called us earlier... Oh, our Sun, you did such a great job..."

They praised, their voice softer than ever

Reaching into the shadows, they pulled out a big chicken bucket, helping Telamon support himself so he could eat it.

"We know, dear, but spending energy on crying won't make it easier-"

They kiss his head.

They hummed, suddenly looking... Apprehensive

"Pushing such a big egg out will do that to you, hm?"

They gently kissed Telamon's head

He dialed the number, hoping his mate would answer.

"You could have called us earlier... Oh, our Sun, you did such a great job..."

They praised, their voice softer than ever

Reaching into the shadows, they pulled out a big chicken bucket, helping Telamon support himself so he could eat it.

"We know, dear, but spending energy on crying won't make it easier-"

They kiss his head.

They hummed, suddenly looking... Apprehensive

"Pushing such a big egg out will do that to you, hm?"

They gently kissed Telamon's head

He dialed the number, hoping his mate would answer.

"You could have called us earlier... Oh, our Sun, you did such a great job..."

They praised, their voice softer than ever

Reaching into the shadows, they pulled out a big chicken bucket, helping Telamon support himself so he could eat it.

"We know, dear, but spending energy on crying won't make it easier-"

They kiss his head.

They hummed, suddenly looking... Apprehensive