Pain.

Sudden pain along the crown of her head.

A hand? Fingers. Fingers tangled in her hair, grasping, pulling.

"Gotcha, girlie!"

The low voice barely registered. Was he speaking to someone else?

A shift in her pain signaled her to her captor's movement. He was preparing to swing now, opening up his defenses.

Blindly but determinedly, the fighter swung her weapon in a high arc over her head, not slowing even when her blade met resistance.

A surprised cry turned to a choking gurgle.

The pressure released from her scalp.

All she could discern was her own pulse pounding in her ears. Her breath coming hard. Sweat and blood sliding along her skin.

The final opponent had been eliminated. She was safe again.

With one slow blink, the trance was broken.

Deafening applause struck her and she looked up to the raucous crowd of the arena. They were all on their feet, many with fists pumping in the air, yelling from the tops of their lungs. Cheering, stomping, screaming for more blood. Always more blood.

She lowered her eyes to the man she had just felled. His face was cleanly split from ear to chin, jaw nearly severed, his blood pooling darkly in the sand beneath. He stared at her with wide eyes, pleading eyes, as he gasped and retched miserably, choking on his own blood, dying. She returned his stare blankly. She was almost disgusted; this was what the crowd was cheering for.

Her teal eyes caught movement to the side then, and she moved instantly, ready to take down this next threat. Yet she stopped, for it was only her reflection in a fallen shield. She frowned at her own blood-streaked face.

"My people," A booming voice sounded out, lifting even over the wildness of the crowd.

The fighter turned obediently to face the arena balcony and the king's private box. A man of large stature encompassed the space. His intense dark eyes bore into hers until she looked down in submission.

"I give you your champion… Anna the Crimson."