"Now choose your weapon Child. The test will begin once you have made your choice."
The voice rang out in Greg's ear, low and gravelly, each word dragging like stone across steel.
It held no malice, just a weighty sort of expectation. The kind a teacher might have for a student who finally showed up late to class.
Across the cage, a low hiss broke the silence. A section of the wall sank back, revealing a rack that rose smoothly from the ground.
Weapons lined it in careful order. Blades gleamed under the lights, spears rested upright in polished cradles, and a massive hammer sat nestled in a pressure-locked cradle at the bottom.
Everything looked ceremonial, but functional. Dangerous in a way that invited use.
He looked down at his hands.
They were whole. The scars that once stretched across his knuckles and wrists were gone.
But the callouses, the thick pads along his palms and fingers, the hardened skin from years of grappling, punching and training still remained.
