The sun beat down heavily when I stepped onto the combat field, my boots crunching against the packed earth. The first step in my revenge plan has arrived, and I was so happy to relish it.
The combat field smelled of dust, iron, and anticipation, and I stood in the middle of it, hands tucked into the deep side pockets of the combat pants we had been issued that morning.
The trousers were tough, gray-black fabric, cinched at the waist with a thick leather strap, and though clearly designed for utility, they fitted snugly enough to reveal the lines of my body.
The shirt matched—a sleeveless, close-cut top that left my arms bare, my scars visible if anyone cared to look too closely. Boots, steel-tipped, heavy on the earth. Practical. Perfect for a fight.
I cocked my head to the side lazily, watching my opponent prowl the far side of the circle, chest puffed out, stretching his arms like some great beast preparing to pounce.
