The eastern gate of the sandstone coliseum rattled and closed, its frame clacking upon the darkened granite floor. Cold shadows of cloud held in place, and dense air stagnated within the confines of the octagonal battlefield. Even with desolate stands, the rising tension of battle was a feeling which one combatant would never become accustomed to.

With large, reflective irises, Trey wearily observed the battleground which he stood upon. The first warrior was of average height, yet not entirely human in appearance. His face was somewhat narrow, yet with eyes wide and apart. His hair was coarse and unkempt -- barely long enough to cover his folded ears -- and led into a short mane which ran along his back. The rest of his body was hairless; his skin was dusky and rigid, with four greyish birthmarks crossing along his bared torso. Every part of his stature was exceptionally toned and well-refined, save for his forearms and calves, which bulged with inhuman musculature.

His right arm was raised in a gradual motion, and he glanced to inspect the few tools he carried. His wide wrists were the the only part of himself adorned with armour, encased by simple rimmed bracers. Stemming from them, his short palms each housed three oversized conical claws; bone white, over two inches wide and no less than twelve inches in length. Both pairs of natural weapons flexed naturally, almost rhythmically, in wait of the opponent who would eagerly seek to be gutted by them. It would be unfortunate for both parties, yet it was also their will. Humans were such irregular people.