The downed Cleaver tried to stand, but Jake could hear his labored breathing from below the helmet and saw blood dripping from the edges of his breastplate, where some of the metal had penetrated his chest. Jake began walking over as he shook his head.
“Good fight,” Jake said, knowing it was over.
The man scoffed and spat out blood. “On the battlefield… there is only victory… or death. Give me a warrior’s end.”
“Lucky for you, we aren’t on the battlefield,” Jake said. He felt for the guy. It had to suck getting your ass kicked—quite literally—but he did feel like the guy was being a bit melodramatic. Jake had yet to kill anyone in the arena and didn’t really see a reason to start now.
The man just stared defiantly up at him. “Kill me… or no one wins.”
A slight change in his tone tippe
