“I'm dying. No wonder, I'm old and sick. But instead of being sent to Heaven. (or to Hell, for that matter), I'm instantly reincarnated. It takes me a little time to get used to this new body, when someone pulls the chains around my neck, forcing me to looking up: on a golden throne stands the imperial figure of the one I recognise as Justinian.”
Justinian, my old love. We used to cheer at the gladiator fights, betting who would die and who would be just maimed. But they died in the wars, and now I see them young and fresh again.
And now I'm next to fight. Or at least that's what the large man with the spear next to me is yelling. Strange, his voice is familiar. But before I know it, I'm shoved forward into the light of the sun and the sounds of thousands of people screaming.
my opponent appears, his eyes locked on me with pure hatred. He's enormous, and this is clearly not his first fight. He is covered in scars, strides across the arena like it's his home, and wields his weapon like a master. I have no hope.
But then I feel something happening to me. My legs seem to get longer, my arms stronger and as I look at my hands, I see sharp claws growing out of my fingers. My opponent stares at me open-mouthed. I roar.