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Arthur was ten years old, and he won a duel against a man in his early twenties. He fell to the ground like a lifeless doll: badly beaten, covered in his own blood, face wet with tears.
Arthur didn’t care. He shouldn't care.
Arthur was stronger than him even though he was half of the man’s age. They weren't equals. That's what everyone said so it had to be true.
He didn’t know who the man was or what will happen to him. Losers weren’t worth his time. After all, Arthur was the one who stood proudly while the man who lied on the ground will be now forever forgotten. Just the first stepping stone along Arthur’s path of becoming the strongest. Just like his father. He saw him reject an offer of a duel from a young man surrounded by electricity.
Arthur was a Bryan like his father.
It felt like a blessing. It was like a shield, protecting him from the others. From the voices whispering behind his back; from the quiet voice in his head telling him things he didn’t want to hear; from his father's cold voice when he was angry. He was always angry.
His father was the most powerful men he knew, and Arthur was his son. His own blood and flesh and Arthur had to make him proud.
Arthur touched the small cut on his face, the man only managed to scratch him before he failed miserably. Arthur will be never like that man. He tasted his own blood and smiled to his father. He didn't smile back.
‘Ahh, victory tastes like blood.’
Arthur was eighteen years old, and he lost a duel against his former friend. He felt to the ground like a lifeless doll: without his right arm, covered in his own blood, face wet with tears and blood.
Arthur supposed to be stronger than him. At the very least they supposed to be equals. But they weren’t.
It was a fact. Arthur stopped lying to himself in the moment he was forced into this duel. (Maybe even before, when his own family though he was a traitor too.)
Arthur knew now what would happen with a Bryan if they lost. It just never occurred to him that one day he will be one of them. But now it was Duke who stood victoriously while Arthur lied on the ground and will be forever forgotten. Just a stepping stone in someone else life. In Duke’s life.
And Duke also didn’t care. Just like Artur didn’t care before. But Duke enjoyed it unlike Arthur.
Duke didn’t know what will happen now with Arthur. After all, they never really knew each other. But losers weren’t worth the time anyway.
Arthur was still a Bryan but not like his father. It supposed to be a good thing, but it was the reason of his failure.
It felt now like a curse. Losing meant that the shield is now forever broken: that the voices will not only whisper behind his back but laugh in his face, that a loud and broken voice screamed in his head – telling him that he lost, he lost, he lost – and that his father will be very angry.
He was very angry.
Arthur knew that his father wasn’t the most powerful man, but he was influential enough and Arthur was his son. He was a nobody without him. Arthur had to make him proud. Except he didn't. He couldn't. He never did.
But he was his father’s own flesh and blood and it had to mean something, right?
Deep down, Arthur knew that it just made everything worse.
He clutched the remains of his right arm. Not to stop the bleeding but to feel nothing just white-hot pain. It didn't work but he pretended it did.
Sometimes you have no choice but to lie to yourself. Arthur couldn't let himself stay there any longer. Not in his current state.
Arthur didn’t need to touch it to know that a large bloody scar also ran fresh across his face – he felt it. He tasted his blood even though he didn’t want it while watched as his father turned his back on him.
‘Ahh, failure tastes like blood.’