[Dominate]

Blood stained the arena’s floor. Cato’s tunic was soaked with sweat.
He was tired. Exhausted. His sword moving slower and slower yet.
His opponent stepped, red plumed helm framing a contemptuous sneer.
The spectators’ deafening cheer was punctuated with heckles and jeers.
He circled his foe. Searching for weakness, observing his pose.
The soldier sprang! Metal rang as scythe met sword, turning the blows.
Woodchips flew from Cato’s shield as he parried each vicious cut.
Sidestep. Spin and thrust. Peddle back... He wasn’t quick enough.
He staggered. Weapon dropped, his body followed a moment later.
“Finish him!” the crowd roared. “Make an end to this loathsome traitor!”
Blade pressed to Cato’s throat, his oppressor awaited a final command.
The centurion cleared his throat, and bellowed from high in the stands:
“Let this be a lesson, men. Fight in the field with your brothers beside you
Or pay the price for desertion and fight in the ring while others deride you!”
With a thumbs down, it was done now. Death raced down in a savage swish.
Cato reflected on his choice. Maybe the war wouldn't have been as bad as this.