The Pit Fighter - Part 2 (Short Story)

This is the second part of a story I wrote the other day, as a reply to This Prompt, which was created in The World Building Community.

< The Pit Fighter - Part 1 | The Pit Fighter - Part 3 >

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       Cantos panted; his throat was dry. Seeing all of the fruit and veg being thrown into the ring at him, he thought of scavenging through to mess to suck them dry for even the slightest drop of liquid to quell the parched feeling. He staved off the urge to do so, only because he knew Dituri was watching.
       The crowd was going insane, it was as if it were the most exciting fight they had ever witnessed. Either that or they were just bored, which wouldn't have surprised Cantos one bit. Scoosha had been left a wasteland by the time The Confederation called off their invasion. It may well have already been a wasteland prior to their assault. The years hadn't been kind to the world, and the world hadn't been kind to the people. Most of the ones who found themselves stuck here devolved. The arena was a testament to that.
       "I think the crowd is ready for another fight." the commentator said, their voice bouncing through amplifiers around the arena. The crowd responded with cheers and praise.
       If I get half a chance I'm going to kill that commentator. Cantos watched the gates raise, the rusted metal squealing as it lifted. As it got higher, he could see the glint of armour. Soon the wearer's full body was in view, and they slowly stepped out into the arena, raising their weapons in the air; basking in the admiration of the crowd. They were wearing mismatched plate, with jagged edges from the damage of who knows how many battles here, they also had some leather in lieu of full plate. Their face was concealed behind a mask, and the weapon in hand was a long pole with a blade at the end, the backside of which had spikes. It looked as though it was cobbled together from scrap, and welded whole.
       Cantos own weapon was scavenged from the fallen, a curved sword, as thin as a razor blade, but strong. The grip was comfortable in his hand. He swiped at the air, loosening the tight muscles in his right arm.

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       "It has been a while since we've seen Slasher in the arena," the commentator chuckled. "I'm sure he has missed it as much as the crowd has missed him."
       Slasher spent a few moments looking through the gathered spectators, watching from the rows upon rows of seats. Cantos did the same and wondered how many up there were hoping for him to prevail in the upcoming fight. None, most likely. Soon, his eyes fell on the VIP stand, higher and grander than any seat in the place; from there, one would surely have the best view.
       He spotted Dituri, sitting uncomfortably among the others. Even though she was little more than a blur, he could tell it was her, wearing the same collar around her neck that he wore. The damn thing was a mark of their fate, an unpaid debt was a life sentence to them, and on Scoosha, life was cheap.
       Feeling thuds. The disturbed sand underfoot danced. The crowd's cheers soared. All he could do was think of Dituri. His only wish was to escape this hell world.
       Cantos turned back to his opponent, only to see the sharp movement out the corner of his eye. Slasher was in full charge, his weapon gleamed in the bright lights. Lost, and unsure of himself for a moment all he could was stare at the metal-clad beast, who wrenched his arm back, preparing it for a killing blow.
       He dodged back. Avoided the incoming blow. Now too close for comfort, Cantos raised his blade. Unsure of whether he could block an incoming hit from this person; this beast in armour. Feeling dwarfed by the sheer height of the man. He extended his arm. Tightened his grip, and swung for Slasher's leg. The blow was deflected by the beast, and a pain vibrated up his arm, which threatened to cause his grip to falter, but he maintained it.
       Slasher reeled back, and readied another strike. Cantos took the opportunity and swung wildly. Two hits landed, but they weren't as strong as they could have been. The beast in plate lowered his weapon and swung a fist at Cantos. It connected. He was knocked off balance, and while he wasn't winded, he was close to it.
       After back stepping away to compose himself, Slasher charged once more. Cantos tried to step back and dodge the approach, but instead, his opponent seemed to count on that.
       Slasher charged straight through Cantos, and swatted him like a bug. The thud against the ground was hard, and he lost his grip entirely. His weapon was lost in a disorientating dust cloud of sand.

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       He saw the glint of steel through the storm, and shimmied toward it while keeping sight of the hulking figure that lurched over him. Cantos swiped at the weapon, the handle brushed against his fingertips and he held only sand. One more swipe and grabbed it. Ready now to attack with all his might, he was stopped. A kick from his opponent left him completely breathless, and another came in while trying to recover. He gritted his teeth, feeling the grains of sand chipping them. His mouth went try from the dust, and he was left gasping for air.
       Everything cleared. The figure became Slasher, his armour adorned with old blood and even some glistening gems. Peering down at him was the faceless man, nothing more than an expressionless steel helmet; asymmetrical, monstrous, and spotless.
       Slasher lifted his arms. The crowd went nuts. Cantos tried to move slowly. Out of sight. That idea was stamped out, as he stomped on his chest, pinning him in place with most of his body weight.
       All he could do was stare up at his assailant. The one who would be the end of him, to the cheering praise of scum. Death would be easy for him, but it would result in a life not worth living for Dituri. He could picture her, and images flashed in his head that he tried to ignore. The horrors she may become accustomed to.
       His grip was tight around the handle of his weapon, and he wrenched it up with unknown strength. His opponent's leg was the first fleshy place to be struck, and he felt relief. Cantos took the opportunity and slid out from under him. Slasher stumbled, hunched over clawing at his own leg.
       Cantos got to his feet, and saw a glimpse of skin between the helmet and back plate. He raised his weapon and swung with all the strength he could muster. It was a clean sweep.